Journey Into the Flame (49 page)

“From what we’re seeing, it’s chaotic all over D.C.,” Goshi reported grimly. “Where’s Valerie?”

“She’s down . . . unconscious,” Sylvia said. “We don’t know what happened to her.”

“Down?” Goshi didn’t say anything more except, “Look, Sylvia, I’ll try to find out who’s in charge and what our orders are. Hold tight.”

“How many do you think were killed?” Chetan asked. Goshi didn’t reply.

On one of the screens, the cameras tracked Adisa Kayin trying to revive some fallen members of the Council of Satraya. Across the park, the projected image of Randolph Fenquist had disappeared. The Coterie handlers huddled around a corpse on the ground next to the HoloPad projector. Logan could see the dead man’s scarred face. It was Randolph’s top deputy. Logan wondered if Randolph had survived the pulse—wherever he was.

“Why did Fenquist’s man die, and why did Mr. Kayin survive?” Sylvia asked, still crying. She went over to Logan, who was holding Valerie’s hand. “It doesn’t make sense. Wasn’t this about Simon and Andrea taking out their enemies?”

“They took out more than their direct enemies,” Logan replied. “The ability to think freely, unconventionally, and creatively is not limited to good people. Even the most corrupt among us can have that ability. It was not about who supported Simon and Andrea and who didn’t. They wanted to take out anyone who could pose a threat to them. Anyone who could touch the finger of God. Anyone . . .” Logan went silent as the cameras panned up and down the streets of Washington. A plane had crashed just outside the National Gallery, and firefighters were attempting to battle the raging fire it had caused. A news report from Ocean City in southern New Jersey showed a sixty-meter yacht that had crashed into the harbor. The bodies of the dead lay everywhere. Husbands clutched their wives, and wives tried to revive their husbands. Others seemed disoriented and lost, showing the effects of their activated collars. Children were crying and clinging to the motionless bodies of their parents.

“It doesn’t appear that any children were killed,” Chetan observed.

“Looks like that’s all we can be thankful for,” Sylvia said. “But how and why they were spared, I don’t know.”

Confronted by the scenes of devastation and chaos, Logan, Sylvia, and Chetan, along with the others in the SCC, who had saved most of the world from a similar fate, felt no jubilation. They were left to ponder what they might have done differently to reprogram satellite fourteen in time.

Logan turned from the screens and looked down at Valerie’s face. “Where are those medics?” he called out. Valerie was getting colder by the minute, and her breathing was weakening.

Suddenly, all three sets of doors to the SCC opened. Logan looked around anxiously for any sign of the medics, but only WSA agents filed into the room. They were led by Salid Khan, the man Chetan held in low regard. He was a short but confident-looking man with brown skin and a goatee. His shiny bald head seemed too large for his diminutive physique.

“Secure this area!” Khan shouted as he walked over to Logan and the others. “None of you is authorized to be in here. You will have a lot of explaining to do to Director Ramplet about why members of the WCF have illegally entered a WSA-secured facility.”

As Agent Khan spoke with Chetan and the other two SCC staff members trying to assess the situation, Sylvia quietly picked up Andrea’s and Lucius’s PCDs and put them in her pocket. Taking Sylvia’s cue, Logan stood and casually walked over to the frequency device, which still lay near Lucius’s body. He stepped on it, breaking it into several pieces. Then he grabbed one of the fragments and put it into his backpack. Sylvia gave him an approving look. They were not about to let the device fall into the hands of the WSA intact.

Just as Logan knelt back down next to Valerie, a WSA medical team burst through the doors. Khan directed them to Valerie, and Logan moved aside as they rolled their gurney over. They took Valerie’s vitals and lifted her onto the gurney. They started to roll it away.

Logan grabbed the gurney, stopping the medics. “Where are you taking her?”

Khan walked over, bristling with anger. “First she will be treated at the local hospital. Then she will go to one of our facilities. She has a great deal to explain to Mr. Ramplet.”

“We’ll explain our actions to the senior staff of the WCF,” Sylvia said, joining the conversation. “Meanwhile, why don’t you call your senior staff and explain to them how you let these terrorists walk right into your facility and deploy a weapon that has likely killed hundreds of thousands of people?” Khan’s eyes narrowed. “Even after we warned you what was going on!”

Just then, Logan’s PCD vibrated, indicating an incoming message. It had been sent an hour ago, but strangely, he was only receiving it now. He looked at the messenger ID. It was from Mr. Perrot. “Give us a moment,” Logan said to Khan, taking Sylvia by the arm and leading her to the other side of the room. He gestured to Chetan to join them, then played the message that had come in. It was very garbled. “Tra . . . ed. Jogi de . . . d. Plea . . . H . . . p.” Logan played the message a few more times. “The first word could be ‘trapped,’ ” he said.

“The next part sounds like ‘Jogi is dead,’ ” Sylvia said softly.

Logan nodded. “ ‘Please help’ seems to be the last part.”

“Would you like us to help your lady friend or not?” Khan asked impatiently from across the room. “Make up your minds.”

Logan and Sylvia turned back and looked at Khan. Logan didn’t want to leave Valerie, but he knew she would want him to help her father. “Go with her,” he said to Sylvia. “You need to make sure she’s all right. I’ll deal with things here.”

With a nod, Sylvia ran after Valerie and the medical team, who were leaving the SCC.

“Is there some way we can track Mr. Perrot’s PCD?” Logan asked Chetan.

“We should be able to, provided it is still active,” Chetan said. “Wherever he is, there seems to be interference of some kind.”

Logan followed Chetan to a control console, where he connected Logan’s PCD to an interface and began analyzing the information.

“Logan!” Alex interrupted, his image suddenly appearing on one of the video monitors. “We just received word that Director Ramplet is on the run. Turns out that Gretchen woman worked directly for him.”

Logan was no longer surprised. He stood silent for a moment, gathering his composure. “This isn’t over yet, Alex,” he said in a determined voice. “Looks like you’re in charge for now, and I’m going to need a few things. Are you ready to take all of this down?”

Alex nodded.

A few minutes later, Logan ended his call and took a deep breath. Most of the world had been spared an inconceivable tragedy. Most of the world. Not everyone. Charlie, Jogi, and Burke had given their lives, along with tens of thousands of people on the east coast of the NAF.
Mr. Perrot and Valerie, what if they don’t . . .
Logan did not finish his thought. He couldn’t allow himself to be beset by regrets, fears, and worries. He had to push through, just as the Satraya Flame had taught him. He had to find Mr. Perrot, and if that involved confronting Simon, so be it. He welcomed the opportunity. A face-off that had begun with their fathers was now destined to end with them.

“Banaras,” Chetan suddenly said. “The message came from Banaras, India.”

61

Knowing how to start something must be balanced with knowing when to stop.

Be wary of habits that can turn into addictions.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

BANARAS, INDIA, 10:30 A.M. LOCAL TIME, FREEDOM DAY

The WCF transport plane that Alex had arranged brought Logan to the city of Banaras, the place from which they had received Mr. Perrot’s last transmission. Chetan had connected Logan’s PCD to the Vault satellites so that he could track Mr. Perrot’s faint and intermittent signals. The signals led Logan to the Ganges, where he hired a boat to continue his search. He sat at the front of the ten-foot-long rustic watercraft as its helmsman, whose name was Sinjee, maneuvered through the river traffic past the many ghats along the banks. With the wind blowing through his hair, Logan took a drink from his water bottle and watched the people still celebrating Freedom Day, unaware of the catastrophic events on the other side of the world.

“Slow down!” Logan yelled over the roar of the motors. He’d just received another trace signal. “Pull the boat into that part of the shore, to that building over there.”

He swung his backpack over his shoulder and disembarked onto the steps of Manikarnika Ghat. He recalibrated his PCD, finding the direction
in which he needed to head. After navigating through the crowds around the burning pyres, he went up the steps and past the clock tower. He paused from time to time, waiting for the random trace signal to appear again. Before long, he was standing at the Manikarnika kund. Logan looked at his PCD for more details, but none was forthcoming.

“Mr. Perrot!” he called out a few times. There was no answer.

After surveying the area, he started to climb down the steps of the kund to have a look around. At the bottom, he saw fresh footsteps that led to some kind of tunnel. He entered, holding his illuminated PCD. Almost immediately, he noticed the newly restored wall.

“Mr. Perrot!” Logan shouted, as he picked up a rock and slammed it against the wall. “Are you in there? It’s me, Logan!”

“Yes,” a muffled voice answered. “I’ve gotten into a bit of trouble, I’m afraid.”

Logan took the small beveled-edge chisel from his backpack and used it to loosen the freshly grouted stone blocks in the wall. Twenty minutes later, he squeezed through an opening he’d made in the wall and saw Mr. Perrot sitting slumped over in a small tomblike room with the corpse of Agent Jogindra Bassi next to him.

“I thought that was it for me,” Mr. Perrot struggled to say, his mouth parched. “The PCD I hid under Jogi’s body was my only chance.”

“Don’t talk right now.” Logan handed Mr. Perrot his water bottle and took a seat beside him.

He looked at the dead WCF agent, the sand around his head red from blood. While Mr. Perrot refreshed himself and regained some of his strength, Logan brought him up to speed on all that had occurred at the Vault, the devastation along the east coast, and the heroic actions of Director Burke. He then had to tell Mr. Perrot about what had happened to Valerie.

“My greatest fear has manifested,” Mr. Perrot said, with a grave look on his face. He handed the water bottle back to Logan. “I didn’t want to put my daughter in harm’s way. Not only did I do that, but I might have also brought about her death.”

“It’s not your fault, Mr. Perrot. You know better than anyone, Valerie’s not one to back down. She never did when we were young, and she never would now. Besides, she was only wounded, sir.” Logan had to fight back the memory of Valerie’s funeral in his candle vision. “I’ve left a few messages for Sylvia,” he went on. “She’ll let us know as soon as she hears something.”

Mr. Perrot looked at Jogi’s body, trying to find comfort in Logan’s words. “Jogi told me that this place was a very auspicious place to die—but he need not have died now.” He shook his head. “We have to find Deya’s books before Simon does. Otherwise, Jogi’s life, and the lives of all those others, including your parents, will have been lost in vain.”

Logan nodded. “Agreed. Simon needs to pay for his actions.” He slipped his hand under Mr. Perrot’s elbow to help him up. “We’ll have to deal with Jogi’s body later. Right now, we need to focus on finding Simon. And so, sir, where to?”

“We do as the message instructs us,” Mr. Perrot said, pointing to the message that was etched on the wall. “We go across the river to the old fort.”

62

You cannot fake sincerity.

Is it any wonder that it is the key to prayer?

– THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA—

BANARAS, INDIA, 12:30 P.M. LOCAL TIME, FREEDOM DAY

Sinjee killed the engines of the watercraft as it pulled up to the bank of Ramnagar Fort, a few kilometers south along the west bank of the Ganges River. Built in the eighteenth century, it had been the home of many of the kings of Banaras. A wide set of stone stairs led up to the massive Mughal-style fortress with open balconies and hand-carved sandstone. Mr. Perrot read from the piece of paper on which he had written Deya’s latest message:

It will be yours

For those who follow these understandings

Cross the great river, to the fort of old

Turn and seek the canopy protecting the jewel

Along the river to Shiva’s last stand

This is the path for you

If you seek what I possess

“So, based on the message,” Logan postulated, “we are to turn in the direction we just came from and look for some kind of canopy.”

Mr. Perrot nodded. He and Logan looked back across the river. It was hard to make anything out from such a distance.

“What does ‘Shiva’s last stand’ mean?” Logan asked.

“I think it is referring to the last ghat along the shore,” Mr. Perrot said. “At least, that is what Jogi supposed. He told me it was called Assi Ghat and was dedicated to the Hindu god Shiva.”

“Why send us all the way across the river only to look backward? It doesn’t make sense.”

They continued to scan the distant shoreline without success. Then someone tapped Logan on the shoulder. He turned and saw Sinjee handing him a draw tube spotting scope which looked to be a hundred years old. Logan accepted it and nodded in appreciation.

“Is there anything that looks like a canopy?” Mr. Perrot asked.

Logan adjusted the focus on the scope. “What about a really big tree?” he said. “Could that be the canopy Deya was referring to?” He handed the scope to Mr. Perrot.