generations, always in a secure place. Other identical diamond Pillars are held by the two great European houses of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha and Oldenburg. I cannot, however, vouch for the whereabouts of the remaining three.”
“Thank you,” Jack said, nodding.
The American “attache” Robertson cleared his throat. “I am authorized to disclose that the United States of America has in its possession one of the Ramesean Stones you describe: the Killing Stone of the Maya. I am also authorized to make this Stone available to any multinational effort to combat the arrival of the Dark Sun.”
Other minor pieces of information were offered, but after all was said and done, it appeared that the single greatest source of wisdom on the matter of the Machine, the Stones, and the Pillars was Professor Max T. Epper.
“We have to get Wizard back from the Chinese,” Jack said. “Mr. Robertson. It’s time for you to pay your entry fee.”
Robertson said, “Professor Epper is being held at Xintan Prison, a remote facility in the mountains of Sichuan Province in central China. He is classified as a D-class prisoner: high value but subject to vigorous interrogation.”
“You mean torture,” Pooh Bear said.
Scimitar added, “Xintan is a fortress. No man who has entered it against his will has ever left it alive.”
“That’s about to change,” West said.
Vulture backed up Scimitar. “One does not just walk into the torture wing of Xintan Prison and stroll out again. It is beyond fortified. It is impregnable.”
Robertson spoke formally: “The United States would have serious reservations about participating in any incursive act against China, especially one that would appear so aggressive. If Lieutenant Miller here were captured on Chinese soil during such a raid, it would be on the front page of every newspaper in the—”
“Then don’t come,” Stretch said from the side of the room. A veteran of the first mission, Stretch was still seriously wary of these apparently well-meaning intruders.
Jack said, “We’ll handle those logistics when we come to them. Is there anything more? Anyone else have anything to offer?”
The room was silent.
The meeting was over—
But then a hand went up, timidly, hesitantly. A little hand, in the back of the room.
Alby.
Paul Robertson turned and said, “Well, if we’re taking questions from children now, my time here is over. I have things to do.”
Jack wasn’t so dismissive. In fact, he found it quite courageous of Alby to raise his hand, given the company around him.
“What is it, Alby?”
“I think I can help you with something on Wizard’s note page,” the little boy said, signing at the same time.
“What exactly?” Jack was surprised that Alby was using sign language, since it wasn’t really necessary here.
“Here,” Alby said. “Where he says‘Titanic sinking—Dec 2007 & Titanic rising.’ It’s not a reference toTitanic, the boat. It means the sinking and rising of Saturn’s moon, Titan, behind the planet Jupiter. Titanic Sinking and Titanic Rising are terms used by astronomers to describe it. It’s pretty rare, but when Jupiter and Saturn are in alignment—which they will be until next March—it occurs twice a week.”
“And exactly when will Earth, Jupiter, and Saturn be in alignment again?” Zoe asked.
Alby shrugged. “Maybe three, four hundred years.”
Abbas coughed. “This is significant.”
“You bet it is.” Jack glanced at Alby—only to find Alby staring intently back at him, right in the eye. The boy signed:There’s also something else.
Jack nodded in understanding—later—before saying to the group: “Thank you, Alby. That’s a great contribution, and something I imagine Wizard will be able to clarify.”
Beside Alby, Lily gave her friend a proud nudge.
At that moment, two things happened: the doorbell rang and Sheik Abbas’s phone buzzed. The old sheik answered it quietly, “Yes…” while Jack went to the door.
At the door was a hotel clerk, bearing a package for Jack—a designer hatbox, of all things. On it was a card:“For Jack West. From Jamaica.”
Jack frowned as he opened the box and when he saw its contents, he froze in horror, his face draining of blood. “Oh, no. Fuzzy…”
Inside the box was a severed human head.
The severed head of his Jamaican friend, and veteran of the Capstone mission, V. J. Weatherly, call sign Fuzzy.
At exactly the same moment, Abbas frowned into his phone. “Good God. Call the hotel. Order it evacuated. Now!”
Everyone in the room spun as the old bearded sheik ended the call and looked up.
