The King of Plagues

radar.”

“So where does that leave us?” asked Toys.

“In the wind.” He went and fetched the bottle of brandy and another glass. He refilled Toys’ glass and poured himself a generous shot. “Ah … maybe I’ve been playing this game too long. My blood pressure could blow bolts out of plate steel and I haven’t taken a comfortable shit in five years.”

“Well, thanks for sharing.”

“It’s all stress. I … don’t think I want to deal with it anymore.”

“So … what? You’re going to retire to Florida and raise flamingoes?”

“Oh, fuck no. I didn’t say I was tired of the Seven Kings. I like that shit. I have stuff I haven’t tried yet.”

“And your secret identity was holding you back?”

Vox chuckled. “No—or not entirely. Mom was the biggest cockblocker in the world. Now she might not be.”

“She might escape this.”

“Yeah, she might. She’s got a lot of clever up her sleeve, too. But you have to think that you’re vulnerable before you believe that you should run from danger. She thinks she really is a frigging goddess.”

“I know. I got the speech from Apollo.”

“Who? Oh … got it.”

A wave of pain hit Toys and he bared his teeth, then in a very conversational voice said, “Ow.”

Vox reached over and pushed a button on one of the computer consoles built into the big table.

“Chang and Kuo will get you to a doctor I own in Toronto. You’ll be right as rain.”

Toys looked down at the ruin of his leg. “Sebastian enjoyed it.”

“Sebastian’s a prick,” said Vox. “He may have been a great man once, but let me tell you a secret, kiddo: I think that without you he wouldn’t have amounted to shit.”

Toys said nothing.

“Which makes me wonder what you could have accomplished given the right support and freedom of action. Gault never saw you as anything but an employee.” He shook his head. “Small thinking.”

Toys studied him for a long time. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me? What’s in it for you?”

Vox sipped his brandy. “I told you before, I haven’t been able to trust Santoro for years, and I need someone I can trust.”

“An ‘employee’?” Toys said with a wry smile.

Vox’s face was serious. “No. I can always buy more people. But you … I think you may have outgrown the point where you can be bought.”

Toys nodded and they sipped their brandy.

“I never thought I’d say this,” said Toys eventually, “but I hope Joe Ledger lives through all of this. He still has work to do.”

“For the Seven Kings,” said the American.

“For us,” said Toys.

“Sure,” said the King of Fear with a laugh. “Why not? For us.”

Interlude Forty-seven

Aboard the Delta of Venus

December 21, 6:59 P.M. EST

Eris and Gault had a dozen laptops open so they could watch all of the major network feeds. They were naked, both of them covered in welts and scratches.

“This is what I’ve been working toward since I took control of the Kings from my son.”

“You do know with Hugo on the run from the DMS you’ll eventually come under scrutiny.”

“Eris will,” she said. “But that poor woman is going to die tonight.”

Gault nuzzled her neck. “So, who is it that I just shagged cross-eyed?”

“I’m not sure. We’ll have to think up a new name. Maybe Isis. Or Hera.”

“Will you shed a tear if Hugo is caught?”

Eris laughed. “Don’t be absurd.”

“Would he shed a tear if you were caught?”

“Silly questions, lovely boy. Pay attention.”

They snuggled together and watched the screen.

The show was beginning.

Chapter Seventy-five

The Sea of Hope

December 21, 7:19 P.M. EST

The bandstand was a gorgeous confection of glittering lights, thousands of honey-sweet flowers, mirrored surfaces, and tall vertical posters that showed the faces of smiling children of all races. Healthy children, not the starving and wasted faces used in some charity advertisements. This event was all about rising above sickness and poverty. This was about the coordinated work of tens of thousands of people on six continents who shared a common belief that no child should suffer from a disease that existed only because that child’s family lived in abject poverty.

No one associated with the event, except the low-wage staff aboard the ship, was getting paid to be here. The performers even bought their own plane tickets. Many of the celebrities paid to bring friends and guests; others donated money to the charity, recorded songs or public-service announcements, and arranged to have portions of CD and DVD sales allotted to Generation Hope.

The goodwill mega-event was being broadcast all over the world. Thousands of concert venues and tens of thousands of movie theaters were simulcasting the concert. Phone banks in seventy countries were staffed to take what forecasters predicted would be a record number of donation calls. The President of the United States would speak from the tour’s end point, Rio de Janiero, as would Prince Charles and the heads of twenty other countries. Even China, a late holdout, had agreed to broadcast the concert, albeit with a ten-second delay to allow “bad messaging” to be censored.

Anderson Cooper probably put it best when he said, “This is what humanity does when we all realize we are one family.”

Rafael Santoro found it all … so vulgar.

He stood amid the thousands aboard the Sea of Hope, a PRESS badge hung around his neck, and watched as the emcee—the actor Hugh Laurie—walked onto the stage amid applause that shook the heavens.

Santoro stood with his hands in his pockets. His left hand caressed a small hypodermic with a plastic cap. The other stroked the beautifully curved handle of his knife.