“Yeah, I sorta stole one from the motel.”
“You stole a Bible?”
“Pathetic, huh?”
A slight grin. “Well, I’m sure that’s one thing you can be forgiven for.”
“Actually, that’s what I was reading about. Forgiveness.”
“Oh, and is that why you mentioned you stole it?” Amber sounded amused, and that heartened Tessa. “To transition to the topic?”
Busted.
“Um. Maybe.”
The fire flickered. Snapped. “What were you reading?”
“A story about this woman who crashed a party where Jesus was eating supper. Everyone thought she was a terrible sinner, I guess, I don’t know, a prostitute. And she was weeping on his feet and drying them with her hair.”
“I know it. That’s a powerful story.”
“So yeah, and Jesus starts talking about how those who’ve been forgiven much love much, right? But that those who haven’t been forgiven much-or don’t realize that they have-don’t end up expressing much love.”
Amber listened, watched the flames devour the wood Patrick had carried in from the shed.
“Here’s the part I don’t get. Jesus says that the woman was forgiven because she loved much. But given the context, it should’ve been the other way around-that she loved much because she’d been forgiven much, because that’s what he’d just explained.” She waited to see if Amber would comment. When she didn’t, Tessa continued, “So which comes first, forgiveness or love?”
Amber sat for a long time, and the silence unsettled Tessa.
“I’m sorry,” Tessa said. “I mean… I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, like questioning the Bible or anything, I just-”
“No, it’s okay. Maybe I just need a glass of water.” Amber’s voice sounded wavery, uncertain. “I’ll be right back.”
She rose.
And returned to the bathroom.
The USS Louisiana
International waters, Gulf of Oman
“Louisiana full stop,” Captain Reaves said, then heard the ensign echo his command.
He felt the forward momentum of the submarine change, but after twenty-two years at sea it didn’t affect his balance at all, and he stared unflinchingly at the emergency action message that had just printed out.
Though it still needed authentication by his executive officer, the EAM was properly formatted.
He studied it silently, picked up the mic. “Lieutenant Commander,” he said, “to the con.”
The reply came back through the intercom. “Aye, sir.”
The message told Reaves to move to DEFCON 1, known in the military as “cocked pistol.” Maximum readiness.
Something big was up. And he and his crew were right in the middle of it.
86
8:49 p.m.
11 minutes until the transmission
The cool air of the tunnel whipped past my face.
It was hard to calculate the cart’s speed, but I would have guessed we were moving at twenty-five, maybe thirty miles per hour, which meant that if it was five miles to the base, we should’ve arrived by now. Unfortunately, however, I didn’t see any indication that we were nearing the end of our route. Instead, all I saw was the perpetual purple-black darkness pressing in against the forward operating light’s meager beam.
It’s possible this doesn’t end at the base. It’s possible you were wrong.
No, these tracks have to lead somewhere.
As we traveled, we passed a series of cylindrical nodes buried partway into the earth, placed uniformly about thirty meters apart, all connected by a thick bundle of wires.
The extremely low frequency electromagnetic transmitters.
I reviewed what we knew-or at least what I thought we knew: we would arrive at the top level of the station. From there, a stairwell in the east corner accessed the base’s second level and another stairwell at the far end of the crew quarters led down to the command level, where the control room would be.
Weatherford had told me there were ten or eleven Eco-Tech members, but of course, it was possible there were more.
What’s their agenda? If they’re anti-nuke, why try to fire a nuclear missile? Are Cassandra and Terry just using them as pawns?
Even if SWAT or local law enforcement had arrived at the Inn the very moment we’d left it, without another cart on that end of the tunnel, they wouldn’t be able to A light.
Faint, distant, but there was definitely something ahead of us. I motioned for Lien-hua to let up on the throttle, but she must’ve noticed it as well because we were already slowing.
“What do you think, Pat?” she called.
“Take us up there. As close as you can.”
“They might hear the motor.”
“If there’re people there, they’ve heard it already.”
We closed the distance until I could see that the light was indeed coming from the upper level of the base where all eight tunnels converged. Lien-hua brought the motorized cart to a stop about twenty-five meters from the portal.
We stepped down. A steady, audible hum was coming from the long line of electromagnetic nodes.
“They’re powered on,” Lien-hua said.
Not good.
The noise wasn’t overwhelming and I doubted it would’ve masked the sound of our railcar.
Flashlights off and guns unholstered, as quickly as we dared, Lien-hua and I approached the base’s entry bay.
87
Solstice asked Donnie, “Are we ready to send the signal?”
“Yes.”
She handed him a copy of the coded message. He stared at the indecipherable sequence of numbers and letters. “What are these?”
“Deactivation codes,” she lied. “Enter them in but wait with the signal. Eight minutes. We send it at nine o’clock.”
“Why?”
Because that’s when the Louisiana is in position, she thought.
“Our agenda doesn’t concern you,” she said.
“And if I do this, Lizzie-you’ll let her go?”
“No one will lay a hand on her.”
“Tell me. Swear it!”
“I swear it to you. No harm will come to her.”
Obviously still distressed about the death of his wife, but finally compliant, he turned to the keyboard.
