“Are you saying that anyone could do what he just did?” Hannah asked.
“I’m not saying anyone is as insanely brilliant as Mordet, but I’m saying he didn’t need the black box from the Switchblade Whisper to do what he just did.”
“If he didn’t need the black box, why’d he go through so much trouble to get it?”
Chris heaved a breath. “Because this is just the warm-up.”
PART THREE
Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day.
31
“Just a moment, please,” a CNN reporter said, “we’re cutting away to the president of the United States. He’s about to give a speech.”
“Today is a dark day for America,” the president began. “I was briefed by Homeland Security that an airplane crashed at Baltimore-Washington International Airport, and more than five have plummeted at Ronald Reagan Airport, one of them smashing into the terminal, in what seems to be a terrorist attack on the US. Please pray with me for the victims, their families, and America. The federal government will do everything in its power to protect our citizens, help the victims and their families, and hunt down the terrorists responsible. May God bless America.”
Hannah stalked out of the room, her cell in hand, and Chris closed his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts. Little Kale’s lighter seemed bulkier and heavier in his pocket. Then he remembered that it was a SEAL who’d rescued him. Years later, on a sunny day in southern California, a SEAL trident was pinned to Chris’s chest — the gaudiest military insignia in the US Navy: an eagle bowing its head humbly and its talons clasping a trident and cocked flintlock pistol. Other badges in the Navy were silver-colored for enlisted sailors and gold-colored for officers, but the SEAL trident was only one color — gold. The enlisted men and officers suffered together for it in the same training and on the same battlefields. Golden light reflected off the insignia — especially around the three prongs at the tip of the trident. The remembered image of the trident struck him with the same power as the voice that’d spoken to him as a little boy in the bottom of the dried-up well.
For the first time, his roles as a minister and SEAL came together in one body — his body. It hit him with such force that he opened his eyes and sat straight up, filled with new energy.
“I called my boss and gave him a piece of my mind,” Hannah said, returning to the room.
“What’d he have to say about that?” Sonny asked.
“He apologized.”
“Did you accept his apology?” Chris asked.
“I told him where to stick his apology,” she said. “He wants the three of us to stop the attacks and capture or kill Professor Mordet and Little Kale. Agent Garnet is going to help us.”
“Now they want our help?” Sonny said. “If only they would’ve listened sooner—”
“I can’t imagine the CIA just decided this on their own,” Chris interrupted. “The Posse Comitatus Act forbids the CIA and JSOC from operating on US soil without special authorization from the president. Or at least the governor.”
“This came down from the National Security Council,” Hannah said.
“The chair authorized this, too?” Sonny asked.
Hannah nodded. “Including the chair.”
“POTUS,” Chris said. The president of the United States chaired the National Security Council.
“Exactly,” Hannah confirmed.
Young seemed oblivious to them, slaving away at his computer screen. Chris stood and joined him, looking over his shoulder.
“When I studied the digital image of the evil eye,” Young explained, “I found hidden data, but it’s locked by a password, and it’s taking me time to crack it.”
Chris thought about possible passwords. Then it hit him. “Did you try Ha’la?”
Young turned to him. “What’s that?”
“Mordet’s sister’s name.”
“How do you spell it?”
Chris spelled the name.
Young typed it in and tapped enter. A river of data rushed down the screen and filled the monitor.
“That’s it! That’s the password.” Even though he only had one hand, Young typed twice as fast as any normal person. “I’ve accessed Mordet’s network in Maryland, and now I’m running a diagnostic to show his route and measure packet delays so I can trace a more precise location.”
“If you can trace his location, what prevents him from tracing ours?” Chris asked.
“Nothing,” Young answered.
“We’re going to have to move you to another location,” Chris said. “You won’t be safe here.”
Chris, Hannah, and Sonny discussed possible plans for capturing Professor Mordet and Little Kale. Then Young’s phone rang.
“You expecting a phone call?” Hannah asked.
Young stopped typing. “No.”
Hannah stepped toward him. “What’s the caller ID say?”
“Private.”
“Put it on speaker,” Hannah said.
Young did so and then answered the phone.
“Hello,” said the man at the other end. Just his voice alone filled Young’s room with murk. “Chris, is that you?”
All eyes in the room shifted to Chris.
Young held the phone out to Chris, and he took it. “Hello, Professor Mordet.”
“It has been awhile,” Mordet said calmly. “I was hoping to get ahold of you sooner. I missed you. Did you miss me?”
“Miss you?” Chris asked.
“Because I am the only person who can understand you, Chris. This world can be a lonely place for us who live in a fourth dimension.”
Chris needed to probe him, to catch him off guard and exploit a weakness. “When I first met you, you told me about the plane crash, and that you had to eat the other passengers to survive.” He paused. “But you didn’t mention anything about eating your sister, Ha’la.”
Mordet’s breath caught audibly. “You spoke to someone from my village?”
“I spoke to someone who knows about you.”
“Was he paid for this information?”
“Yes,” Chris said.
“Did Hannah pay for it?”
The fact that he knew her name surprised Chris, but when he thought about how many assets she’d run in and around Mordet’s village back in the day, it wasn’t so surprising. But it wasn’t important who paid for the information; Mordet was just trying to confirm who was working with Chris. He didn’t respond.
“Hannah should not pay for rumors. She should get her money back.”
“Why would this man lie?” Chris asked.
“Because he is not like you and me. He is not like Ha’la,” Mordet said, raising his voice. “He sells his soul for the things of this world.”
Chris continued probing. “People think you’re crazy.”
“And people never thought you were crazy?” Mordet said calmly. “We see things that other people cannot see, and we learn at an early age not to talk about it. People are crazy, but you and I are the ones who are sane. People feel so self-conscious about it that they try to take us back to the wall and chain us there, so we become as hypnotized by the shadows of social networking and web surfing as they are — hearing only what they want to hear, mesmerized by their own mental masturbation.”
I am nothing like this man, Chris reminded himself. Still, he had to try to make Mordet feel understood. Then maybe he would tell them something they could use to stop him. Chris tried to understand him, in hopes of figuring out a way to stop him. “And that’s why you eat people?” Chris asked casually.