Prime

EPILOGUE: LIMBO

“So what do you think is going to happen?”

It wasn’t the first time Rook had asked the question, but as before, the only answer he got was silence.

The truth of it was, King had no idea what was going to happen.

There had been a few moments, as he lay unmoving on the floor of the Prime cavern, where he felt something approaching satisfaction. But then, like the painful sting that accompanied the return of sensation to his nerves, the bitter reality of the situation hit home.

Parker was dead. That by itself was almost more than he could bear, but the way it had happened…

He thrust the thought from his mind. Yes, his friend had died. Parker had made a rash decision to help Sasha and it had cost him his life, and therein lay the problem.

King couldn’t tell the truth, and not just because of how crazy it sounded; he was much more worried about the possibility that someone would actually believe him.

He had dragged Parker’s body into the stone circle that marked the location of the Prime, laid him next to Sasha, and then ignited an incendiary grenade to erase all evidence that either of them had ever existed. He’d fed Sasha’s computer and al-Tusi’s treatise to the flames as well; maybe someday, someone would figure out how to read the Voynich manuscript and would discover the Prime and what it signified, but with a little luck, that day wouldn’t come until the world was a much better place.

The official story would be the same one he had told the rest of the team: Sasha had been spooked by Rainer’s arrival and fled into the cave. Parker had followed and both of them had fallen into a crevasse and died. King had used Sasha to bait the trap, and even though they had succeeded in running down Rainer and the other rogue operators, a CIA contractor and a Delta shooter had paid for the victory with their blood.

King knew that the others had questions about what had happened in the cave; he could see it in their eyes, but none of them had pressed him for details. He was grateful for that. He alone would take responsibility for what had happened, and if it meant the end of his career — or even criminal prosecution — then he alone would bear the burden.

No one could ever know how the world had almost ended.

The team had escaped Chauvet Cave to the eerie melody of sirens bouncing between the limestone cliffs of the Ardèche River valley. Chess Team was long gone by the time the gendarmes arrived. Less than an hour later, they were back aboard Senior Citizen and on their way back home.

Almost home, he amended.

As soon as Senior Citizen arrived at ‘The Pope,’ the team was moved to Decon, an isolated quarantine area where teams were debriefed after returning from particularly sensitive missions. Decon — short for ‘decontamination’—was a place for operators to ‘come down’ from the adrenaline high of combat before going home to their families. It was also the last chance for the teams to get their stories straight before making an official report.

They had been in Decon for two full days, sleeping on cots, eating MREs, watching TV and playing X-Box games and generally going stir-crazy waiting for the hammer to fall. Rook had joked that they were “stuck in Limbo,” and King thought that was pretty close to the truth.

Then, on the afternoon of their second day, the door was thrown open. General Keasling strode into the room. He made a low growling sound when Rook, sprawled on a couch with a game controller in hand, threw him a casual wave, but his expression was otherwise unreadable. He strode to the corner of the table where King was sitting with the others, and calmly put his hands behind his back.

Keasling wasn’t alone.

A second figure entered right behind him. King had to do a double-take to recognize the man who had traded in his combat fatigues for blue jeans and Star Wars T-shirt; it was Lewis Aleman.

“Lew!”

Just seeing the Delta sniper filled King with a stew of emotions. Parker and Aleman had been friends, and the latter’s presence was a harsh reminder of just how much King had lost along the way. Still, it was good to see a friendly and familiar face.

Aleman’s right hand looked like the end of a Q-tip, swathed in bandages, but he looked otherwise none the worse for wear. He had a laptop computer tucked under his arm, and he promptly stepped in front of Rook and plugged a cable from the computer into the X-Box.

“Hey!” Rook protested as his virtual re-enactment of D-Day was replaced by a blank screen, but Aleman just threw him a mischievous grin and started tapping on his keyboard.

“Game over,” Keasling said in flat voice. “Deep Blue wants to talk to you.”

Here it comes, King thought.

“Got it,” Aleman announced.

A spherical object — King recognized it immediately as a web cam — now rested atop the television, but it was the image on the screen that commanded the attention of everyone in the room.

The silhouetted figure, a fit-looking man with short hair — either a military buzz cut or a receding hairline, King couldn’t tell for sure — was framed in the display. The man regarded them for a moment before speaking.

“It’s good to finally see you all,” he said, in the same electronically distorted voice they knew well from previous radio communications.

King realized that the others were all waiting for him to respond. “Likewise,” he began, and then added. “Sort of.”

“Forgive the theatrics,” Deep Blue said. “At present, it is necessary to keep my identity a secret, but I sincerely hope that one day I will be able to meet you face-to-face. And let me apologize for keeping you here so long; I had my hands full trying to cover your tracks in France. That said, I think congratulations are in order.”

King was by nature suspicious of praise from his superiors, but usually he knew better than to question it aloud. This time however, his caution kicked in a moment too late. “Sir?”

“You all showed exceptional valor. If you were in a traditional unit, I would see to it that you all received the highest commendation. Alas, all I can offer you is more work.”

King glanced at the others.

Queen’s eyes were alight with anticipation. This was what she had dreamed of when joining the Army; a chance to prove herself, to test her limits in the most extreme ways possible. There was no better reward for someone like her than to be thrown back into the fire.

Bishop was not so easy to read. Although he kept a tight rein on his emotions, he always looked like he was just a few seconds from critical mass…except right now, he looked almost serene, or at least as close to it as he would ever get.

Knight shrugged, feigning indifference to the news, but King knew it was an act. The Korean Casanova was an adrenaline junkie, eager for his next fix, and whether it was at a nightclub full of supermodels or in the thick of battle, he lived for the thrill of beating the odds.

Even Rook seemed to greet Deep Blue’s statement with his own brand of enthusiasm. “More work? In this economy, what could be better than that?”

King returned his attention to Deep Blue. “Am I missing something here?”

Although he could not see the man’s eyes, King got the impression that he was being scrutinized from across the electronic ether. After a moment, the silhouette shifted slightly and the auto-tuned voice said, “General Keasling, would you give us the room for a moment?”

An irritated scowl flickered across Keasling’s face, but he smartly executed an about-face and strode through the door. Deep Blue waited a full ten seconds after his departure before speaking again. “Is there a problem, King?”

King took a deep breath. “I…don’t think I’m the right man for this job.”

There was a low roar of protest from the others, though Queen’s voice was distinct above the others. “Bullshit.”

“You’re wondering how I can call this a win,” Deep Blue said, as if reading King’s mind. “You feel responsible for their deaths; for Daniel Parker and Sasha Therion.”

“I am responsible.”

“No, you aren’t.” There was a sadness in Deep Blue’s reply that the artificial voice modulator could not disguise. “The ultimate responsibility lies with me. But if I had it all to do over again, I would make the same decision.”

When King didn’t respond, Deep Blue continued. “One of the burdens of command is that you feel personally responsible for every soldier lost on your watch. In my book, that doesn’t make you unfit to lead; it makes you human.

“There’s something else you should consider also. Lewis hasn’t been able to figure out why, but instead of blocking radio signals, the limestone in that cave amplified the outgoing transmissions. You couldn’t receive, but I was able to monitor your comms.” His electronic tone lowered almost to a whisper. “I heard everything that happened in that cave.”

The revelation hit King like a cold slap. He looked around at the others, expecting to see unasked questions on their faces, but none of them would meet his gaze.

They know, he realized. They all know.

Deep Blue went on as if the former matter was permanently concluded. “You were given an impossible task, and you accomplished it. You went up against an enemy with resources that — speaking frankly — still boggle my mind, and you beat him. So, by any standard, that’s a win in my book. So pull it together, and get back on the horse. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have leading this team.”

Rook stood up raising his hands like an old-time preacher. “Amen, brother.”

The others just nodded in silent agreement.

King was speechless for a moment, but when no one else — not even Rook — filled the silence, he gathered his wits. “So, what’s next?”

“For the moment: recovery. Mandatory R&R. Stay loose, but stay sharp. Chess Team is going to be on alert status 24/7.”

“Chess Team,” Rook said. “I still think it sounds like an after-school club for nerds.”

Aleman threw him a withering glance. “I never played chess.”

King ignored them. “We’re going to need an HQ.”

“You’re sitting in it,” Deep Blue replied. “It’s temporary until we can come up with something better, but feel free to redecorate as you see fit; just submit your requisitions to General Keasling.”

Rook rolled his eyes at that news, but then his face seemed to brighten. “Dudes. We’ve got to have a horseshoe pit!”

Bishop’s face creased in annoyance. “Horseshoes? Really?”

“Just promise me this,” King said, cutting Rook off before he could launch into an impassioned defense of his favorite hobby. “Next time, can we just go up against some normal bad guys; you know, tangos with loose suitcase nukes and nerve gas? No more freaky science experiments, killer mountain crocodiles, historical voodoo…no more weird shit.”

Deep Blue laughed. “I won’t make promises I can’t keep, but it’s hard to imagine that you’ll ever have to deal with anything quite so extreme in the future.”

King had a sudden urge to knock on wood, but before he could rap his knuckles against the tabletop, he realized that it was molded plastic.

Ah, hell, he thought. Deep Blue’s right. Nothing could be as weird as what we just went through.

Three days was long enough — too long, really.

Rainer wasn’t coming back. The rogue Delta operator had failed, and given the resources he’d taken into the field, that was a frightening prospect indeed.

The telephone trilled once, twice…

Damn it! They know they need to pick up on the first ring.

“Reinhart.”

“What took you so long?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Never mind. You’ve just been promoted; congratulations.”

“What?”

God, the man is thick. “Rainer’s not coming back. He’s either dead or — God forbid — captured. Either way, you’re running the show now. First order of business is damage control.”

“Got it; no loose ends. I’ll make sure there’s nothing that ties us to him.”

To his credit, Reinhart seemed to grasp what was being asked of him, but was tidying up after Rainer going to be good enough?

The whole situation had been a farce from the beginning. He had no interest in plague research; that had been Katherine’s passion, and the only reason he’d even started down that road was to honor her memory; he’d thought that perhaps if he could salvage something useful from her work, her death wouldn’t feel like such a waste.

Sentimentality is for suckers. It’s time to write this whole fiasco off.

“Good. And while you’re at it, I think it’s time to dissolve our partnership with the Chinese.”

“When you say ‘dissolve?’” Reinhart let the question hang.

“Complete liquidation of our assets.”

“Clear as crystal.”

Reinhart hung up first, which would have been a further irritant to his employer under any other circumstances, but the breach of protocol barely registered. Things were finally looking up.

He had never been comfortable with the idea of dealing with the triad. Criminals were so unsavory, and while the partnership had been useful for procuring test subjects and generating untraceable revenue, the risk of exposure was just too great.

Besides, that line of research was a dead end — literally. Richard Ridley had no use for dead ends. He was going to live forever.