Blasphemy

“Excellent idea, Gregory, I certainly will.”

“Kate? I’d like you at the control keyboard, typing in the questions.”

“I—” Kate hesitated.

Hazelius arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I’d rather not, Gregory.”

The intense blue eyes studied her, then turned to Ford. “You’ve got nothing else to do. Would you like to ask the questions?”

“I’ll be glad to.”

“What you ask isn’t important—just keep the malware talking. Rae’s going to need a steady output to trace this thing. Don’t get hung up asking long or complicated questions—keep them short. Kate, if Wyman falters or runs out of questions, you be ready to jump in. We can’t waste a second.”

Ford walked over to her workstation. She rose, offered him the seat. He laid a hand on her shoulder. He bent down, as if to examine the screen. “Hello,” he whispered, taking her hand and squeezing it.

“Hi.”

Kate hesitated, and then said, sotto voce, “Promise me, Wyman, that no matter what happens here— no matter what— we’re going to start over again. You and me. Promise me that . . . what happened on our ride out there on the mesa wasn’t just a one-time thing.” Her face was intensely flushed. She bent down to hide it, her black hair hanging down like a curtain.

He gave her hand a squeeze. “I promise.”

Hazelius had finished discussing various details with certain team members, and he returned to the center of the Bridge. He cast his flashing blue eyes across the group. “I’ve said it before; I’ll say it again. We’re sailing into unknown waters. I won’t kid you: what we’re about to do is dangerous. There’s no alternative: our backs are against the wall. We’re going to find this logic bomb and destroy it. Tonight.”

In the long silence that followed, the singing of the machine rose and fell.

“We’re going to be out of touch with the outside world for a few hours,” he said. His fierce eye ranged about the room. “Any questions?”

“Um, I do.” Julie Thibodeaux responded. Her face was slick with sweat, and the dark circles under her eyes seemed almost translucent. Her hair was long and stringy. It shook as she moved.

Hazelius gazed at her. “Yes?”

“I—” She faltered.

Hazelius arched his eyebrows, waiting. She pushed her chair back suddenly and rose. The rollers snagged on the carpet, causing her to stumble. “This is insane,” she said, her voice loud. “We’ve got a warm magnet, an unstable computer, malware— and now we’re going to pump a few hundred megawatts of power into the machine? You’re going to blow the shit out of this whole mountain. You can count me out.”

Hazelius’s glance flickered briefly toward Wardlaw, then back to Thibodeaux.

“I’m afraid it’s too late, Julie.”

“What do you mean, too late?” she yelled. “I’m out of here.”

“The Bunker doors are closed, locked, and sealed. You know the drill.”

“Bullshit. Ford just came in.”

“By previous arrangement. Now, no one can leave until dawn. Not even me. It’s part of the security arrangement.”

“Bullcrap. What if there were a fire, an accident?” She stood defiantly, her body quivering.

“The only person with the security codes who can open the door before dawn is Tony. It’s his decision as SIO. Tony?”

“No one can leave,” said Wardlaw stolidly.

“I refuse to accept that answer,” she said, her voice rising in panic.

“I’m afraid you must,” said Hazelius.

“Tony. I want out, now, goddamn you.” Her voice rode up toward the edge of a scream.

“I’m sorry,” Wardlaw said.

She rushed at him, all five feet three inches of her. He let her come on. She raised her fists and he caught them neatly as she flung herself on him.

“Let me go, you bastard!” She twisted and turned helplessly.

“Easy, now.”

“I’m not going to die for some machine!” She slumped against him and began to sob.

Ford looked on incredulously. “If she wants out, let her out.”

Wardlaw gave him a hostile stare. “It’s against protocol.”

“She’s no security risk. Look at her—she’s falling apart.”

“The rules are there for a reason,” said Wardlaw. “No one leaves Isabella during a run except in the case of a life-threatening emergency.”

Ford turned to Hazelius. “This isn’t right.” He looked around. “Surely the rest of you agree.” But instead of agreement, he saw uncertainty. Fear. “You can’t keep her here against her will.”

Until now he hadn’t realized how much they had fallen under Hazelius’s spell. “Kate?” He turned to her. “You know this is wrong.”

“Wyman, we all signed on to the rules. Even her.”

Hazelius walked over to Thibodeaux and nodded to Wardlaw. The SIO released her into Hazelius’s arms. She tried to break free but he held her, firmly but gently. Her sobs began to subside to whimpers and gulps. He cradled her gently, almost lovingly. She leaned into his chest, crying softly, like a little girl. Hazelius patted and stroked the back of her head and brushed away her tears with a thumb, all the while murmuring into her ear. A few minutes passed and she calmed down.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He patted her, smoothing her hair, running his hands sensually over her plump back. “We need you, Julie. I need you. We can’t do it without you. You know that.”

She nodded, sniffed. “I lost it. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

He held her until she was quiet. When he released her, she stepped back, eyes on the floor.

“Julie, stay here with me. You’ll be safe—I promise.”

She nodded again.

Ford stared after her in amazement, until he noticed Hazelius looking at him with a sad, kind face. “Are we all right now, Wyman?”

Ford met the blue eyes and would not speak.

42

IN HIS TRAILER, PASTOR RUSS EDDY sat in front of the twenty-inch screen on his iMac. The live Webcast of Roundtable America had just ended. Eddy’s brain was afire, his soul burning, the words of Reverend Spates still reverberating in his mind. He, Russell Eddy, was the “devout Christian on-site” who had exposed the Isabella project. “A pastor just like me,” Reverend Spates had said to millions. It was Eddy who had gathered the critical information at great personal risk, guided by the invisible hand of the Lord. These were not normal times. The righteous wrath of the Lord, with all its immense power, was surely coming. Not even the rocks would hide the pagan scientists from the vengeance of the Almighty Lord.

Eddy sat before the quiet blue screen, his mind reeling with the glory of God. The grand design was starting to show its outlines. God’s plan for him. It all started with the death of the Indian, struck down by God’s own hand, a direct sign to Eddy of His coming fury. The end was upon them. “For the great day of His wrath has come, and who shall be able to stand?”

Slowly, Eddy’s consciousness drifted back to the trailer. It was so quiet in the shabby bedroom—as if nothing had happened at all. Yet the world had changed. God’s plan for him stood revealed. But what was the next step? What did God intend him to do?

A sign . . . he needed a sign. He clasped his Bible, his hands trembling with emotion. God would show him what to do.

He laid the book spine down and let it fall open where it would. The well-worn pages whiffled past until almost the end, where they settled flat, open to the book of Revelation. His eye fell randomly on a sentence: