The Keepers of the Library (29 page)

W
ill left one of the bombs at
the base of the stairs leading up to the hangar and the other at the stairs going from the Library up to the house. He and Nancy went back upstairs to the farmhouse with Cacia and left Phillip and Haven underground for their safety.

In the lounge, the telephone was ringing again, but this time Will picked it up.

“How’re you doing?” he said defiantly.

Colonel Woolford replied with a challenging tone, “With whom am I speaking?”

“My name’s Will Piper.”

“I see. Mr. Piper, this is Colonel Barry Woolford, British Army. I’ve been informed by Miss Locke that you’ve gone off the deep end.”

“I wouldn’t describe it that way, Colonel.”

“Well, maybe that’s a bit of a disparagement. Perhaps I should call it the Stockholm Syndrome, identifying with one’s captors.”

“I’d call it a straight-up survival instinct. You see, I know how this is going to be played out. You come in, or the Americans come in, or the Chinese come in—it doesn’t matter who—and your interest is going
to be the Library. The Lightburns, my family, everyone else down here are going to be liabilities. You’re going to want this completely watertight and leak-proof.”

“I’m a military man, Mr. Piper. I have a narrow remit. But I’m sure that once you and your family are safe, you’ll be able to state your concerns to the appropriate civilian authorities.”

“Colonel, I’m not going to argue about something I know to be factual. I’m here to tell you that everything that Annie Locke told you is true. We’re making our stand here. If you come in uninvited, you’ll be met with lethal force. Now that may not scare a tough guy like I’m sure you are, but here’s something that
might
scare you. If you come in shooting, you will not get the Library, you’ll get ashes. As the responsible field officer, your ass will be as burned as the books. Do you understand me?”

After a pause, the colonel replied that he understood perfectly and asked what it was that Will wanted.

“Send in a BBC crew broadcasting live. We’ll be watching on television to make sure it’s not bogus. Once the BBC transmits a complete tour of the place, then we’ll walk out of here. And another thing, have the journalists bring in a pardon letter for the Lightburns signed by the Home Secretary.”

“Anything else?” Woolford asked with an exasperated officiousness.

“Yeah, tell me if Greg Davis is dead.”

“He is.”

“How did he die?”

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not at all sure. It’s under investigation.”

Just before he hung up Will said, “I’d look to the east, Colonel. Call me back when you’ve got an answer.”

I
should sit with ’em,” Haven said. “Do you want t’ come?”

Phillip followed her into the writers’ room. All of the ginger-haired men looked up at her. Though they never smiled, it seemed as if their faces softened in her presence.

She and Phillip sat at the front of the room, watching them do their work.

“What year are they working on?” Phillip asked her.

“They’re up to 2611.”

“It’s hard to imagine so far into the future,” he said. “It’d be cool to see if there’re any strange names like aliens from another planet. Do you ever look?”

“Nae.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not me place t’ look.”

“Can I?”

“I don’t think ya should,” she said. “They’re acting funny today.”

Phillip didn’t know their baseline behavior, but he saw what she meant. None of them were writing fluidly. They’d start and stop, their pens floating hesitantly over their pages. And when they weren’t writing, they fidgeted in their chairs as if trying to find a comfortable position. Angus, the oldest scribe was hardly writing at all. Instead, he was blankly staring at his page and drooling more than usual, rendering his page soggy and unusable.

“Maybe they’re spooked by all the noise outside,” Phillip said, “and all the new people.”

Haven got up and took a fresh towel. She went to Angus and wiped his face and blotted the drool from his shirt and the page. “Let me give ya a new one,”
she told him, heading toward the end of the table, where a ream of paper was at the ready.

Matthew, the twenty-one-year-old writer with reddish stubble on his chin suddenly rose from his chair, grunting loudly. He was thin, as they all were, and not very strong, but with an unexpected quickness he grabbed Haven around the waist and threw her to the ground.

“Hey!” Phillip shouted.

Haven struggled and protested under Matthew’s weight. The young man tried to push up her dress. He was wild-eyed now, pushing his hardness against her while the other writers continued their business as if nothing were transpiring.

Phillip ran over and straddled Matthew trying to lift him off the wriggling girl. He was too heavy to shift, so Phillip got his attention by punching him in the right ear, the left ear, the right again.

Matthew yelped in pain and rolled off, covering his ears from further blows.

“Please, Phillip, don’t hurt ‘im!” Haven cried.

“I’ll kill him!” Phillip yelled, balling his fist up again.

“No! He’s out of sorts. He must’ve thought it was ‘is time.”

She got up, smoothed out her dress, and knelt beside the cowering writer. “It’s okay, Matthew. It’s okay,” she said soothingly. “No one’s going t’ hurt ya. No one’s mad at ya. Phillip, help me get him t’ ‘is chair.”

Reluctantly, Phillip obliged. Matthew sat mutely for a while, then picked up his pen, wrote a single entry, then stopped. A drop of blood from a cut on his temple had fallen onto his page and he looked at it, transfixed.

Haven ran for a towel and held it against his small gash.

“Did this ever happen to you before?” Phillip asked suddenly.

“Nae.”

“But it’s supposed to happen sometime, isn’t it?”

“It’s our way, Phillip,” she said in little more than a whisper. “I don’t have t’ like it. My mother and aunt didn’t have t’ like it.”

Phillip only said, “Oh, man …”

She took Phillip’s hand with a breathy sigh.

He held it tightly, and said, “It’s not going to happen now, Haven. You heard my dad. Your life’s going to change.”

“Aye, it’s going to change all right,” she said, pushing her red hair from her eyes to wipe at her tears.

O
kay, next chess move,” Will said, handing the lounge phone to Nancy. “Make your call.”

“I’m sure the Brits will be listening in,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter. Play to the audience.”

She called Director Parish’s office line at the FBI. It was almost 8
P.M.
in Washington, but she figured he’d still be there, and he was.

He asked where she was, and when she told him, he went off like a Roman candle, spouting about insubordination again.

“You’ve got to get beyond that,” Nancy told him. “I’m here, and we’ve got a very serious situation brewing.”

“Is this a secure line?” he asked.

“It is not.”

“Then I need to be careful. Suffice it to say, Nancy, we’ve got a good idea what’s going on in Pinn and there’s a high degree of interest in the assets. However, there appear to be other interested parties.”

“The British Army’s already informed us they’re
preparing to enter by force. It’s pretty clear the Chinese are closing in too.”

Parish puffed out a blast of held breath. “How do you know about that?”

“It’s a long story, but I know who the postcard sender is. He’s dead. He was connected to the Chinese.”

“Jesus.”

“We need your help,” she said. “This is a life-and-death situation here. We need you to persuade the British to agree to our demands.” She told him about the live camera crew, the clemency letter for the Lightburns. Otherwise, no one was going to get the Library intact.

Parish listened, then answered her, sounding as tense as she’d ever heard. “There’s a problem with this, Nancy, and I don’t mind saying this over a non-secure line because I think everyone knows the score. The US government and the British government are no longer on the same team on this matter. They’re going to do what they need to do, and we’re going to do what we need to do. And, God help us, the Chinese apparently feel the same way. This is not going to end with all of us around the campfire singing ‘Kumbaya.’”

A
t 1:00
A.M.
Kenney got the call he was waiting for. “It’s a go from the White House,” Admiral Sage told him. “At 0200, you are to covertly enter the compound and secure the target. Once you have succeeded, you will be joined by one or more JSOC Seal teams, who will drop in and take control of the assets. They will be supported by the Third Ranger Battalion who are about to deploy from RAF Mildenhall. The Brits have suspended our takeoff and landing
rights at all our shared RAF facilities, but we’re in a fuck-’em mode. The Rangers are going to keep the Brits busy long enough for us to get a fleet of heavy-lift choppers in and get the books crated and out the door. You will start with 2027 and get as many decades and centuries of material as humanly possible before we vacate. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Kenney said, his heart thumping. “What about the Chinese?”

“Looks like they’re coming too,” the admiral said excitedly. “Their fleet’s close to striking distance. You let the Rangers and the Air Force worry about them. Also, the Brits aren’t about to let the Chinese march in without a good fight. Stay focused on your objective and do not fail.”

D
uring a brief period of quiet, Cacia put the kettle on and made tea. She called Daniel from the lounge and handed him his favorite mug before serving up Nancy and Will. The four of them sat on the kitchen floor for fear of sniper fire though Nancy told them nowhere inside was really safe from a large-caliber rifle coupled with a thermal scope.

“That’s comfortin’,” Cacia said, taking a sip.

“Sorry,” Nancy said. “I’m a full-disclosure gal.”

“Can I ask you how long th’ two of you’ve been married?” she asked.

“Sixteen years,” Will said. “Sixteen good years. How about you two?”

“Twenty-five,” Daniel said. “Time marches on, don’t it?”

Nancy nodded in agreement, and said, “We’ve lived every year of our marriage assuming that 2027 might be the end. You guys are probably the only family in the world who knew that wasn’t so.”

“Maybe you were better off not knowin’,” Cacia said.

“Why?” Will asked.

“Well, look at th’ two of ya,” Cacia said. “I’ve seen the way ya sneak glances at each other. You look like you’re very much in love, like newlyweds. Maybe th’ thought of th’ Horizon’s kept things fresh.”

Daniel asked his wife, “Then how do you explain our marital bliss?”

“Oh, please!” Cacia said, giving him a little kick. “You’re a bit old t’ be becoming a comedian, aren’t ya?”

The phone rang.

Will frog-walked to the lounge and picked it up. The colonel was on the line.

“Woolford here. Is this Piper?”

“I hope you’re calling to tell me the BBC crew is on the way.”

“Alas, no.”

“Wrong move,” Will said.

“Look, I think it’s best not to beat about the bush,” the colonel said. “Your proposal was discussed at the highest levels. It did not fly. In fact, it was batted down quite vigorously. The Lightburns are criminals and must come to justice. And the books are a national resource, and as such they must be protected from certain foreign powers which threaten to usurp them. I’m afraid I’m going to have to give
you
an ultimatum. Come out within the hour—hands on head, one by one—or we’re coming in. Do you clearly understand, Mr. Piper?”

“Here’s what I understand,” Will shouted. “I understand that you’re going to go down in history as one particularly sorry and ignorant asshole.” Then he slammed down the phone, crept back into the kitchen, sat cross-legged on the floor, and resumed his tea drinking.

“That went well,” Nancy said, stroking his leg.

“Is ‘e always like that?” Cacia asked, laughing a bit.

“Believe it or not, he’s mellowed with age.”

I
n the COBR at Whitehall, Prime Minister Hastings was informed that President Dumont was on the line. He accepted the call and put it on speaker.

Gone were the “Johns” and the informalities. “Mr. Prime Minister,” the President said, “historians will not treat us well unless we make a last-ditch effort to resolve our differences with compromise.”

“And what is your definition of compromise, Mr. President?”

“It’s a three-point plan. We take control of the Library, we help you stare down the Chinese and send the North Sea Fleet packing back to Tianjin, and we let you permanently station a team of analysts at Groom Lake to query the database once it’s up and running.”

Hastings looked around his conference table at the shaking heads of his ministers and Defense staff.

“This ‘compromise,’ Mr. President, sounds remarkably identical to your initial demand. Now here’s my idea of compromise. We will control this British Library in a British facility to be constructed on British soil, you will fulfill your NATO obligations and help us chase the Chinese away, and we will let you station a team of analysts in Britain to query the database when, as you say, it’s up and running.”

President Dumont replied swiftly. “Not going to work, Mr. Prime Minister. We feel strongly about this. Our legal people have reviewed the letter agreement Churchill and Truman signed back in 1947, and they’re satisfied that the term ‘Library’ encompasses
the material you’ve got in Pinn. So, it’s the property of the United States of America, and we intend to claim our property.”

Hastings rose in his chair out of anger and with a sense of the importance of the moment. “Let me warn you, Mr. President, that movement of men and materials from any of your installations on our RAF bases will be considered a hostile act and will be dealt with accordingly. We are, as you are well aware, a nuclear power, and an invasion of our sovereignty by China, by you, by any nation whatsoever, is a de facto act of war.”

S
addle up.”

Kenney chambered a round into his assault rifle, and Lopez and Harper followed suit. They shoved their nonessential gear under some frosted undergrowth and crept down the hill.

Kenney led them toward the road, steering wide of the concentration of police and military massed in front of the farm. Their target was a group of three apparently unarmed or lightly armed policemen on the northernmost boundary of the property who’d been marginalized by the heavy presence of SWAT officers and army troops. He’d been watching them through his scope and liked what he saw. They’d make easy pickings.

They moved on their targets smoothly and quietly the way big cats descend on their prey until close enough to pounce.

The policemen were milling across the road on the verge trying to keep warm by stamping their feet. The watchers made their final rush across the road with pumalike speed. Each had one target and they descended on their assigned man with tactical knives. Killing wasn’t so hard, but putting a man down without a sound escaping from his throat was
an art. Kenney held his man while he died so that his blood spilled onto the ground, not his police uniform. He quickly checked to see how Lopez and Harper were getting on. All three of them were in a tight synchrony of mayhem.

After dragging the bodies behind a hedge, they stripped them of their outerwear and emerged from the bushes looking very much like community patrol officers, their rifles concealed under their anoraks.

“Okay, let’s get this party started,” Kenney said.

They began walking along the road toward the farmhouse. A squad of 1 Lancs was planted on the edge of the road in a defensive position, with half of them trained on the farm and the other half protecting their flank. Kenney and his men marched right past them, keeping silent as one of the soldiers made a wisecrack about them getting their heads blown off. Once clear of the squad, Kenney headed into the field, zeroing in on the small stone hangar.

It was 1:55
A.M.

A
task unit from Seal Team 6, some forty men, were already in position on High Seat. They came in the same way the Chinese had but so low their helicopters didn’t produce a single radar echo. They were using the burned-out hulk of the PLA chopper for cover.

Through his scope, their commanding lieutenant had eyes on Kenney as he led his men toward the outbuilding.

His targeting officer said, “They should’ve tasked us for entry.”

The lieutenant replied, “You don’t know about the Groom Lake guys, do you? They’re as good as we are. Some say better.”

I
n the COBR, the Minister of Defense looked up from his screen, and blurted out, “I’ve just been informed that dozens of helicopters and fixed-wing aircraft have violated our no-fly rule at Mildenhall and deployed. They are heading northwest.”

“Toward Cumbria?” the Prime Minister asked.

“It would seem so,” the Minister answered. “Hang on, I’ve got another alert coming in.” He put his headset back on to hear the message from the monitoring station at RAF Fylingdales, then peeled it off to announce, “When it rains it pours. It seems the Chinese have launched an array of air assets from the carrier
Wen Jiabao
. We are under attack on two fronts, Prime Minister.”

Hastings sat down hard and searched the faces of his people. “May I have the committee’s recommendations?” he asked through his constricted larynx.

The Defense Minister said as evenly as he could, “I believe it is the consensus around this table, Prime Minister, that we cannot fight and win a two-front war with these kinds of adversaries. If we deploy nuclear-armed cruise missiles, we will be hit back in kind, and the destruction of civilian life would be unacceptable. Our two options are to stand down and let the Americans and the Chinese fight it out on British soil, or deploy 1 Lancs to seize the Library before the others lay claim to it. At least with that option, we’d be in the driver’s seat.”

Hastings thumped the table with his fist and winced at the pain he’d caused himself. “All right, do it! Send in our lads.”

N
ancy and I could use some guns,” Will told Daniel.

“Don’t know ‘bout that,” Daniel grumbled.

“If they come in firing, I want to be able to protect my son the best I can.”

Cacia touched her husband’s hand. “Let ‘im, Daniel. We can trust ‘im now, don’t ya think?”

Daniel sighed and agreed. He, his sons, and Kheelan each had over-under shotguns, and Cacia had her old revolver which she gladly relinquished, holding it out, grip first.

“Who’s the better shot?” Daniel asked.

Both Will and Nancy replied, “I am.”

“All right,” Will said, laughing. “Give it to her. I punch harder than she does.”

Daniel crept over to a rear window, parted the curtains slightly, and turned his torch on and off twice. Immediately, the same signal came back from a barn window.

“Kheelan and Douglas are fine,” Daniel said. He called upstairs for Andrew. The young man came down with his shotgun in one hand and his tea mug in the other. “Finish your tea, then go with ’em downstairs. I don’t think they know about th’ other way in, but ya never know. I’ll stay in th’ house with th’ girls. We’re stretched thin, but we’ll do th’ best we can. You okay, lad?”

Andrew had the Lightburn dark and flashing looks and the confidence of an oldest son. “If they come, I’m ready,” he said.

“Good. I’m counting on ya,” his father said.

Andrew led the way downstairs and through the Library, seemingly proud of his father’s approbation. Will, Nancy, and Cacia followed.

They found Phillip and Haven sitting in the isolation room on Phillip’s cot. The boy had his arm around her shoulder, and, to Will’s surprise, he didn’t remove it when they entered.

He’s cocky, Will thought, just like me at his age.

Cacia looked at Haven with a mother’s concern. “Are you all right?”

She and Phillip had agreed not to talk about the incident in the writers’ room.

“I’m fine,” she said. “We’re just talking.”

Nancy had never seen Phillip holding a girl. She was the only one who seemed embarrassed to be intruding. Will sensed it, and said, “Let’s check on the storeroom.”

The group left the kids behind and went into the dormitory. The homemade detonation cord snaked several meters from the middle of the dormitory, under the storeroom door, and into the neck of the jerry can. It wasn’t much thicker than an untreated piece of string, so to inspect it, Will and Andrew had to walk its length.

“Think it’ll work?” Andrew asked.

“I hope we don’t have to find out,” Will said.

K
enney surveyed the interior of the dark hangar through his night-vision goggles. There wasn’t much there, some farm tools, a couple of hay bales.

He shed the police outer clothes, and his men did the same. “Check the floor for a hatch,” he ordered.

Lopez found it immediately and with a nod from Kenney, he pulled it open by its iron ring, revealing a dark run of wooden stairs.

Kenney peered down the stairwell and checked his watch—0200.

“Curtain’s up,” he announced.

They clicked their safeties from safe to fire and, with Lopez and Harper leading the way, started down the stairs.

At the bottom, they found themselves in a tiny chamber chiseled out of the bedrock just large enough for the three of them. An old oak door confronted them. It was locked. Harper inspected it and concluded it might be too sturdy for a shoulder.

“Pick it or blow it?” Harper asked.

Kenney looked at his watch impatiently, and said, “Blow it.”

W
ill heard the percussive pop and recognized it for what it was—a small charge of plastic explosive taking out the door lock.

“They’re coming!” he shouted to Andrew. “Light the detcord!”

K
enney followed his men into a large storage room. He saw metal shelving stocked with dry goods and water cans. At the far end of the room was another door, open a crack, and Harper and Lopez approached it cautiously.

A second after Kenney told them to proceed, he noticed a five-gallon metal can on the floor near the opened door.

As Lopez pushed open the door, Kenney shouted, “Wait!”

At the threshold of the dormitory Harper and Lopez were momentarily blinded by the ceiling lights and had to switch off their night goggles. The first thing they saw when vision was reestablished was Andrew crouching on the ground with a butane lighter in his hand.

Lopez let off a burst from his rifle and caught the young man center mass, shredding his vital organs.

But the detcord was already lit. It hissed and smoked
as the gunpowder slurry burned and streaked, but two meters short of the door, it fizzled out.

Will dived behind one of the bed frames, heard the shout of a woman’s voice, and saw Nancy hurdling cots until she was beside him, Cacia’s old pistol in her hand.

Another burst of fire splattered the limestone wall above their heads.

“The can!” Will shouted. “Shoot the can!”

Harper moved up beside Lopez. He identified the threat, had Nancy in his sight, and moved his finger to the trigger.

Nancy didn’t have a perfect line on the jerry can, so she squeezed her trigger five times, bracketing its approximate position.

One bullet hit home.

The fertilizer bomb flashed, then exploded, unleashing an inferno of white-hot energy within the confined space of the storage room.

What felled Harper and Lopez was almost medieval. The storage room door slammed shut, then disintegrated in the blink of an eye. Wooden splinters ranging in size from an eyelash to a forearm impaled them, head to toe, and dropped the both of them in the percussive wave.

Will draped himself over Nancy as best he could, but both of them were showered by debris and singed by a hot, fast cloud of vapors.

Kenney had been on the other side of the bomb from his men. He’d heard Nancy’s shots rattling the metal shelving in the storeroom, and the moment before one of her slugs hit the jerry can, he’d managed to mutter, “Goddamn it to hell,” and been blown back through the storage room into the stairwell by a column of fiery gases.

C
olonel Woolford had just received the order from the Ministry of Defense to launch an assault on the farmhouse when he saw a fireball spouting from a small stone building at the northern edge of the farm.

He had no idea who had set off the explosion but he considered it timely. His hastily assembled attack plan had him utilizing snipers to remove identified threats in and around the farmhouse. There were no lines of sight into the house itself since curtains effectively obscured the targets. The barn was another matter. Two hostiles with weapons had been spotted through the windows by a forward sniper/spotter team.

Woolford radioed an order for the snipers to engage.

T
he Politburo Standing Committee was meeting in emergency session deep in a subbasement level of the August 1 Building of the Central Military Commission. Ordinarily, there were nine members, but General Secretary Wen was conspicuous in his absence.

“Wen Yun is ill,” Vice Chairman Yi, told the men, with the slightest hint of a smile. “I can assure you he fully supports my recommendations, but the combination of stress and advancing age have proven to be too much for him. His doctors have placed him under sedation.”

There was a murmur around the table, until one by one, the seven other supreme leaders of China told Yi they also supported him.

Yi nodded gravely, and said, “This is an historic moment, Comrades. Once we have this Library, we will solidify our position as the only true power in the world. We will not have to make excuses for our inaction. We will not have to hide our intentions
behind slogans and platitudes. This is our moment. All we must do now is seize it. With your agreement, I will issue the order to the PLA.”

They held their right hands up in unison and Yi was not embarrassed to let them see his tears.

A
top High Seat, the commander of the Seal task unit also saw the explosion blowing off the roof of the small stone building the watchers had entered.

“Something’s gone wrong,” he told his targeting officer. “What’s the ETA of the Rangers?”

“About six minutes. Want me to raise base and ask if they’ve gotten a go sign from the Groom Lake entry team?”

“Negative,” the commander said. “We’ve got to assume that team’s been compromised. It’s time to improvise. We’re going in ourselves.”

As the Seal unit began their rapid descent of High Seat, the commander wheeled around to look at the night sky from the east. The thumping he heard was choppers, all right, but they weren’t friendlies. With a jolt, he recognized the insignia on the lead copter as it began raking his position with machine-gun fire: the red star of the People’s Liberation Army.

D
aniel threw caution to the wind and parted his curtain a good way to try to see what was happening. In rapid sequence, he heard the fertilizer bomb, then the crack of rifle fire, then the staccato of machine guns on High Seat. Explosions and tracer fire up on the hill cast enough illumination for him to recognize that the sky was thick with helicopters.

He failed to see Kheelan being felled by a sniper round to his forehead, but with horror he did see his
son Douglas running like a frightened animal from the barn to the house. And he let out an anguished cry when the young man crumpled into a heap a few paces from the back door when a 1 Lancs sniper ended his life too.

O
nce Will saw that Nancy wasn’t seriously hurt, he shouted for her to go back to Phillip. He sprang from their hiding place, ran to Harper and Lopez, and picked up one of their rifles. Then he pushed their breathing but bloody bodies with his shoe, ready to put rounds into them. But it wasn’t necessary.

Who were they?

He found a wallet, thin with minimal contents. But the cash told the story: dollars.

Then he saw the driver’s license. Nevada.

The watchers are here
.

He ran toward the storage room, prepared to engage survivors, but there was only an empty, blackened chamber reeking of diesel fuel. Then he turned tail, picked up the second rifle, and found Nancy huddled with Cacia and the kids in the isolation room, all of them sobbing in shock and horror.