He paced the hardwood floor of their suite as he talked, stopping occasionally to hydrate and stretch. When at last he had laid out all that he had gleaned from Drucker’s manuscript, the classified documents Speers had sent, and the crime scene details from Seattle, London and D.C., he noted something he hadn’t yet seen in Nico’s expression — panic.
“You okay?” Carver asked.
“How would anyone be okay after hearing all that?” Nico said. “This is epic! Who knows how high this goes? Is the Chinese premier in the Fellowship? How about the Queen of England?”
Carver straightened up. “If Drucker’s org chart is any indication, I think the answers to those questions are no and no.”
The wiry hacker stood up, using both hands to pull absentmindedly at his hair. “But you said yourself that Drucker had been exiled from the organization for several years. His org chart is out of date.”
“We can’t worry about that now. The Black Order began killing the moment the ossuary was taken from the Vatican. We have no choice but to help them find it.”
Nico’s eyes grew wide. “Help the Black Order? They’re terrorists!”
“They may be evil, but they’re not terrorists.”
“Oh come on! You said yourself that they killed a senator!”
“A terror group would have settled for any congressman. It would have also sought publicity. The Black Order’s goals appear to be very defined. For now, they exist to repossess and safeguard the ossuary. If we can return it to the Vatican, then we have a chance at restoring security.”
“I can’t believe you’re defending them.”
Carver looked Nico directly in the eyes. “Believe me, Senator Preston’s killers will be brought to justice. Leave that to me. But the Black Order could be further radicalized if we can’t find the ossuary in time.”
“In time for what?”
Carver pulled his tablet up off the table and tapped to open a document that Arunus Roth had sent him. “It’s time that I shared this with you.” He handed it to Nico, who was immediately lost in dozens of rows of financials.
“What am I looking at?”
“The old accounting books of LifeEmberz, Adrian Zhu’s company. Early on, the company began experimenting with the extraction of mitochondrial DNA from exhumed bodies, some of which were hundreds or thousands of years old, then trying to clone offspring from it using stem cells. Highly controversial, obviously. A process that they were later rumored to have perfected after the company moved its offices to China.”
“So?”
“Remember the two bodies we saw in the Rome morgue? They were Black Order operatives sent to kill Adrian Zhu.”
“Because of something in the company financials?”
“No. Just listen. Until today, I believed Zhu might be working with Sebastian Wolf, but I had nothing to go on other than the octagon found on the gunmen and a strong hunch. Then I went back over the LifeEmberz files that the government seized after the company fled the U.S. Early on, LifeEmberz received a substantial seed investment, paid in cash. The company had originally told the IRS that it had been an anonymous gift. If you’ll look at the initials on the balance sheet, however, the source is marked FWI, which they originally explained as standing for ‘From Wise Investors’. After a second look, I think we know what FWI stands for.”
“Fellowship…World…Initiative.”
Carver nodded. “There was also a matching cash withdrawal from one of the Fellowship’s accounts.”
“Wait, Wolf was behind Zhu’s research from the beginning?”
“That’s right. And when the technology was perfected, he wanted to own it. That meant making Zhu a convert.”
Nico collapsed in his chair at the realization. “He’s trying to reincarnate Christ.”
Carver took the tablet, pulled up the prophecy from Drucker’s manuscript, and read. “And when I am reborn to the world, the knowledge hoarders shall be exposed as bearers of false idols.” He looked at Nico. “Not reincarnated, Nico, but born.”
“This is crazy. It’s worse than crazy.”
“People think Scientology is crazy too, but look how many powerful people are drawn to it?” He stood, looking down at the prophecy, then to Nico. “Well, now you understand the stakes.”
“And what if we can’t find the ossuary in time?”
Carver went to the window and rested his shoulder against the frame as he looked out. “Then the Black Order will be the least of our worries.”
Somewhere Over The Northwest
The Cessna Citation X leveled off at 43,000 feet, flying at a speed just shy of Mach 1. At this rate they would be back in D.C. in less than two hours. Ellis did not feel the speed. At her request, Speers had ordered the cabin lights switched off for the duration of the trip. Her eyes were unnaturally sensitive to light. A normal symptom of the concussion, the doctor had explained as he had begged her to remain under his care for another night.
Half-circles, nearly dark as the bruises on her side and back, sat beneath her eyes. She was just as happy that Carver was still in Europe. The thought of facing him like this was humiliating. She hoped big sunglasses were in style this year, because she was going to be wearing them for at least a week.
She reached into her bag and retrieved an energy drink that she had purchased at the hospital gift shop. She could easily sleep, but she was sick of that. She wanted nothing more than to clear the cobwebs from her mind. To puzzle the pieces together.
She gingerly eased back into the cushy leather seat. The soreness wasn’t diminishing, but she was getting used to it.
“Feel like talking?” Speers asked.
“Okay,” she consented, although she could already tell that he was about to deliver some bad news.
He told her that he had sent the passports of the men who had assaulted her in Seattle to Arunus Roth, at DNI Headquarters in McLean, as well as to Blake Carver, who was following up with leads on the ground in Rome. Then he told her about Suk Kenyatta, the UN envoy who had been murdered in Geneva. He paused a moment, worrying that he had overwhelmed her with too much information.
“Nathan Drucker,” she said. It was not immediately clear to either of them why she said it.
“What about him?” Speers said patiently.
Her eyes rolled upwards, left and then right as she strained to piece the memory together. The association came to her slowly. “The name S. Kenyatta was written in one of Drucker’s notebooks. I’m sure of it.”
Speers opened his attache and began sifting through the stacks of loose notes. He couldn’t see anything. “Do you mind?” he asked, as his finger grazed over the reading light button. He had sent copies of everything to McLean and Rome, but had yet to process all the loose pieces they had gathered from Drucker’s house. Everything was happening so fast. In a perfect world, they would have weeks or months to piece together all the data points they had discovered over the past several days.
He soon found them among the stack. Six pages of hierarchies. Hand-drawn, barely legible, with entire sections scratched out. Notes and Bible verses written in the margins. And even the names, most of them, were simply surnames. Only occasionally did they contain a first initial.
Speers handed her the pages. The feel of the yellow notebook paper between her fingertips seemed to jog her memory.
“Drucker was trying to piece together a Fellowship org chart.”
Ellis began telling him what she could remember. She sputtered, losing her train of thought frequently as she remembered what had led her to board the flight for Seattle in the first place. She found the name “V Borst” on one of the pages and pointed to it. It was near the top of Drucker’s power list, near Gish and Preston.
“Okay,” Speers said. “And you thought she was in danger?”
Her thoughts drifted for a moment. She felt weightless for a moment until the sound of Speers’ voice brought her back. “No,” she said. “How could I know that? I was hoping she could tell me who might have wanted Gish and Preston dead. I was hoping she could tell us where her daughter was.”