World Walker 1: The World Walker (44 page)

"Help is on the way," he told them, then left the suite before Walking to the pay phone Mason had instructed him to call from once he had accomplished his task. The phone began to ring as he approached. He picked it up.

"It's done," he said. "We need to talk."

"Come to the same office. Tomorrow. Noon," whispered Mason. "She's dead?"

Seb looked at his watch. "She's dead," he said.
 

"Sure of that?" he thought.

"Yes," said Seb2. "She's carrying a small package of your Manna. It will be quick. Not that she deserves it."
 

A little under two miles away, a smartly dressed businesswoman got into a cab and asked for the airport. Contrary to her natural tendency toward glamor, Sonia Svetlana had elected to alter her appearance to resemble an older, slightly frumpy, executive type. She didn't feel like attracting any attention. She still felt numb about what had happened. Was her Master testing her? Could Varden be defeated? She would fly back to Europe, regroup, find new talents to recruit into the group, step up the intensity and frequency of the blood rituals. She would find answers by reading the signs in the hearts and intestines of properly prepared sacrifices. She would come back stronger. She watched the city passing by through the window of the cab.
Shame. So many cattle here.

The taxi driver's eyes caught a movement in the mirror as the woman behind him suddenly grabbed at her chest, before sliding sideways on her seat. She gasped a few times before, horribly, going completely quiet. He drove as fast as he could to the nearest hospital.
 

The subsequent autopsy was written up in an eminent medical journal due to the anomalies revealed when they investigated the cause of cardiac arrest in a relatively fit woman who looked to be in her early forties with no evidence of previous coronary problems. Both arteries pumping blood around the body had clotted at exactly the same moment. The clots were large, immediately preventing any further blood flow. She had lost consciousness in seconds and was dead before a minute had passed. The clots were perfectly even, looking for all the world like they had been manufactured. The prominent heart specialist who wrote the paper almost made reference to the seeming artificiality of the clots. Almost. He had a reputation to maintain, and any hint of incompetence would do him no favors just months before he intended to retire from practice and take up one of the extremely lucrative consultancy offers he had been receiving.

No record of the patient's identity was ever found and she was cremated after post mortem photographs had been taken. A copy of the woman's fingerprints and a sample of DNA was put on record in case a relative ever came forward. No one ever did.
 

Chapter 46

Barrington looked very unhappy. He had a medical dressing over the hole where his ear had been removed, because, as Seb had predicted, his Manna could do nothing to replace the missing organ. He scowled across the desk at Seb.

The old woman and the hippy were absent this time, as was the huge guy who had let Seb in the previous day. Barrington seethed silently for a good three or four minutes before the laptop beeped, at which point he leaned forward, pressed the space bar and sat back again, still glowering at his nemesis.

"Sources confirm the death of Sonia Svetlana," came the whisper from the laptop. "It seems the Keystone hotel has been abandoned by the Acolytes. They are in disarray. The crucified men you rescued from the building are all in good health. Many are in better health than they were before being abducted. Only one victim gave a statement, after which he was referred to a specialist psychiatric facility which will nurse his obviously damaged psyche back to normality. All in all, a pleasing outcome."

"Meera," said Seb. "Where is she? You got what you wanted, you're still top of the tree, the big Manna guy. You don't need me any more. I'm not interested in your power games. I just want to take Meera home."

"You're a smart guy, Sebastian," whispered Mason. "You must have thought through some of the implications of this power you've been given. I can't let you walk away. We need to find out the extent of the power given to you by our tall gray friend, then I need to decide how best to use you."

"Tall gray what?" said Seb.

"Please don't play games, Mr. Varden. The facility holding the alien was run by a government group I have controlled for many years. I know how you came by the power, I just don't know why. Considering how little we still know about Manna after thousands of years of its use, I don't expect to find out any time soon. To be honest, it doesn't interest me. But you do."

"I don't care. I didn't ask for this. I promise you, I'll walk away with Meera and you'll never hear from me again."

"That's not an option, I'm afraid. You are what this generation has started referring to as a 'game changer'. Every Manna user knows something has altered. By now, there can't be a User alive who doesn't know that the Roswell Manna has gone. When they learn that you have affiliated yourself with me, there will be no further power struggles, just obedience. There will be peace."

"God help us, every megalomaniac dictator in history sounds the same," said Seb2.
 

"Shh," thought Seb, "let me think."

"I want no part of it," said Seb to Mason.

"You have no choice. I intend keeping Ms. Patel as my guest for the rest of her natural life. You will never see her again in the flesh, but you will be permitted to speak to her occasionally. I have no intention of treating her badly, she will be afforded every luxury. She will never want for anything. Neither her, nor her family."

"Family?" said Seb, heat rising in his face.

"I play a long game," whispered Mason. "Looking at the longevity of other powerful Manna users, I expect to live for at least another eighty years. It is entirely possible, during that time, that Ms. Patel will die, either of natural causes, or by her own hand. When that happens, I lose the leverage over my most powerful ally. I can't allow that."

Seb felt cold and sick. He didn't want to listen.

"I imagine Ms. Patel will hold on to the hope that she can escape or be rescued. This hope may persist for some time. Months, certainly, perhaps years. Once that hope has gone, she will deteriorate rapidly, her health will decline, she will die far younger than she should. Humans are predictable that way. We all need something to live for."

"This sick bastard has done this before," said Seb2, as Seb gripped the sides of the chair.

"I will avoid this eventuality by giving her something worth living for. A child."

"What?!" said Seb, half getting up. Barrington stopped scowling and smirked at him.

"She will be artificially inseminated, there will be no unpleasantness."

"She doesn't want children, your plan won't work."

"Possibly," whispered Mason. "But I suspect she will want to keep the child when she is told who the father is."

"What the hell difference does it make who-". Seb stopped.
 

"Oh, shit," said Seb2. In the first days of his illness, Seb had given every kind of sample to the specialist. Blood, tissue, saliva. And sperm.

"Ah. I assume from your silence you've made the connection. Look on the positive side, Mr. Varden. You will have a legacy. A new generation, carrying your DNA. Immortality. Of course, ensuring your family line doesn't die out gives me a source of hostages that will comfortably outlive me."

Seb could barely form a coherent thought. He sat in silence for a few long minutes. Finally, he spoke.

"You'd do that just to make me work for you?" he said. "Control those lives, make prisoners of children?"

"I am prepared to do whatever is necessary. And please don't think I would baulk at causing those children pain in order to keep you in line. Everyone has a price or a weakness, Mr. Varden. Those of us who rise to the top do so because we identify and exploit the flaws in others. I need you to understand your position. Do you?"

"I think you've made it clear," said Seb.

"Then our business is concluded, for now. Barrington will give you a cell phone. This is how I will contact you when I need to. Keep it with you at all times."

Barrington slid the phone across the desk to Seb. He was still smirking.

"I'd rather die," said Seb, quietly.

"Speak up, please, Mr. Varden. Do we have an agreement?"

"I said I'd rather die," said Seb, feeling the truth of it. Now it was Mason's turn to leave a long silence before finally speaking.

"That is also an option," he said. "Less complicated for me, certainly, although not as interesting. However, as you must appreciate by now, I am a practical man. Your death would be an acceptable, if regrettable, alternative to your accepting my offer."

"Then that's what I choose," said Seb. "Give me a day to settle things. I was pretty much there, anyway."

"What the hell are you doing?" said Seb2. "At least think this through."

"I don't need to," thought Seb. "We have to save Mee." He spoke aloud.

"I will trade my life for hers," he said. "I have to know she's safe."

"That's possible," whispered Mason. "But if you are dead, how can you trust me to keep my word?"

"That's my problem," said Seb. "I'll think of a way. There's a pizza place on the Upper East Side. Send Walt there tomorrow evening. I'll tell him how we're going to do this."

"You appreciate your head will be separated from your body and both parts burned up?" whispered Mason. "There will be no opportunity for trickery. It doesn't matter how powerful you are, if the brain and body are utterly destroyed, you will die."

"Hey, I almost died a couple weeks back," said Seb. "It's not that bad."

"You have until tomorrow night, Mr. Varden. You may wish to reconsider your decision during that time. Ms. Patel will have a long, healthy life. As will your children. If you choose the second option, those children will never be born."

"Send Walt," said Seb, getting up. "He'll tell you how it's going to play out."

Chapter 47

Seb spent the next day on a world tour any travel agent would have sold their soul to provide. From the Zhangye Danxia Landform in Gansu, China, with its breath-taking multicolored mountains, to an Orthodox monastery 1300 feet atop a natural sandstone rock pillar in Greece. He breakfasted at the base of an ancient redwood in Yosemite, had mid-morning coffee in a packed market in Istanbul, walked through a Japanese bamboo forest where tall green stalks waved over his head like living tower blocks. He spent an hour on a beach in Peru, the only human for miles around. He paddled in shallow pools inside a huge cave, lush with exotic vegetation, in Hang Song Doong, Vietnam. He swam in the Dead Sea and watched a rainbow over the Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. He saw the sun go down over Paris from the top of the Tour Montparnasse, saw lights dancing on the Eiffel Tower. Apart from three hours in the afternoon, he spent the day as if it might be his last.

The three hours were spent in the Syrian desert, his body automatically adjusting to the heat and screening out any harmful UV rays in the harsh sunlight.
 

"This is where the founder of the Order is rumored to come from," said Seb2.

"I know," said Seb. "It seems fitting, somehow." He walked up an incline to the mouth of a cave. Bones around the entrance hinted it may have housed some kind of animal, but their dry, brittle condition suggested it had long since been abandoned. Seb sat in the shadows and held out his hand. A plate, jug and glass took shape, the jug full of ice-cold water, the plate seeming to grow fresh sushi directly from the white china base. Seb ate slowly, savoring each mouthful. Then he looked at the empty plate and it became sand again. He sat, his mind becoming still, silent and focused.

***

When he arrived at the pizza restaurant, Walt was already in a booth, drinking bourbon and nervously folding and twisting a paper napkin.

"You gonna make that attack me?" said Seb as he slid into the chair opposite.

Walt half-smiled. "I wouldn't dare," he said.

"Mason tell you what was going on?" said Seb.

"Yes," said Walt. He stopped playing with the napkin and tossed it onto the table. "You trying to make a point?"

"Maybe," said Seb. "There's always a choice. Always, Walt."

"What kind of a choice is death?" said Walt. "Giving up. What good can you do dead?"

"I might not be able to do any good," said Seb, "but I won't do any harm, and sometimes that's the best option."

Walt stared at him steadily, shook his head, then drained his glass and called the waiter over for more. "You're making a mistake, kid, that's all I can say. All for a girl? You're young, it might seem to make sense to you now, but give it 10, 20 years, you're gonna feel differently, trust me. No one's worth dying for, Seb."

"I'm not sure you entirely believe that yourself," said Seb. "That's why I wanted you here."

"Whatever," said Walt. "You do what you've got to do. But you've been given an amazing gift. Manna makes us better, better than them-," he waved his arm to include everyone else in the restaurant. "And you have the Roswell Manna. You were given that for a reason. You're gonna throw all that away? You're crazy." He shook his head in disgust. Seb could see he had been drinking for a while, and wasn't using Manna to negate the effects.

"I'm no better than anyone in here," said Seb. "Neither are you. You forget that, it makes it easier for you to carry on helping that psychopath. But I can't forget it. I won't. I've made my choice."

Walt didn't answer, just drank his bourbon and looked across the table.

Seb stood up, reached into his jacket and tossed an envelope at Walt.

"There's a construction site in the Bronx," he said. "The address is in that letter, along with details on how this needs to go down. Sun up is 6:26am, I'll arrive then. Make sure you're there with Meera. I won't be alone, I need someone to drive Meera away, and I won't let you near me until I know she's safe."
 

"What's to stop you killing me and walking away with Meera?" said Walt.