Tales From the Black Chamber (28 page)

“Wait a second, Joe,” said Mike. “How confident are you in this super-exact track? I mean, this thing could go right, left, or hang a U-turn at any point, right?”

“More than moderately, based on what data we have and the assumption that this thing is making as much of a beeline as possible for its destination.”

“Okay,” said Mike.

“So, you'll notice that the line leads right across this big office complex here. This is a northern suburb of Bei—the capital. I'm told it's pronounced Ch'ing-ho or something, but it's spelled Q-i-n-g-h-e on all the maps, so no ‘ch'ing ho' jokes, Mike.”

“Damn,” Mike said.

“Anyway, this office complex is the headquarters of the Second Artillery Corps, and if I were a betting man, I'd say that's where it's headed.”

“Why?” asked Steve. “It wants some howitzers? What does artillery have to do with anything?”

“The Second Artillery Corps,” Joe said, his voice sinking, “controls China's nuclear arsenal.”

The room erupted in oaths, questions, and the sound of Anne crashing into the wall behind her and sliding to the floor when she unconsciously took a quick step back. Anne got back to her feet and everyone else began to calm down.

“Wait,” said Mike, his voice loudest. Everyone turned to him. “Why would this thing fly all the way to China when it could have just gone to SAC in Omaha or the Pentagon or the White House? Isn't that going out of its way? And doesn't China have a lot fewer nukes?”

“They do,” said Joe evenly, “but they're a lot less loosely controlled. They still have a top-down command structure, in which no one does anything without the order of the guy above him. So they don't have a lot of redundant checks on a launch. My theory is this thing will go in there and take over the people or whatever, and launch everything they've got. It's the Destroyer, right? What's better to destroy with than nukes?”

No one said anything.

“Plus,” Joe continued, “as far as anyone knows, China's nukes are targeted three ways. At us, at the Russians, and at the Indians. Maybe Taiwan gets one, and maybe Japan is also on the list. But, if they launch everything in all directions, they get retaliatory strikes from Russia, us, and India—and maybe Japan if they've got secret nukes. If Russia is panicked, who's to say they don't fire a few at us and Europe for good measure? And we, the French, and the British would fire back on them. I'm just guessing, but with India and China being so densely populated, a general free-for-all like this could kill more than a billion people, and wreck civilization as we know it. Leaving the field clear for whatever else Chidag Dü has up his sleeve. Or some of the stuff in Revelation. Or … worse.”

“Okay, thanks, Joe,” said Mike. “I'll be changing my pants shortly. But putting aside what could happen, what do we do next?”

“Stop it,” said Joe.

“How?” said half the room.

“I don't know,” Joe said. “I'm just an engineer.”

“Anne?” said John.

“I've got nothing. And nothing from Professor Geoffrey yet.”

“Lily?” John asked.

“Nothing. Though my Tibetan's getting better.”

“Well, that'll be nice when we're all hiding from the Four Horsemen in the Himalayas,” John chuckled.

Steve McCormack spoke up. “Ignoring the hoodoo aspect of this, we're likely going to have to intercept this thing, right? I mean, we can't just sit here and say, ‘Mumbo-jumbo,' and it'll disappear half a world away, right?”

“Probably,” shrugged John.

“So, let's work on that for a minute. Now, we're dealing with some big, empty spaces, right? So could we risk a landing in Russia or China?”

Mike Himmelberg said, “I don't know about that. We'd have to get some crazy high-level CIA authorizations. Claire?”

“Eesh, I don't think so.”

“So that leaves us exactly one option,” Steve said. Looking around the room at his colleagues' confusion, he said, “Mongolia. The eastern tip. Was I the only one listening?”

“I think we were all distracted by the fiery nuclear holocaust, Steve,” said Claire.

“So when does this thing get to Mongolia?”

Joe stared at the ceiling. “Okay, it's up in the Canadian Arctic now. It left Nicton around midnight, say. At sixty miles an hour. It's about twelve hundred miles out of Canada, and about twenty-three hundred miles to Russia. I'm gonna say it's going to hit Russia in about a day and a half. From Russia to Mongolia is …” He typed a few keys and the relevant arc on the path lit up. “About nineteen hundred miles. That's another, say, thirty-two hours. And it'll be in Mongolia for … a hair under sixty miles. So we have a one-hour window before we're chasing it into China and maybe causing an international incident. Which beats the end of the world, but, still.… If we do miss it in Mongolia, it's four hundred ninety miles to Qinghe. So we'd have about eight hours to get to our cave in the Himalayas,” he joked grimly.

“How do you say ‘abominable snowman' in Tibetan?” Mike Himmelberg joked.

“
Mekö
,” Lily said, dead serious.

“So we've basically got three days to figure out how to stop it, get to a remote location in eastern Mongolia, then take it on,” said Steve. “Plus, it's probably twenty or thirty hours in the air to Mongolia. So we've really got less than two days here, then we have to be on a plane.” Everyone blanched. Steve smiled a little and said, “How about I go out for some coffee?”

15

Anne read her American Express number into the phone again, thanked the other party, then hung up, thinking,
Well, so much for my savings. Though at this point, saving seems a little dumb.

She dialed her parents' number in Albuquerque and made some small talk with her mother. Then she got to the point. “Mom, I have a surprise for you and Dad. I've got this great new job and they gave me a big bonus, so I'm sending you on a vacation!… No, seriously. It's this great place called Apache Lodge up in the mountains above Taos. It's in this secluded little valley, totally surrounded by mountains. They've got their own wells, electricity, the whole deal. They have satellite TV, phones, radio, and Internet. And it's five-star all the way. Food, suites, and all sorts of awesome activities.… No, no, I got a special rate…”
Ten grand a day for last-minute reservations.
“No, it's not too much at all. No, it's just because—” her throat closed and tears squeezed from her eyes, as she forced cheerfulness back into her voice, “because you've been such great parents. I couldn't ever have done any of this without you.… No, no. Really, it's not too much. There is one thing, though. My rate applied to an immediate vacancy. You have to get there by tomorrow. But it's two full weeks. I know Dad must have a ton of vacation saved up. Is that going to be a problem?… Oh, good, good. Now, here's the thing, Mom, they have a ton of excursions and the like, but you still probably want to pack the trunk with food and water and stuff, in case you want to picnic or stuff separately. I'm sure the hotel could provide you with stuff, and I think it's all-inclusive, but you never want to end up paying fourteen bucks for an eight-ounce bottle of Evian out of the minibar. Go by Costco and stock up. Oh, and tell Dad that they not only have guided hunting parties up in the mountains, but they've got shooting tournaments as well, so he should pack a lot of his guns and tons of ammo.… No, no, you're totally welcome. Really, it's my absolute pleasure. I just—love you guys so much, I want to do a little thing for you like all the huge things you've done for me over the years.… Don't cry, Mom! You're going to make me cry!… I love you too. Kiss Dad for me and call me when you get there. I'll e-mail you directions.”

Anne hung up the phone, wiped her eyes, then dialed again before she broke down. “Hey, Lindsay, it's Anne. You still at H&E? No? Awesome. Have I got a present for you. I won this cruise in a raffle, and I'm so tied up here at the Foundation, I can't get away. But I figured that since you're done at H&E and haven't started down here, you could use it.… You can? Awesome. You'll love it, though you've got to pack fast. There's a flight down to Montevideo, Uruguay, tomorrow, and the ship leaves the next morning for Patagonia and the Antarctic.…Penguins! Yeah! This is all through National Geographic and the Smithsonian, so it's a whole bunch of serious adventure-science types and so forth who can hike and hunt and build campfires and birdwatch and all sorts of stuff. Which means to me lots of hot young guys in great shape.… I know! So cool, right? I think you even get to stop in at the Falkland Islands.… Right, maybe some cute British soldiers down there? Oh, I'm so glad you can do it. I'm FedExing you the tickets. Have an awesome, awesome time.… You're so welcome. Just send me some postcards, ok? Love you too, babe.”

Anne hung up and cried.

A couple hours later, she was poring over some books she'd pulled from the Library to run down some ambiguous references in the Index when John came down the spiral staircase into her office.

“Hi,” she said.

“How you doing?” he asked.

“Been better. Crying a lot. Tried to get my parents and a friend out of harm's way, if that's even possible.”

“That's what I wanted to ask you. Do you want to go to Mongolia, or is there someone who needs you here?”

Anne was tempted to take to the mountains with her parents. Even if she died there, at least her last day or so would have been luxurious and in the company of those she loved most. But she took a deep breath and said, “No, I'll go. If I go, someone else can stay.”

“Yeah, looks like it'll be you, me, Steve, Rafe, and Claire. Mike and Joe are married with kids, and Wilhelmina and Lily have elderly parents they want to take care of.”

“Can they get somewhere safe?”

“Sort of. There are some FBI safe houses in the Blue Ridge Mountains and up in West Virginia and western Maryland that aren't being used at the moment. That's the best we can do by car. They're pretty nice. Furnished, modern appliances, et cetera.”

“How about you?” Anne asked.

“I'm single, my parents are dead, my brother lives in Finland, and my sister is on a UN mission to Burma, God help her. There's not much I can do, except give 'em a call and say ‘hi,' pretending it might not be ‘bye.'”

“It really sucks not being able to tell anyone that you're scared.”

John nodded. “This is a scary, lonely job sometimes. Although to be fair, you've walked into a particularly scary situation.”

“You guys don't face the end of the world every day?”

“Oh, two or three times a year, tops,” John laughed. “No, this is easily the biggest—and almost the craziest—thing I've ever been a part of. And the History doesn't show anything of this magnitude.”

“Well, lucky me!” Anne joked.

“No,” John said seriously. “Lucky us and lucky world. Without your getting involved, this would be happening, and we'd have no idea. The end of the world just would have popped up, unannounced.”

“Be serious with me, is this a suicide mission?”

“No, not in the least. I mean, unless it needs to be. And if that turns out to be the case, you can un-volunteer whenever you like. The problem right now is that we don't know what the mission is going to be.”

“Well, I might have something for you on that front. There's a story in this grimoire about a Russian sorcerer who called up something he couldn't put down. He knew it would be heading for the next village after it had wiped out his, so he took a bunch of posts, had them consecrated and engraved with various symbols and planted them in a V pattern.” She grabbed a pencil. “Like this:”

“The monster came down, got funnelled down the V, then his assistants moved the posts at the end of the arms of the V into post holes they'd dug so the posts made a circle. Like this:”