Vapor (21 page)

As quietly as possible, I stole down a steep slope. I moved in a crouch, staying low to the ground.

The two guards continued to work the soil while the third one kept a casual eye on their progress. They chatted quietly amongst themselves and seemed more interested in the ever-present dust storm than their surroundings.

Aren’t they worried about the Grueler?

According to Carrie, the guards knew about the Grueler. So, why weren’t they keeping a lookout for it?

East of the guards, Beverly snaked down a winding trail. Graham, taking a separate trail, descended west of them.

I stopped at a boulder. I was about ten feet above ground. Glancing east and west, I checked on Beverly and Graham. Then I drew my pistol. “Freeze,” I called out.

The men froze in place. Slowly, their faces turned toward me.

“Place the rifle and shovels on the ground,” I commanded. “Then back up and lie down.”

The two diggers looked to the third man. His brow furrowed as he studied me. “I saw your picture a few days ago. You’re that salvage expert. How the hell are you still alive?”

“I won’t ask again. I want—”

The third man lifted his rifle. His finger squeezed the trigger. Gunfire filled the air as I ducked my head.

The other two guards dropped their shovels. They ran to the truck. One of them yanked the passenger door open. The other one reached inside and grabbed a pair of rifles.

More gunfire, largely drowned out by the wind, rang out. Peeking over the edge of the boulder, I saw a stunned look cross the third man’s face. Then he dropped the rifle and collapsed to the ground. Blood poured out from the back of his head, trickling toward the half-dug grave.

The diggers whirled around, guns in hand.

Deafening blasts erupted. Their faces froze.

Then they collapsed into heaps.

Pistols drawn, Graham and Beverly emerged from their hiding spots. While I covered them, they crossed the burial ground and checked the guards.

“Dead,” Beverly called out.

“That was loud.” Graham glanced toward the research station. “Do you think anyone heard it?”

The wind stiffened as I made my way to the ground. It cascaded against the boulders, causing pebbles and dirt to break away and clatter against each other. It ripped small branches from nearby trees and stirred fallen ones up from the soil. They whirled about, passing over and all around us.

“The wind is pretty fierce,” I said. “Hopefully, it drowned us out.”

Rocks banged against each other. Spinning around, I aimed my pistol at the boulders.

Benigno appeared. Without hesitation, he half-ran, half-slid to the ground. He sprinted to the truck and hoisted himself into the cargo bed. The sound of ripping plastic filled my ears.

Akolo ran down the hillside. He started for the cargo bed, but Carrie grabbed his shoulders. He resisted. Then she whispered a few words into his ear. He frowned. But he didn’t go any closer.

I studied the guards. Unfortunately, their uniforms were covered with blood splatter. We’d have to look elsewhere for disguises.

Twisting around, I climbed into the cargo bed. Using my machete, I sliced through several layers of plastic. A man’s face appeared. He looked old and sickly.

I moved onto the other bodies, making quick work of the plastic. The remaining bodies belonged to four women. The youngest looked to have been about twenty-five years old. The oldest woman had been pushing seventy years. Their physical attributes—height, weight, skin color, body type, and other things—differed wildly.

I cut away more plastic. I saw no wounds or abrasions. They showed no obvious symptoms or other signs of sickness.

Benigno collapsed to his knees. He lowered his head to the ground, sobbing softly.

A small lump formed in my throat. Sheathing my machete, I cast a look at Beverly. She stood nearby, her eyes focused on our eastern flank.

Dim light shone on her neck. Her hair danced in the wind. Her sweat-drenched shirt clung tightly to her body.

What would I do if something happened to her? She was everything to me. Everything and more.

Benigno took a deep breath. “I can’t believe it.”

I didn’t know what to say.

He wiped his eyes. Then he leaned back and looked at the sky. “She’s not here.” A soft chuckle escaped his throat. “She’s still alive.”

Laughing loudly, Benigno climbed out of the cargo bed. Akolo ran to him, threw his arms around him. They hugged tightly.

Benigno’s laughter proved contagious. Akolo started to laugh. Beverly smirked. Her lips quivered. Then she started to laugh as well. Graham emitted a great big belly laugh, like a drunken Santa Claus. Only Carrie, now perched in the cargo bed, didn’t crack a smile.

As I hopped to the ground, I stared at the research station. It was hard to believe we’d been on the island less than two days. It seemed more like two years.

Carrie appeared at my side. “I found Rowena.”

I exhaled. I’d nearly forgotten about Carrie’s source.

“I didn’t know her all that well,” she continued. “But she didn’t deserve to die.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet.

She took a deep breath. “I had a soft spot for Simona. Even when her people tried to kill me, I didn’t hate her. How can you hate a person that’s trying to save the world?”

I cocked my head.

“I just thought … you know, the greater good and all that.” A frown crossed her visage. “But I was wrong. I see that now.”

The greater good.

The greater good was an attractive concept. But not to everyone. Someone always paid a price. The only way the masses could have their so-called greater good was if they crawled on someone else’s back to get it.

Maybe Simona’s research station would slow climate change. Maybe it would save lives. But was it okay to kill other people just to make that a reality? Did the needs of the many truly outweigh the needs of the few? When I was part of the so-called many, it seemed like the righteous thing. But viewing it from the other side was a whole different matter.

Lila Grinberg. God’s Judges. Milt Stevens. The Pagan Nation members. Rowena. The people buried in these graves.

Were their deaths righteous?

Could righteousness ever come from evil?

“You’re a reporter, aren’t you?” I shrugged. “Write about Simona. Tell the world what she’s done here.”

“No one will believe me.”

“They might.”

“They won’t. And even if they do, no one will care. Simona will hire lobbyists and problem solvers. She’ll pay off bureaucrats and politicians. At worst, she’ll look like a flawed heroine who lost a few lives in hopes of saving the world.”

I exhaled.

“Maybe we can stop her.” Her voice was soft, hesitant.

I arched an eyebrow. “How would that work?”

She didn’t answer.

“We’ve got three guns between us. Eco-Trek has guards, guns, drones, even missiles.” I shook my head. “If it wasn’t for the reliquary, I’d be long gone by now.”

“We have to do something.”

“She’s right.” Beverly appeared at Carrie’s side. “You both are.”

I stared at her. “How do you figure that?”

“We can’t take down Eco-Trek, not by ourselves. But we can’t just forget they’re here.” She paused. “Once we’ve got the reliquary, how are you planning to leave this place?”

“I figured we’d steal a boat.”

“And then Simona will send her fleet after us. She’ll blanket us with chemtrails. She might even crash a drone into us.”

“If you’ve got a better idea, I’m listening.”

“We need to find a way to keep those drones grounded for at least twelve hours. That should give us time to reach Saipan.”

“How do we do that?”

She turned toward Carrie. “Cy told me about the geoengineering project. Is it true that Simona’s model controls the drones?”

Carrie nodded.

“Then it’s settled.” Beverly looked at me. “We’ll take down the model.”

What’s that?

I cocked my head. To the southwest, I saw something large and shiny. But between the darkness and dust, I couldn’t identify it.

I withdrew my pistol. Hunched down.

We’d made the decision to leave the vehicle at the burial ground. The blood splatter lining its side was too noticeable. Plus, not enough time had passed. Surely, the other guards would expect the three men to take at least a few hours to dig the graves.

We’d decided to stick close to the road, walking in the narrow path between the pavement and the stones. If any lookouts were watching the area, they’d focus their attention on the open ground. They’d never expect intruders to take such an obvious route.

But I couldn’t ignore the shiny object.

Veering away from the road, I passed through some leafless trees and stepped onto a patch of dead grass. My body relaxed as I caught sight of the object or rather, objects. They were the remnants of an old plane crash, one dating back to World War II from the looks of it.

I walked forward, dry grass crackling under my boots. I passed by the tail and stepped carefully over a detached wing. Then I walked past the fuselage and pulled up next to the propeller, which was partially covered with dead bushes.

The plane was a Mitsubishi A6M Zero, better known as a Japanese Zero. The Zero was a long-range fighter aircraft, flown by Japanese pilots during World War II. For a short time, its maneuverability and range had terrified the Allies.

I laid a hand on the three-blade propeller. The Zero had most likely crashed while attempting to land on the runway. Someone had come along after the fact and reassembled the pieces, laying them out as a sort of monument.

“Cy,” Beverly’s whisper nudged my earlobes. “What are you doing?”

I heard her, but only in a distant part of my brain. For a brief moment, I found myself transported back in time. The Zero was an incredible artifact from World War II. It had a history all of its own. But I knew that its history was perilous. Left in its present position, the aircraft would continue to rust. Eventually, it would succumb completely to the elements.

Beverly cleared her throat. “Cy?”

This time, her voice jarred me awake. “Yeah?”

“Come on.”

My initial instinct was to take charge of the scene. To preserve the aircraft, to keep it safe. Scholars could learn much from the Zero, from its wreckage. Still, it was a foolish notion. There were other Zeros for historians to study. Why would I put this one above the lives of my friends?

Why would you put anything above them?

I exhaled. “Okay, I—”

Scratches erupted from nearby, cutting me off. A deep hissing filled the air.

My blood froze. I whirled to the south.

Dust swirled everywhere. Then a mass appeared. It lay on the ground between two trees.

The wind shifted directions. The dust cloud cleared for a split-second and I got my first good look at the Grueler. I saw its face, its grinding jaws.

My blood ran cold. It was impossible, inconceivable. And yet, the truth stood before me.

The Grueler … it’s a machine?

Placing his hands on his armrests, Barney Samuels started to stand up. But a chilling look from the president froze him in place.

President Walters walked to the center of the room. Twisting around, he faced the Secretary of Energy. “It’s your turn, Barney.”

Samuels sat perfectly still.

President Walters studied the man. He appeared agitated. His eyes were puffy. His normally immaculate attire was creased and wrinkled. “I’m tired and pissed off. Do me a favor and start talking.”

Samuels’ eyes flitted from the president to Ed Hooper and then back again. “I don’t know where to begin.”

The president heard resignation in the man’s voice. He gritted his teeth. All along, a small part of him had hoped Hooper was wrong. But the truth now stared him directly in the face. Samuels, along with the others, had robbed the Columbus Project.

What now? Would he announce his support for Senator Gar? Or would he endure public humiliation?

“Why’d you do it?” the president asked in an angry tone.

“To fight the battle no one else would fight.” Samuels gained confidence as he spoke. “Climate change threatens to destroy this planet. Rather than sit around, we chose to do something about it.”

“What exactly did you do?”

“We spearheaded the world’s first global geoengineering project.”

The president remained quiet.

Samuels frowned. “You know?”

The president sat down. “We’ve set up interrogation rooms throughout your house. The others have been fairly open about Eco-Trek.”

Samuels stood up and walked to a wall. Folding his hands behind him, he stared at an old photo. “Over the last hundred years, the earth’s average surface temperature increased by one point four degrees Fahrenheit. More than two thirds of that warming occurred within the last thirty years. Thanks to modern science, we know it was caused by increased levels of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere.”

The president waited silently.

“Greenhouse gases absorb and emit radiation, allowing heat to be trapped near the earth’s surface,” Samuels continued. “Under ordinary circumstances, that’s a good thing. Life couldn’t exist if sunrays were earth’s only source of heat. However, with the advent of the Industrial Revolution, mankind began to burn fossil fuels and cut down forests at incredible rates of speed. Over the last few centuries, enormous amounts of carbon dioxide and methane have entered the atmosphere. Those gases keep radiation from escaping, causing temperatures to warm over time.”

President Walters decided to throw some cold water in Samuels’ face. “That’s a bad thing?” He grinned. “Warmer temperatures mean fewer pants, more skirts.”

“They also mean melting glaciers, rising sea levels, heat waves, extreme weather changes that disrupt agriculture, and ocean acidification. Suffice it to say the impact from climate change is projected to be far more negative than positive.”

Hooper shook his head. “How can a bunch of drones change the climate?”

“Have you ever heard of Mount Pinatubo?”

“Sure, it’s a volcano in the Philippines.”

“Back in 1991, it erupted, injecting seventeen million metric tons of sulfur dioxide into the stratosphere. The aerosols reacted with water, forming sulfuric acid particles. Those particles stayed in the stratosphere for three years, acting as a sort of cloud cover and reflecting sunlight back into space. As a result, global temperatures dropped by about one degree Fahrenheit.” Samuels paused. “We used money from the Columbus Project to build a small research station in the Northern Mariana Islands. Secretary Bane provided it with the military’s latest drone technology. As we speak, those drones are distributing aerosols into the upper atmosphere, essentially duplicating the effects of Mount Pinatubo.”

“Seventeen million metric tons?” The president frowned. “You’d need fleets of tankers to carry that many particles.”

“Fortunately, we have a few advantages over volcanoes, Mr. President. Eco-Trek’s scientists have developed nanomaterials, which are far more effective at solar radiation management than ordinary sulfide-based aerosols. In addition, we aren’t limited to one geographic area. We’re able to cover the entire globe and thanks to extensive modeling, we know the optimal places to deposit our aerosols.” Samuels smiled. “All told, we’re able to achieve our goals with a miniscule amount of particles. So, we make do with just a small fleet of planes.”

“Back up a second.” Hooper cocked his head. “Other governments let you fly over their borders?”

Samuels nodded. “We’ve paid bribes and twisted arms when necessary. But mostly, we’ve relied on our network for access. Mary heads up the Forestry Club. Carly runs PlanetSavers. And John is the Executive Director of the United Nations Environment Programme. Their words carry a lot of weight with people around the globe.”

The president stared at him. “This is insanity.”

“No, it’s necessity. For centuries, mankind has slowly poisoned the climate. We’ve reached the point of no return. Our only option is to stave off anthropogenic global warming as long as possible.”

“To what end?” the president asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Your little project won’t end global warming. It’s just delaying the inevitable.”

“That’s correct, Mr. President. Solar radiation management isn’t a cure. But it will treat the symptoms while you and other world leaders fight to stop the problem at its source.”

“And how do you propose I do that?”

“Emissions reductions.”

“That’s already happening. Renewable energy is getting cheaper and more effective by the day. Energy efficiency is climbing.”

“It’s good, but not nearly enough.”

Hooper shook his head. “This is crazy. You’re conducting a science experiment with the whole world at stake.”

“That’s true. Then again industrialized society has been conducting its own climate experiment for more than two centuries. We’ve been filling our atmosphere with greenhouse gases, with no thought given to whether or not it was a good idea. Unlike that experiment, this one is perfectly controlled.” Samuels looked uncomfortable. “You see, our climate model … well, it constantly updates itself, allowing us to prepare for any eventuality.”

A disturbing realization struck the president. “All the strange weather phenomena these last eighteen months … that was Eco-Trek, wasn’t it?”

It took Samuels an extra second to answer. “I’m not sure.”

The president’s eyes blazed.

“Let me explain.” Samuels nodded at the photograph on the wall. “She’s in charge of Eco-Trek.”

Hooper nodded knowingly. “Simona Wolcott.”

“That’s right. Well, Simona is a certified genius. She built the model, figured out how to get funding from the Columbus Project, and oversaw construction of the station. Now, she runs our day-to-day operations.”

The president growled. “Get to the point.”

“The weather phenomena bothered me. So, I sent a climate expert, Alan Briggs, to check on things. He called me a little while ago. He said something was wrong.”

“What?”

Samuels exhaled. “He said Simona’s model was a fake. Before you ask, I don’t have any additional details. The call, uh, ended before he could elaborate.”

President Walters glanced at the black and white photograph on the wall. Simona was a pretty woman. Her face was angular and well-shaped, not too skinny and not too fat. Her eyes were big and piercing. Her Roman nose gave her a snobbish, almost haughty appearance. Her hair was dark and cut short.

He peered closely at her unyielding, almost robotic face. He saw coldness, toughness, and complete confidence. He recognized those traits well. They were the same things he saw in his own face when he looked in the mirror.

Most people took the careful path through life. They traded in their ambitions and carnal desires in order to achieve stability and comfort. They didn’t make much of a mark in the world, good or bad.

Then there were the special ones. People like Simona. For them, a single life wasn’t nearly enough time to make their mark. They were driven to change the world, for better or for worse. They were the type of people who lifted mankind up by its bootstraps, forced it along the path to progress. But they were also the folks who pillaged continents and thrust entire civilizations into war. What category did Simona Wolcott belong to? Did she really hope to save the world from climate change?

Or was she after something else?

“Look, sir,” Samuels said. “I imagine you’re angry but—”

“Angry doesn’t begin to cut it.” President Walters felt his temperature rising. “You stole money from my administration. You stole it from the taxpayers.”

“You should be thanking me.” Samuels inhaled sharply. “You ran on a platform of reducing emissions and saving the planet. Now, we’re giving you an opportunity to do just those things.”

President Walters stood up. He walked to the door and nodded at Hooper. Hooper, in turn, nodded at a team of men waiting in the hall. They strode into the room and quickly took charge of Samuels.

The president took a moment to converse with one of the analysts. Then he twisted toward Hooper. “I need a favor.”

Hooper eyed him. “What now?”

“Our tech guys just finished with Barney’s phone. He’s been trying to reach a satphone on Pagan for the last few hours. No one answered his calls.” The president paused. “I need you to go there for me. I need you to take charge of the station.”

“You mean right now?”

The president nodded.

“I’m not a soldier.” Hooper’s eyes shifted to the now-cuffed Secretary of Defense Bert Bane. “What if they put up resistance?”

The president’s hands trembled. Deep-seated guilt filled his gut. He couldn’t escape the growing realization that the deluges, the droughts, the deaths were possibly his fault. Sure, the Separative had fired the gun. But the president had, in a way, put it into their hands.

“A Delta Force team will accompany you.”

“Why me?”

“You know the truth about Eco-Trek. And for now, the less people that know it, the better.” President Walters studied Hooper’s face, trying to read the man’s dark eyes. “Can you do this for me?”

Hooper exhaled. “How quickly can you get me there?”