“We already knew he had a god complex,” Knight said.
“No,” King said. “A man who can give and take life, who can cure nations or destroy them, who can perform the very act of creation, doesn’t have a god complex. He wants to be God.”
“I don’t understand how clay can become human,” Knight said. “It doesn’t sound possible.”
“Even the science world acknowledges that clay had a likely hand in the creation of life,” Davidson said. “Though I disagree with the concept of accidental, random creation, there are many who believe clay catalyzed the formation of organic molecules. Take hydrothermal vents for example, life is supported there, not just by the heat provided by the vents but also the vast amount of clay surrounding them and expelled by them. I agree it’s a stretch, but clay seems to be at the center of both religious and scientific theories on the creation of life.”
“And so we end up with golems that can create golems?” Queen asked.
“I think you might need to consider a new term for the Ridley duplicates. While they return to clay after being … killed, they are not simply inanimate objects given the illusion of life. They are alive. And capable of speech. Thus capable of using the same protolanguage to create more golems.”
King’s phone rang. He answered it quickly and listened to the voice on the other end. “So we’ll know if he enters any other countries?” King asked. “Good. Thanks for letting me know.”
He hung up the phone and looked at the others. “That was Boucher. Ridley—both of them—were traveling under aliases using fake passports.” He looked at Knight. “Your man at El Mirador was Enoch Richardson.” He turned to Alexander. “Our man from Stonhenge was Mahaleel Richardson.”
“They used the same last name?” Knight asked.
“Richardson,” Bishop said. “Son of Richard.”
“He’s naming them after himself,” Queen said. “Like they’re his children.”
Davidson stepped closer to the group, his expression grim. “I’m afraid their names reveal much more than the paternal feelings Ridley may have for his creations. Enoch and Mahaleel are both descendants of Adam—the biblical Adam—in a very specific genealogy leading up to Abraham and eventually to King David.”
“And if you believe in it,” Alexander said, “to Jesus Christ.”
Davidson conceded the point with a nod. “But what is important to note is that he is naming these golems using a very specific bloodline that leads back to the creator.” He turned to King. “Your earlier assessment was correct, he believes himself a god. And if he is naming them using this genealogy, you can assume there are at least six more of these Ridley golems.”
“Six more?” King asked.
“Enoch is the seventh in line,” Davidson said. “Before him are Jared, Mahaleel, Cainan, Enos, Seth, and Adam.”
Something nagged at King. Ridley wouldn’t put in so much time and effort, and risk exposing himself, without something significant to be gained. He could already live forever. Like Alexander, with time he could do anything and become anyone. The world was his eternal playground. There had to be more, something missing, something bigger. Something Alexander said during their confrontation finally clicked.
You have yet to fully realize what is at stake.
He turned to Alexander. “What do you know?”
Alexander looked indifferent.
“Tell me or you’re out.”
Alexander chuckled, but acquiesced. “You need to think bigger, King. Imagine the world laid out before you. You can mold it. It can be anything you want—a chessboard, a simulation, an escape. Given time and intelligence, it can be anything you want it to be.”
King felt his back tense up. For the first time he was hearing exactly how Alexander viewed the world.
“Now imagine you’re an impatient man not accustomed to the concept of eternity. A thousand years to remake the world is nine hundred ninety-nine years too many.”
“You’re saying he wants to remake the world?” Knight asked, sounding doubtful. “The whole world?”
Alexander met him with a hard stare. “Were I a less patient man, I would do the same.”
The room fell silent as everyone in it reconsidered their alliances.
“But how?” Davidson asked, not understanding what Alexander implied. “Replace political figures with copies? Maybe just change the personalities of key people? How could he change the world?”
“You’re still thinking small,” Alexander said. “Up until twenty years ago it wouldn’t have been possible. There is no fixed rule with the mother tongue. It is the unique sounds of the language that affects the changes to reality. Not the speaker.”
“He’s right,” Davidson said. “A recording of the language would work just as well.”
“Or a broadcast,” King said, the full picture slamming home. With modern technology and the ancient tongue the world really could be remade, and in far less time than seven days. “He’s going to remake the world.”
The beep that came from the computer was quiet, but grabbed everyone’s attention like it was an atom bomb. Davidson spun toward the computer screen. Alexander stood over his shoulder, looking at the results.
“Amazing,” Davidson whispered.
“What is it?” King asked.
“There are traces of human DNA in the clay,” Alexander replied.
“Have you compared it to Ridley’s profile?” Knight asked.
“Hold on,” Davidson said, fingers working the keys. “If it’s a match, it shouldn’t take lo—”
The results appeared on the screen, showing two sets of DNA markers. They were identical. “They’re the same,” Davidson said, stunned. “I was right. This clay wasn’t just an animated form resembling Richard Ridley, it was Richard Ridley.”
He turned to Alexander, and then to King. “He was alive.”
The silence that filled the room was broken by the ring of King’s cell phone. The ID read Lewis Aleman. King answered the phone. “What have you got, Lew?”
“Last piece of the puzzle I hope,” Aleman replied, his response delayed by a second. “I’ve been running the chemical composition of the clay recovered from El Mirador through our system. And, well, I found a match.” He quickly followed with, “But it doesn’t make sense.”
“Just tell me where it’s from,” King said.
“Camp Alpha.”
The name’s familiarity struck King instantly. It was the title of the U.S. military base established in the ruins of Babylon that had been rebuilt by Saddam Hussein. A large number of servicemen were stationed there, including a regiment of marines. Babylon made sense, being the origin of the Tower of Babel story, but it was also the last place anyone would think to look. “You’re sure?”
“Yup. It’s straight from the Euphrates River, and I can peg it to Camp Alpha because of the unique contaminants it contains, courtesy of the U.S. of A.”
Queen saw the bewildered look on King’s face. “What did he find?”
“The clay is from Camp Alpha.”
“Babylon,” Davidson said.
Knight shook his head. “But how is he—”
“The tower,” Alexander said. “He’s found the Tower of Babel. He’s not at Camp Alpha. He’s under it.”
A sudden boom of metal coupled with the implosion of the warehouse’s metal roof made them forget all about the discovery. Large sheets of steel broke free and fell at them like giant playing cards. Honed by years of action, the instincts of the people in the room saved their lives. All but one of them managed to leap away as the giant blades fell from above.