The guard saw her. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”
“Look, it’s an emergency, all right?” she shouted back. “I won’t be a moment.”
“We’re about to take off. When we’re in the air …”
“No way. This can’t wait. Do you want a mess on your hands?”
“Fine. You have one minute. Any more than that, and I’m coming inside and pulling you out myself. Understand?”
Sarah nodded and locked herself inside the lavatory, grateful for the stupidity of her captor. Had he been more astute, he would have realized that the G-550 had a door that led from the lavatory to the baggage compartment. Obviously he was hired for his brawn, not his brains. His folly was her gain, for she knew this plane well. Her father had owned a G-550 until last year, when he’d traded it in for the Falcon. At her insistence, the pilot, Branford, had given her the full technical tour. She even knew how to unlock the door. Though a member of the crew had the main key, there was always a spare behind the paper towel panel, in case of emergency. She swung open the burled walnut panel that held the towels and reached inside for the familiar key holder. She pulled out the tiny box and slid the top back to reveal the very thing she was looking for. Calmly, she tried the key, which yielded a satisfying click.
The plane began to move. They were taxiing, which meant she’d have five minutes max to make her move.
An urgent knock, and the guard’s furious voice came from the other side of the lavatory door. “Lady, I don’t know what you’re doing in there, but you gotta come out now.” He knocked so hard she thought the door would come off its hinges. “You hear me? I mean wow.”
She slipped inside the baggage compartment and locked the door behind her, then looked around for the threshold plate leading to the outside. It was on the far end of the compartment beyond the baggage webbing and electrical equipment boxes.
The plane turned right. She had a minute or two at most before the wheels would rise above the tarmac. Holding on to the walls of the compartment, she made her way carefully to the door that stood between her and freedom. Aware a light would soon go off in the cockpit, alerting the pilot that a door was ajar, she knew she had to act swiftly and decisively. She turned the latch and swung the door open.
The tarmac was a good fifteen feet below, a gray blur speeding past. She stepped out onto the threshold, her hair whipping in the wind. The cold gust lashed at her face, and she braced for what would come next. To jump now would be suicide; she had to wait for the plane to come to a momentary halt before the final full-throttle assault down the takeoff runway. It was a narrow window of opportunity, but it was her only window.
The plane stopped at the foot of the runway to ready for takeoff. She inhaled the cold air heavy with the sharp odor of jet fuel. If ever there was a leap of faith, this was it.
She quickly shut the door behind her, hoping it would buy her some time before the pilot realized it had been compromised, and jumped just as the plane started to pick up speed.
Before landing on the unforgiving blacktop she curled herself into a ball, tucking her head to her chest, to prevent massive injury. It was a trick she had learned while skydiving into the remote jungles of Guatemala during her first Mayan dig. She rolled, feeling a brutal sting as the asphalt punished her body over and over. It seemed a lifetime before she stopped moving.
She lay on her back, every square inch of her flesh in agony. Her bones felt like they had been crushed in a vise. But she was free.
She trained her eyes on the steely gray horizon and watched the wheels of Hughes’ G-550 leave the tarmac.
Thirty-Five
H
alf an hour into the Alliance meeting, Daniel was pacing the lobby of the assembly building, checking his cell phone every thirty seconds for word from his partner. Finally, it vibrated. The text was from a Brussels number, but it was exactly what he was hoping for.
Ran into trouble. OK now. Activate plan. SW
He exhaled in relief and texted.
Get here safely. I’ll handle the rest.
Daniel knew what he had to do.
Before arriving in Brussels to help Stuart Ericsson with his campaign, Sarah and Daniel had made a stop in London. It was Sarah’s idea to find Brehan and solicit his help. It was a shot in the dark, but they were running out of time and options. The mere exercise of finding the elusive monk proved to be complicated.
Sarah remembered the IEMO logo on Brehan’s jacket on the night he broke in to her apartment and thought that would be a logical place to start. She and Daniel went to the International Ethiopian Men’s Organization center on the East End and found a building not unlike the bullet-riddled hovels of Addis Ababa. Inside, it reeked of dust and mildew, as if no one had cleaned in a decade. There was no one at the desk downstairs, so Sarah and Daniel proceeded to the TV lounge, where a young man with bloodshot eyes was staring vacantly at a Japanese cartoon.
“We are looking for a man,” Sarah said in Amharic. “His face is burnt very badly. Have you seen him?”
The young man looked at her suspiciously and didn’t say a word. Daniel motioned to her to try the upstairs. They climbed creaky steps to the second level, where they found a handful of bedrooms and a shared bath from which emanated a fetid odor.
Sarah knocked.
A man cracked the door open but didn’t even let her finish her sentence before slamming it in her face.
It was Daniel who finally found Brehan. He figured, quite accurately, that the monk would hide out during the day and surface only after dark, when his charred visage could be obscured by the shadows of the night. It was well after ten in the evening when Daniel saw him picking through the trash behind the soup kitchen, looking for something to eat.
”I come as a friend,” Daniel said, offering the startled monk a bag of dried meat he had procured earlier at the corner grocer.
Sarah came around the corner. When Brehan saw the two of them standing before him, he froze. It was obvious by his look of surprise that they were the last people he’d expected to see there.
“Brehan,” Sarah said softly, “we need your help. Are you on our side?”
He nodded.
“Good. Then I must ask you to deliver this to Port Mansfield, Texas.” She handed him the small bundle wrapped in red silk.
“The codex,” he whispered. “No … We had a deal.”
“You must trust me, Brehan. Now listen carefully. This is what I need you to do.”
Daniel slipped quietly into the assembly room while the presentations were under way. Though the room was filled to capacity, his entrance went undetected, as all eyes were on Sandor Hughes, who was delivering his closing arguments on behalf of Donovan. He was in a wheelchair next to the podium, speaking into a wireless mic. In front of him was a three-tiered amphitheater, where Alliance delegates from all over the world were seated. He spoke eloquently and with conviction to a rapt audience.
“Let us weigh the facts. The earth is sick. It is dying of harmful pollutants that are breeding storms and pestilence. Lands are going barren, and crops are dying. Men are fiercely competing for what few resources remain on this overpopulated planet, and this feeds hatred and brings about war. And this scenario gets worse with every year that passes. We need to act now. Poseidon, ladies and gentlemen, is the solution, not the problem. It is the most promising research that has ever been done on carbon dioxide reduction, and we have the track record to prove it. The scientific community recognizes it as a breakthrough. We have scientists from the world’s top institutions on our board, on our staff, and in advisory capacities. I have personally invested my own fortune into this project, not because of potential profit but because I believe in it.
“Poseidon is many years in the making, with vast amounts of research and development behind it. We have already demonstrated that an acre of water treated with Poseidon is equivalent to a quarter acre of rainforest in its ability to remove carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. We cannot go back on the rampant deforestation our species has caused. But we can do something to mitigate the damage. It is no secret that we have been criticized by our foes in the media and in various other forums. They have stated, without knowing all the facts, that such a product could actually be harmful to the planet should it come into contact with other substances and mutate. Is this a possible scenario? Yes, it is. Have we thought of such a scenario and then some? I assure you we have. We employ scientists who study nothing but this very thing. Poseidon is a highly stable product. We have made sure of it. We have put it in contact with high temperatures, adverse atmospheric and oceanic conditions, and even toxic waste, and its constitution has not changed.
“In our research facility in Texas, we are employing technology unlike anything in the world. In our patented bioreactors, we are growing algae in a revolutionary way that is extremely promising. We have been able to use photosynthesis to propagate this algae in vast proportions, and we are confident that with our current population of Poseidon product we can cover enough oceanic surface to make a one percent reduction in carbon dioxide levels. And that, esteemed delegates of the Alliance, is only the beginning. Poseidon is the best defense against global warming and the answer to a cleaner, healthier planet. It is the future. And today, you have the opportunity to forge that future for the betterment of our planet and the benefit of future generations. Thank you very much.”
As the room roared with applause, Daniel whispered something in Stuart Ericsson’s ear. Stuart nodded and turned his laptop toward Daniel.
He typed in the domain number of the Cambridge intranet, which Sarah had given him when they’d put her plan into play. “Just in case something happens to me,” she had said, like she had a premonition.
Daniel logged in to the site with Sarah’s password and then sent another text. He handed the computer back to Stuart, who was preparing to take the podium to deliver the Oceanus case statement. Daniel pointed to a dialogue window. “When you’re ready, click here. I’ve alerted our contact to start transmitting.”
The Alliance chairman, a silver-haired German with tortoise-rimmed round glasses, stood and pressed his palms down to quiet the room. “Thank you, Sandor Hughes, for that very thorough presentation. Ladies and gentlemen of the assembly, as you all know, our governing bylaws require us to allow every one of our proposals for action to be challenged by organizations who wish to make a formal statement of opposition. Today we will hear such a statement from Stuart Ericsson, president of the American clean oceans initiative Oceanus. We will then turn the floor over to the audience for comments and questions before convening to vote. Without further ado, I give you Mr. Ericsson.”
Stuart took the podium and adjusted the microphone up. His hand shook slightly as he put on his reading glasses. He cleared his throat and nodded to the laptop operator.
The first image that flashed onto the projection screen was a photo of a healthy coral reef just beneath the water’s surface.
“The world’s oceans. They cover seventy-one percent of our planet and are our single most important resource. Quite simply, oceans give life. They control climate and weather, hold ninety-seven percent of the earth’s water supply, and provide nourishment for nearly half of the people of the world. In the United States alone, one in six jobs originates from marine-related industries. Humanity has always been intertwined with and dependent on the existence of the oceans. And yet we have a complex relationship with the bodies of water that support life on our planet. In fact, studies show that only four percent of the world’s oceans have not, in some way, been impacted by man. Oceanus’ mission is to help, through conservation practices, intervention, lobbying, and the dissemination of vital information, restore health and balance to our oceans and prevent further damage to the oceans from climate change. In realizing our mission, we do not hesitate to fight initiatives that could threaten the delicate balance of our oceans.”
Stuart paused until the next image, a cluster of blue-green algae, was cued up. “Algae are critical to the existence and preservation of life within our oceans. They provide oxygen through photosynthesis and are a source of food for a variety of marine life. But algae, like many life forms, can only function and thrive if there is balance of their ecosystems. When that balance is thrown off, algae can multiply so rapidly that it can actually harm marine life and marine environments. We have seen this every time there is an algal bloom, whereas vast concentrations of algae in the water cover the surface and prevent light from entering the sea. In nature, this occurs infrequently enough that the damage is not permanent. But with human activity, the picture is entirely different.”
The next image was of a German ship conducting algae research in the polar belt. “This is the
Polarlicht,
a German expedition vessel that has been conducting small-scale experiments in the Arctic Circle to determine whether the release of algae into the ocean can help sequester carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. The scientists on board the
Polarlicht
treated the sea-water with iron to bolster algal populations, with disastrous results. The numbers expanded so rapidly the algae could not be consumed fast enough by the marine organisms that fed on them. When the dead algae sank to the ocean floor, they released methane and decreased oxygen concentrations, killing marine life by the ton. And remember, this was on a small scale, off one island in polar waters. Had this experiment been carried out in a larger area of ocean, I shudder to think how many resources we would have lost.”