The King of Plagues

this.”

Childe looked at me. “After what just happened? Are you in any condition?”

It was a fair question. I’d fled to Europe because I didn’t think I was in any condition to be part of this sort of thing. Or at least that’s what I thought. Somehow the war always seems to find me.

“My vacation’s over, Benson,” I said. I clicked my tongue and Ghost instantly returned from whatever dark dreams were troubling him and was at my side. I bent and stroked his head.

Childe stood and offered his hand. “Stay safe.”

I laughed, but I shook his hand.

We went outside into the cold. We were both hypervigilant, and though we saw nothing else the rest of the day, I could feel the eyes of the Seven Kings on me wherever I went.

Interlude Ten

T-Town, Mount Baker, Washington State

Three Months Before the London Event

Circe O’Tree perched on the edge of her chair and tried not to chew her lip as Hugo Vox read through the most recent version of what had come to be known as the “Goddess Report.” Two or three times per page he reached into a ceramic bowl and took a handful of Gummi worms. He chewed steadily and noisily as he read, and except for the sound of shouts and gunfire from the counterterrorism range outside the room was quiet. The second hand on the Stars and Stripes clock on the wall seemed to crawl.

When he finished the last page he looked up expectantly. “This is incomplete. You got a lot of data here, kiddo, but I don’t see any conclusions.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Hugo. I don’t know where to go with it. I just know that it’s bad and it’s getting worse.”

He nibbled a Gummi worm and said nothing.

Circe took a breath and plunged in. “Ever since I started this I’ve been making connections and tracking patterns. The Goddess, the Elders of Zion, the covert and overt suggestions for violence … there’s a lot of stuff here. The more the Goddess posts, the more the other Internet extremists pick up on it and repeat her comments, add to them, discuss them in chat rooms and on message boards. People are blogging about it, writing essays and magazine articles about it. Not just conspiracy theorists and shock journalists, either. And … it’s spilling over into the real world.”

She laid a copy of The Grapevine on his desk. The picture showed the fiery aftermath of a Pakistani mosque being destroyed by a bomb in a parcel that had been delivered a few minutes before prayers. Forty-three dead, eighty wounded. The headline read: ISRAEL STRIKES BACK.

Vox picked up the newspaper and sneered. “This is a rag. This is the same paper that printed Pat Robertson’s comment that 9/11 was God showing displeasure at gays.” He tossed it down on the desk. “I wouldn’t wipe my ass with it.”

She reached into her briefcase and brought out a stack of other newspapers and began stacking them on his desk one by one. USA Today, the Arizona Republic, the Chicago Tribune, the San Jose Mercury, and The Fresno Bee.

“Balls,” he said.

“Every major newspaper has reported incidents that could be interpreted as hate crimes.”

“Most of these papers retread each other’s—”

She lifted a shopping bag that was filled with newspapers. “Bahrain Post, Gulf Daily News, Cyprus Mail, Al-Ahram Weekly, Tehran Globe … I could go on and on, Hugo. Want me to get the rest from my office?”

“Okay, okay, Circe, but we have to look beyond the reportage. Have you established for certain that these crimes are related to the Goddess posts?”

“I don’t know if it’s even possible to prove that, but look at the timing.” She unfolded a flowchart and spread it over the mountain range of papers. “See? The red line marks the first of the anti-Islam posts and here’s the first of the Protocols of Zion posts. Now look at the blue line. Those are incidents of hate crimes. Look at the spikes.”

“These are all hate crimes against Muslims?”

“No. Some are against Jews.”

“By Muslims?”

“Not always. Some are from anti-Semitic and anti-Zionist groups composed of Christians and others, but —”

“So, we’re seeing hate crimes go up, but they’re not all specific to the message of the Goddess?”

“No, but—”

“This is supposition, Circe. I can surf the Net and build a case that the widespread popularity of Hello Kitty was responsible for the fall of the Nixon presidency.” When she looked blank, he gave her a Cheshire cat grin. “Hello Kitty hit the U.S. in 1974, same year as Watergate. I bet I could do a flowchart and probably make a good enough case to get a book deal out of it.”

“How do you know this stuff?”

He grinned and tapped his head. “I am filled with useless trivia. I’d clean the hell up on Jeopardy! Point is, kiddo, this data is interesting, but it still doesn’t make your case.”

“That’s the thing, Hugo; with the Net it’s almost impossible to collect hard, verifiable evidence. That’s why groups like the Goddess use it.”

“Say that’s true, so how do we separate that out and give it more credence than the ten billion other equally well-documented conspiracy theories, lies, exaggerations, wishful thinking, and pure bullshit that comprise the World Wide goddamn Web?”

Circe sagged. “What are you saying, that we ignore it?”

Vox looked genuinely surprised. “Hell no! I really think you’re on to something here, kiddo, but we’re talking about making a case to the lunkheads in Washington who have an ironclad record for ignoring good leads and following bad ones.”

“The DMS is different,” she said.

“Sure, and if we take this to the DMS and we’re wrong, D.C. will fry us. No one is supposed to bring anything to them unless it’s verified to the highest possible probability, and right now that isn’t how we can label this. Personal belief alone doesn’t cut it.” He took a breath. “In the meantime, what’s your next step?”

She was momentarily flustered, then steadied herself with a breath. “I created a few e-mail accounts with goddess names and have posted responses phrased to coax a more definitive statement, but most of the posters are clearly not core to this. Unfortunately, I haven’t yet gotten any responses that I can say are clearly from someone in the know.”

“If someone even is in the know.”

“If,” she agreed reluctantly. “But I believe that the Goddess is real, and I believe that the group she represents poses a real threat.”

“I hear you, but until we have facts we can’t build a case for it being a clear and present—and therefore actionable—danger.” He tossed the report onto the desk. “What do you suppose their motive is?”

“I don’t know. ‘Chaos’ doesn’t seem to be a profitable goal.”

“I guess not.” He tapped the report with a half-eaten Gummi worm. “You know, ever since you brought this to me I’ve been back and forth with the State Department, the FBI and CIA, and the Israelis. None of them think that this is coming from Israel. I mean, beyond the tension that’s been going on since—oh, I don’t know, Moses parted the fucking Red Sea, there isn’t anyone in Israel who thinks Jews are involved in this at all.”