The Jungle

time, they will convert to the one true faith. Why destroy them, Abdul, when we can enfold them into Islam?”

Emboldened, Mohammad said, “That will never work.”

“At one time there was only one Muslim, the Prophet Muhammad, blessings be upon him, but from that single seed the faith spread through conversion after conversion. It is still happening today, as Arabs move into Europe and begin to make converts of the people. True, it happens mostly in prisons, but when these new Muslims are released, they tell their families of their wonderful conversions, and maybe one or two join as well. By exposing Americans to the Koran at a young age, we will accelerate the process. In fifty years America will be an Islamist state. The rest of the Western world will follow suit, mark my word. And I won’t even have to threaten them.”

Bahar placed his hands on each side of Mohammad’s face as though he were about to kiss him, and, for a moment, Abdul feared he might. “Let go of your hatred, my friend. The struggle between the Muslims and Christians has endured for more than a thousand years. So what if it takes fifty or a hundred more? We have guaranteed that our side shall be victorious.”

Abdul Mohammad knew his superior’s plan was doomed to fail for the simple reason that somehow, and not that far in the future, the Americans would figure out where they had constructed the computer and find a way to isolate it or, more likely, destroy it. Their window of opportunity was a short one, and Bahar had delusions of becoming like the Prophet himself. They should strike the U.S. now, he thought, and tear her apart at the seams. Playing games and planning for a future that would never come to pass were a waste of the only opportunity they’d ever had to conquer their sworn enemy.

He hadn’t been privy to Bahar’s plans for the quantum computer and wished they had discussed it previously. Maybe he could have changed his mind. But looking into Bahar’s eyes and seeing the spark of megalomania that lurked in their depths, Abdul knew it was too late. They were committed to his fantasy that he was to become the Madhi of Islamic prophecy, and it wasn’t in Abdul to go against his superior’s wishes.

24

THEY MET THE FOLLOWING MORNING IN THE OREGON’S sleek conference room. Juan wanted to keep the group small, so it was just him, Eric Stone, Soleil, and, because they were becoming good friends, Linda Ross. Up on the monitors Eric had the financial information pertaining to all of Roland Croissard’s recent business deals. The man had his finger in a lot of pies, and, because she was not part of his life in recent years, Soleil knew little of it.

Juan believed that whatever Bahar wanted from Roland Croissard, the deal would have happened shortly after her kidnapping, but, to be thorough, they went back six months. The material was so dry that dust seemed to fall from the plasma screens. This was work only an accountant could love, and, by the beginning of the second hour, he could tell Soleil was becoming frustrated.

“Non, I did not know my father bought into an Indian steel mill,” she said when Eric pointed out the three-million-euro deal. This happened just a day before she was abducted. “Why should I?”

“No reason,” Juan assured her. “Okay, what about this? Two days after you were taken, he sold his stake in a Brazilian appliance company. Does that mean anything to you?”

“No. Nothing.”

“And here, he leased out something called Albatross to what looks like a shell company. Eric, who or what is Hibernia Partners?”

“Hold one second. I know I went through this stuff before.” He worked his laptop for a moment. “Okay, here they are. It’s an Irish company, chartered four years ago. They were going to import salt for roads, but they never made it off the ground. Six months ago they were given a large loan through a New Hebrides bank, but the money’s never been touched.”

“That is it!” Soleil cried.

“What?”

“Salt. My father bought a salt mine before having an outside expert look at it for him. It was only after the deal was done that he called someone in. He was American, like yourselves, and when he told my father that the mine was unstable, he fired him on the spot and hired another. I never met the second one because—”

“The reason’s not important,” Juan said. “Tell us about this mine.”

“It’s in eastern France, near the Italian border and very close to a river.”

“That’s a lucky break,” Eric said. The ship was fast approaching France’s southern coast.

“The river was the problem,” Soleil went on. “He said it was dangerous. I think the term is ‘seepish.’ ”

“Seepage,” Juan corrected.

“Yes. That is what he said. Seepage. Anyway, it was the worst deal my father ever made, but he said it taught him humility. He said he would never sell it but would keep it, like an albatross around his neck, so he would never forgot. That is why he named the company Albatross, like from the poem.”

Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner was about the only poem Cabrillo knew. “ ‘Instead of the cross, the Albatross /About my neck was hung.’ ”

“My father would never even lease the mine,” Soleil added. “You wanted me to find something unusual. I think this is it.”

“Okay, let’s set this aside for now. There’s still a lot more to go through. We need to be certain.”

“Oui, mon capitaine.”

It took another hour, but in the end they circled back to the Albatross Mine. Juan had suggested that Mark Murphy dig deeper into Hibernia Partners while they worked in the boardroom, but Eric said that wouldn’t be a good idea. If the company was one of Bahar’s fronts, then hacking into its system would alert the quantum computer and give away their investigation.

Cabrillo thanked him for his foresight, not realizing how much they’d come to rely on computers until the capability vanished.

“We’re going to need schematics of the mine,” Juan said when they were all in agreement that this particular piece of property was probably what Bahar had extorted from Soleil’s father. “Can you get in touch with the inspector?”

“I haven’t spoken to him in years, but, sure. I don’t remember his phone number, but someone can look it up for me.”

Eric cleared his throat to get their attention. “I don’t want to sound paranoid, but calling from the ship would be a bad idea, and actually having Soleil place the call might not be so hot either.”

“Why?” Linda asked.

“Like Mark and I explained, this computer is everywhere at once. And we are targets already. Any communications from this ship are going to be intercepted. My fear is that it’s been told to listen for individual voice patterns.”

“Come off it, Eric,” Linda said. “There’s no way that computer can listen in to every phone conversation taking place around the globe and zero in on one single call.”

“That’s just the thing. It can. The NSA does it all the time. And Bahar’s computer has already proved itself thousands of times more powerful. It’s not called quantum for nothing. We’re facing a whole new paradigm, and we need to think and act as though our every move is being followed because, more than likely, it is.”

“What do you suggest?” Juan asked.

“We’ll put someone ashore, and they can make the call on Soleil’s behalf. We just can’t use her name, since that’s probably a flag too.”

Linda said, “But Bahar thinks she died when the Hercules sank.”

“It’s not worth the risk,” Juan countered. “Eric’s right. We need to cover our tracks completely. We’ll have Hux make the call. Bahar’s never met her, so he’d have no reason to be on the lookout for her voice. I also think that we shouldn’t pull into Monte Carlo. If our presence is reported in the area, Bahar might become suspicious.”

“Good idea,” Eric agreed. “And since we transited the Suez Canal using a fresh set of papers and ship’s name, he should have no idea we’re here. We might want to reconfigure the look of the deck in case he has the computer scanning satellite images for us. Also, while we’re at it, we should probably shut down all nonessential