Nearly 28 percent of the world’s energy is consumed by Americans, who subsequently refuse to pay a fair climate debt to the rest of the world, while 30 percent of the people on the planet have no access to clean water, let alone electricity, medical care, or adequate housing. More than 79 percent of the world’s population lives on less than $10 a day; 1.4 billion people are forced to survive on less than $1.25 a day. All this, while Americans complain that there isn’t enough whipped cream on their mochas or enough leg room in their SUVs.
As philosopher Peter Kreeft wrote, and Allighiero had long ago memorized in the original English, “Anyone whose common sense has not been dulled by familiarity should be able to see the blindingly obvious truth that there is something radically wrong with a civilization in which millions devote their lives to pointless luxuries that do not even make them happy, while millions of others are starving; a civilization where no hand, voluntary or involuntary, moves money from luxury yachts to starving babies fast enough to save the babies.”
A world of people pursuing yachts and ignoring the babies.
The fruit of corporate greed and imperialism run wild.
And perhaps most disturbing of alclass="underline" the proliferation of nuclear weapons that would eventually and inevitably fall into the wrong hands and create an unprecedented environmental catastrophe that would exacerbate the effects of global climate change and potentially wipe out billions of earth’s creatures-humans and other precious species alike.
Allighiero followed his escort toward the galley. Maneuvering the cart of cleaning supplies through the narrow corridors was not easy, but he had been doing this for two years and managed with little trouble.
He palmed the USB memory stick.
Today he would help clean each of the eight heads on the submarine. But now on the way to the first one he would pass through the galley.
Which was where he was going to place the device.
Allighiero’s task was simple-just insert a USB 3.0 jump drive into the back of the computer in the galley, a place no one would ever notice, would never even think to check for foreign devices. He had not been told exactly what the software he was uploading would do, but he knew that the drive contained some type of code that would spread through the sub to help accomplish Eco-Tech’s goal of disabling the submarine’s capability of firing its nuclear warheads.
He was a small cog in a much bigger plan. He knew that as well, but he had a part to play and he was going to play it.
When the world saw what a small group of environmentalists could do-the annihilation they could have caused if they’d had another agenda-the governments of the world would see the dangers of nuclear weapons for what they truly were, with eyes unclouded by political agendas and posturing.
Turning the tide of history would begin by first turning the tide of public sentiment.
A move toward peace.
A move toward a nuke-free world.
While his escort was distracted for a moment unlocking a door in front of them, Allighiero slid the device into the back of the computer console on the galley counter.
And just that quickly, his job was done.
In a little over fourteen hours and thirty minutes the world would wake up once and for all to the dangers of inadequately secured ballistic missiles.
47
The Moonbeam Motel
Woodborough, Wisconsin
8:38 a.m. Central Standard Time
I slept through my alarm, and even though I knew I probably needed the rest, I was still annoyed at myself for not rising earlier.
When I finally did climb out of bed, I found that, despite the alternating hot and cold baths last night, my ankle was still swollen. Still stiff. Still sore. Maybe even more so than when I’d gone to bed. And I was exhausted, my experience at the river still taking a huge toll on me.
I didn’t like the idea of using crutches, so after downing some Advil I showered and got dressed, choosing boots rather than shoes to add needed support to my ankle. I decided I would tape the ankle as soon as I could get my hands on some athletic tape, or even a roll of duct tape.
Before heading to the 9:00 briefing in the lobby, I wrote a note of condolence for Mia Ellory, the deceased deputy’s wife. Finding the right words wasn’t easy, and email wasn’t ideal, but it was something. It was a start. After a few online searches I had her email address. I typed it in and, though praying doesn’t come easily to me, I offered one up for her recovery from grief.
Pressed send.
My thoughts cycled back to last night. To Lien-hua. To Amber.
What a mess.
But there were more important matters at hand than my relational issues.
(1) Trying to establish whether Donnie Pickron and the driver of the semitrailer, Bobby Clarke, were alive or dead.
(2) Finding Alexei Chekov.
(3) Visiting the site of the old ELF station.
I grabbed my laptop and was about to head to the meeting when I noticed a folded sheet of paper lying near the base of the door. My name was written on the top in Amber’s handwriting.
I picked it up, considered whether or not to unfold it, then a little reluctantly, I did.
And read: Pat, I’m so sorry about last night. I hope it doesn’t hurt things between you and Lynn-wua. (I hope I spelled that right.) The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you. I won’t bring any of this up again, but I needed you to know that I’m leaving Sean. That’s what I came to tell you last night, to see if you could help me find the best way to tell him. Now I see what a bad idea it was. I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused. -A
I stood there stunned.
She’s leaving Sean?
Though my brother and I had never talked about it, I was pretty sure he loved Amber and was committed to her, just like he’d been to his first wife. I could only imagine how devastated he’d be when he learned that Amber was leaving him. Sean was far from perfect, but he was faithful and You don’t know that, Pat. You barely know him. It might be all his fault.
Or it might be yours.
I stared at the note, overcome with a desire to call Sean and tell him what Amber had written, to get everything out in the open, but undoubtably he would wonder why she’d shared the news with me first rather than with him. And I would have to tell him about my history with his wife.
On the other hand, if he found out later that she’d come to me, he’d almost certainly feel betrayed and wonder what was going on between us, especially if Amber told him that we’d been in love while they were engaged-and that her feelings for me had never gone away.
And of course Amber’s decision was only going to make things worse between me and Lien-hua, who would now see the encounter last night here in the motel room in a whole different light. Considering the rocky spots we’d had in the past, I wondered what it would take to salvage things with her this time around-but I wanted to do so much more than just salvage things. I wanted us to take the next step in our relationship. And how was that going to happen if she didn’t trust me?
Sean. Amber. Lien-hua.
It was a lose-lose-lose situation any way you cut it.
I crumpled up the note and threw it toward the trash can beside the desk; it bounced against the wall instead and fell to the carpet as if it were mocking me.
For a moment I had the urge to knock on Amber’s door and square things away with her, but honestly, what good could come from talking to her right now?
9:02.
Already late for the meeting.
Focus.
Be here, Pat.
It’s all about the case. You have to put this personal stuff aside and think about the case.
I opted for my black North Face jacket instead of the camo one. Ditching the crutches but carrying my computer-and trying unsuccessfully not to limp-I headed out the door to meet with Sheriff Tait, Jake, Natasha, and Lien-hua, the woman I couldn’t imagine living without.