The Firstborn (30 page)

The sun was setting when Devin joined Hannah in the kitchen. He’d found a spare room and had slept for several hours, hoping to rejuvenate some of his lost energy. But he still felt exhausted.

Hannah had fried up some hamburgers, a smell that had been strong enough to pull Devin out of bed. She had also found the makings for salad and extra sandwiches. Devin ate with purpose and focus, the way he’d consumed “chow” during basic training all those years ago. He hadn’t felt hungry until now. Food was a crutch. But now, with something hot hitting his stomach, he felt like his stomach might never be completely full.

Saul entered midway through their meal. “Including Carson and yourselves, we have fifteen,” Saul announced, taking a seat and reaching for a sandwich.

“Good,” Devin replied, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. He considered the numbers—that might even be enough to give them a full advantage.

“The first of them will be arriving tonight—the rest tomorrow.” Saul took a bite of his sandwich and chewed vigorously.

“Then the swap will have to take place tomorrow night.”

“Exactly.”

“And they’re all members of the Fallen?”

Saul nodded.

“I suppose that’s good. It keeps the likelihood of a breach at a low.”

Hannah rolled an apple in her hands. “I don’t understand the Fallen,” she said. “Who are they exactly?”

Saul wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “The Fallen are members of the Firstborn who have either lost their faith or are sick and tired of the politics—so they don’t have anything to do with the Firstborn anymore.”

She looked confused. “Is it common for the Firstborn to lose faith?”

The professor shrugged. “It’s common for people to get tired of politics and infighting. And when you tell people that they don’t have faith unless they play political ball? Well, people lose faith. That simple.”

Hannah nodded. “So there’s a lot of them?”

“There’s only a few thousand of the Firstborn that the orders formally know of. Of those I’d say a quarter of us eventually fall away.”

“That many?”

Saul harrumphed. “With the political games that get played every day in this world, the real surprise is that the number isn’t higher.”

“Do you still have visions?”

“Me?” Saul asked. “Not much. I moved into the middle of nowhere to get away from them.”

“But do you still have them?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t believe in God?”

Saul Mancuso shook his head. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“But how do you explain the visions?”

He reached for a bottle of water, twisting off the cap as he gestured. “How do you explain human life?”

“God made it.”

“Can you prove that?”

She was quiet for a moment. “You can’t prove that He didn’t.”

“The God of the gaps,” he said with a grunt, taking a long pull of water. “If science can’t explain it, then obviously God made it.”

“Sure.”

“Well, then, by your standard the tax code was made by God too,” he said sardonically. “There’s a lot that people don’t understand and that science doesn’t have a complete explanation for yet, but that doesn’t mean it’s supernatural. It just means it’s a little bit advanced.”

John ambled into the kitchen, his hair still damp from the shower. “I smell burgers.” He sniffed appreciatively and pulled up a chair. Hannah handed him the platter of food. “Tariq is secured, all locked up in the tactical building. But I was talking with him—”

Devin glared. “You talked to him? Why?”

“I wanted to know more.”

Devin groaned inwardly. Talking to the prisoner was monumentally stupid. Making Tariq think he had a friend would make him cocky and less likely to talk—assuming he knew anything.

“There’s more of them,” John said. “He has friends, and they’re planning something—something really bad.”

Saul scratched his chin. “How do you know?”

“It’s true,” Hannah interjected. “When we were in his apartment, he said something about the others.”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Look,” John said, his voice starting to rise, “a lot has been happening. Anyway, I asked him about it, and he’s definitely holding something back.”

No one said anything.

John’s tone became heated. “Don’t you understand? There’s still a terrorist attack coming!”

“Well then,” Devin said, unbuttoning his cuffs, “that means we have until the swap to learn everything that this guy knows.”

Devin pushed away from the table, walking out of the house into the evening chill.

Saul could keep Hannah busy for hours explaining his empiricist perspective on the Firstborn and their abilities. John was busy stuffing his face. Now was his chance to speak to Tariq alone, to undo any damage that blasted John Temple might have done.

Devin entered the tactical building, walking to the makeshift cell door. He unlocked it and moved in, purposeful and fast. Tariq’s eyes lifted then looked away in contempt, ignoring Devin’s approach.

Devin reached down, grabbing his collar, ripping him up from his seat.

Surprise covered Tariq’s face as he was slammed into a nearby wall. “What is wrong with you, man? This is the United States. I have rights!”

Devin held him there, voice soft but fierce. “I am not with the United States government. Do you understand?”

“This is
so
illegal!”

“So is terrorism—a crime the American people are no longer tolerant of.”

“Let go of me!”

“Tell me where your friends are.”

Tariq’s face went calm, glaring haughtily.

Devin looked into the young man’s eyes and saw it—the coming terror.

Men in masks—AK-47s.

Children crying—screaming.

Demands.

News cameras.

“…two hundred and fifty schoolchildren murdered…”

Devin’s body began to shake as he felt the images come to him. Tariq’s expression remained calm. “I’m prepared to die.”

“Good,” Devin said, eyes not moving, “because you’ll beg for it by the time I’m done with you.”

Devin returned to the kitchen, where the others were finishing up their meal. Devin dropped into a chair and seethed.

“The target is an elementary school,” Devin said without prelude. “They want to kill children. Morris Childs warned me about this. I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming. They’re targeting children, of all things!”

“That’s horrible,” Hannah said.

“It’s perfect. An elementary school in our nation’s capital. It’s Virginia Tech, Columbine, September 11, and Beslan all wrapped up into one.”

“Beslan?” Hannah asked.

“Don’t you follow the news?” Saul asked.

“Sometimes, but—”

“Beslan,” Saul announced, cutting her off, “was an attack on an elementary school in Russia in September of 2004.”

“Wait, I did hear about that, I think.”

“Chechens stormed the school, took everyone hostage. There was a three-day standoff. Ringing any bells?”

“I think I remember now.”

Devin crossed his arms. “The Russian special forces, Spetsnaz, tried to talk them down. Something went wrong, and the rebels set off the explosives.”

“Something went wrong?” Saul said with a grunt. “They waited until the eyes of the world were on them, and then they murdered a school full of children.”

“They wanted to negotiate,” John interrupted.

“To talk?” Saul snorted. “They had enough explosives to kill everybody in that building and enough guns to fight a war. Do you really think that was for the purpose of talking?”

“Well—”

“No,” Saul interrupted, uncompromisingly, “they went in with the intention of killing everyone—everyone. They didn’t want to talk; they wanted to make a statement.”

Devin nodded. “Just like Blake.”

“Yes,” Saul said, soberly. “It’s the will of every person on Planet Earth to tell everyone what is theirs.”

“What do you mean?” Hannah asked.

“Do you know what a human being is?” Saul asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“An animal,” he said with a grunt. “The world is filled with predators, and the human animal is weak and lonely and scared. So we declare what’s ours—and hate everything else.”

“It’s not that simple,” John said.

“Yes, it is. When you’re born you move into a culture, a belief system, a paradigm, and it becomes comfortable. We’re told that this is the way things are—then we put it in a box, lock it away, and never consider it again. It’s like a warm blanket in the lonely cold of the cosmos.” He sat in a nearby recliner. “Then somebody comes along and challenges those things—tries to tear away your warm, comfy blanket, and you resist, because it’s cold out there.”

“What does this have to do with—”

“Everything,” Saul said, voice hostile. “We fear and hate things that aren’t like us. Sunnis and Shiites, Muslims and Christians, Republicans and Democrats.” He held for a moment, considering. “Prima, Ora, and Domani.” He took a breath. “That’s what all this is about—avoiding and hating people who aren’t like us. Refusing to consider the other side—and condemning those who don’t listen to ours.”

“But we’re Christians,” Hannah said. “We don’t—”

“Christians don’t what? Persecute one another? Hate people who aren’t like them? Even those who are of the same faith?” Saul shook his head. “No. I’m afraid that if you are Christian soldiers, then you’re the only army on Earth that shoots their own wounded.

“D’Angelo understood something,” Saul continued. “The Firstborn cannot get along—won’t get along—and they’ll kill each other. That’s why I knew I had to prepare for the inevitable.”

Hannah’s face was covered with confusion. “Wait,” she said, raising her hand like a fourth grader.

“Yes?”

“Who is D’Angelo?”

Saul leaned back in his chair. “The monk Alessandro D’Angelo lived in Italy in the 1400s.”

“Was he a member of the Firstborn?”

“Yes. In fact, he truly is the father of the modern orders. You see, back in those days it was hard for people to understand what the First-born were. As I’ve said, there are a lot of ways to interpret this ability. You think it’s a gift from God and I think it’s a fluke of nature, but most of medieval Europe thought that it was witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft?”

“Yes. Not a divine gift, divination. A mark of the beast—a demon-possessed sorcerer predicting the future. Makes sense if you think about it. There are members of the Firstborn who still think that our gift is satanic.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Saul shrugged. “They still exist. Regardless, the medieval Firstborn were hunted down and tortured in order to discover the whereabouts of anyone else with their abilities. Most were eventually burned at the stake. This went on for nearly one hundred years before the birth of a certain Italian.”

“D’Angelo?”

“Correct. Alessandro D’Angelo was an orphan—no known lineage—but when he was fourteen, he discovered that he was one of the Firstborn.”

Hannah leaned forward. “Which gift did he have?”

Saul Mancuso leaned forward, voice intense but disimpassioned. “All three.”

“What? Were his parents of different orders?”

“No one knows—but what is known is that D’Angelo was the most powerful Firstborn to ever walk the earth. He saw the Firstborn across the world being persecuted, and he called them to Italy.”

“How?”

“I said he was the most powerful of all the Firstborn, didn’t I?”

She nodded, eyes not moving away from his.

“He hid them in Italy. He was the first to realize that there were three basic gifts—and so he established the orders.”

“The Prima, Domani, and Ora?”

“Yes. All Italian names: Prima meaning ‘previously,’ Domani meaning ‘tomorrow,’ and Ora meaning ‘now.’ He established them like monastic orders—with patriarchs at the head of each.”

“Like my grandfather?”

“Yes. Men like your grandfather.”

“And Morris Childs,” Devin added.

“And for a while the orders flourished in secrecy. But the persecutions didn’t end. And when a member of the Firstborn was captured, they would often betray the whereabouts of the other Firstborn to save their own lives—but almost always members of the other two orders.”

“But,” Hannah frowned, incredulous, “why?”

“Because the orders felt loyalty to the people they were most like—and they betrayed those who were different. It’s called in-group versus out-group. We blame the plight of a person like us on their circumstances and the plight of someone different on their actions. That simple.”

“Then what happened?”

“Those who saved their own skins were hunted down by the friends and families of those whom they betrayed. The orders stopped talking, started hating, and tumbled into violence.”

“And that’s why there’s the doctrine of isolation?”

“Yes.”

“And you think that the Firstborn will never be friends?”

He grunted. “Do you think that Israelis and Palestinians will ever be friends?”

“After the things Tariq said?” She shook her head. “No.”

“Well, there you have it. They may form shaky truces and smile at one another for a weekend each year, but I doubt anything will ever make them friends.” The professor grunted. “Do you think that Devin and John here will ever be friends? Sure, you’re all here together out of necessity—but do any of you even trust each other?”

The room was silent for a moment. No one looked at each other.

“Would you risk your necks for each other if you felt you had another option?”

Devin’s phone began to buzz in his jacket. “Excuse me,” he said, clearing his throat, glad to change the subject. He stood. “I think this is them.”

Devin stepped out of the house, surprised his phone got reception this far out—but Saul probably had whatever it took figured out.

“This is Bathurst.”

“Do you still have the terrorist?”

“Yes.”

“Come to Morris Childs’s home in New York—midnight tonight.” “You took over his home?”

“Midnight tonight.”

“No,” Devin said definitively.

“What?”

“Neutral ground. Tomorrow night. Ten o’clock.”

“Tonight, or not at all.”