Prophet, p.36
Prophet, page 36
“Ghost town. But they still do science at the NNSS. Our nuclear arsenal’s getting geriatric, so they run experiments to make sure they still work. Conventional explosives testing. Mostly it’s a training site. Special ops, counterterrorism, homeland security. How to handle dirty bombs.”
“How do you handle a dirty bomb, Adam?”
“You try not to, Rao.”
“Fuck’s sake.”
“There’s supposed to be a pretty good steak house.”
“That’s cheering. How far away is this Prophet place?”
“Forty minutes north-northeast. It’s an old building. Went derelict. Lunastus refitted it.” He gives Rao a significant look. “Lane was really into telling me about the renovation.”
“Christ, not another one of those boardrooms.”
“Doubt it. There’ll be blueprints in Mercury and an architect’s model for the sand table.”
“Sand table?”
“Before we go in, we’ll need to familiarise ourselves with what’s in the building, what’s around it.”
“A million Mr. Potato Heads.”
Adam shakes his head firmly. “There aren’t that many objects. Thirty, forty thousand.”
“You’re being very literal, love.”
“I need to be.”
CHAPTER 62
Thirty-six years since Rao took his first breath in the world. Four months and six days since he tried to take his last breath and failed. Every breath since. He could find out how many, if he wanted. He won’t. He doesn’t. Twenty-two days since the diner. Thirteen days since Adam’s impossible clock. Since the first time he met Prophet and Prophet met him. One hour and five minutes since they took off from Centennial in a Gulfstream jet. Twelve minutes since he stared out of the window into the darkness and saw, on the horizon, flashes of light that might have been lightning, might have been behind his eyes. Eleven minutes and fifty seconds since he decided it didn’t matter either way.
When he was five, Rao ran away from his mother’s side when they were shopping in Selfridges on a rainy Thursday afternoon and hopped onto an escalator to the next floor. He’d long been obsessed with moving staircases. Mostly because he was frightened of them. He’d get more and more frightened the nearer to their ends he travelled. He’d turn to his parents and extend his arms, waiting for them to lift him off the ground, rescue him from being trapped and dragged under by the meshing teeth of the inexorable steps.
That long-ago day he’d known the moment he started to rise that he didn’t want to be on the escalator. Knew he’d done something incredibly stupid. Gripped with terror, he’d tried to walk back down to her, but the steps were high, and he couldn’t get down them fast enough. Kept being carried upwards. Tears blurring his sight, he’d watched her turn and see him. Run towards the escalator. But he knew she wouldn’t get to him in time, and he’d be eaten at the end.
He wasn’t. Somehow, he jumped over the last step, stood there paralysed with shock after he landed, was swept into his mother’s arms a few seconds later.
Being on that escalator is exactly what this flight feels like.
No one’s rescuing him from this. He’s supposed to be the rescuer here, and life has taught him that’s not a role that ends well for him. Not ever. He wants his mother. Her absence is terrible. Tears well up, slip down his cheeks. He brushes them away. Looks at his fingertips. They gleam with Prophet in the gloom. Only for a second before it slips back under his skin. I’m full of it, he thinks, self-pity shifting to darkest amusement. Veronica is wrong, and if I survive this, I can go as a Terminator to Halloween. Scare everyone shitless at parties.
Parties. He doubts there’ll be any more of those. It doesn’t matter. The flight is an escalator. They’re all on it. He looks over to where Hunter and Adam sit, the walnut table between them glowing in a pool of soft white light from the curved ceiling above. Hunter has her back to Rao. She’s eating an apple and nodding. Adam’s frowning at her, speaking quickly. Animatedly. Rao can’t hear what he’s saying over the high note of the engines. His tie’s vanished, the top two buttons of his shirt open. It’s been like that ever since the doors shut on the plane. Makes him look half naked. Rao has no idea what it means.
Behind him, Veronica emerges from the cabin, walks down the aisle smoothing the wrinkles on her skirt, informs them they’re starting their descent. The engine note has changed, and he’s already feeling the lift in his chest as it falls fast through air. He buckles his seat belt and knows without knowing that he’s not here to save the Lunastus billionaire.
An unsmiling guard with acne, a clipboard, and a sidearm boards the plane as soon as the steps are unfolded. He checks their IDs, issues them security passes, leaves without a word. Rao halts on the topmost step to breathe in a deep lungful of avgas and desert night and looks down to see two trucks waiting on the tarmac, hazard lights flashing. A man in a plaid shirt and a dark gilet is leaning against the bonnet of the nearest. It’s Lane. “Sunil! Adam!” he shouts, waving. “Over here!”
As they draw near, Lane gives Veronica a nod. “Dr Rhodes.”
“Zachary.”
“Joining us for dinner? We’ve got a table at the steak house.”
“Not tonight, thank you.”
“Your loss. Food’s good.” He beams at Hunter. “Master Sergeant Wood? A real pleasure. Thank you for your service. Come eat with us.”
“Thanks. I already ate, Mr Lane. Can I head to the dorm?”
“Sure, sure. The driver will take you.” He gestures at the second truck. “Roberts is arriving with the rest of the team at midnight. Meeting at eight a.m. in the George Washington Room, classroom block. Cafeteria serves breakfast from six.”
“Understood.” She climbs into the truck, leans out of the window, jerks her chin at Adam and Rao. “Behave yourselves, girls.”
They watch the taillights recede. Lane rubs his hands. “Let’s put your cases in the back and get you dinner.”
When their driver opens the rear passenger door, Adam climbs in. Rao hesitates. Looks up. The stars are bright here. Sharp. The sky feels too close. Like it could drop. Inside, the vehicle smells of expensive detailing and traces of Creed Tabarome.
After they pull away, Lane turns in his seat and starts on a history of the Nevada National Security Site. Rao ignores him and keeps his eyes on the desert road. Specks of quartz glitter on its surface; above it hangs an auratic haze of dust. After a couple of minutes, he sees the body of a small animal on the road ahead. Pale fur in the lights. Getting closer, he sees it’s been crushed. Has left a trail of blood. One leg still twitches.
Their driver swerves to avoid it; the jerk draws Lane’s attention back to the road.
“Roadkill. Ran under us on the way here,” the driver says.
Fuck, Rao thinks. He shifts himself up against Adam’s side. Leans in, whispers into his ear. “You saw that?”
“The jackrabbit?”
“Wasn’t a rabbit. Come on, Adam.”
Adam takes a deep breath. “You’re saying it was a telltale. Out here,” he says. “You sure?”
“Adam. It was a teddy bear.”
“It bled,” he exhales.
Rao nods. He doesn’t know if Adam’s looking at him now; something makes him not want to. He keeps his eyes ahead. Watches drifts of gravel in the headlights as they turn at intersections, rusting trailers and radiation warning signs, runs of glittering chain-link fencing, and suddenly they’re in Mercury. Amber bulbs glow dimly on buildings; they pass piles of rubble under pools of light cast by sparse, heron-necked streetlights. The town is eerie as fuck, and the steak house, when they arrive, is just as unsettling. Sitting inside it feels like being trapped in an EPGO. A plastic letter board with today’s offerings outside the door, red-checked tablecloths, a tired-looking server, and Lane beaming like he’s entertaining at Le Gavroche.
Soon Lane’s pouring zinfandel and shaking his head. “Dr Rhodes? No mistake, she’s a very, very clever girl. Summa cum laude at Oxford. Before EOS PROPHET, she led Lunastus-Dainsleif’s groundbreaking research into pharmacological deradicalisation.”
Rao’s eyes widen. “Drug-induced brainwashing?”
“Deradicalisation,” Lane replies firmly. “She’s a great asset to this project. But just between us, she doesn’t have the connections. She can’t get in the right rooms over here.”
“Veronica doesn’t go quail hunting with the boys?” Rao says.
“I don’t think she does,” Lane replies.
“But you have.”
“Many times.”
“And you get in the right rooms.”
“I like people.” Lane shrugs.
You’re rich, Rao thinks.
“People like De Witte,” Adam says.
Lane lays down his cutlery, leans in, crosses his arms over the tablecloth. “It’s an honour to know that man. Intellects like his come along once a century. Edison. Einstein. Even when he’s not speaking, you can feel him thinking. The energy, you know? His mind . . .” Lane shakes his head. “It’s not like ours.”
“Ours,” Rao says.
Adam gives him a playful, sidelong look. It’s great. Rao grins. “Steak again, Lane? It’s getting to be a little tradition with us, I see.”
Lane picks up his cutlery, starts sawing at his T-bone. “We’re in America, Sunil. You know, I was in a place in Montana once, and one of the guys I was with ordered chicken. Chicken. Caused a ruckus. You can’t beat American beef.”
“You serve Japanese beef in the Aurora canteen,” Adam points out.
“And it’s excellent. Excellent. But wagyu is like foie gras. Cloying, you can’t eat it all the time. Not like this.” He chews with relish. “You know Steven has a ranch? Two hundred and sixty thousand acres in Wyoming. He’s turning it back to prairie. Bison, the whole thing. It’s incredible. Incredible.”
“Seems a billionaire of many interests,” Rao drawls.
“That’s what makes him so extraordinary. He’s the greatest visionary of our time. But everything we do, he’s hands-on. Big data, analytics, defense, infosec, aerospace, energy, life sciences. His range—”
“Yeah, I can see why you want him rescued,” Rao cuts in. “Lunastus would go tits up without him.”
“America would. We’ve had this conversation, Sunil. It’s not just Lunastus-Dainsleif that’s relying on you tomorrow.”
“America needs me. I know. So what’s the plan?”
Lane chews, takes another sip from his glass. “Mission analysis in the morning, Sunil. Are you sure you don’t want wine?”
*
After dinner they’re escorted to a low, dimly illuminated, tan-walled dorm block with desert grass and gravel right up to its doors. Adam stands by the vehicle as Rao is ushered into a room. He’s been allocated the one next door. Walking in, he sees his kit bag placed at the foot of a varnished wooden bed frame. Green woolen blankets, a single pillow, a wardrobe, a desk with an Anglepoise lamp and a single chair. Sixty-watt bulb in a metal shade suspended from the ceiling. Would have been luxury in its heyday. He peers at the faded, framed photograph of an A-bomb test on one wall. A rising cloudcap the color of rust, the shock wave bleaching the desert white beneath. A carefully inked caption: BUSTER CHARLIE, 14KT, 30 OCTOBER 1951.
He’s unlacing his boots when there’s a hammering at the door.
“Adam?”
“It’s open,” he calls.
Another knock. “Adam?” He gets up. Outside, Rao’s bouncing on the balls of his feet under the light, holding out a pack of cigarettes. “Want a smoke?”
“What is it?”
Rao blinks at the cigarettes, turns them in his hand. “Look, I don’t know if I should be left alone right now. What if something happens?”
“What kind of something?”
“I don’t know,” Rao says hotly. “Aliens. Animate teddy bears with full sets of internal organs. This is a fucking spooky place. What if I lose the plot? Fall off an emotional cliff? This is— Stop looking so unconcerned Adam. I’m freaking out. Not everyone got raised on a military base, this isn’t—”
“What do you need?”
Silence.
More silence.
“Can I bring my mattress in here?”
“Yeah,” Adam says lightly. “Can I have that cigarette?”
They stand outside and smoke. Rao burns through one cigarette, lights another from its tail. Halfway through the second, his attention is caught by a brown moth the size and shape of an arrowhead clinging to the wall under the light. He leans in, inspects it closely.
“What’s with the moth?” Adam says. “Is it real?”
“Yes, Adam. It is. I was just remembering this time when I was small when I found a moth. An oleander hawk moth. It had just come out of its cocoon. It was beautiful. I showed it to my mother.”
“You’re thinking about your mom,” Adam murmurs.
“Yeah.”
“You should call her.”
“Are you calling yours?”
“Hunter’s going to take care of it,” Adam says.
Rao obviously doesn’t get what that means. He grimaces. “I’m not calling my mum. It’s complicated, love. I can’t talk to her without it being a whole thing with my dad, and that’s not a good situation.” He abandons the moth, turns, and leans against the wall. Sighs a lungful of smoke, watches it cloud the night air. “He’s never really approved of my life choices,” he says, staring into the darkness, studying it keenly.
“Your life choices,” Adam repeats after a while.
“Those. He warned me once. Said if I kept sleeping with men, I’d end up ruining my life. Get addicted to drugs, go to prison.”
“Huh.”
“Exactly,” Rao breathes. “Exactly. It’s not like I can tell him it was the fucking CIA.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Fuck off, this isn’t— That doesn’t matter. You know it doesn’t. And I’m not looking for sympathy. Not now I know you’ve Don’t Ask Don’t Telled your whole fucking career. I’m just explaining, right? My mother is . . .” He swallows. “She’s a wonderful woman, Adam. She’s the most beautiful soul. I adore her. And she’s got this thing, right? It’s impossible to lie to her.”
Adam blinks back surprise. “You mean, she’s like you?”
“She’s my mother.”
“No, I mean, she has an ability like yours.”
“It’s just impossible to lie to her, you know? She doesn’t know anything about Kabul. Doesn’t know I was there, what I did, the heroin, me trying to top myself, getting arrested, none of it. And I don’t want her to know. She’ll be disappointed and he’ll be right. It’s better neither of them finds out.”
Adam bends and stubs out his cigarette. “I’ll get the mattress.”
“Why have I never heard about your mother, Adam?”
“You don’t want to know about my mom, Rao.”
“I do.”
“You need to have another sob story about a high-functioning alcoholic in your head?” Adam shrugs. He doesn’t want to talk about this. “She did her best. Her best was too much for her. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Ah. Is she still alive?”
“Too well-preserved to die of anything natural.”
“Fucking hell, Adam.”
“I told you that you didn’t want to know. I’ll get the mattress.”
“Give me a sec. I’ll come with you.”
Back in the dorm, Adam drops the mattress, shoves it against the wall. Looks up to see Rao clutching his bundle of sheets, blankets, and pillow, staring wide-eyed at the framed photograph of the mushroom cloud.
“Cozy, huh?” Adam says.
“Fuck. Least it’s honest about what this place is for.”
“Yeah, it is,” Adam agrees, his chest tight. “You have the bed. I’ll take the floor.”
CHAPTER 63
It’s three minutes past six. Rao’s been lying awake since a quarter to three, and he can’t bear the press of darkness, the shape of it, any longer. It’s clinging to his throat. Makes him want to cough. Shout. He throws back the blankets. Attempts to dress silently and fails. Adam’s already up before Rao comprehends he’s awake.
“Walk before breakfast?” Adam enquires, shrugging on a jacket.
“Yeah,” Rao croaks gratefully.
The eastern sky is paling over the jagged horizon, but the just-past-full moon is bright in the west. They follow the perimeter fence. A line of Joshua trees, black against the sky. Some anonymous gardener has placed white rocks in careful circles around their trunks. Rao frowns at the absurdity of their effort in a town built for annihilation. Listens for Adam’s footfalls next to his own. How does he walk so quietly? He’s wearing boots. Rao’s in sneakers and he can barely hear him.
“Adam,” he begins. “Listen. You know they only need me in there. You don’t need to do this.”
“You go in, so do I.”
“I’m going.”
Adam nods, like it’s settled.
He doesn’t get it.
“I’m going, love, because it’s inevitable.”
Adam’s lips twitch in the gloom. “Thought I was supposed to be the fatalistic one.”
“It’s not fatalism. It’s a fact. I know I’m going to be there because it’s true.”
Adam doesn’t stop walking, but he slows. Looks out over the desert. When he speaks, his voice is hesitant. Like someone walking out onto ice, unsure if it’ll support their weight. “You can’t read truth in the future, Rao. You’ve told me that a bunch of times.”
