“All right, John,” Cathy said. “Here we are. Why are you here?”
Will reached into his pocket and pulled out two cards, each printed with a long string of numbers. He reached across the coffeetable and handed one to each Lady. They looked them over, then back up to Will, both mildly confused.
“What are these?” Becky asked.
“Numbered accounts, at South Cayman National Bank. You each have one set up in your name. Five million dollars apiece.”
In unison, the women’s heads snapped back up to look at Will, their eyes wide.
“What the hell for?” Becky said. “You’re already paying us.”
Will nodded.
“The Oracle reads the security reports you send up. We know the sort of people who are trying to get access to the Site. Governments,big corporations. And they haven’t gotten in. We’re still safe. You’re both doing an incredible job, and you’ve earned this.Merry Christmas.”
“I’m Jewish. But I’ll take it,” Becky said, staring at the card in her hand.
Cathy stood up, laying her card on the coffee table. She walked to the bar and started mixing another drink.
“Olive or twist, John?” she asked.
Will sighed.
“Twist,” he said.
A moment later, she returned holding a vodka martini, filled to the brim, with a bright yellow curl of lemon peel moving lazilyin its depths as Cathy walked. She handed it to Will.
“And so,” she said, holding up her glass.
They clinked glasses, and Will tasted his drink. It was ice-cold, smooth, and incredibly strong. The first taste went downwell enough, and it wasn’t as if martinis tended to get less enjoyable.
“I’m not complaining, Johnny, but was that the only reason you came down here? I mean, you could have told us over the phone.”
Will took another sip. Delicious.
“How many times in your life do you get to give someone five million bucks?” he said. “That’s an in-person sort of job. Iwanted to see your faces.”
He set his glass down on the coffee table.
“But there is something else. This whole thing, the Oracle, the Site”—Will took a breath, feeling lighter even just for sayingthe words—“it’s almost done. I wanted to discuss the logistics in person. Will we have any trouble shutting the Site downwhen we need to?”
Becky and Cathy exchanged a glance.
“No,” Cathy said. “It’s simple. You can pull it off-line any time you want, and you’ve got the codes to run the deletion programI wrote for you. Once that runs, the e-mail system stops cold, and that’s the only hard point of contact. Even if that somehowgot tracked down, there’s still no way to trace it back to you, unless you somehow happened to be physically there when thebad guys found it.”
“Not likely,” Will said. “The Oracle doesn’t need it anymore. So no trail? Nothing at all?”
“None, just like you asked for. No way to trace it back to your people, assuming the Oracle’s been following the rules. Everythinganonymous, random access points, all that?”
“Absolutely,” Will said.
“So, John,” Becky said, “unlike Cathy during her college days, looks like you’re impenetrable.”
Becky grinned and looked over at her partner, who shrugged and lifted her glass to her lips.
“Yeah, well,” Cathy said.
Becky turned back to Will, her smile fading a bit.
“Can I ask why you’re planning to shut things down? Is the Oracle going to . . . is something going to happen?”
Will looked at the Florida Ladies. They’d both tensed when Becky asked her question. Everything the Oracle had done for them,and they were still frightened of him.
“Nothing’s going to happen,” he said. “It’s just time to end it.”
“And when it’s done, we get the prediction? The one the Oracle promised to give us?”
“Absolutely. The moment the Site’s off-line, it’s all yours.”
The Ladies relaxed, evidently reassured. Will lifted his martini, draining the glass. He stood up.
“Just one, Johnny? Come on. Stay awhile,” Becky said.
“Thanks, but I need to get back. Early flight tomorrow. I’ll just walk along the beach, clear my head before I head back toFort Myers.”
Will stood and left the house, after a quick hug from Becky Shubman and an escort to the door plus a quick nod from Cathy.
He stood on the path leading from the house to his car and took a deep breath, smelling—almost tasting—the dense, saturatedscent of sea salt and green things. Of life.
Chapter 15
“We are at war, my friends,” Hosiah Branson said, “but we are fortunate. Our armies are billions strong.”
He reached into the breast pocket of his suitcoat, pulled out a clean white handkerchief, and mopped his forehead. He wassweating like a hog.
Branson sat in a leather chair at the head of the long, polished mahogany conference table that took up most of the boardroom.He had expected some tension to erupt in connection with the seating arrangements, but the holy men had taken their place-card-markedchairs with a minimum of discussion. That was good—he had put the Pakistani Sunni cleric as far from both the Hindu priestand the Iranian Shiite as he could, who themselves needed to be at opposite ends of the table, with the placement of RabbiLaufer yet another complicating factor. But perhaps he had overthought the issue. For this one day, at least, differencesseemed to have been put aside.
Translators and assistants stood behind each chair, ready to provide whatever services their masters might require. Severaltelevisions on wheeled stands sat at the opposite end of the table. On their screens, heads and shoulders of an additionalfew religious leaders who had been unable or unwilling to make the journey to Dubai watched through a videoconference link.
The holy men looked expectantly at Branson, waiting for him to continue.
Hosiah took a moment to relish his accomplishment at gathering these men together, then cleared his throat and spoke.
“My friends, thank you for coming today. This is a historic moment, with leaders from so many of the world’s great faithsgathered in one room. Such an event has not happened within my lifetime—unless, of course, I simply wasn’t invited.”
The translators finished. A smattering of laughter,
