Mercury Rests (24 page)

After Finch’s bungled attempt to master time and space by catching chrotons in a glass apple in Kenya, Tiamat had seized control of the organization. Finch had backed her bid to be the
new leader, and in return she had allowed him to stay on as her second in command. It was either that or be cast out of the OPB entirely.

Tiamat evoked conflicting emotions among the members of the OPB. On the one hand, it had been her work in ancient Babylon that had formed the foundations of the OPB’s efforts. On the other hand, she had basically ignored the OPB over most of the past four thousand years, laughing at their feeble efforts to uncover the secrets of the Universe. She offered some token support when they embarked upon their plan to build a particle collider beneath Los Angeles during the early twentieth century but abandoned them again when World War II broke out. She never really believed the CCD would work, and she had bigger things to worry about. There was so much suspicion about domestic spies during the war that the OPB had to suspend all of its operations for several years. And after the war, things were even worse: in the fifties and sixties, sneaking around and attending secret meetings was likely to get one shot for being a suspected Communist. By the time the OPB resumed active operations in the 1980s, the CCD was in disrepair, and areas of the Los Angeles suburbs that the OPB had intended to leave vacant had been overrun by theme parks. Even if they had gotten the CCD to work, they still had not solved the central technical problem: how to store the chrotons once they were generated. The CCD was mothballed.

When Horace Finch announced plans to build another collider, this time in Kenya, Tiamat once again offered token support. As the CCD-2 got close to completion, she had a few of her personal operatives look into its chances of success. She assumed that the OPB would once again be stuck when faced with the problem of how to capture the chrotons. But her spies learned that Finch had a contact in Heaven who had promised him a
suitable receptacle for the chrotons. That contact turned out to be Uzziel, and the receptacle was an anti-bomb that had been hidden for millennia inside Mount Mbutuokoti. When Tiamat realized how close Finch was to succeeding, she belatedly offered her wholehearted support. It was not enough, as it turned out. Christine, Jacob, and Mercury had intervened, stealing the anti-bomb and rendering the CCD-2 impotent. Finch had fled the facility, which was then placed under guard by troops under the command of the archangel Michelle. All of the OPB’s work on the CCD-2 over the past twenty years appeared to be for naught. Even if they could somehow retake the Eden II facility from Michelle’s cherubic guard, without another anti-bomb to catch the chrotons the machine was useless. So while the Supreme Council resented Tiamat’s involvement, there was no denying that they needed her. Putting her in charge was an act of desperation, a Hail Mary pass in the last two seconds of the game.

“As I say,” said Tiamat, “
our
time has come. I have just spoken to one of my fellow demons, a gentleman by the name of Lucifer. Perhaps you have heard of him.”

Another round of resentful, but impressed, grumbling. Tiamat had connections, that much was certain. Fortunately, most of the Council members weren’t aware that Tiamat and Lucifer had been at each other’s throats for most of the past seven thousand years.

“It seems that Lucifer is planning a major offensive against Heaven,” Tiamat continued. “And we have agreed that it is better for both of our causes if we synchronize our attacks.”

“Attack?” asked one of the hooded men. “What attack?”

Tiamat smiled. “Why, we’re retaking Eden II, of course.”

“Retaking Eden II? Why? The receptacle was destroyed! The CCD is useless without it!”

“Indeed,” replied Tiamat, looking to the hooded man on her immediate right. “Horace, would you like to tell them?”

Finch tilted his head forward and spoke. The air was feeling very close inside the hood, and he was having difficulty breathing. “Before the interlopers took the apple, it shed a small piece of itself. Evidently the anti-bombs do this shortly before they are fully ripe. The remnant was a small, teardrop-shaped piece of glass. A glass apple seed.”

Murmurs filled the room.

Finch went on: “I was forced to flee the facility, but before I did I dug a small hole in the ground inside Eden II and buried the seed.”

“As you know,” Tiamat said, “I now have in my employ a seraph by the name of Uzziel. Uzziel is something of an expert on these anti-bombs. I asked him about the glass remnant, and he said that it is indeed a seed. He said that the seeds grow very quickly. Plant one in any ordinary soil and a few days later you’ll have a fully grown tree. By now, there should be at least one good-sized apple on the tree. Any apples would of course be practically worthless as anti-bombs; they need several hundred years to ripen before they are useful as munitions. But for our purposes, an unripe apple is as good as any.”

“Fine,” said another hooded man. “But Eden II is guarded by three hundred angels with flaming swords. How do you expect to get past them and into the CCD?”

“Lucifer has agreed to lend me six hundred and sixty-six of his best combat-trained demons,” Tiamat replied. “Combined with my own forces, we will be unstoppable—assuming, of course, that our demons are armed with superior weaponry.”

She smiled innocently, and there were more grumbles around the table. It was now clear why Tiamat had deigned to brief the
Supreme Council on her plans: she wanted access to the OPB’s cache of weapons.

“You said we were going to synchronize attacks with Lucifer,” said another man. “What kind of attack is Lucifer planning?” asked another man.

“Lucifer is launching an assault on Heaven,” replied Tiamat. “My sources tell me that he plans to take out the Eye of Providence with a portable nuclear device.”

Several of the hooded men gasped. The Eye of Providence was known to them as the near-legendary source of the mystical power of the gods. Destroying it seemed unthinkable.
¹⁰

“Isn’t the Eye of Providence the source of your power?”

Tiamat shrugged. “Of course,” she said. “But the power of the Eye is nothing compared to the power we will hold when have used the CCD to harness chrotons. As I say, Lucifer’s schemes are unimportant. I wish him the best of luck, but his success or failure will have no impact on our plan. Gentlemen, I resolve that the OPB throws its full support behind my plan to retake Eden II.” There was a pause, and she jabbed Horace Finch in the ribs.

“Seconded!” yelped Finch, who was fighting off a bout of claustrophobia.

A muttered chorus of ayes went up from the group. What choice did they have? They knew Tiamat wasn’t going to share the spoils with them, but the avowed purpose of the OPB was to uncover the hidden secrets of the Universe. Whether they were allowed to enter the Promised Land themselves was a secondary concern.

Tiamat’s eyes flashed wickedly. “Gentlemen, we are on the verge of a new era. Once we have control over Eden II, all time and space will be ours!”

Eddie sat at a booth in the Charlie’s Grill just down the street from Christine’s condo, sipping coffee from a ceramic mug. He hadn’t heard the gunshot, but he wasn’t surprised to see Mercury fall. It was only a matter of time before the government put the condo under surveillance—or perhaps more accurately, under siege. Given what he knew about Wormwood and Lucifer’s plans, Eddie had been a little surprised that he had been allowed to deliver his manuscript unmolested. Once again, being a little fish had paid off. Nobody gave a shit about Eddie Pratt.

Eddie told himself it wasn’t his fault that Mercury had been taken. After all, he hadn’t known about the snipers; he would only have been guessing. And what difference did it make in the end? Wormwood was unstoppable. Both Cody and Cain had told him so. If a sniper hadn’t taken him down, something else would have. You couldn’t fight destiny. Best to just get the whole thing over with.

While some small part of Eddie’s brain continued to poke at his conscience like a man kicking a prostrate opossum, the rest of it focused on documenting the events of the past few days. He banged away at the laptop with a ferocity that elicited looks
of concern from his fellow Charlie’s Grill patrons. Mercury had given him a lot of material, what with his encounter with Job and Cain, his time traveling, and his epic battle with Gamaliel. This was good stuff, thought Eddie. Mercury made a pretty good hero. It really was too bad that the story had turned out to be a tragedy.

Eddie hit Save and regarded what he had written. The cursor sat blinking at the end of the last line, mocking him.

Nobody gave a shit about Eddie Pratt.
|

Could just as well change that to present tense, Eddie thought. Nobody gives a shit about Eddie Pratt. He could imagine someone reading his report, impatiently skimming through the parts about this intolerably dull cherub, Eddie Pratt. Tough, thought Eddie. If I have to be part of this accursed story, then you have to read about it.

Eddie took another sip of coffee. He had added three artificial creamers to it already, but it was still too strong for his taste. He picked up another of the little plastic creamer cups, peeled back the lid, and poured it into his coffee. Then he stirred it with a spoon, set the spoon on the table, and took another sip. Not bad, he thought. He debated adding another one, but decided he didn’t want to push it.

Paging through what he had written, he was satisfied that he had put together a compelling narrative about Mercury, but he felt like there were chapters missing. There was more to this story than what he had compiled so far. What had happened to Christine and Jacob, for instance? And what was Tiamat up to? It wasn’t like her to just give up her diabolical scheming. Surely she was plotting something right now.

As he reflected on this, he stared out the window in the direction of the condo complex. There had been a flurry of activity after Mercury fell, with plainclothes agents dragging him to a parked SUV, which screeched away for some unknown destination. But now the scene was eerily placid.

While he watched, a bus pulled up to the curb, paused for a moment, and then pulled away. It had left behind a man and a woman who were engaged in an animated conversation. The man, who was short and dark-skinned, seemed particularly agitated, as if he could barely control his limbs. He grabbed the woman’s wrist, but she wrested free and stalked off in the direction of the gate.

Great Scott, thought Eddie. It’s Christine and Jacob. They were about to walk into the same trap that had just claimed Mercury. If the FBI hadn’t spotted them already, they soon would. Eddie thought about warning them, but there was no time. By the time he had made it outside, Christine would be at the gate.

He breathed deeply, trying to make himself relax. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. They’re doomed to fail anyway. Just get it over with.

But something continued to bother him, a part of his brain that was less atrophied than his conscience: his sense of narrative. This was bad writing, pure and simple. You couldn’t have the heroine fall into the same trap as the hero, only a few minutes later. What was the point? Why not just kill them all off at once, if that’s what you’re going to do? Why drag things out?

Christine continued to walk toward the trap, with Jacob following, pleading for her to stop. Did he sense the trap? Or did he, too, just feel like something was
wrong
?

“Damn it!” Eddie growled, jumping to his feet and knocking over his coffee. “Don’t do it! It’s terrible! The pacing is all off! It lacks unity and cohesion!”

The other patrons had fallen silent and were staring at Eddie. A waitress stopped by and flopped a towel down onto the table. Mopping up the coffee, she met Eddie’s eyes and said, deadpan, “More coffee, sir?”

Eddie sat down. “Sorry,” he offered meekly. The waitress shrugged, refilled his coffee cup, and walked away. Eddie turned to look out the window again.

Christine had stopped. She was facing Jacob, who was gesturing wildly. He seemed to point directly at Eddie. Christine looked in Eddie’s direction and nodded her head, looking defeated. They crossed the street, headed toward Charlie’s Grill.

Eddie froze. OK, play it cool, he thought. No need to panic.

Christine and Jacob took the booth behind him. In between bickering, they ordered a chicken salad sandwich and a French dip.

“I don’t care,” Christine was saying. “I have to try. There’s no other way to warn them.”

“And you think Lubbers doesn’t know that? He’s probably already here, parked in a van down the street, just waiting for you to show up. Lubbers may be single-minded, but he’s not stupid. Daltrey is probably nearby, too. We were lucky to get away from him last time, Christine. He won’t get fooled again.”

Christine seemed to be suppressing a giggle, but Jacob continued, undeterred by her strange reaction.

“Not only will you fail to warn...whoever it is on the other side of that portal, you’ll have played right into his hands. He’s an expert on what they call ‘enhanced interrogation,’ you know.
They’ll find out what you know. And once you’re not worth anything to them anymore, they’ll lock you up and throw away the key. Or worse.
Unck!
”

This last was a noise that Jacob made in his throat, startling Eddie so much that he almost spilled his coffee again.

“What would you have me do then? Nothing? You and I are the only ones on this plane—that is, this planet—who know what Lubbers is planning. We have a responsibility to do
something
.”

Eddie sighed, realizing that it was up to him to resolve the stalemate. He got up and grabbed a chair from a nearby table, taking a seat at the end of Christine and Jacob’s table.

“
Unck?
” said Jacob.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” said Eddie, “but I couldn’t help overhearing.”

“Oh God,” said Jacob. “We must sound like lunatics.
Unck
.”

“This is a private conversation,” said Christine curtly.

“Not as private as you might think,” said Eddie. “Those guys in the cable repairman uniforms in the corner booth? Undercover FBI agents. Fortunately they seem to be more interested in their bacon cheeseburgers than in you, at present.” Eddie had no idea who the guys were. Probably cable repairmen, judging by their outfits.