power. It has to be here.”
“We can’t take it with us-you can see what it did to them. Damned thing is radioactive.”
They were downcast, looking at each other as if hoping that one of their faces might hold an answer.
Snow Goose spoke quietly. “I hate to suggest it, because it is a totem of such power. But if it cannot be used safely-”
“I’d say not,” Yarnall reiterated. “Look how sick the Cabal are. Nothing but magic is holding those bastards together.”
She nodded. “Then it must be found, and destroyed.”
“Destroyed,” Charlene said. “How?”
“That’s a good question. Daddy never said anything about this.”
“Maybe we could get it out of their reach,” Charlene offered.
“Bury it under a glacier, or in the sea, or maybe give it to one of those land whales.”
“I think one of them is a land whale,” Orson said.
“Blow it up,” Yarnall said. “Oliver’s got those flare grenades-”
Johnny Welsh shook his head. “Not enough, I’d think.” Orson had been staring into the wall. “Listen, people,” he said, voice dreamy. “These magical objects are like storage batteries-the further they travel, the more magic they hold, right?”
“Yeah… ” Johnny Welsh’s mobile face was twisted with concentration, as he strove to second-guess Orson.
Orson rubbed his hands together, warming to his theme. “What if the ‘storage battery’ metaphor holds true in more ways than one? Couldn’t we rig some kind of forced discharge? I mean, or short-circuit them… ”
“Got it,” Max said. “Snow Goose, if we gathered all of the Falling Angel wire into one place, all of the backpacks and tents, dumped them on the satellite wreckage, do you think you could cook up a spell that would drain it?”
Snow Goose thought for a moment. “Wait,” she said. “I need to meditate about this.”
She closed her eyes, and pressed her hands against her ears, chanting softly.
Eviane felt the excitement. It was a terrific idea. Executed properly, it could destroy the power that the Cabal had used to bind the Raven, throwing the whole situation into a new ball game.
Done wrong, of course, it could kill them all. She could not foresee the result… and that was the best part. What she could foresee from the choices she knew, was blood and ice and universal death.
She could hear all of the breathing in the confined space as if it was her own. Finally Snow Goose opened her eyes. “All right,” she said. “We can do it.”
They would have hooted or hollered or something, but the nasties that haunted the island would have heard them, and come for lunch. So they just formed a circle and hugged each other, and began to lay their plans.
Chapter Thirty-One
The multitowered rise of San Diego’s EnCom Plaza was a billion-dollar paean to the ego and accomplishments of one man:
Kareem Fekesh.
Alex Griffin shielded his eyes as he emerged from the tube station. Although only an eighteen-minute ride from Dream Park (including tube transfer) the tubes had been relatively quiet, and dark. Alex had closed his eyes, trying to keep the tension at a dull roar.
Understandable, considering what was sitting in his lap, and what he had to attempt.
The sidewalks buzzed with activity, and in the midst of it he felt slightly uncomfortable.
How long had it been since he ventured outside the environs of Cowles Industries? With all of the resorts, shopping malls, entertainment complexes, and health services, he actually hadn’t needed to leave the corporate environment for…
Over a year?
Astonishing, now that he actually thought of it. Closer to two years, maybe.
The executive jets, the tubes, the vacations in Aspen and fishing in Bermuda… All of these things had been owned, controlled, designed by Cowles Industries, if not outright owned and maintained for the use of the executive staff. A totally self-contained world.
Alex was suddenly, painfully aware of how vulnerable he felt. There was no nod of recognition from the hundreds and thousands of people passing him on the street. The street sounds were foreign to him-there were still internal-combustion engines in San Diego, albeit small, efficient ones. He could smell it in the air.
It was new, and in a way exciting. He ran up the dozen steps to the Glass Tower, the tallest and most prominent building in EnCom Plaza, rising above the others like a giant standing on stilts.
He ran up those steps, a tall, redheaded man, lean in his three-piece suit, extremely fit, and alert. Perhaps the nervousness didn’t show. Perhaps.
The guard at the front door stopped him-him! — and asked his business.
The guard was portly, with dark skin that didn’t seem to be any protection from the sun. His skin was peeling badly on the tip of his nose, and on his neck. Alex handed him the coded card Fekesh’s secretary had sent via courier.
Oh, very well, Mr. Griffin. If you insist that your business is that important, and that personal, I suppose Mr. Fekesh could squeeze you in for five minutes tomorrow.
Mighty white of her.
Arriving in EnCom Plaza now, Griffin could begin to believe that the man was actually as busy as that.
The guard grudgingly took the card and entered it in a computer slot, read the results. He had a more respectful look when he returned to the door. Not much, but an improvement.
“One moment, sir.”
Alex stepped back as a door hummed open for him, and stepped into a shielded pocket between two three- inch-thick slabs of plastiglass.
He felt an initial humming, and then nothing for several seconds, although the skin on his forearms tingled.
Probably just nerves. Right.
The inner door slid open.
Alex watched everything. The guard clipped a card on his pocket, and said “Penthouse” unnecessarily, pointing toward an elevator.
Alex had seen the plans for the building-there were six elevators visible, and two hidden: Executive and Freight.
The door hissed shut behind him.
He didn’t find it easy to violate the ageless ritual of watching the numbers change on the digital display. It took effort to observe his surroundings. Typical elevator cubicle. Five feet deep, four wide. Seven feet high. Moved soundlessly. The walls seemed made out of burnished copper, but were smoother to the touch; they felt like some kind of plastic. Had the elevator started moving yet?
The door opened soundlessly.
Griffin found himself in a suite of luxury offices. The entire floor seemed to be walled in glass, partitioned off with wood. It made for an interesting mixture, somehow elemental: earth and sky mingled together.
A beautiful brunette at the front desk rose and extended her hand in greeting. “Mr. Griffin, of course. Mr. Fekesh is expecting you.”
I’ll just bet he is. “Thank you. May I go in?”
“In a moment. May I get you something?” The ritual question. Coffee. “Club soda, if you have it.”
She laughed musically. “In twenty-six flavors.”
“Lemon, then.”
