The Omega Theory (10 page)

Next, he turned to the north and raised his binoculars, fitting the eyepieces into the slit in his head scarf. About two miles away he saw a long line of Humvees speeding northwest on a two-lane highway. There were also more than forty U.S. Army trucks on the road, including a dozen heavy-duty flatbeds carrying tarpaulin-covered loads. Cyrus smiled as he observed the convoy, which was so long that it took several minutes to pass. He knew that these weren’t ordinary American soldiers. He was looking at the First Battalion of the 75th Ranger Regiment, one of the Special Operations forces commanded by Lieutenant General Sam McNair. They were headed for Turkmenistan, the Central Asian country to the north of Iran, where the final battle against Satan’s army would begin.

Thanks to his informants in the U.S. Special Operations Command, Cyrus knew about Cobra, the secret plan to attack Iran’s nuclear facilities from the north. Unlike the border between Iran and Afghanistan, where the Revolutionary Guards had positioned hundreds of antiaircraft missiles, Iran’s border with Turkmenistan was lightly defended. Sensing an opportunity, the Americans had brokered a clandestine deal with Turkmenistan’s president-for-life, a tin-pot dictator who was in desperate need of hard currency. In exchange for a substantial payment to his Swiss bank account, the president-for-life would allow the U.S. Army Rangers to quietly enter his country and travel to a hidden staging point near the Iranian border. Once the assault group was in place, it would launch the surprise attack on the nuclear installation.

Cyrus kept his binoculars trained on the convoy until he saw nothing but the cloud of dust in their wake. In less than an hour the Ranger battalion would reach the Afghan city of Herat, where they would hunker down until nightfall. Then they would cross into Turkmenistan under the cover of darkness and advance to the staging point. And Brother Cyrus would follow them, leading his much smaller convoy of True Believers. Everything was proceeding according to the Lord’s plan. The path to Redemption lay straight ahead.

Finally, Cyrus lowered his binoculars and turned back to the east. The high peaks of the Hindu Kush were hundreds of miles away, too far to be glimpsed as even a faint blue smudge, but he sensed their presence over the horizon. That was the place where the Lord had blessed him, while he was a prisoner in the bowels of Hades. In a cave underneath Gazarak Mountain, near the Afghan-Pakistani border, Satan’s foot soldiers had tortured him with ingenious cruelty. For three long days they’d maimed his body and violated his soul, driving him into a state of such helpless agony that his mind broke and his faith crumbled. Stripped of all hope, he became a man without God, a naked, bleeding animal yearning only for death. And then, during one of the rare intervals when his torturers allowed him a few minutes of sleep, the Lord showed His face. Cyrus saw it floating above him, just inches away. He recognized it instantly. It was radiant with love.

Several years had passed since then, but Cyrus could still see the Lord’s face when he closed his eyes. He saw it now as he stood on the hilltop: a face that was neither white nor black, neither broad nor thin, neither young nor old. A face that showed all human features at once. A face that had never appeared in the flesh but would be familiar to even the smallest child.

With his eyes closed, Cyrus unwrapped his head scarf. He wished to stand face-to-face with his God, even though his own features were sinful and hideous. As he removed the black fabric he felt the rays of the early-morning sun on his cheeks. Tossing the scarf aside, he knelt on the stony ground and lowered his head.

“Lord of Hosts, Lord of Glory,” he whispered. “We humbly seek Your aid. Give us the strength to carry out Your will. Guide our hands so we can bring Your loving Redemption to this corrupt world. And guide our hearts so we can enter Your heavenly kingdom without shame.” His voice cracked. His throat was parched from the desert air. “Oh Lord, You are so close! In a short while we will open the gates of heaven and stand before You! We will kneel by Your throne and behold Your blessed face!”

Shaking with fervor, he bent over until his forehead touched the ground. Then he prayed without words, breathing soundlessly on the warm, brown dirt.

Several minutes passed. Cyrus couldn’t say exactly how many; when he prayed he entered a world where it was impossible to keep track of the time. But at some point he heard footsteps, so he opened his eyes. He stood up and saw one of his bodyguards ascending the hill, marching straight toward him.

It was Tamara, his favorite, the truest of the True Believers. Tall and lithe, she wore a desert-camouflage uniform and carried an M-4 carbine. Her hair was so short that none of it showed under her Kevlar helmet. She looked like an ordinary soldier, a young, fresh-faced American infantrywoman, and that was exactly what she’d been until three years ago, when Brother Cyrus had enlisted her to his cause. He’d discovered that the U.S. Army was a good place to recruit his followers. There were so many wounded souls, so many soldiers in desperate need of the Lord’s guidance.

Cyrus picked up his scarf from the ground and swiftly wrapped it around his head. Even Tamara, his closest follower, wasn’t allowed to view his face. It was too repellent.

She halted and stood at attention about five feet away. Her right hand started to rise, but she stopped herself from saluting. Cyrus had told his followers many times that there was no need to salute him, but they sometimes did anyway. “Peace be with you, Brother,” she said. “Are you ready to return to the base camp? I don’t like leaving you here in the open for too long.”

He nodded. “Yes, I’m ready. I just finished my prayers.” He smiled behind his mask, stretching his hideous lips. Then he started walking down the hill, planting his feet carefully on the rocky slope. “How are things at the camp this morning? Has Michael Gupta settled in yet?”

Tamara fell in step beside him. “Michael spent the whole night studying the Logos file. About an hour ago I told him to take a break, but he wouldn’t leave the computer. I have a feeling he’s going to be there all day.”

Cyrus smiled again. He’d suspected that the program would fascinate the child. The young genius couldn’t resist looking at it. And with the Lord’s help, he would soon complete the task. “Has he made any changes to the file?”

“No, not yet. The boy’s been scrolling through the code for hours, but he hasn’t made a single change. It’s the strangest thing.” She stared at the horizon as she made her way downhill. The sun was already scorching the brown landscape. “You know what I think, Brother? I think he’s memorizing the code. And he’s making all the changes in his head.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me. What else would you expect from the great-great-grandson of Albert Einstein? Once he completes the program, we’ll convince him to write it down for us.”

“He’s sad, Brother. So sad. His life has been so unfair.” She shook her head. “He’s suffered so much. And he doesn’t deserve it.”

Cyrus stopped on the hillside and looked at her closely. Tamara was usually a resolute soldier, a calm and imperturbable Warrior of God, but now she seemed distressed. As she halted beside him, still staring at the horizon, Cyrus noticed that her eyes were wet. She was thinking, no doubt, of her own history. Like Michael, Tamara had survived some fairly brutal events—a father who ran off, a mother who died young, a childhood spent in foster homes in rural Kentucky. So it was no surprise that she felt some sympathy for the boy. But Cyrus worried that this emotion might be a hindrance now. Their plans were at a critical stage, and the Lord needed them to be steadfast.

“Tamara,” he said quietly, “you know why the boy has suffered. In this corrupt world, pain and horrors afflict everyone.”

She nodded. “Yes, Brother, I know.”

“But the Almighty is coming to save us. He’s focusing His will right now on this place, this desert.” Cyrus swept his arm in a circle, pointing at the lifeless hills around them. “Once the boy completes the code, we can make the adjustments to Excalibur. And then God’s holy sword will put an end to this suffering world and lead us all into the kingdom!”

She nodded again but kept her eyes on the horizon. Cyrus stretched his hand toward her and gently gripped her chin. Then he turned her head so he could look directly at her. “The Lord needs you to be strong, Tamara. Can you do that? Can you be strong for Him?”

“Yes, Brother!” she shouted. Her voice was as loud as a drill sergeant’s and her gray eyes flashed. “I serve the Lord! I long to see His blessed face!”

“Very good. Now let’s get back to camp.” He resumed walking down the rocky slope. “I assume everything else is going smoothly? You’ve made all the preparations for tonight’s transit?”

“Yes, we’re scheduled to depart at twenty-two-hundred hours.” Her voice was confident, but there was still a hint of anxiety in her expression. She bit her lower lip as she marched beside him. “We just received a message, though. From Keller.”

Cyrus frowned. Although Keller was one of his allies, the man wasn’t a True Believer. He was a bureaucratic underling, a money-hungry assistant in the U.S. Department of Justice. Out of necessity, Cyrus had assembled a network of paid informants in Washington. These men knew nothing of the Lord’s plans and their motives were despicable, but by selling their information to Cyrus, they unwittingly aided God’s holy cause. “What did Keller say?”

“He intercepted another e-mail about the FBI investigation of the explosion at Steele’s laboratory. Agent Parker is continuing to pursue information about Steele’s research. She put in a request to travel to Israel, and the Bureau director approved it.”

Cyrus nodded. Special Agent Lucille Parker, who’d headed the FBI task force that had done such a poor job of protecting Michael Gupta, was now apparently determined to make amends for her failure. “Well, I was expecting this, but not so soon,” he said. “I didn’t think the investigation would progress so quickly. Is Parker traveling alone to Israel?”

“No, she’s going with Michael’s guardians. She made a special request to bring along David Swift and Monique Reynolds. They’re scheduled to arrive in Israel this afternoon.”

Very interesting, Cyrus thought. Parker was obviously relying on their scientific expertise. And Swift and Reynolds could make things difficult. But it was presumptuous to think that the path of Redemption would be easy. The Scriptures had foretold a great battle. The servants of the Lord would have to fight Satan’s army before they could enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

“I have new orders for you, Tamara,” he said. “As soon as we get to camp, send an encrypted message to Nicodemus. Tell him about the visitors to the Holy Land and ask him to prepare a proper greeting.”

9

THE FBI LEARJET GOT PERMISSION TO LAND AT TEL NOF, A MILITARY AIRFIELD
in central Israel. David and Monique sat in the last row of the cabin, behind Lucille. As the plane descended toward the air base, David looked out the cabin window and saw a dozen F-16s lined up on the tarmac. Every thirty seconds, one of the fighter jets took off with a roar and joined the fleet of planes patrolling the country’s airspace. The Israeli Air Force was on high alert in response to the Iranian nuclear test. On the other side of the base, several armored vehicles were clustered around a concrete bunker. Tel Nof, David knew, was one of the sites where Israel stored its nuclear weapons. The country had its own nukes and would use them if necessary.

He shook his head. He couldn’t worry about nuclear apocalypse right now. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand. He and Monique were in Israel because they’d convinced Lucille that they could help her track down Olam ben Z’man, Jacob Steele’s secret collaborator. They had some tangible skills to offer—Monique knew the physics better than anyone, while David knew plenty of Israeli scientists through his work with Physicists for Peace. But their greatest asset was their desperation. If Lucille hadn’t agreed to bring them along, they would’ve come to Israel anyway and begun their own investigation. Michael had been missing for thirty-six hours now, with no word from his kidnappers. Neither David nor Monique could rest until they’d found him.

Unfortunately, the search stalled as soon as they arrived at Hebrew University of Jerusalem. They’d assumed from the start that Olam ben Z’man—a name that didn’t appear in any Israeli records—was a fanciful code name that one of the university’s professors had adopted. Because there was a chance that this professor had shared his secret with a colleague at the school, Lucille headed for the computer science department and began questioning the faculty members and students. David and Monique sat in on the interviews; they’d brought some respectable suits to Israel so they would look more official. Several of the interviewees laughed when Lucille mentioned the name Olam ben Z’man. But no one had heard it before.

The only other clue came from Verizon Communications, which had tracked down the phone calls that Adam Bennett had mentioned, the calls Olam ben Z’man had made to Jacob Steele’s laboratory. The records showed that these calls had indeed originated from a fiber-optic line in Israel. What’s more, the very same line had been used on other occasions to transmit millions of gigabytes of data, sometimes sending the information from Israel to the University of Maryland and sometimes carrying it in the opposite direction. But according to officials at Bezeq—the Israeli phone company—the line didn’t connect to any computer at Hebrew University. Instead, the flow of data seemed to terminate at a switching station in East Jerusalem, on the Palestinian side of the city.

By the end of the day Lucille decided to reach out for help. She called an agent she knew at Shin Bet, the Israeli equivalent of the FBI. Lucille had worked with this agent a few years before, helping him identify a Brooklyn imam who raised money for Hamas and other Palestinian terrorist groups, so he owed her a favor. First, she asked him to send one of Shin Bet’s telecommunications experts to the East Jerusalem switching station. Then she set up a meeting to talk about the search for Olam ben Z’man. Because the agent insisted on seeing no one but Lucille, she headed alone to a hummus restaurant near the Shin Bet headquarters. Before leaving, though, she asked David and Monique to go to the switching station to confer with the communications expert.