Charles Brokaw - The Lucifer Code

Napier nodded. ‘You understand.’

‘I do. When most of Japan’s heavy industry sites were destroyed in World War Two, they had to start over from scratch. As a result, they used better equipment and created a much better product than American industry. Just like that. Except they were outside the American economy. The US just pushed the import taxes up enough to help American car manufacturers stay in business. Until 1987 when the Japanese rescued the American dollar. After that, new arrangements were made to allow part of Japanese import manufacture to take place here, getting around the import tax.’

‘Then over the next twenty years, Japanese car sales started outstripping domestic products,’ Napier said. ‘And look at the state of the car industry today.’ He sipped his drink. ‘We can sell my product to America.’

‘But that’s not the only market you want.’

‘No.’

‘You want it all. The world market. Or it’s not worth having.’

‘Or at least as much of it as I can get.’

‘I can understand that.’ Webster glanced at the television where Vicky was watching with keen interest. ‘And I don’t blame you.’

‘It’ll be better for all of us if the alternative fuel is launched big,’ Napier said. ‘More profit means we can back up the changeover, create a cushion for the economy. As people get laid off from the petroleum industry, we should be able to absorb them. Most of them. But only if we capture a world share.’

‘I know.’

‘This situation, though, it’s going to change the dynamic of everything.’

Webster nodded. He knew that too. He was counting on it.

Passage of Omens

Hagia Sophia Underground

Istanbul, Turkey

24 March 2010

‘There’s nothing here, Professor Lourds.’

Ignoring the fierce vindication in Joachim’s voice, Lourds shone his light over the passageway. He ran his hand over the wall and felt only the cold solid stone. He took out his pocket knife and used it to tap against the wall.

‘You’re wasting our time,’ Joachim insisted.

‘Can you cut him some slack?’ Cleena asked.

The young woman’s defence surprised Lourds. For a moment he forgot to tap. Evidently it had the same effect on Joachim because he just stared at her silently.

‘He’s trying to do something here,’ Cleena continued. ‘You’re expecting him to do in days what you people couldn’t do in eight hundred years. You might want to chill out a little and think about that.’

Lourds smiled at that. Cleena joined him at the wall. She took out a knife and began tapping the stone surface as well.

‘You’re listening for hollow noises, right?’ Cleena asked.

‘I am,’ Lourds agreed. ‘When did you become a believer?’

‘Me?’ Cleena shook her head. ‘I’m a lapsed Catholic. Way lapsed.’

‘Not in God.’ Lourds moved out a few inches and tapped again. The stone still sounded solid. ‘In me.’

‘I wouldn’t let it go to your head if I were you. It’s a choice between you and the sourpuss over there. I’d rather believe in you. Otherwise we’re going to be back at that hidey-hole they’ve carved out for themselves watching you read books. Personally, I’m up to my eyeballs with watching you read.’

‘I wasn’t just reading,’ Lourds said defensively.

‘I understand that, but you know what I mean.’ Cleena moved down a little bit and started tapping again.

Olympia picked up a loose stone from the ground and used it to tap on the wall as well. ‘You’re sure it’s this side of the passageway?’

‘Yes. This is where it has to be according to the scroll I deciphered.’ Despite his own insistence, Lourds felt his confidence waning. He had measured the distance himself, then measured it twice more. According to everything he had worked out, the entrance to the Passage of Omens had to be within this general vicinity. He didn’t know how they could have missed it.

Only solid stone met his efforts.

‘You’re sure about the distance?’ Cleena asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Did they use different measurements back in those days?’

‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’ Olympia asked sarcastically.

‘Careful,’ Cleena said. ‘You keep up with that ill-tempered attitude and somebody may just drop a house on you.’

‘Really?’ Olympia said. ‘You did not just say that. We’re here, following in the footsteps of a man who gave us the most intriguing and important book in the Bible, and you’re talking about The Wizard of Oz?’

‘Actually it wasn’t the wizard. That was an allusion to one of the wicked witches.’

‘I knew what the allusion was to. I just think maybe-’

‘Ladies,’ Lourds interrupted.

They looked at him, faces lifted out of the darkness by the flashlights everyone carried.

‘I can’t hear the sound of tapping,’ Lourds pointed out. ‘If I can’t hear the tapping, I can’t hear the hollow sounds.’

Both the women turned back to the search. In both directions down the hall, Joachim and the other monks were busy tapping as well.

Lourds brushed the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, then resumed his task. He was right about the translation. The door had to be here. Somewhere.

Central Business District

King Abdullah’s Economic City, Saudi Arabia

24 March 2010

‘My God,’ Vicky whispered. Her eyes never left the television. She held a sat-phone to her ear. ‘Keep them in there. This footage is amazing.’

Crossing the room, Webster joined her. The camera angle was sketchy at best, bouncing around crazily. On the screen, Saudi tanks rolled through the street. From the angle and the geography, Webster guessed the tanks were somewhere near the row of buildings that had just blown up. A wave of gunmen backed away from the approaching tanks. The men took cover behind buildings, but ultimately it did no good. The tank crews fired into them, blasting through stone walls with main guns and.50-cal machine guns. Dead men and broken buildings littered the street amid an ocean of blood. Like mechanical predators, the tanks rolled over the corpses and debris, grinding them into dust and organic pulp.

The cameraman was shooting from only a few steps behind the wave of rebels in fear for his life, judging from the quick awkward movements he made as he dodged and scampered. Another man trailed him with a microphone clenched in his fist, mixing with the line of rebels. Tension knotted his face.

‘… can see that Prince Khalid’s shock troops aren’t holding any…’ the man with the microphone said.

‘Stay in line with that camera, Jernigan,’ Vicky ordered in a hard voice. ‘These shots are money. I’ll make sure your name is known in every household in the United States. Just calm down and stay with-’

At that moment, a round from one of the heavy machine guns caught the reporter in the back of the head. Blood, bone and brain matter exploded in a liquid rush. Some of it caught the camera lens and put a scarlet film over the view.

Vicky cursed. ‘Harrison! Listen to me! I know he’s dead. I saw it happen. Stay with the shot. This is the kind of footage that makes cameramen legends.’

It’s also the kind of footage that will be played on YouTube for years, Webster knew. And he knew that Vicky DeAngelo was more interested in that aspect. All the footage would be watermarked with her media logo.

The tanks advanced over the bodies that had fallen in the street. One of them belonged to the reporter.

The camera wavered hard to the right. Webster knew from the angle the man was considering diving into the nearest shop.

‘Harrison,’ Vicky stated coolly, ‘stay on task. Stay on the tanks. We need-’

The camera view suddenly swung away and up. It focused on the leaping flames overhead for a moment, then whirled to the ground in a kaleidoscope of spinning landscapes.