World Walker 1: The World Walker (40 page)

"After Hamilton left, Sid took me out back and made tea with shaking hands. 'Feh,' he said, 'I knew this day would come. That fool was right about one thing: the world is changing. It's always changing, and as you get older, it gets harder and harder to change with it. Sometimes you see change coming and decide you won't go along with it. His type means we go back to the old days of violence, turf wars. People will die and Chicago will become a place where decent people are scared to live. It's time to get out of the city, my boy.'

"He gave me a list of errands to run. He planned to leave town in the morning, but not before destroying everything in the shop. His whole network, all the bugged offices, hotel rooms, warehouses and homes, all the information giving him power, all gone forever. I was horrified. I thought he was crazy. But I'd sensed the power Michael Hamilton had and I could see he was someone who was going to build an empire. He just had an aura about him, he seemed unstoppable."

Walt stopped talking. The Lincoln had stopped outside a rundown bar well off the Strip. "Look, Seb," he said. "We make decisions all the time, some easy, some hard. Sometimes, one decision can determine the course of the rest of your life. Even if you regret it, it can't be undone. It sets you on a path. By the time you realize it wasn't the right path you're so far along there's no way back." He sighed heavily and shook his head.

"You betrayed Sid," said Seb. Walt didn't look at him, his eyes fixed on the back of Steve's head.

"I didn't know they were going to kill him," he said, his voice quiet and flat. "I shouted for his help outside the shop. When he came out they shot him. Five of them with machine guns. He might have coped with one. At that stage I hadn't seen how powerfully or quickly Sid's use of Manna could heal injuries, but it was obvious Hamilton was taking no chances. The bullets just kept hitting him. They fired into his body after he fell. They just kept firing until they'd run out of bullets. Hamilton stepped forward with an axe and hacked his head off, kicking it away from his body like a football. Then he walked over to me. 'Smart decision, kid,' he said. 'You just got promoted.'"

"He was your friend," said Seb. You owed him everything."

"I can't justify what I did," said Walt. "It was a long time ago. Sid was old, I was ambitious, I thought I'd be ok living with the consequences. I think about Sid every day. Every damned day. But I still look back and wonder what else I could have done. They weren't going to let him walk away, that was obvious. Why should I go down with him? What good would it have done him?"

Seb didn't answer.

"I made a decision and I learned to live with it. Never made my peace with it, but learned to live with it, ok? And I carved out a decent life for myself."

Seb was thinking about Jack Carnavon. About the look on his face when he realized Seb was going to let him die. He lived with that look every day. Bad decisions had consequences. But you could learn from them, you could try to restore some balance by doing some good, doing the right thing. You didn't have to stay on a path. Knowing he had the potential to become like Jack, someone who thought they could make decisions about life and death, had given him a constant reminder never to let it happen. And now lives were at risk again and he had the power to do something about it.

"Yeah, you got your decent life," said Seb. "But it's never too late. You can always choose to do the right thing."

Walt laughed then, but there was no humor at all in the sound. "You don't know Mason," he said, bitterly. He grabbed his laptop and got out of the car, heading into the dim interior of the bar. Seb followed him. Walt ordered more beer and sat down in a booth at the back of the room. He opened his laptop, tapped some keys, then swung the screen around so Seb could see it.
 

"I'm calling Mee," said Walt.

Chapter 42

The screen showed what looked like a mid-range hotel room, spacious, clean. It could be anywhere in the world. The laptop at Mee's end was obviously on a desk in front of a window, as no lights were turned on inside, yet it was bright enough to see clearly. So she was in the same hemisphere, at least.

Mee looked washed out, tired, and angry. Seb knew his face had just appeared on her screen, as tears began to roll down her face.

"'I'm sorry, Seb," she said, wiping the tears with a tissue. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't called you, they wouldn't have found us."

"Where are you?" said Seb.

"I don't know," she said. "They used some kind of spray. I don't know how long I was unconscious for. When I woke up, I was here."

"Look out the window, Mee," he said.

"No good. They've covered it. It's some sort of tower block, I know that. I'm high up, I can see the street and other buildings, but the covering blurs everything, makes it impossible to see any details. See?" She swiveled the laptop and Seb saw she was right. He couldn't Walk to her if he had no idea where she was.

"Who's with you?" he asked.

"Paid thugs," she said, curling her lip. "Henchmen and henchwomen. Wearing black. Like they need to dress that way to let me know they're the bad guys. Idiots."

Seb smiled. That was a little more like the Mee he knew.

"Back up a little, Mee. Whatever happened wasn't your fault, ok? You've been dragged into this, and you can't blame yourself for anything anyone else does. Ok?"

She sniffed. "Ok," she said in a small voice that seemed to belong to someone else.

"Now tell me what happened."

Mee told him about Lo rescuing her and Bob back in LA, about their time with the Order. How she had quickly come to respect them and their quiet power. She told Seb the Order thought he was important, but avoided the word 'Messiah' as she thought he had enough to deal with right now. Then, her voice drained and tight, she described the events of the previous night, the wholesale slaughter of the people who'd taken them in and looked after them. She took a long breath in and told Seb about Bob.

Seb sat staring at the screen. He felt grief and rage building inside him like floodwaters battering a dam. He closed his eyes briefly.

"Breathe," said Seb2.
 

"Easy for you to say," thought Seb. "You don't have to." He was desperately trying to cling on to his sense of humor, before the anger overwhelmed him and caused him to reach over and squeeze the life out of this man he had briefly considered his friend.
 

"Mourn Bob later," said Seb2. "It's all you can do. They want you off-balance, they want you irrational. You lose it now, you're playing into their hands."

Seb took a few long breaths, sounding his word:
silence.
He unclenched his hands, then opened his eyes and looked down at the stained bar table for a few seconds.
 

When he raised his eyes, he looked over the top of the laptop at Walt. The older man was also looking at the table. Seb looked back at the screen, and Mee.

"What do they want?" he said, finally, his voice quiet but steady. "Have they told you that?" She shook her head mutely.
 

"They're not interested in me," she said. "I'm just here because they think they can use me to get to you. Don't let them trap you, Seb. Whatever's happened to you, you're still you. Don't let them use me to threaten you. I'm serious. Get as far away from these ruthless bastards as you can. Forget about me." She looked at the screen and Seb had that strange sensation of knowing she was looking right at him, but as the camera was at the top of the screen, her eyes seemed to be looking elsewhere. Her hand moved.

"Mee," said Seb quickly, "don't. I can help, I can-". The screen went blank as she broke the connection.
 

Walt leaned across, folded the screen down and pulled the laptop back to his side of the table.

"She's strong," he said. "I can see what attracted you to her."

Seb just looked at him. "Don't
ever
speak about Meera to me," he said. "Tell me what you want, but don't think I'm your friend, don't try to make conversation. You should have left Chicago with Sid. Or put yourself between him and those bullets. You'd be better off dead than ending up like this."

Walt was silent for a long time. Then he took a long swallow of beer and shrugged.
 

"I have no illusions about what I am," he said. "Now listen. Mason has Meera. He has run things in this country for about thirty years. Before I tell you what happens next, I'm going to give you some advice."
 

Seb opened his mouth to speak, but Walt cut him off.

"I know you don't want it. Doesn't matter. You need to know this. You can't win against Mason, so don't take him on. He is as cold as they come. You, me, Meera, Bob, the Order, we're just pieces in a game to him. He will sacrifice anyone without a second thought if it gets him something he needs. He doesn't care who has to bleed. And he's untouchable."

"No one's untouchable," said Seb.

"Think again. No one knows who Mason is. He communicates through email, text or phone calls. He runs a network of the most powerful Manna users in America. The network extends to many other countries. His attempt to remain anonymous has been completely successful. You only need one demonstration of his power to decide it would be in your best interests to join him. And he asks very little of us, really."

"Just that you murder innocent people," said Seb. As Walt raised his hands to protest, Seb cut him off. "Or stand by while innocent people are murdered. It's the same thing."
 

Walt lowered his hands and looked away for a moment before continuing.

"As far as I know, Mason has only been challenged once. He wiped out the challenger's whole family. The guy didn't even know it was happening, at first. An uncle in London died, I think. Then it was his wife's sister and her family. Then his parents. Then his wife. Then his children. He shot himself to deny Mason the pleasure of finishing the job. If you have anyone you care about, do as he says. If you ever want to see Meera again, Seb. Think about it."

Walt couldn't meet Seb's eyes. To know you're weak is one thing; to have someone look at you with hate, disgust and pity was another.

"What does he want?" said Seb.

"He wants you to go to New York." Walt slid one of his business cards over to Seb. Handwritten on the back was an address. "8pm tomorrow."

Seb stood up, turned and walked out without looking back. Walt tapped out an email to Mason.

Varden will be there tomorrow. His power has increased massively, but I can't sense him any more. I don't know what he's capable of.

Walt finished his beer and ordered bourbon. When the barmaid came over, he asked her to leave the bottle.

Chapter 43

Seb Walked back to Los Angeles. He had 21 hours before his meeting in New York. He knew Mee was safe, for now, but he also knew she was in the hands of people who didn't have any qualms about murder.

In his apartment, he drank a glass of water and walked around the rooms he had lived in for the last three years. He felt disconnected, as if he was an intruder. He remembered feeling the same way when Mee had taken him to Liverpool and they'd visited the childhood homes of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. The houses had contained old furniture sourced to make them look as close as possible to how they looked in the late 1950s and early 1960s, when the Beatles first met. It had been a fascinating tour, but Seb remembered suddenly feeling like a voyeur, peering in at a world that had gone forever and attributing to that world some kind of magic that made it a Golden Age. They had left the tour early and gone to the pub, playing Beatles songs on the jukebox and getting gloriously drunk.

He pulled his old prayer stool out from under the piano and sat, realizing as he did so, that he was now wearing the old sweat pants and t-shirt he always wore when he practiced contemplation.

"Your clothes, your physical appearance, just thinking it changes it," said Seb2 as Seb tucked his legs under the low wooden stool and folded his hands in his lap.

"Yeah, I remember," said Seb, allowing his breathing to slow. "Tell me something useful. Fashion tips aren't going to help save Mee."

"You'd be surprised. Changing the way you look wouldn't have helped you escape notice before Roswell, but now you've dropped completely off the radar. They won't know you if you look different."

"They can't sense me any more?" said Seb. "How is that possible? Walt could tell where I was any time. That crazy Sonia woman found me quickly enough."

"The Manna you've absorbed," said Seb2, "it's completely new. It comes from a culture 2,000 years further on from the one that seeded the Earth first time around. Roswell was the third visit I'm aware of. The first visit was thousands of years before humans started walking on two legs. The Manna left then was somewhat of a marker. When humans found it, cultures started developing with a shaman, witch doctor, or priest of some kind. The second visit was supposed to coincide with a genetic wildcard being available and able to absorb upgraded Manna. For whatever reason, it didn't quite take, but that visitor left millions of Thin Places seeded all over the planet."

"And everyone who can use Manna, they're still using the Manna that was left then?"

"Right. It's self-sustaining nanotechnology, the amount of it on Earth is kept constant. Taken away from a Thin Place by a human body, the tech will shut down over time - faster as it's used by whoever absorbed it. The Thin Places automatically replace the Manna taken. And that's how it's been for many centuries. You're the next genetic wildcard, the new Manna was only left in one Thin Place, ready to seed the planet again when the time came."

"But it's gone, right? I have it all."

"Yes. Billy Joe went home after passing on Manna to you. The Manna he gave you was a bridge, not the Roswell Manna, but a upgraded version of the 2000 year-old stuff. It meant you were able to absorb Roswell without burning up. I think part of the original plan would have been that you, when the time is right, would make new Thin Places. If and when humanity is ready."