ALEXANDER CONTINUED HIS explanation. “Which takes us back to the very beginning and the very first recorded mention of a golem, ‘The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.’”
“Adam?” King did nothing to hide his continued skepticism.
“Adam is represented in the ancient stories of many cultures. Try not to get hung up on the Judeo-Christian baggage and try to see the truth. The Bible, and other sources, say that God spoke the universe into being. Light, earth, water, life, all came from His words. And man was formed from dust. We are all golems, but have retained the life imbued to us.
“So this is what, the language of God?”
“Call it what you want,” Alexander said. “But it is the protohuman language, and with the right speaker, it is capable of amazing, and terrible, things.”
“Is that why you broke your promise,” King pointed to the entryway they’d come through, “to her?”
“What humanity does to itself is of no concern of mine,” Alexander said, his voice suddenly harsh. “I, unlike some”—he glanced at Pierce—“am a protector of history.”
Pierce had moved closer, his attention captured by the new twist in the conversation. “You’re an eraser of history.”
“To preserve it, sometimes it must be forgotten. The past does not belong to the present. Should your grave be exhumed in a thousand years, would you want your body dissected, put on display, or any number of other crimes committed against the dead done to you?”
King thought about how he felt standing over his mother’s grave. He understood Alexander’s point. Life was sacred and our bodies, in death, were as well. He also understood the man’s motivation. “You knew them,” he said.
Alexander looked at King and then to the shining floor. “There are men I knew on display in museums. Men who would find the treatment of their bodies scandalous.”
“But what about what we can learn from the past?”
“What man learns, he soon uses to destroy. The fascination with uncovering secrets is simply a craving for power. And this situation is no different. The protolanguage was disseminated for a good reason. It should not be in the control of modern man. It is a rape of history that cannot stand.”
“That’s it?” Pierce said. “That’s why you’ve been running around the planet collecting people? To keep someone from learning this ancient language?”
“And to protect their lives,” Alexander said. “They are the last speakers of ancient languages. Their knowledge—their lives—are precious to me. Whoever is doing this is desecrating everything I have sworn to protect.”
“Then you don’t know who’s behind the killings?”
“No,” Alexander said. “Nor do I know how this language truly works. But I have identified a man—a genius physicist and former rabbi, who dabbles in genetics and biology as well, who might be able to—”
Pierce suddenly stepped closer. He looked nervous. “Do you two feel that?”
King trained his senses on the physical world around him. He could feel a gentle vibration tickling his body. He’d been so caught up in the conversation that he’d missed it. “Is there a subway nearby?”
Alexander shook his head no, and stood to his feet. “The land is protected above and below.”
“Protected from construction,” Pierce said. “But from attack?”
“Every entrance is watched by heat sensors and motion detectors,” Alexander said. “There is no way in without my knowing.”
“What if someone created a new way in?” Pierce asked.
A flash of concern appeared on Alexander’s face.
“Fiona,” King whispered.
Alexander burst into motion, running out of the gallery, back the way they had come. King followed close at his heals, knowing the immortal man was going to protect the people he’d worked so hard to hide away. Pierce lingered a moment, not wanting to leave the room of archaeological treasures behind, but then followed.
As they entered the maze of hallways the vibrations became intense enough that they had to stop moving to remain standing. When the shaking dissipated and the rumbling of stone quieted, a new sound filled the tunnels—a woman screaming.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Washington, D.C.
PRESIDENT TOM DUNCAN sat at the head of an executive table in a West Wing conference room. Seated with him were twenty-seven advisors on everything from the school system to the space program—apparently every sector of the country was feeling the pinch. But none greater than the economy.
“People are staying home,” Claire Roberts said. She was one of five top financial advisors. Her expertise lay in foreign investments and lending, but she was rarely ever wrong. “People are choosing to watch movies online rather than go to the theater. They’re driving less. Buying less. And if it keeps up, they’ll all start losing their jobs.”
“C’mon,” said a firecracker of a man. Larry Hussey, Duncan’s domestic economic advisor, was eternally optimistic and, without fail, disagreed with Roberts. “Internet sales are up. Way up. The market will self-correct when the crisis is over. The American people are still consuming, just in the privacy, and safety, of their own homes.”
Roberts sighed and looked at Duncan. “He’s right about Internet sales. The economy is hanging on, but it’s by a thread. Here’s the difference. When the average American goes out to buy a book, they don’t just spend eight dollars on a paperback. They spend between three and five dollars on gas unless they’re driving a hybrid. They buy a chai latte or frappachino. A large percentage of those people end up eating at restaurants afterward and another chunk of people will go see a movie as well. To buy a book online requires no gas, shipping is often free, and there are no opportunities for residual spending.”
“It might solve the country’s credit card debt,” Hussey grumbled.
Roberts raised her voice. “The vast majority of online sales are made with credit cards.”
Hussey slouched a little. Though the man would never verbalize defeat, Duncan recognized the body language.
“That leaves us with the question of ‘why’ and the potential solutions,” Roberts continued. “The why is simple. In normal times of crisis, war for instance, people spend less money on nonessentials. Movies, books, music. Luxury items. All the entertainment industries take hits to the pocketbook. People feel unsure about the future and instinctively hoard a little bit. But what we’re experiencing here is something a little different. People are afraid to go out. They’re afraid to congregate in large groups because that might make them targets. After all, if Fort Bragg can be hit hard, what’s to stop the bad guys from striking a concert, or football game, or a packed movie theater? Even church attendance is down, and that normally goes up during wartime.”
“Solutions?” Duncan asked. He hated the question because he had his own answer: to personally hunt down and catch whoever was behind the attacks. Instead he was stuck deciding what to do about the population’s spending habits. There might be ways to ease the problem, but he knew damn well that the only real solution was to rain down a healthy dose of Deep Blue justice.
“People are afraid,” Roberts said. “We have to make them feel safe. Encourage cities to increase patrols. Address the nation. Talk about the progress being made in tracking down the ‘evil doers.’”
“What progress?” Hussey said.
Roberts rolled her eyes. “Exaggerate if you need to. The point is people won’t go out. They won’t congregate in places with other people if they feel like it puts them in the crosshairs.”