Laughing Wolf (13 page)

“Let's find out and see,” Carolyn replied, opening her laptop on the hood of the car. “This computer's pretty primitive, but I rearranged the chips inside. It should serve our purpose, in other words. And this area's wired. We have Internet access.”

“Great. Let's search for a bank online.”

“Any bank will do. I still can't believe the encryption is so primitive.”

Punching words into a search engine, Felix found what they were after and let Carolyn take over. Despite her clumsiness in working the keypad — she was used to cortical implants and “thinking” her commands — she “stormed” the bank's firewall and entered its mainframe. Toying with the program, she created an account containing a million dollars. Typing in additional commands, she enabled them to withdrawal cash from any ATM at large, merely by punching in a sequence of numbers.

“Let's go,” she said, closing her laptop.

Minutes later they were in the mall and standing at an automated teller. She entered the code she had arranged on the mainframe and a flashing prompt asked how much money she wanted. She punched in $800 — the maximum limit. Seconds later she was counting a stack of twenty dollar bills.

“We've just helped ourselves to someone's money,” Felix said. “Won't this trigger a butterfly effect?”

“The million dollars I deposited comes from millions of separate accounts. No one will feel a few missing cents any more than the owner of that stolen car will be affected once the cops have tracked his property down.”

“We're breaking a lot of laws here.”

“Who's to know? And we have no choice if we're going to save our future.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“Come on,” she said, yanking him forward. “Lunch is on me.”

“Are you finishing … what are they called again?”

“French fries,” Felix answered. “Help yourself. And you should try this sugar beverage. My 3L Domestic System would never let me drink this stuff.”

They were in a diner a mile away from the ATM they'd “patronized.” In front of them were the remnants of a meal that Felix had only seen in old-fashioned movies: hamburgers, nachos, Tex-Mex, and French fries. As different as the food was from the nutrition they were used to, the detail that impressed them most was the kitchen at the back of the diner. They couldn't believe humans would cook their own food.

“Would you like another Coke?” the waitress asked, with a friendly smile.

“I'm fine, thank you.”

“Where are you two coming from?”

“New York City.”

“Oh my goodness. You were lucky to escape the destruction. I wonder what those terrorists were thinking, to kill so many folks like that.”

On the verge of tears, the waitress retreated. Felix translated what she'd said, leading Carolyn to mutter something about unstable emotions. Smiling at her intolerance, Felix changed the topic.

“I've been thinking about our next step.”

“Oh?”

“There's no point travelling to famous temples like the Parthenon. They've been exposed to the elements for hundreds of years and their “charge” vanished centuries ago.”

“You're right,” Carolyn mused, staring down at her plate. “That means we're stuck here, doesn't it?”

“Not quite. There's one portal that might be operable still. Doctor Lee charged dozens of temples, including the one my dad discovered.”

“So?”

“It was buried in an earthquake in 160 BC — three generations before Pompey's era. When my dad excavated it — or will excavate it two hundred years from now — no human had entered it in over two thousand years. So I'm thinking its charge is still intact. But it lies in France, in a town called Nimes.…”

Carolyn placed her laptop on the table.

“What would we need?” she asked, “to travel to France?”

Felix thought for a moment. “Well,” he said, “in addition to money, we'll need tickets and passports. Air travel from the U.S. will be restricted for days — or so I recall — and we'll have to fly from Canada if we're going to leave tomorrow.”

“It's amazing how they still have separate countries,” Carolyn said, motioning Felix to surf the web. He found the website for the U.S. State Department, the agency responsible for American passports, then handed the machine back to Carolyn. Hacking into the mainframe, she created two files with their personal data, noted that their documents had been approved, then searched a database of photographs.

“Here's one,” she said, pausing on a picture of a boy who looked like Felix.

“There's some resemblance but …”

“We're not finished yet.”

Extracting this picture, together with one of a girl, she accessed an online photo lab. Using its software, she altered the two pictures until their subjects bore a sharp resemblance to themselves. She then uploaded them to their passport files on the State Department site. Finally, each passport was marked as an emergency order, with delivery no later than midnight that evening.

“What address should they deliver them to?” she asked.

“Let's see,” he mused, surfing the net. “There's a hotel called the Sheraton near Buffalo, New York. If we're crossing into Canada we'll pass that way. You may as well give it as our delivery address.”

With this taken care of, she created a credit card account, linking it to the bank account that she'd created by ‘borrowing' pennies from several million people. It was then an easy matter to book two flights from Toronto to Nimes, with a brief stopover in Paris, France. Altogether these transactions had taken fifteen minutes.

“Would you care for dessert?” the waitress asked, returning with two menus.

“What do you have?”

“We have pies and brownies, but I recommend the chocolate cheesecake.”

“We'll try the cheesecake,” Felix said with a laugh. “With ice cream on the side.”

“I'm thirsty,” Felix announced. “
S'il vous plait,
” he called to the stewardess. “
Un autre jus d'orange si ça ne vous dérange pas.
”

They were flying in a passenger plane, and were half an hour from the city of Nimes. So far, everything had gone without hitch: their passports had been waiting at the Sheraton in Buffalo; they had crossed into Canada without awakening suspicions; they had driven to Pearson Airport, near Toronto, where their tickets had been waiting at the Air France gate; and their flight to Paris had been exactly on time, as had their connecting flight to Nimes.

“You really are something,” Carolyn commented.

“Why? Because I'm thirsty?”

“How many languages do you speak?”

“I don't know. A lot of them, I guess. My dad always said that language is like food: each one has a different ‘taste' and lends your ‘diet' a certain spice.”

“It's a talent,” she mused. “I thought your skills were useless before, but I've been proven wrong.” Embarrassed that she'd praised him, she changed the subject. “Will you look at that?” She was frowning now, “That woman keeps kissing the cross around her neck.”

“It's a symbol of her faith. She's scared of flying and hopes —”

“That God will keep her safe?”

“Something like that.”

“God didn't save those people in the towers, did He?”

“In actual fact, they were killed in God's name — a different god, at least.”

“It's so irrational and disgusting …”

“But the firemen and cops who came to their rescue, and died in their attempt to save their fellow man, did so in God's name, some of them at least.”

“That's irrational, too.”

“Big deal, so humans are irrational.”

Carolyn was about to retort, then changed her mind and looked outside. It wasn't rational to reason with an irrational person.

“
Bienvenue en France
,” the border guard spoke, holding out his hand for Felix's passport.

“
Voila monsieur
,” Felix replied. “
Il fait beau dehors
.”

Their plane had landed in Nimes and they were standing in the airport's terminal. Now that they were nearing their goal, both were anxious to reach the hidden temple.

“Ah, you are American,” the official continued. “And these passports are brand new.” He glanced down at some papers on his desk and suppressed the slightest frown.

“Yes,” Felix replied in French. “We got them recently, just in time for our trip.”

“The French people are sorry for the attacks on your country.”

“Thank you. It was a black day for all civilized people.”

“How long will you be staying in France, Monsieur Taylor?”

“A week.”

“I see. One moment please.”

The official left his booth, with their passports in hand. Felix looked at Carolyn, who, despite her calm expression, was suddenly full of suspicion.

“He suspects us,” she said. “He glanced at something on his desk.”

“Maybe it was a newspaper.” He stood on his tiptoes and glanced inside the booth. A gasp escaped him.

There was a picture of him and Carolyn. In it she was holding a stack of twenty-dollar bills. With a stab of fear he realized the photo had been snapped at the ATM in that large shopping complex. And there were two more pictures: one showed Carolyn “handling” a guard; the other a shot of them in the Pearson airport.

“They're onto us,” Felix murmured.

“I can see that,” Carolyn said, surveying the room.

“There are plainclothes guards surrounding us. We'll have to fight our way out.”

“Wait,” Felix cautioned. “The guard's returning.”

“I'm sorry for the delay,” he apologized, resuming his seat. “Everything is fine. Enjoy your stay in France.”

“We can go?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent.
Merci bien monsieur
.”

“
Je vous en prie
.”

They walked toward the exit, expecting a horde of policemen to attack. Much to their surprise, they were left alone. They changed their American money into Euros, consulted a detailed map of the region, purchased tickets, and boarded a bus, one that would take them into downtown Nimes — all without any police interference.

“Why are they waiting?” Carolyn asked, taking a seat.

“I think I know,” Felix said. “The American authorities must have tracked our movements. They suspect we're terrorists and notified the French police.”

“But that still doesn't explain …”

“They're following us and hoping that we'll take them to our leaders.”

“I see,” Carolyn said, glancing cautiously outside. “There are two cars behind us and another in front. What do we do?”

Felix frowned. They couldn't be arrested. With those photos as evidence, the cops could charge them with all sorts of crimes, and that meant they might spend a lot of time in prison. They had no choice: they had to elude these agents.

“The entrance to the temple lies inside a church. What street are we on?”

“It's called … General Leclerc.”

“All right, we're getting close.”

“Are you sure?”

“I've seen my father's temple at least fifty times. The city looks different from the version I know, but its basic layout is pretty much the same. In other words, I'm sure.”

For the next few minutes Carolyn observed their pursuers, being careful not to appear too obvious. One car was beside them and she spied its passenger: he was lean, clean-shaven, and had a device in his ear. He was also cradling a vicious-looking pistol.

“We're leaving Feucheres Boulevard,” Felix said. “Prague Boulevard should be coming up. There, I see the church. It's over on our right.”

A minute later they exited the bus which had stopped fifty metres from the church's entrance. After passing a line of magnificent plane trees, they advanced on the church with its majestic tower and oaken doors. Not that there was time to take this grandeur in. The cars had stopped behind them and they had agents on their tail.

Mounting a flight of steps, they entered the building. The dim lighting inside took some getting used to and, without breaking his stride, Felix hurried to a candle display. Helping himself to a taper and some matches, he led Carolyn down a limestone aisle to the apse at the back, passing a series of somber Gothic arches. As they ran, she grabbed a pair of prayer books. Behind him he heard the church's door bang open.

They'd reached the apse. Once there, he opened a small wooden door and descended a spiral staircase to the church's crypt. Detaching herself, Carolyn crouched and fiddled with the door. She then joined Felix, taking three steps at a time.

“I wedged the books into the door frame. That should buy us some time.”

“Those are prayer books, you realize.”

“Then this is the best use they've ever been put to.”

They proceeded to a brick wall at the back of this space. The only light came from a thirty-watt bulb, but Felix could discern a cross that had been carved into the wall in medieval times. He groped about.

“They're banging on the door,” Carolyn informed him.

“There's a passageway behind this wall that was used in times of war. It leads to the building's ancient foundations and these include my father's temple. Now if I can just find the locking mechanism.…”

“You might want to hurry,” she said. “They've opened the door.”

Sure enough, there was a bang above and the sound of clattering footsteps.

“There!” he cried in triumph, as a stretch of wall pivoted some ninety degrees. “Let's go!”

They just had time to slip behind the wall and shove it into place when the agents rushed in. Their voices were muffled but they were clearly bewildered.

“Hang on,” Felix whispered, fumbling with his matches. “There, that's better.”