“What’s your point?”
“Just this.” Hooper exhaled. “What kind of weather research could possibly require thirty-two billion dollars?”
“Good question.” A moment passed in silence. Then the president cleared his throat. “We have another problem.”
Hooper arched an eyebrow. “What now?”
“Senator Gar knows. I don’t know how, but he knows. He’s trying to blackmail me over this whole mess. If I don’t drop out of the upcoming race and support his candidacy, he’ll tell the world what happened to the Columbus Project.”
“What if we can prove the stolen money was spent on a useful cause?”
The president looked hopeful. “Can we?”
Hooper didn’t reply.
“I didn’t think so.” President Walters sighed. “I’ve got twenty-four hours. If I support him, I’ll hate myself. The odd thing is my popularity might soar because of it. Sure, I’ll look feckless and party hardliners will abandon me, but everyone else will view it as the ultimate sacrifice for the public good. Which is, of course, the ultimate lie.”
“And if you don’t support him?”
“He’ll go public. My legacy, what’s left of it, will be ruined. Forget reelection. I’ll go down in history as the worst president of all time.”
Hooper leaned back. “The truth has a way of coming out. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But eventually, this whole sordid affair is going to become public knowledge. People will know you had nothing to do with the theft.”
The president exhaled in disappointment. He’d hoped for a different answer from Hooper. “History doesn’t always vindicate people, you know. Many scholars consider Warren Harding the most crooked president of all time. But the Teapot Dome Scandal was small potatoes by today’s standard. And he had absolutely nothing to do with it. No one remembers he passed this country’s first real arms control agreement. They’ve forgotten how he was the first postwar president to cut government spending below prewar levels. And his freeing of political prisoners from the Red Scare of 1919 has gone right down the memory hole. He did a lot of good. And yet, no one cares.”
“That’s not true,” Hooper said. “You care.”
Chapter 45
“Destroy it. Burn it. Break it. Grind it into pieces. Whatever it takes. Or they’ll die.”
“Who? Who will die?”
“Everyone.”
I sat up with a start, gasping for air. Searing pain shot through my body, shocking my brain awake.
I sat still for a moment, letting my memories of Lila’s final moments drift away into uneasy nothingness.
My head started to ache. My legs felt sore. My back felt stiff and tender from lying on the concrete.
I took a few deep breaths of the hot, dry air. My heartbeat started to normalize.
I blinked a few times. My eye sockets felt like they’d been stuffed with dirt. I blinked a few more times. Then I looked around.
Benigno and Akolo lay fast asleep. They’d been dealt a horrible situation. Faced with similar circumstances, most people would’ve cowered away on the island, praying for rescue. But not them. They’d refused to accept the inevitable future as decided by Simona and Eco-Trek. Instead, they were determined to save Rizzalyn and their friends.
Just past them, I saw Graham. He lay on his back, coughing gently. Beverly knelt next to him. She had his head propped up and was trying to pour some water into his mouth.
Seeing Graham reminded me of our earlier conversation. He’d started to tell me about how my dad had traveled with him on expeditions. It was difficult to believe. My dad had died when I was just a kid. So, my memories of him were sparse and lacking in detail. But I’d always thought of him as a businessman, not an adventurer.
I recalled my parent’s old bedroom, one of many rooms in my family’s multi-story Manhattan apartment. A photo used to sit on my mom’s nightstand. It showed my parents sitting on the family room couch. They held a baby — me — between them. They looked so happy, so carefree. Like all was right with the world.
My father, sporting a mischievous grin and reddish hair, looked healthy and happy in the photo. It was hard to believe he was the same man who would later cause so much destruction.
Next to him, my mother smiled at me, a smile I wished I could remember. Growing up without my dad — and later without my mom — had messed me up in more ways than I could count.
I recalled another photo on that same nightstand. It depicted mom and a ten-year old me sitting at the kitchen table. She was clapping as I blew out the candles on my birthday cake. A smile danced across her lips, but her eyes revealed a deep sadness.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but dad’s untimely death must’ve been like a lightning bolt to her heart. Even so, she never complained. Hell, she never said a word about it all the way up to and including the day of her mysterious disappearance. But I knew she loved him something fierce.
At bedtime, she would regale me with stories about his life and his career as a real estate developer. The stories were always entertaining, yet moralistic. Sort of like her personal version of Aesop’s Fables.
She painted him as a fun-loving guy who adored his family, his friends, and the rich history of the city we called home. Unfortunately, it was all just a myth, a carefully constructed legend to conceal the truth.
I shuddered as tremendous anger washed over me. A couple of weeks ago, something had compelled me to dig deeper into my family’s past. In one earth-shattering moment, I learned my dad, who I’d practically worshipped, had been no hero. He was a villain, a man who’d waged an epic war on New York’s past. And my mom, who should’ve stood in his way, had let him do it.
His actions had, in a very really way, determined New York’s future. There was no changing that. But the past?
Well, that could still be saved.
That was the reason I’d worked so hard to salvage the reliquary. And it was the reason that, despite everything, recovering the ancient stone box remained my top priority. I was determined to atone for my dad’s sins. To save enough history to make up for that which he’d callously destroyed.
Wincing, I stood up. After a bit of stretching, I made my way to Beverly and Graham. “How is he?” I whispered.
“He just needs some more rest,” she replied. “In a couple of hours, he’ll be ready to go.”
“How about you?”
“You want to talk about me?” She faked a surprised look. “Not the reliquary?”
I exhaled.
“Relax, I’m just kidding. And I’m fine, by the way.”
“Listen, the reliquary is important. Maybe really important. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
“No. You just expect me to play second fiddle to it.”
“That’s not—”
She lowered Graham’s head and grabbed my shirt. Pulled me close and kissed my hard. My lips were dry, but the moment they touched hers, moisture appeared. Hungrily, I kissed her back.
With a sly smile, she pushed me away. “Can your reliquary do that?”
My face flushed.
“Didn’t think so.” Gently, she lifted Graham’s head and tipped a few more drops of water down his throat.
I furrowed my brow. “By the way, you never finished telling me about your trip to that lab. Did you learn anything new?”
“Actually, yes. The technicians told me the nanomaterials mimic the properties of the original chemicals, only on an exponential basis.”
“You mean they’re supercharged?” My face twisted in thought. “Like one nanomaterial particle is equivalent to a whole bunch of chemical particles?”