The Eden Prophecy

CHAPTER 18

Hawker stood near the exit door of a sleek monorail as it cut across Dubai and angled toward the Persian Gulf. In the distance the sun had begun to drop, lending long shadows to the afternoon and drawing out the hues of red and yellow that normally lay subdued under the blistering white light of the day.

The monorail was part of Dubai’s never-ending push toward the modern and spectacular. It ran all over the city. This particular line took them toward the coast.

Up ahead he could see their destination: the magnificent Burj Al Arab hotel, rising 1,052 feet from the man-made island on which it had been built.

The incredible wedge-shaped building soared into the sky like a sail on the horizon. Its western edge stood sharp and vertical like a mast, its eastern side curving gracefully back toward the ground like the billowing canvas of a spinnaker. A winglike structure protruded forward like the bridge of a great ship, and in its sheltered rear section a helipad jutted out some eight hundred feet above the waterline.

There were few things in the world that Hawker considered impressive simply in and of themselves, but setting eyes on this building, he added one to the list.

Far behind him, in the central part of the city, the tallest building in the world towered like a spike, but the Burj Khalifa did not hold the eye or move the spirit like the structure in front of him.

For a moment Hawker was speechless.

Unfortunately the man beside him was not.

“It was hella hot when we got off that plane,” the man said, pulling at his silk tie. “Damn hot. Worse than I expected.”

“It’s a desert,” Hawker said. “And it’s July.”

The man looked up at him. “That’s a good point. You are damn observant. No wonder you went into the security business.”

The man laughed at his own joke and Hawker struggled to decide if he wanted to laugh with him or slap him. “Yes, sir,” he said, somewhat painfully.

Had Danielle been sent to the fund-raising event, she would have gone as an NRI representative or even a proxy for some company on the NRI’s list of civilian partners, but Hawker’s knowledge of genetics would have lasted ten seconds in such an environment. That made such a proposition more difficult.

Thoughts of flying his turbocharged Jaguar in from Croatia, tooling down the coast, and driving up to the Burj in an Armani suit and posing as an investor were likewise dashed, since that required a specific invite to what was essentially a closed party.

Besides, Hawker knew little more about venture capital or international business than he did about genetics. And even if he could pass off the role, he guessed that Sonia would recognize him fairly quickly. She might have changed from a twenty-year-old to a young woman, but he didn’t look that much different; a little gray in the stubble of his beard when he didn’t shave, a few more lines on his face and around his eyes. But that was it. Not enough change to fool someone who had spent the better part of a year pining for him.

So if he couldn’t pretend to be someone else, then he had only one other choice: pretend to be himself.

Moore had pulled some strings and one of the venture capitalists had suddenly lost his security team. With a diplomatic problem holding his own men up, Mr. James B. Callahan of Fresno, California, found himself needing to hire someone. And the U.S. embassy found itself recommending someone they’d never heard of before.

But orders were orders, and Hawker had signed on for forty-eight hours of close protection. He wondered if he could survive forty-eight hours of listening to Callahan.

Callahan turned to their host, an Emirate man wearing a kandura, the traditional long white cloak worn in the region.

“How much does real estate go for around here?” Callahan asked. “ ’Cause you can’t buy a pot to piss in near Silicon Valley without a million bucks.”

The Emirate man smiled politely and glanced at Hawker as if looking for help. Hawker just shrugged and rolled his eyes. Unfortunately, shooting Callahan and throwing him off the train would blow his cover.

“If you like, I can put you in touch with a broker,” the Emirate man said politely.

“I like,” Callahan said. “Oh yeah, absolutely. I like. Heard about that island you got, the one that looks like a palm tree. Might want to buy me something there.”

The Emirate nodded and Callahan turned to Hawker. “I got a good feeling about this,” he said.

Funny, Hawker thought, because he felt just the opposite. As if he were heading toward some type of doom long avoided but always creeping closer. He’d always known that Ranga and Sonia were keeping some great secret during their time in Africa. Whatever it was, it drove them on, binding them together yet also forcing them apart. Even then, Sonia spent nearly as much time in the lab as her father, receiving an education at his hands.

It was only when the generals started pushing him harder that Ranga began working in the lab alone. Did he want to protect Sonia or to keep her from knowing what he was doing?

Hawker didn’t know and at the time hadn’t asked. Questions and explanations weren’t part of the deal. But after viewing the tape and listening to Ranga speak, Hawker wondered if he’d been protecting a lunatic.

He wondered if things might not have been better had he let Ranga and Sonia die or languish as captives all those years ago. If he had, the world might not be staring down the barrel of a heavily loaded gun.

As the thoughts swirled, he felt a little guilty about lumping Sonia in with her father. Truth was, he didn’t know what her part was in all of this, either then or now. Had she gotten away from Ranga’s circus as soon as she had the chance, like Keegan suggested? Certainly, it seemed like she’d built her own life. Then again, Paradox, the company she worked for, listed Ranga as an original principal. Was it simply a natural place for her to land, a place where the Milan family knew a few people?

Hawker felt now much as he’d felt when seeing Keegan: There are no coincidences. Ranga, Sonia, Paradox, this plague — in his heart of hearts he was certain there would be some connection. And that thought bothered him more than anything else.

Ten minutes later, as they stepped out into the lobby of the hotel, the Emirate man joyfully bid them adieu. In a private room at the base of the hotel, Callahan was introduced to several staff members of the drug company. He signed papers of confidentiality and was scanned from head to toe for recording devices or other electronic equipment. An aide held out a plastic bag, into which Callahan placed his BlackBerry and his iPhone.

Then he and Hawker, who underwent the same treatment, were led to an elevator. It started upward, moving smoothly and rapidly until it stopped and the doors opened to the top-floor ballroom.

Amber-colored marble stretched out ahead of them. Blue light shone through the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the Persian Gulf. Out on the floor millionaires mingled, whispered, and snacked on Beluga caviar.

Callahan stepped out with Hawker at his side. A quick check told Hawker the place was secure.

“You’re in good hands here,” he told Callahan. “I’m going to walk the perimeter, make sure there are no threats or weaknesses the hotel security has overlooked.”

Callahan laughed. “That’s why I like you,” he said.

“Because I do my job?”

“No, because you take it so seriously,” Callahan said. “We’re cool here. Nothing’s gonna happen. Hell, the only reason I brought you was for looks.”

Not that he really cared, but he had to know. “What do you mean, ‘looks’?”

“A guy ain’t squat at one of these things if he don’t have his own security,” Callahan said. “It’s like a platinum card — except everybody has those now — no, it’s more like your own jet. You don’t want to be the guy who rents.”

Hawker actually smiled. He wondered how someone so idiotic could be worth so much money. Either it was all an act on Callahan’s part or there really was no justice in the world.

“Go find yourself a few drinks,” Callahan said. “And if you can find yourself a girl, have at it. I’ll pay you a bonus.”

Hawker nodded and walked off, feeling as if he’d just been paroled or something.

He checked a few doors, studied the hallways in and out, and found himself lingering near the wall of glass on the eastern side of the building. Below he could see the coast of Dubai, in the distance the city lights, and up above, the base of the circular helipad that jutted out from the roof.

A waiter stopped by and Hawker took a glass of champagne.

A second waiter followed, holding a tray toward him.

Hawker studied the tray: thin crackers, caviar, and foie gras, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“I’m guessing you don’t have a cheeseburger hiding back there somewhere,” he said.

The man stared at him.

“Never mind,” Hawker said. He held out a hand, passing on the food.

The waiter moved off and Hawker began to scan the room.

Filling out the incredible space was an international group of investors and medical professionals. Whatever Paradox was selling, a pretty distinguished group of guests seemed interested in buying.

Wealth from twenty countries walked the floor. Americans like Callahan, Middle Eastern men in traditional garb, Chinese, Japanese, and Russian attendees could be seen and overheard. Aside from the waiters, Hawker was undoubtedly the poorest man in the room. It left him feeling oddly out of place.

And then he spotted Sonia, standing near a podium, in a form-fitting white cocktail dress. Leaning close to a thin, gray-haired man, she seemed to speak in hushed tones. A whisper here, a nod there, a smile and a handshake for someone who stopped by.

She was all grown up now, no doubt about that. The awkward beauty of a twenty-year-old had morphed into a gorgeous thirty-year-old with curves and confidence. From what he saw, she was in her element, shining as the center of attention while everything else swirled around her.

She said a few more words to the man next to her, a partner or executive by the look of things, shook another set of hands, and then exhaled at a break in the pressing crowd.

As she took a breath her eyes came up; her gaze stretched out across the ballroom as if to relax for just a moment, and in the process landed directly on Hawker.

He saw her pause. Her expression changed, signaling a moment of confusion and indecision. He guessed she wasn’t sure what she was seeing or didn’t believe what her mind was telling her. And then she drew in a breath, her lips parted in surprise, and Hawker knew that she’d recognized him.

The gray-haired man tapped her on the shoulder. She turned toward him abruptly, but in a second she was back on form. And Hawker realized that Sonia wasn’t just part of the show — she was the main attraction.

Moments later the lights began to dim. Sonia and the gray-haired man stepped off the platform and Hawker lost them in the crowd. At each end of the room, huge plasma-screen monitors began to descend from the ceiling while some type of spalike music rose up.

The show was about to begin. Whatever Sonia had been up to for the last few years, whatever Paradox was selling, Hawker and the rest of the crowd were about to find out.