Pierce stayed in the darker shadows, not hard to accomplish in New York City. It was going to be a challenge to get the last nukes up in time.
Not that it mattered much.
Pierce was walking up Central Park West, the city on one side, and the park on the other. He paused as he spotted a large sphere enclosed in a glass cube: the Frederick Phineas & Sandra Priest Rose Center for Earth and Space. The glass cube was ninety-five feet on each side, and the sphere inside housed the new Hayden Planetarium. Lit by colored searchlights, the sphere inside the glass was a sight that never failed to stir Pierce. He had contributed greatly to the construction of this adjunct to the Museum of Natural History through his subsidiary holdings.
Pierce stood still for a while, simply looking at the building. He knew the interior upper half of the sphere was the most sophisticated virtual reality machine in the world. The entire sphere was eighty-seven feet in diameter and weighed over two thousand tons. Pierce walked up to the entrance. The door was wide open, the place deserted. No one was taking advantage of the pending apocalypse to view the show, as there was a much better one in the sky above. He had the outside of the sphere to himself as he strolled onto the spiral walkway. Hanging from the ceiling to the gallery’s floor were scale models of galaxies, stars and planets.
Pierce had seen the show, which played in the upper half of the sphere several times. It was a dramatic journey through the known universe, narrated by Tom Hanks and Jodi Foster. Instead, he went to the lower hemisphere, which contained the Big Bang Theater, a traditional laser light show. He entered and stood above the circular screen, which was automatically playing, right on time. It was showing the origin, expansion and cooling of the universe with a clock keeping track of the millions and billions of years flashing boy. Jodi Foster’s voice echoed through the chamber, but Pierce tuned it out.
Fundamentalists would have none of this, Pierce knew. His parents wouldn’t have. To them it had been quite simple. God made the world in seven days, tossed man into the Garden of Eden, and the whole thing began.
At the moment, he felt it quite as absurd that humanity was going to be wiped out by a random fluke of the cosmos. One that even the best scientists, couldn’t explain. As absurd as what his parents had preached to him.
He walked out of the Big Bang Theater, back onto the spiral staircase. Looking through the glass cube, he could see the American Museum of Natural History. He had first seen it when he was twelve-years-old, on a class trip. The perfect ‘constant museum’ that J.D. Salinger had described in
Catcher in the Rye
.
Pierce paused at something that always put him in his place: where a display described that if the timeline of the Universe were a football field long, mankind’s existence on the planet was equal to the width of a human hair.
Such arrogance
, Pierce thought to himself. Such arrogance we assume among the cosmos.
Pierce walked out of the Rose Center and toward the sprawling complex that was the museum proper. The building, with so many additions over the years, reflected a mixture of design styles. He paused before the Central Park West entrance with its towering white columns and bronze statue of Teddy Roosevelt on horseback. The large doors were closed. Pierce walked up the steps to the far left door and thumped it with his open palm. Within seconds it swung open and the guard smiled upon seeing him. The man had prosthetics in place of both hands, a roadside bomb had taken off both and scarred his face terribly, preventing him from working the day shift where he might scare tourists.
“Evening, Mister Pierce.”
“Evening, George. Why are you still working?”
“Just me, sir. I kind of like it. Usually only a handful of us on duty at night, but now I have the whole place to myself. When I saw your text, I made sure I was close by the door.”
Pierce nodded. “It’s as good a place as any.”
“Yes, it is, sir. Any place in particular you’ll be visiting this evening?”
“Just wandering,” Pierce said.
George smiled. “Then enjoy, sir.”
Pierce walked down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the high walls and ceiling of the massive Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Hall. He passed under the model of the huge squid fighting a large blue whale. The battle recreated from one that had occurred in the darkness of the deep ocean, cast strange shadows on the walls. Generations of school children on class trips had passed underneath the papier-mâché mock-up since it was built in 1895.
Pierce turned a corner and pushed open a door marked
Restricted Access: Museum Personnel Only
. He passed a cluster of offices, then storage areas. The dust grew heavier and the corridor narrower. The brick walls surrounding him were now part of the original museum building from 1877.
A black steel door ended the corridor. It had no markings, knob or handle. Pierce reached out and placed his hand on the left side of the door, chest high. The steel was strangely warm, a result of the sensor built into it.
There was a low click and the door slowly began to swing outward, Pierce stepping out of the way. He walked through, the door swinging shut behind him with a solid thud.
Recessed lights along the edge of the ceiling illuminated the room. It was ten feet wide by twenty feet long. Every inch of wall space, except the door, was shelved and they were overflowing with old books, scrolls and manuscripts.
At a long wooden table in the center of the room, a man was seated, perusing a scroll. He looked up as Pierce took the seat across from him.
“So?” Peter Galbraith prompted.
Pierce snorted as he settled in to the rickety wood chair. “Where to begin, old friend? Is it even worth beginning anything now that it appears the end is here?”
“Do you believe the
End
is approaching?”
“Something will happen,” Pierce said. He folded his hands in his lap and waited.
Galbraith tapped the scroll. “The problem,” he began, “is which version of the Fifth Gospel is true? The one the Vatican sits on or the one Burton’s wife burned?”
“Is that truly the problem? A question of knowledge?”
A wry smile twisted Galbraith’s lips. “No. Of course not. It all comes down to faith.”
“But faith isn’t the first thing you brought up.” Pierce leaned forward. “We’ve both had a chance to at least glance through both versions of the Fifth Gospel. While they vary wildly in some areas, there are some things both versions agree on. And some areas in which both agree with the four accepted gospels.”
Galbraith waited, knowing his old friend would get to the point.
“Matthew nineteen, verses twenty-three and twenty-four,” Pierce said.
“’I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.’”
Pierce looked Galbraith in the eyes. “Mark and Luke basically say the same thing. As do both versions of Judas’s gospel.”
“And we
are
rich, aren’t we?” Galbraith said. “Is your faith wearing on you now that the End is near?”
“Doesn’t it worry you?” Pierce countered. “We’re the richest men in the world. We’ve spent our lives pursuing wealth and power and—’
“For a greater cause,” Galbraith interrupted. “The wealth is just a means.”
“That’s a wearisome argument,” Pierce said. “I’m not just talking of you and me and our companions, but almost all men. They spend their life pursuing the almighty dollar.”
“A little late to turn philosopher or pauper, isn’t it?” Galbraith asked.
“And your Great Commission?” Pierce asked. “Still on track?”
Galbraith tapped the scroll. “Judas’s version of that is interesting.” He closed his eyes and recited: “’
Matthew twenty-eight, verses sixteen through twenty: Then the eleven disciples went away into Galilee, into a mountain where Jesus had appointed them. And when they saw him, they worshipped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and spoke unto them, saying, ‘All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.’”
“And do you have Judas’s verse memorized as well?” Pierce asked.
Galbraith opened his eyes and gave a wan smile. “My pastor didn’t preach from it much.” He looked down at the scroll.
“’Judas four, verse twelve: Some of my fellow apostles worshipped Jesus absolutely, without even the shadow of a doubt. Others had questions. Jesus enjoyed the latter more than the former. He found the questions challenging. He did not seek blind obedience. Mary, more than any of us, posed queries and doubts. And Mary, more than any of us, he loved.
“’Finally, after a week on the mountain, Jesus gathered us together. And he said:
“’All my power has been given to me by my father in Heaven. It is your task to take my message and spread it as far and as wide as possible. Go forth and teach all the nations. Teach them in the way of the mind, and of the heart, and of the human path. Teach them to observe, to question, keeping in mind all I have told you. For, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.’”
“Then it looks like he should be around soon,” Pierce said.
Galbraith shook his head. “This is the Vatican’s version. The passage is the exact same in Burton’s. You know what the biggest difference between the two is? Besides the material that Vatican obviously jammed in there to damn Judas?”
“The end is the beginning,” Pierce said.
Galbraith nodded. “Judas quite clearly indicates he’s writing a prologue. That his Fifth Gospel isn’t complete. In fact, he says it’s merely a prelude to the real thing. But he doesn’t say what the real thing is, who wrote it, or where it is.”
“Maybe, like the Intruder,” Pierce said, “the Fifth Gospel is something altogether different?”
Galbraith pinched the top of his nose between thumb and forefinger, as if trying to force back a pending headache. “I didn’t call you here to argue or to discuss philosophy or theories.”
“Why did you call me here?”
“You destroyed the Mission.”
Pierce’s silence was assent enough.
“You should have been looking to your own affairs,” Galbraith continued, “instead of meddling in ours.”
“What do you mean?”
“The nuclear weapons that you are futilely trying to use to stop the inevitable.” Galbraith abruptly stood. “Look to your own house, my old friend. Forget about the rich, focus on those who desire power.”
Pierce stood and grabbed Galbraith’s arm as he made for the door. “There’s not much time. Tell me. We know about Pakistan and India.”
“No matter how high the stakes, whether it is the Rapture or the destruction of the planet,” Galbraith said, “there are still madmen who will destroy everything in their path to gain power, if only for a day. Chechen rebels ambushed a Russian convoy moving to Plesetsk carrying the last two bombs they were going to launch. The Russians destroyed the bombs rather than let them fall into Chechen hands. Not nuclear, but using conventional munitions. Your plan isn’t going to work. It was never going to work.” He removed Pierce’s hand from his arm. “Remember, next time we meet in St. Patricks; my ground.”
“Do you think there will be a next time?” Pierce asked.
“We’ll meet again.” Galbraith left the room. “At the Cathedral. Or some other place. And if the Needle is true, it won’t be a nice place.”
Space. Earth Orbit
Forster was sweating inside his space suit. He’d just returned from modifying the third GPS satellite into a Seed. While working, he’d seen a rocket launch from the west of the United States: Vandenburg. And one from South America: Kouro.
He was ill. He’d had to choke down vomit several times. Doing that inside the suit would not only be messy and foul, it could kill him. And while he knew he was already a dead man, he had a job to complete.
As the hatch was swinging shut, there was a flash of light further out in space.
Another nuclear weapon had exploded in the vicinity of Wormwood.
New York City
“We won’t know if it had any effect for a while,” Thornton said. “Even if it did, just a few explosions will have minimal impact.”
Brunswick paced about the room. “The loss of that Soyuz is throwing off the timetable. Everyone’s rushing and there’s bound to be more accidents.”
Pierce barely heard as he tried to catch his breath. It had been a dangerous trip back to the building. Twice he’d had to run to avoid groups who looked bent on mayhem, which was a positive way to put a spin on it.
“The Russians lost two of the nukes en route to Plesetsk,” he informed them.
“Damn!” Thornton cursed. “There’s not enough time.”
“We need to focus on the Final Option,” Brunswich said.