world like an endless parade of Sorceror's Apprentice enchanted brooms — finally devouring the Earth and everything on it.
Jon Smith shrugged his shoulders. You could not match wild hyperbole with anything but tangible results. Once most people got a good close look at the honest-to-God benefits of nanotechnology, their irrational fears should begin to subside. Or so he hoped. He spun sharply on his heel and strode toward the Institute's main entrance, eager to see what new wonders the men and women inside had cooked up overnight.
Two hundred meters outside the chain-link fence, Malachi Mac-Namara sat cross-legged on a colorful Indian blanket laid out in the shade of a juniper tree. His pale blue eyes were open, but he sat calmly, without moving. The Lazarus Movement followers camped close by were convinced that the lean, weather-beaten Canadian was meditating — restoring his mental and physical energies for the crucial struggle ahead. The retired Forest Service biologist from British Columbia had already won their admiration by forcefully demanding “immediate action” to achieve the Movement's goals.
“The Earth is dying,” he told them grimly. “She is drowning, crushed beneath a deluge of toxic pesticides and pollution. Science will not save her. Technology will not save her. They are her enemies, the true source of horror and contagion. And we must act against them. Now. Not later. Now! While there is still time…”
MacNamara hid a small smile, remembering the sight of the glowing faces fired by his rhetoric. He had more talent as an orator or an evangelist than he ever would have imagined.
He observed the activity around him. He had carefully chosen this vantage point. It overlooked the large green canvas tent set up as a command center by the Lazarus Movement. A dozen of its top national and international activists were busy inside that tent — manning computers linked to its worldwide Web sites, registering new arrivals, making banners and signs, and coordinating plans for the upcoming rally. Other groups in the TechStock coalition, the Sierra Club, Earth First! and the like, had their own headquarters scattered throughout the sprawling camp, but MacNamara knew he was in precisely the right place at precisely the right time.
The Movement was the real force behind this protest. The other environmental and anti-technology organizations were only along for the ride, trying desperately to stem a steady decline in their numbers and influence. More and more of their most committed members were abandoning them to join Lazarus, drawn by the clarity of the Movement's vision and by its courage in confronting the world's most powerful corporations and governments. Even the recent slaughter of its followers in Zimbabwe was acting as a rallying cry for Lazarus. Pictures of the massacre at Kusasa were being offered as proof of just how much the “global corporate rulers” and their puppet governments feared the Movement and its message.
The craggy-faced Canadian sat up just a bit straighten
Several tough-looking young men were heading toward the drab green tent, making their way purposefully through the milling crowds. Each carried a long duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Each moved with the wary grace of a predator.
One by one, they arrived at the tent and ducked inside.
“Well, well, well,” Malachi MacNamara murmured to himself. His pale eyes gleamed. “How very interesting.”
Chapter Two
The elegant eighteenth-century clock along one curved wall of the Oval Office softly chimed twelve o'clock noon. Outside, ice-cold rain fell in sheets from a dark gray sky, spattering against the tall windows overlooking the South Lawn. Whatever the calendar said, the first portents of winter were closing in on the nation's capital.
Overhead lights glinted off President Samuel Adams Castilla's titanium-frame reading glasses as he paged through the top-secret Joint Intelligence Threat Assessment he had just been handed. His face darkened. He looked across the big ranch-style pine table that served him as a desk. His voice was dangerously calm. “Let me make sure I understand you gentlemen correctly. Are you seriously proposing that I cancel my speech at the Teller Institute? Just three days before I'm scheduled to deliver it?”
“That is correct, Mr. President. To put it bluntly, the risks involved in your Santa Fe trip are unacceptably high,” David Hanson, the newly confirmed Director of Central Intelligence, said coolly. He was echoed a moment later by Robert Zeller, the acting director of the FBI.
Castilla eyed both men briefly, but he kept his attention focused on Hanson. The head of the CIA was the tougher and more formidable of the pair — despite the fact that he looked more like a bantam-weight mild- mannered college professor from the 1950s, complete with the obligatory bow tie, than he did a fire-breathing advocate of clandestine action and special operations.
Although his counterpart, the FBI's Bob Zeller, was a decent man, he was way out of his depth in Washington's sea of swirling political intrigue. Tall and broad-shouldered, Zeller looked good on television, but he should never have been moved up from his post as the senior U.S. attorney in Atlanta. Not even on a temporary basis while the White House staff looked for a permanent replacement. At least the ex-Navy linebacker and longtime federal prosecutor knew his own weaknesses. He mostly kept his mouth shut in meetings and usually wound up backing whoever he thought carried the most clout.
Hanson was a completely different case. If anything, the Agency veteran was too adept at playing power politics. During his long tenure as chief of the CIA's Operations Directorate, he had built a firm base of support among the members of the House and Senate intelligence committees. A great many influential congressmen and senators believed that David Hanson walked on water. That gave him a lot of maneuvering room, even room to buck the president who had just promoted him to run the whole CIA.
Castilla tapped the Threat Assessment with one blunt forefinger. “I see a whole lot of speculation in this document. What I do not see are hard facts.” He read one sentence aloud. “ 'Communications intercepts of a nonspecific but significant nature indicate that radical elements among the demonstrators at Santa Fe may be planning violent action — either against the Teller Institute or against the president himself.'”
He took off his reading glasses and looked up. “Care to put that in plain English, David?”
“We're picking up increased chatter, both over the Internet and in monitored phone conversations. A number of troubling phrases crop up again and again, all in reference to the planned rally. There's constant talk about 'the big event' or 'the action at Teller,'” the CIA chief said. “My people have heard it overseas. So has the NSA. And the FBI is picking up the same undercurrents here at home. Correct, Bob?”
Zeller nodded gravely.
“That's what has your analysts in such a lather?” Castilla shook his head, plainly unimpressed. “People e- mailing each other about a political protest?” He snorted. “Good God, any rally that might draw thirty or forty thousand people all the way out to Santa Fe is a pretty damned big event! New Mexico is my home turf and I doubt half that many ever showed up for any speech I ever made.”
“When members of the Sierra Club or the Wilderness Federation talk that way, I don't worry,” Hanson told him softly. “But even the simplest words can have very different meanings when they are used by certain dangerous groups and individuals. Deadly meanings.”
“You're talking about these so-called 'radical elements'?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And just who are these dangerous folks?”
“Most are allied in one way or another with the Lazarus Movement, Mr. President,” Hanson said carefully.
Castilla frowned. “This is an old, old song of yours, David.”
The other man shrugged. “I'm aware of that, sir. But the truth doesn't become any less true just because it's unpalatable. When viewed as a whole, our recent intelligence on the Lazarus Movement is extremely alarming. The Movement is metastasizing and what was once a relatively peaceful political and environmental alliance is rapidly altering itself into something far more secretive, dangerous, and deadly.” He looked across firmed Director of Central Intelligence, said coolly. He was echoed a moment later by Robert Zeller, the acting director of the FBI.
