The Keepers of the Library (27 page)

“If hostages were meaningless, the police would’ve knocked our doors down already,” Kheelan spat.

Will shook his head. “The game’s changed, friend. Where’ve you been the last hour? Who do you think attacked the farm?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Kheelan said. “But they were foreigners. I personally sent a couple of them to hell.”

“Yeah, they were foreigners, all right,” Will said. “They were Chinese.”

“You’re joking,” Daniel said. “That’s daft.”

“My husband’s telling you the truth,” Nancy said. “They were Chinese special forces.”

Kheelan let the weight of his shotgun point the
barrel toward the floor. “I saw their faces. They
were
Chinese.”

“I don’t know how they knew you have a Library,” Will said, “but they do. And my guess is they don’t want the British or the Americans to have it. They want it. If they’d gotten in here we all would’ve been killed or wounded. And the same thing’s going to happen if the Americans come or the British. We’re expendable.”

“And my lads?” Cacia asked. “What about them?”

Will could tell she was talking about the writers, not her sons.

“They’ll want them,” he said. “If only to study them like lab rats. You’ve got books going out hundreds of years. I’m not sure they’ll much care about continued production.”

Cacia’s lower lip trembled. “Daniel and Kheelan, listen t’ me good. Will Piper’s a good man. I trust him t’ do the right thing by us. Let ‘im tell you ‘is plan.”

Kheelan began swearing again but Daniel cut him off. “Let the man talk, Kheelan.”

Will laid it all out. He told them how with Greg’s help back in 2010, he’d defeated the US government’s attempt to destroy him by publicly revealing the existence of the Vectis Library.

“We neutralized them by bringing it out into the light of day. We defanged them, made them harmless. We’ve got to do the same thing with your Library. Let Greg take photos of the Library and the writers. Give him a tour and let him write the story of his life and put it out tonight on one of his NetZines. It’ll spread like wildfire. The whole world will know about it within the hour.”

“Then what?” Daniel asked.

“Then we talk to the police, the army, whoever they put out there to negotiate with us,” Will said.
“We give them your demands: You get a seat at the table deciding where the Library’s going to go because it can’t stay here anymore. If you want to look after the writers in the future, you’re going to have to demand it, Cacia. You’re going to want immunity from prosecution.”

Annie couldn’t keep silent. She pointed at Kheelan. “I’m sorry, but this man killed one of our agents in cold blood and seriously wounded another.”

“Kheelan will have to answer for that,” Will said. “There’s no getting around it, Daniel.”

Daniel grunted and avoided looking at his brother. “All right. I’ve heard your proposal. We’re going t’ go off and discuss this as a family, like we always do. We’ll be back with our decision, but until then, we can’t have ya with the run of th’ place. You and you,” he said pointing at Greg and Nancy. “Empty out your pockets. Cacia, fetch more handcuffs and get everyone locked down again.”

His wife started to object, but he pleaded with her, “For th’ love of God, woman, would you please just mind me this one time?”

Nancy went first, presenting her passport, FBI credentials, a government-issue NetPen. Then Kheelan patted her down under Will’s icy stare.

Greg was next. He seemed uneasy and fumbled through his pockets for his gear, slowly producing a NetPen, a wallet, a notepad, and some pens. “That’s it,” he declared.

Kheelan frisked him and was about to step away when he exclaimed, “What’s this?” He thrust his hand into Greg’s right pants pocket and came out with an olive green cylinder, two inches shorter than his NetPen.

“I forgot about that,” Greg said. “It’s my other NetPen, the one I use for work.”

“Is it now?” Daniel asked.

Nancy interrupted the sudden silence. “I don’t think so, Greg. I think we’ve got a problem.”

Will was taken aback. “Nancy, what are you saying?”

“Let me take a look at that,” she said to Kheelan. “I’ve got a feeling I know what it is and I don’t think any of us are going to like it.”

Daniel made Kheelan hand it to her.

She inspected it, and said, “I’ve seen these in training videos. They’re personalized by fingerprint and heavily encrypted. Greg, I want you to push on the button with your thumb.”

He hesitated, but Daniel pointed his gun and forced him to do it.

The polymer screen unfurled and brightly lit up. A man’s face appeared on the screen, wearing a military cap.

He called out Greg’s name and began speaking rapidly in Chinese.

G
reg collapsed onto his haunches like an
exhausted fugitive who’d been hounded and finally cornered.

Will’s mouth started to open, forming the first of a litany of questions, while Kheelan grabbed the mobile device from Nancy’s hand, threw it down, and angrily smashed it with the butt of his shotgun. He did the same to Nancy’s NetPen and dispersed the electronic bits with his boot.

“There’s nothing to discuss now, is there, Daniel?” Kheelan said. “We’re not going t’ make ourselves known t’ offcomers. We’re not negotiating with th’ police. We’re going t’ defend our land and our lives. Come on, let’s lock these bastards up and get back t’ our places lest we get overrun without putting up a good fight.”

Two more cots were dragged into the isolation room to accommodate Nancy and Greg. Reshackled, the prisoners were left on their own.

Greg was uncommunicative, sullen, avoiding everyone’s glances. Nancy spoke about him in the third person as if he wasn’t there.

“The postcards came from
him
, Will.”

Will and Phillip both asked, “Why?” simultaneously.

“He’s going to have to tell us,” Nancy said, “but we’ve got CCTV images of him making deposits in the right post office boxes in Manhattan on the right days. He’s one of the few people in the world outside of the Area 51 crowd who’ve had the database pass through his hands. Every federal department, including your favorite guys, Will, the watchers, have been scrubbed for leaks. It’s not coming from inside. It’s him. He’s been a suspect for a couple of days. I kept it to myself, went to his apartment, followed him to the airport. I didn’t want to believe it.”

“He’s got opportunity—maybe,” Will said. “What about motive?”

Nancy stared at him, “Well, Greg?”

They all stared, waiting for him to give an account of himself but he stayed mute, glancing at them furtively then looking away, until Will finally said, “Here’s the deal, Greg. You need to come clean with us. We’re your family. We haven’t always been on the same page and if I’ve been to blame, I apologize, but I’m scared as hell about Phillip and we’ve got to maximize his chances of getting out of this. So I’m appealing to you. What’s your role in this? What do the Chinese want?”

Greg began talking in a monotone, keeping his eyes on the floor. He wasn’t explicit about motivations but Will could easily enough fill in the blanks on that: chronic disappointments, a career overshadowed by his wife’s, financial woes, unfulfilled aspirations. He’d been approached by a man who worked in the Chinese delegation at the United Nations. The guy was friendly, interested in his Web site for Chinese-Americans. He said the Chinese government was keen on positive cultural exchanges and wanted to help improve his circulation and outreach, help with articles about China. He offered money, envelopes of
cash, modest amounts at first, saying that discretion was important. That’s how it started. He got friendly with the man—lunches, dinners, clubbing. Will imagined Greg would have been susceptible to expensive food and wine, maybe some escorts thrown into the mix. Finally, the big ask came. The US database from Area 51. Had he managed to retain a copy? If so, the Chinese government might pay him handsomely.

Then Greg made the shocking admission. On the day in 2009 that Will e-mailed him the Area 51 database, Greg had stopped into a Georgetown Apple store and logged onto his
Washington Post
e-mail account. When no one was looking, he transferred the file onto a thumb drive. Simple as that. Later, when the Justice Department clamped down on the
Post
’s copy and confiscated all electronic files on the newspaper’s servers, they found no evidence of a download from inside the company.

Why had he done it? He swore he never looked up dates of death, but Will didn’t believe him. The Godlike temptation would have been too great. Greg’s explanation was vague. It was like stealing the
Mona Lisa
. You could never tell anyone you had it. It would be yours alone to admire. But the feeling of power—

Greg insisted he didn’t give his Chinese friend the database. That, he asserted, would have been treasonous. The man cajoled him, lavished him with a Rolex, the one still on his wrist (which he’d told Laura was a knockoff), danced around the subject until they hit on a compromise. Greg would do their bidding for them. He’d look up names—for a price, a good price, but toward what end, he wanted to know? After all, the database was almost spent. The Horizon was approaching.

The Chinese request was unusual. They wanted him
to find Chinese-Americans or Chinese nationals—it didn’t matter—people with upcoming dates of death.

They wanted him to send postcards, mimicking the style of the Doomsday killer, calculated to garner the maximum media attention. They never told him why, but he thought it was obvious. The Chinese government wanted to create the artifice that the US government was behind a provocation. They wanted the political leverage to flex their muscles around the world as the aggrieved party.

The price was agreed upon and he began to mail the cards. It wasn’t a great crime, was it? After all, these were people who were going to die anyway. He wasn’t
killing
them.

His last act was to mail a set of fake cards to the Chinese embassy staff in Washington. None of the targets were in the US database anyway. He did as he was instructed. It was to be his final act for them. Again, as far as he was concerned, no harm, no foul. The Ambassador and his people were never in any danger.

His final payment was received. Thankfully, he was done. He wasn’t cut out for a clandestine life, for all the stress. He’d made some good money, enough to make the final push to the Horizon pleasant as hell. He and Laura would travel, buy nice things, have a blast. It was over.

But Will’s e-mail opened up a new world of possibilities and he couldn’t ignore them.

The Horizon was just a date! The world carried on. More money—a lot more money—would be handy. This was information that might command millions.

He immediately contacted his embassy handler on the secure NetPen they’d given him. He was correct about their interest.

Before he went to the airport, his contact had met him at a Brooklyn coffee shop and exchanged a case containing $2 million for a copy of Will’s e-mail message. The money was now sitting in the back of his office closet under a few boxes of sneakers. What the Chinese did with Will’s e-mail, he didn’t know.

“It’s pretty obvious what they did with it, Greg,” Will said. “They sent in troops to take the farm. First, they’ll plant their flag. Second, they’ll start talking about getting control of the material.”

Greg fell silent again, talked out. He mumbled something about being very tired and faced the wall, curling himself into a fetal position.

“Everyone’s going to want it,” Nancy said.

Annie chimed in defensively, “The UK government will never relinquish its rightful claim. It’s simply unthinkable.”

Nancy replied tartly, “We’ll see about that.”

Will looked at both women and shook his head. “This is going to get ugly,” he said. “Extremely ugly.”

P
rime Minister Hastings received the Chinese Ambassador in the Terracotta Room at 10 Downing Street. Given the circumstances, the two men did not exchange handshakes. Ambassador Chou spoke impeccable English so translators were not required. He had come with a single aide.

“Her Majesty’s Government requires an urgent and thorough explanation for your government’s illegal and outrageous military intrusion onto our sovereign territory,” Hastings demanded before Chou had time to fully plant himself into his seat.

Chou cleared his throat, and, by his pinched expression, it was apparent he was not relishing the meeting. “I am sincerely sorry that such an action
was considered necessary by my government. The leadership felt there was no alternative.”

“No alternative to the hostile invasion of the United Kingdom?” Hastings bellowed.

“You see,” Chou continued, his voice tension-pitched, “as the most populous country in the world, with 1.5 billion people, we cannot be at a disadvantage with respect to all available planning resources. You must be aware what is present in Yorkshire.”

“I am. Of course,” the Prime Minister said.

“For eighty years, the United States has had the rather distinct advantage of possessing the Library of Vectis,” the ambassador said. “They leveraged this resource to their exclusive advantage. They did not share any of the data with you prior to 2010, am I correct?”

The Prime Minister exchanged an uncomfortable glance with his Foreign Secretary. “Since then, we’ve had selective access,” Hastings said.

“Well, Prime Minister, how is it that the United States, which had no sovereign right to the Library, was allowed to control this critical asset?”

“It was a decision made by Winston Churchill a very long time ago. He undoubtedly thought it was the right thing to do at the moment. That doesn’t mean it would be the right thing to do today. And listen here, Ambassador Chou, how can any of this come close to justifying your country’s de facto act of war?”

Chou winced at the word. “‘War’ is an unfortunate and premature terminology, Prime Minister. Our intrusion onto British territory was our way of asserting our undeniable claim which we doubted would be taken seriously without such an act. These books contain the names and dates of births and deaths. Not only for British citizens. Not only for
American citizens. But for all the peoples in the world. China has the most people and must therefore control the resource. We will be happy to discuss ways in which the United Kingdom can have, as you put it, selective access, for your own social and political needs.”

Hastings was volcanic. “You invade my country, then tell us we can have sloppy seconds? Are you out of your minds? Do you …”

An aide entered the formal room with a note, which when passed to the Prime Minister interrupted him in midsentence.

Hastings read the note quickly and struggled to maintain his composure. “Mr. Ambassador, I’ve just been informed that your North Sea Fleet led by the carrier
Wen Jiabao
and a number of Type 094 nuclear submarines is off the Faroe Islands proceeding at speed toward the North Sea and presumably the eastern coast of Britain. This meeting is over. You will remove yourself along with your entire ambassadorial staff and return to your country. A formal letter will be forthcoming, but you may assume that as of now our two countries no longer enjoy diplomatic contact.”

T
he Prime Minister made a flurry of calls. A meeting of his national security group was scheduled for the COBR in an hour’s time. The Defense Minister was ordered to increase Britain’s threat level to Critical and inform all Heads of Service to configure their forces accordingly. An emergency Parliament debate was called for the next morning. The king was summoned out of a charity event and briefed. The Press Association was contacted and urged to hold off on reporting on news emanating from Yorkshire until
the morning. The P.M.’s spokesman began drafting standby statements and an address to the nation.

Then Hastings rang Washington.

“Mr. President, I’ve had the most extraordinary meeting with Ambassador Chou. The Chinese are making no bones about it. They want this new Library and they seem prepared to seize it by force if necessary. Their North Sea Fleet is off the Faroes proceeding at full speed toward our coast.”

President Dumont was in the Situation Room. Surrounded by his staff, he quickly replied, “Yeah, we’re tracking them. The Chinese position is certainly not acceptable, is it, Martin?”

“It is not. For your information, we have gone to Threat Level Critical and I will have Parliament debate a declaration of war unless the Chinese stand down and offer an apology and some form of compensation. If we do find it necessary to make a war declaration, we will be assuming the full cooperation and support of the United States and NATO.”

The line went completely silent. Hastings pointed to his mute button, alerting his own staff of his assumption that the President had put them on mute.

When the line came to life again a few seconds later, Dumont said, “Let’s not be hasty with any declarations, Martin. Once the toothpaste’s out of the tube, it’s going to be a bitch putting it back inside. Our belief in Washington is that the Chinese feel reasonably comfortable pushing Britain around. They might not feel nearly as bullish going at it with the United States.”

Hastings furrowed his brow, and said, “That’s precisely why it’s imperative for you and our NATO allies to make the strongest possible statements of support directly to the Chinese government and to do so tonight.”

The President replied fluidly, “Here’s the thing, Martin. Our view is that you’re vulnerable as hell up there in Yorkshire. The Chinese are going to figure you’re going to have trouble defending a remote site against the kind of attack their North Sea Fleet can muster. They’re also going to figure that NATO might not be up to the fight. I mean, are we really going to escalate this thing to World War III over a bunch of books?”

“NATO has a moral and a legal duty to support us!” Hastings exploded. “Are you honestly telling me that your intentions are otherwise?”

“No, no, I’m not saying that at all. I’m just passing on our concerns, which, I might add, are shared by the Germans and the French. We just think that the most prudent way to deal with this crisis is to get these damn books out of there as quickly as possible. If we do that, what are the Chinese going to attack? An empty room?”

The Prime Minister calmed down a notch. “We have had a preliminary discussion on our end of moving the Library to a more secure location. There are a number of deep bunkers associated with military installations that may be suitable.”

The line went mute again and stayed that way for an awkward interval. “Sorry about that,” the President said, “To be frank, it’s our view that the best place for the Library is in Groom Lake, Nevada. I mean, think about it. We’ve already got a state-of-the-art, bomb-proof, earthquake-proof underground facility and all the supercomputers and analysts to properly handle the material. We were going to mothball it, but we can easily modify it to take the new merchandise. It would cost you tens of billions of dollars to build something that already exists at Area 51, and if you went down that road, it would
take you years to be in a position to exploit the intel. We’d be more than happy for you to station a team of analysts at Groom Lake so you can query the database from time to time and reap the benefits along with the United States. What do you say, Martin? We’ve got our troops at Mildenhall on alert. Just give the word and we’ll have all necessary transport and manpower up there in Yorkshire in no time. We’ll knock down any local resistance at the farm for you, deal with the hostage situation up there, clean out the books by daybreak, and have them on the way to Nevada. The Chinese will be rip-shit but we don’t think they’re going to do anything about it. They’ll storm and thunder but they won’t be taking on the United States on our home court.”