"He
might," Blanes admitted. "But the Zurich plane takes off in
less than an hour, and Carter's sure Harrison has no idea where we're
going."
"Can
we trust him?" she asked, eyeing his broad back as he leaned
over the ticket counter.
"He
wants to get out of here as bad as we do, Elisa."
Carter
came back, fanning out their boarding passes like a blackjack dealer.
Victor was glad he was so cool under pressure, such a natural leader.
He didn't need to say anything to get them moving, following him like
little lambs, Jacqueline's heels clicking away.
"Do
you think Harrison knows by now?" Blanes asked, looking around.
"It's
possible." Carter shrugged. "But I know him, and I've tried
to second-guess him. Right about now, he'll be at the house,
confused, shouting orders and wondering what happened. I left him a
few false trails. By the time he figures it all out, our plane will
be in the air."
HARRISON
stepped
into Barajas International Airport's Terminal One, speaking on his
cell phone. He'd acted fast. Much faster—he was guessing—than
Carter could ever have imagined. He hadn't
lucked
into
the position as Eagle's head of security because he was interested in
science projects.
"You're
right, sir," the voice on the other end of the line said. "He
just checked in five passengers on the seven o'clock Lufthansa flight
to Zurich, using fake passports. They recognized him at the counter.
E-mailing them his photo was a great idea. He's probably on his way
to the gate right now."
Harrison
nodded silently and hung up. He knew Paul Carter well. He might be a
traitor, but he was the same old mercenary using the same old
tactics.
You're
going to have a big surprise, Paul.
He
glanced at his watch, striding quickly toward the gate with his
right-hand man. Six forty-five.
"Have
you spoken to Blazquez?" he asked without slowing.
"They're
going to delay the flight, sir. The Spanish police have been alerted,
too. We'll get them at passenger control."
Harrison
congratulated himself, not for the first time, about the state of
international panic the world had been living in for over a decade
now. Everyone was so afraid of terrorists that orders to do things
like delay a flight or detain five suspects in a foreign country
where he had no jurisdiction were obeyed in the blink of an eye. Fear
was quite useful, even in Europe.
A
woman pushing a luggage carrier got in his way. Harrison almost
crashed into her and cursed under his breath. His man pushed her
aside without stopping. At the same time, Harrison heard the
announcement over the loudspeaker, first in Spanish and then in
English: "Lufthansa announces that the departure of its Zurich
flight will be delayed due to mechanical problems."
They
had them now.
"We
repeat, the departure of the Lufthansa flight to Zurich..."
BLANES
paled
visibly as they rushed to the security line.
"Carter
did you hear that? The flight's been delayed."
There
were six passengers putting their luggage onto the conveyor belt.
Beyond them, a group of uniformed men seemed to be having some sort
of confab. Not a single passenger was making it through without a
thorough search.
"Flights
are often delayed, Professor. Don't get all worked up about it,"
Carter replied. He passed one of the lines and headed for the next
one, his head twisting and turning, straining from side to side on
his wide neck, attempting to see something.
Blanes
and Elisa exchanged looks.
"Have
you seen all those cops, Carter?" Blanes insisted nervously.
Rather
than reply, Carter kept walking. He passed the last passenger in line
and didn't stop there, either. Then he turned toward the exit. The
scientists trailed behind, baffled.
"Where
are we going?" Blanes asked.
A
black minivan awaited them just outside. The man who was driving
hopped out. Carter took his place behind the wheel and turned the key
of the ignition.
"Get
in, let's go!" he shouted.
Only
after they were all settled into the back and the car had taken off
did he explain.
"You
didn't really think we were going to Zurich on a commercial flight,
traveling on tickets bought right at the airport, did you?" He
backed up and then accelerated. "I know Harrison. I'm one step
ahead of him. I was pretty sure he'd send my description to the
authorities ... though it's true he moved faster than I expected.
Let's just hope he takes the bait and buys the Zurich story for as
long as possible."
Elisa
glanced at Victor and Jacqueline in the backseat; they looked as
disconcerted as she felt. If Carter were telling the truth, he was
the best ally they could possibly have.
"So
we're not going to Zurich?" Blanes asked.
"Of
course not. I never even considered it."
"Why
didn't you tell us?"
Carter
pretended not to hear. After maneuvering skillfully between two
vehicles and then getting on the freeway, he finally replied.
"If
you're going to depend on me from here on out, Professor, you'd
better learn one thing: the truth is something you never
tell;
it's
something you
do.
The
only thing you tell are lies."
Elisa
wondered if, at that moment, he was telling the truth.
"THEY'RE
gone."
That
was all he could think, his sole conclusion. His colleague had
planned it all very carefully. Maybe he'd never even intended to go
to Switzerland. Maybe he had private transport, maybe they'd gone to
another airport.
For
a moment, he couldn't breathe. He was hyperventilating so intensely
that without a word, he had to get up and leave the room where the
head of Barajas International Airport was briefing him. He walked out
into the hall. His man followed.
"They're
gone," Harrison repeated once he got his breath back. "Carter's
on their side."
He
knew why, now, too.
He's
trying to save his own skin. He knows this is the most dangerous
thing he's ever had to face in his life, and he wants the scientists
to help him survive.
He
took a deep breath. Suddenly, the prospects weren't looking so good.
Zig
Zag might be the enemy. The Enemy, with a capital E, the most fearful
thing of all. But now he knew that Carter was another kind of enemy.
And even though the two weren't comparable, his old colleague was no
trifling adversary.
From
that moment on, he'd have to be exceedingly careful of Paul Carter.
PART
EIGHT
The
Return
I
know well what I am fleeing from but not what I am in search of.
MICHEL
DE
MONTAIGNE
28
BENEATH
the
rapidly setting sun, the island looked like a tiny rip in a sheet of
wavy blue fabric. The helicopter circled over twice before beginning
its descent.
Up
until that minute, the idea of a strip of jungle floating in a
tropical ocean had seemed more like an ad for a travel agency than a
reality to Victor. The kind of place you never go because it's so
fake, just bait to lure in more customers. But when he saw New Nelson
resting in the middle of the Indian Ocean, surrounded by rings of
various shades of green, covered with palm fronds that looked like
flowers (from above), white sands and coral reefs like huge necklaces
in the sea, he had to admit he'd been wrong. Places like that really
did
exist.
And
if the island were real, he reasoned—petrified—then
everything he'd heard up until then took on a new verisimilitude.
"It
looks like heaven on earth," he murmured. Elisa, scrunched in
beside him by the helicopter window, stared down, riveted. "Well,
it's hell," she said.
Victor
doubted it. Despite everything he'd heard, he couldn't believe that
New Nelson could be worse than the airport in Sanaa, Yemen, where
they'd spent the last eighteen hours waiting for Carter to tie up all
the loose ends and get them to the island. He hadn't been able to
shower or change clothes, his bones ached from having slept on
uncomfortable benches at the airport, and he'd had almost nothing to
eat or drink besides potato chips, chocolate, and bottled water. And
that after the highly distressing flight on the light aircraft they'd
taken from Torrejon, Madrid's military air base, made all the more
enjoyable by Carter's sarcastic comments.
"You
call yourselves scientists, right? You know the expression 'in
theory,' I presume. Well, 'in theory' you're going back to the place
you left ten years ago, but don't blame me if that doesn't turn out
to be the case."
"We
never left" was Jacqueline Clissot's taciturn rejoinder. Unlike
Elisa, Jacqueline had brought some clothes with her. She'd changed in
Sanaa and now wore a baseball cap over her straight hair, a white
summer blouse, and a denim miniskirt. At that moment, she looked out
the other window, next to Blanes, but she turned her head away when
the island came into view.
Victor
didn't care what they said. Regardless of whatever might be there
waiting for them, at least it was the final stage of that maddening
journey. He'd have time to take a shower, maybe even shave. He had
his doubts about the possibility of finding any clean clothes there,
but just maybe...
The
helicopter jerked violently again. After lurching once more—the
Arabic pilot assured them that it was the wind, but Victor was
inclined to think it was more a case of his piloting skills—they
regained balance and descended toward what looked to be a landing pad
made of sand. To the right was what appeared to be the ruins of a
building and a pile of twisted metal.
"That's
what's left of the garrison and the warehouse," Elisa said.
Victor
saw her shiver and put his arm around her.
From
the air, the station looked a little like a bent fork. The tines were
formed by three gray barracks with sloping roofs that were all
connected at the northern end, and the handle was stumpy and round.
He imagined that was where SUSAN, the electron accelerator, was
stored. There were long, circular antennae on the roof above it,
stretching their metallic skeletons up into the sky. The whole thing
was enclosed by a huge, square, barbed-wire fence.