The Einstein Papers

EPILOGUE

Taiwan emerged unscathed. Only hours after the storm the main electrical feed leading into the ocean was withdrawn. By midday the power to the primary electrical grid had been restored and the country, although still on a heightened state of military alert, was almost back to normal.

The storm turned west after decimating the Chinese navy. The Taiwanese island of Quemoy, located just miles from the Chinese mainland, was hardest hit. Hurricane-force winds ripped foliage from limbs and downed trees but the Taiwanese military personnel stationed on the island were deep in their bunkers. Only three soldiers lost their lives. In the Fujian Province of mainland China the cities of Xiamen and Zhangzhou were the hardest hit. Hard-driving rains created a flooding of the river running through Zhangzhou, where mud slides killed thousands. Xiamen was devastated by a tidal wave over twenty feet tall, and most of the buildings nearest the water were washed out to sea. A fierce hailstorm pummeled the city for forty minutes; thousands of Chinese citizens, outside when the storm struck, were either killed or maimed. It was as though the gods had been angered and were showing their ire.

In Beijing, the prime minister sat in his office in the dim light of a foggy morning. His brilliantly conceived plan was in ruins. Rebuilding the navy would take China many years and great sums of money. He now knew his dream of reuniting Taiwan with mainland China would never be realized in his lifetime.

The entire episode had turned into a humiliating failure.

For his role in the failed affair he ordered that Sun Tao be jailed. Before the soldiers could take him prisoner, however, King Abdullah sought his own justice. A team of Saudi assassins dressed in long, flowing, hooded black robes slipped onto the floor where Sun Tao's offices were located. The floor lacked its usual complement of guards, the knowledge that Tao was a marked man having already swept through the building. No one wished to appear loyal to a man on the wrong side of the prime minister.

The man who only hours before had wielded incredible power was now a pariah. Slipping quietly into Tao's office, two of the assassins held him in place in the chair behind his desk as the leader of the team read from a sheet of paper in Arabic. The paper contained the charges and sentence of an Islamic court. Although Tao had no idea what was being said, he understood the sentence as soon as the leader removed a large polished steel scimitar from beneath his robe and motioned for Tao's head to be placed on his desk.

Tao struggled against the hands that held him but his efforts were in vain. With both hands firmly around the hand-tooled solid silver handle of the saber, the leader of the assassins swung the blade down with all his might.

The beheading took but one swipe of the razor-sharp blade — the scalping, one more. When the soldiers sent by the prime minister arrived at Tao's office they were met by a grisly sight. Tao's head had been cleanly removed from his neck and the top of his skull and his scalp lopped off. The open skull that sat on his desk resembled a coconut with its top chopped off by a machete, the inside filled with tuna fish dip. Tao's face bore an ugly grimace made all the more horrifying by the empty stare in his blank, lifeless eyes. Tao's torso, minus the head, sat upright in his chair. When the news of Tao reached the prime minister it confirmed him in his decision. Taking a plastic bottle from his desk drawer, he emptied a measure of white powder into a glass of plum wine, then stirred the mixture with his letter opener. Glancing out the window at the square below, he guzzled the liquid with a vengeance. Three minutes later he took his last sleep.

Taft sat at the desk in the office at his home along the Potomac River. He was exhausted. The type of bone-weary tiredness that comes after intense, protracted stress is finally relieved. The type of melancholy and malaise that come from the burden of knowledge. It is said a person's life work molds his being, forms his backbone, drives his existence. Taft was a man full of doubt.

He had begun his career with the NIA fresh out of the army, full of patriotic fervor and with the strong sense he was doing what was right and good. More and more, lately, he wondered if he was part of the solution or instead part of the problem. His sense of humor, one of the hallmarks of his personality, seemed to be slipping away. After putting the finishing touches on the report he was writing, he pushed Save on his computer and stored the information onto a disk, then ran a program that scrubbed his hard disk clean. Then he reached for the telephone.

"This is Agent Taft," he told the switchboard operator at the NIA. "I need a secure courier for a pickup at my home."

At the NIA the operator consulted a schedule listed on the computer screen. "We'll send someone right away, Agent Taft."

"Thanks," he said as he hung up the telephone.

Taft needed to get away, to cleanse his soul, to feel the power and the beauty of nature. Sitting back in his office chair, he reached for the telephone, then hesitated. Grabbing the telephone, he dialed the number from memory.

"National Museum of American History, Kristin Fazio speaking."

"I'm sorry, I was trying to reach Quickies-R-Us," Taft said easily.

"I've quit all that," Fazio said. "It seems that every time I do that, the gentleman never calls me back."

"Sorry about that," Taft said. "Would it help if I told you I haven't called you because I was involved in a matter that threatened the very existence of the world?"

"No need to lie," Fazio said. "A simple apology would suffice."

"I'm sorry," Taft said. "What I did was inexcusable."

"That's about the tenth time, Taft," Fazio said.

"Let me take you away from all this to make it up to you," Taft said easily. "Can you take a few days off work?"

"I work for the government," Fazio said, "what do you think?"

"Good," Taft laughed. "Bring some sweaters — it can get cold on the water this time of year."

"I take it we're going for a cruise on Tango," Fazio said.

"That's the plan," Taft said. "Just come over after work. I'll provision the boat and we'll set out tonight."

"I'll need to stop by my house first," Fazio said, "so look for me about sixish." Taft paused before speaking. "I really am sorry, Kristin."

"Don't worry," Fazio said, "I'll make you pay." Reaching into the desk drawer, Taft removed a set of keys for his boat and tucked them in his pocket. Just then chimes rang as the sensors buried in his driveway registered a car approaching. He walked to the front door with the disk. Opening the door, he smiled at the tall young man who wore a crew cut and a serious expression.

"A car followed me up the driveway," the courier said. "My partner is questioning the driver."

Taft glanced at the mini-van parked farther down the drive. "That's my partner, Agent Martinez. He's one of us."

Martinez must have already shown his badge because he was climbing from his van. Taft slipped the disk into the silver metal pouch the courier held and sealed the opening. Signing his name across the strip, he handed it back.

"Thanks, it goes to Benson," Taft said. "Do you or your partner want a soft drink or something?"

"No sir," the courier said, "we need to get back to the office." Tucking the pouch under his arm, the courier nodded as he passed Martinez walking up the drive. Then he slipped into the driver's seat of the NIA sedan as his partner climbed into the passenger seat and fastened his seat belt. Placing the sedan into drive he steered his way down the driveway.

"So," the partner said, "what's the legendary John Taft like?"

"He offered us a soda," the courier said.

"You mean you finally get to meet your hero and all he does is offer you a soft drink?"

"What did you expect he'd do," the courier said, "pull a rabbit out of a hat?"

"Something like that," the partner said slowly.

On the back deck of his home in Maryland, John Taft propped his feet up on a table and glanced over at Larry Martinez.

"I need to get away for a few days," Taft said quietly. "Kristin and I are going to take a cruise on Tango."

"Feeling blue?" Martinez asked.

"Tired of getting shot," Taft said. Tired of feeling like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders."

"Somebody has to do it," Martinez said.

Taft nodded wearily. "The latest word is that China lost half of its fleet."

"How are Benson and Scaramelli?" Martinez asked.

"The Taiwanese cruiser they were on received little of the storm, they're fine," Taft noted. "Benson is briefing the president as we speak."

"Good thing the storm moved west as planned," Martinez said as he brushed a fly from his neck.

"I forget how Choi explained it," Taft said easily, "but the magnetic belts on the earth run a certain way, and they were pretty sure that would be the way the storm moved."

"What's the latest on Choi?" Martinez asked.

"Apparently his citizenship papers are forthcoming— he plans to work at the Advanced Physics Lab in Boulder."

"I guess it's over," Martinez said.

"For now."

"Do you ever think physicists will be able to control Einstein's theory so it can be used for good?" Martinez asked.

"Who knows," Taft said. "Whatever happens, we won't know about it. They slapped a circle of secrecy around this entire affair — the tightest I've ever seen."

"I know," Martinez said, "they came by my office yesterday and shredded all my reports and notes."

Taft stood up from his chair. He stared into the distance to the river running past.

"I found something inside the Windforce I didn't tell you about when we were in Boston," he said quietly.

"What?" Martinez asked.

"It was a chart of the stars," Taft said easily.

"Einstein must have liked to view the heavens at night," Martinez said, smiling.

"Nothing unusual about that."

"You're probably right," Taft said quietly. "I kept the map. I never included it in any of my reports, so no one knows it exists. I just wanted to have something here that Einstein had touched."

"You know Benson will suspend you if he finds out," Martinez said. "He'd have to."

"Then I guess it will be our little secret," Taft said, rising.

"Where are you going?" Martinez asked.

"Come on into my office," Taft said as he opened the back door, then paused. "There's something written on the edge of the star chart. It looks like five letters." Martinez rose from his seat and began to follow Taft. "Can you make out any of the letters?" he asked.

"The first three look like T,E,S, then something, and maybe an A," Taft said as Martinez followed him inside.

"I wonder what it means?" Martinez asked.

"I have no earthly idea," Taft said as he entered the office and handed Martinez the chart, "but I thought you could play around with it while I'm gone." Martinez nodded. "Keep your cell phone with you. I'll call you if I find anything interesting."

"Don't you always?" Taft said as he led Martinez to the front door.