Blink of an Eye (27 page)

A beat.

“This isn't a good time—”

“He's not only clairvoyant, but he sees a number of possible outcomes and he knows what to do to make any of them actually happen.”

“Clive. You're talking nonsense.”

“I'm telling you this only because I want my bases covered, Peter.

My next call is to the secretary of state.”

That got his attention. “Hold on.” The deputy secretary's voice carried through the covered phone. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I'll be right back.” A door closed.

“For Pete's sake, Clive. This isn't exactly the kind of call I would expect from you.”

Clive rubbed the walnut and glanced back at the flashing lights. “I want you to imagine something. Imagine that you're in a battle. You're a general, directing the battle. But you have an advantage. You already know exactly what your enemy will do, to the last bullet. And you know exactly what to do to stop him anywhere you want to. You know because you've seen every possibility, every move and every countermove, and you have the luxury of mapping out the course of battle precisely as you choose. What would you say about such a general?”

There was a short pause. “I would say that he is unstoppable. And I would say that I feel a bit silly talking to you about it. It would be an embarrassment to both of us if anyone overheard this.”

“Imagine something else with me, Peter. Imagine an assassin sent in to kill the president. A unique assassin who could see a thousand possible approaches to the White House and know with absolute certainty which one would succeed. What would you say about such an assassin?”

“This isn't amusing, Clive. There's no way you're telling me that this fugitive could walk up to the White House—”

“No, I'm not. But in my estimation, he's exactly what I've described.” Hearing himself say it, Clive wondered if he'd just thrown away his career.

“You're actually suggesting that I pass this on?” Smaley guffawed.

“We're courting a man who may be either the greatest asset or the greatest liability the United States has ever seen. I know it, and now you know it. So do the Saudis. Yes, I suggest you pass it on. Today.”

Smaley's voice softened. “God help me, Clive. If this is some kind of . . .” He stewed for a moment. “Has anything like this ever been documented?”

“Clairvoyance? Not exactly an unknown phenomenon. The Bible's full of it, if you believe. But actually, no, I've never heard of anything quite like this.”

Smaley was trying to get his mind around the idea. That was a start.

“I hope you don't mind my saying that I sincerely hope you're all wet on this, Masters.”

“Wouldn't be the first time you harbored such sentiments.”

“I'll call you as soon as I have a reaction. You have any idea where he is now?”

“No. But I'm pretty sure I know where he's headed.”

“Then for Pete's sake, do your job. Bring him in or whatever you have to do. This is getting ridiculous.”

“Have you heard anything I just said? This isn't like tracking your common terrorist.”

“And you're no common tracker. You're telling me you don't know how to catch this guy?”

Clive closed his eyes. “I have a pretty good idea. You just do your job. I'll expect a call later today.”

He disconnected and dropped the phone on the seat.

chapter 23

t
hey drove the Volkswagen Bug Seth had lifted from the farmhouse for less than an hour before ditching it by a deserted shack. They would have to go on foot, Seth said. It was the only way past the roadblocks.

They walked slowly. Dragged was more like it. Not only did Seth lack the energy, but there was no hurry. They had to wait for darkness.

His precognition continued to expand to one hour, then two. More futures, generations of futures that added up to millions. He couldn't see them all, of course, only those he intentionally isolated. But the constant bombardment daunted him and, more worrisome, tired him and generated a bad headache.

If he were able to see only what
would
happen instead of what
could
happen, the matter would have been simpler. He explained it to Miriam this way: “How many different words do you think I could say right now?”

“As many as you know, I suppose,” she'd responded.

“Say a thousand, for an easy number. I could say any one of a thousand words right now, and for each one, you might respond with any one of your own thousand choices. If I focused hard enough, I think I could see each word and each of your responses. That's a million possibilities in one generation. Extend that out a few minutes and you get the idea. That's just the possible futures of our talk.”

They skirted the first roadblock at ten o'clock, a half mile off Route 190. In fact, they could have walked within two hundred yards of the police and not been noticed, Seth informed her with a tired smile.

He led her due north, through a field and over a fence, where they would find another unlocked car, he said. If they took certain back roads, they would be safe for at least as far as he could see.

It was then, walking in the dead of night beside Seth, that Miriam finally understood the full weight of his gift. They were virtually invincible, weren't they? As long as Seth was awake and thinking—as long as there was at least one possible avenue of escape among the thousands of possibilities—they could simply choose it and walk on, unharmed.

In this moment, she would rather be here, walking with him, than anywhere else in the world. Except in Samir's arms, of course. A warmth rose through her chest.

She looked at Seth in his oversized shirt, hair loose, jaw firm in the moonlight, and she smiled. He smelled musty, a blend of straw and sweat—but to her it was the scent of a man, and it only reinforced her sense of security.

He looked at her, his eyes sagging. “What?”

“Nothing.”

She slipped her arm through his, as content as she could remember feeling. She could feel his skin on hers, along their arms, and that was good, because here in America you didn't have to be a fifteen-year- old bride to be touched by a man. An image of Sita floating underwater flashed through her mind and she felt a momentary stab of pain.

You are a woman and he is a man, Miriam. What would Samir say to
this display of affection, however platonic? And you know that Seth is
falling for you
. No, she did not know that. It was her fantasy. Miriam pulled her arm away. She was losing her mind with his.

Seth seemed too exhausted to react.

They found the car exactly as he'd predicted. An old white Cadillac with a shredded vinyl roof. It was unlocked.

“The owners are probably in the basement right now, praying someone will come along and swipe this beast,” Seth said. He looked at her. “Ready for a ride?”

“I was born ready.” It was a phrase he'd used earlier and she liked it.

He grinned wide. “Born ready, huh? I didn't see that one coming. Let's go.”

He was too busy considering the future of their escape to dwell on what she might say. That was a good thing. It also meant he was making mistakes. They had to rest.

They drove north to the outskirts of a town called Ridgecrest, where Seth pulled the beast, as he'd taken to calling the car, into a graveled parking lot adjacent to a large steepled building. A church. He eased the car around the back and parked behind an old shed. He simply could not go on.

“We're past the roadblocks, and it's dark. We should be okay. If I don't get some rest, my body's going to start shutting down on its own.”

“What if you don't wake up?” she asked.

“Nothing's happening in the next three hours. Three hours past that and the sun comes up. The sun comes up, I awake. Always been that way; always will be that way. Relax, princess. It's time for sleep.”

He leaned against his door, and the heavy breathing of sleep took him within minutes. The window felt like a stone against her head, and Seth kept grunting in his sleep, as if fighting unseen demons. In a groggy fit of frustration she leaned toward Seth and rested her head on his arm.

She finally slept.

The heat woke her. A suffocating blanket that smelled of oil. Light streamed in through the window, hot on her thigh like a magnifying glass . . .

Miriam jerked up. It was day! The Cadillac was surrounded by a sea of cars. They'd been found!

Seth leaned against the window, mouth hanging open in a snore, dead to the world.

She hit his thigh. “Seth!” she whispered.

He didn't budge.

She pulled her fist back and slammed it into his arm. “Seth!”

“Huh!” He jerked up, eyes wide. A trail of saliva hung from his gaping mouth. He clamped his mouth closed and swallowed. “What?”

“Look!”

He gazed around, blinking. “Cars.”

“Who . . . who are they?”

A lopsided grin split his face. “It's Sunday.”

Sunday. Christians went to their churches on Sundays. They were in a church parking lot, swallowed up by the cars of worshippers.

Miriam exhaled and leaned back. “Do you see anything?”

She wound the window down to let some of the desert heat out. He wasn't answering.

“Seth?” She faced him. “What is it? Do you see anything?”

“Yes. I see that in exactly twenty minutes, a cruiser's going to roll into this parking lot.”

“Twenty minutes. We would still be sleeping if I hadn't awakened.”

Seth had fixed his eyes on the church.

“Seth?”

“Who was the greatest prophet?”

A melody reached faintly through the walls. Children were laughing somewhere. “Muhammad,” she said.

“That's not what your sheiks teach. Muhammad was the final prophet, but Muhammad sinned. The prophet Jesus did not sin. He was the only perfect man and as such a greater prophet than Muhammad. This is the teaching of Islam.”

It was true. But she didn't understand his point.

“Your point?”

“Jesus was also the prophet of love.”

“Love?” What was he saying?

“Love your neighbor as yourself. Even the Rabbi Akiva called it the great principle of the Torah.”

“You've read the Torah too?”

“And the Talmud.” He looked at her and winked. “Time to jet.”

chapter 24

s
amir exited the Los Angeles International Airport terminal Sunday morning, carrying only a single, medium-sized bag. He'd been in the United States once before, on a five-day visit to New York for Sheik Al-Asamm. It was two years after he began working as a driver for Miriam, while she was still twelve and he only twenty. The sheer volume of new sights and ideas had sent him virtually running back to Saudi Arabia, begging the sheik never to be sent again.

Since that time, he'd been to Paris and Madrid on a number of occasions, but they hadn't affected him like New York, whether because he was older or because those two cities were more reserved he did not know. He'd also been to Cairo. Many Saudi men went to the more liberal capital of Egypt for their pleasures, though that was not Samir's reason for going. Samir never understood the blatant disregard for Islam's moral code, which was almost always associated with such trips. He despised it. He always confined his pleasure to what was permissible according to the Koran, and always restricted his pleasure to the company of one person whom he loved more than any other man, woman, or child in the universe.

Miriam.

I have come for you, my love.

He hailed a taxi and was soon riding down Century Boulevard, headed for the car-rental agency. His plan was simple. He would allow Miriam to find him, and then he would take her away from this nightmare. He needed nothing but his own love and the will of Allah. And a little help from the others, of course. But they were already helping, far more than they could possibly realize.

In the last hour alone they had told him where to find her.

Whatever information the Americans turned up on the ground, they passed on to Hilal, who in turn told General Mustafa, who informed not only the king, but Khalid and the sheik. Hilal knew a third party was after Miriam, but he didn't know it was Omar. In fact, because Samir knew about Omar, he knew more than the American Clive Masters. Omar knew everything that Hilal knew, but he was not aware of Samir's involvement.

Only Samir and the sheik knew the full picture. And it was appropriate, Samir thought, because he was here for love.

The taxi driver swerved and cursed at a passing bus. By his accent the man was from Pakistan. Likely a Muslim.

“You have lived long in America?” Samir asked.

“Three years. I'll be lucky to survive another three with these crazy drivers.”

“That's a comforting thought for your passenger.”

The man laughed. “You get used to it. This is your first time to the States?”

“Second. I've been to New York.”

The man nodded.

“You are a Muslim?” Samir asked.

“Yes. There are many Muslims here.”

“And you are a good Muslim?”

The man glanced in the rearview mirror. “A good Muslim, yes. I try my best. It's not easy to be a good Muslim in America.”

“Then you should go home to Pakistan.”

The man nodded, but the wind was out of his sails. “Perhaps.”

They drove on in silence.

Samir looked to the east. Somewhere out there in this vast landscape of lost souls, Miriam was running for her life. Afraid, abandoned, and desperate. He took a deep breath and begged God for her safety.
One more day. Give me one more day.