John Hawks - The Dark River

“And what happens if I go to Ethiopia?” Maya asked. “I can’t just walk up to this shrine and demand to see the Ark.”

“Of course not. That’s why I have to go with you. For the last few years, I’ve bought artifacts from an Ethiopian Jew named Petros Semo. I’ll ask him to meet us in Addis Ababa and help us talk to the priests.”

“And the Ark is an access point that will take me to the First Realm?”

“Perhaps any of the realms. The texts can’t agree on this matter. The general conclusion is that you have to send your spirit first and then follow it. I think that means you have to want to go there-want it with all your heart. We have left both history and science far behind at this point. If you step through this doorway, you abandon our particular reality.”

“But will I find Gabriel?”

“I don’t know.”

“And what if I can’t find him? Can I return to this world?”

“I don’t know that either, Maya. If you study the classical myths about the underworld, they agree on only one thing-you have to go back the way you came.”

Maya looked out at the piazza and the beauty that had captivated her only a few minutes ago. She had promised Gabriel that she would always stand beside him. If she refused to honor her own words, then that moment between them lost its meaning.

“So how do we get to Ethiopia?”

Lumbroso stuffed the photographs back into their envelope. “First-we order another cappuccino.” He nodded to the waiter, and then pointed to their empty cups.

It was early spring in south England. When Michael stepped out onto the third-floor balcony of Wellspring Manor he could see that pale green leaves were beginning to appear on the beech trees that covered the surrounding hills. Directly below him, the guests at the afternoon party were leaving the house and wandering through the rose garden. White-jacketed waiters were serving glasses of sparkling wine and canapés, while a quartet of musicians played The Four Seasons . Although it had rained yesterday afternoon, this Sunday was so clear and warm that the sky looked vaguely artificial-a blue silk tent set up to shelter the party.

Wellspring was another property owned by the Evergreen Foundation. While the first two floors were dedicated to public activities, the top floor was a private suite guarded by the security staff. Michael had been living at the manor house for the last eight days. During this time, Mrs. Brewster had fully explained both the public and private goals of the Young World Leaders Program. The army colonels and police officials who were sampling the bite-sized crab cakes in the rose garden were visiting England to learn how to defeat terrorism. During three days of seminars, they learned about Internet monitoring, surveillance cameras, RFID chips, and total information systems.

The garden party was the culmination of this learning process. The leaders would meet corporate representatives who were eager to establish this new technology in underdeveloped nations. Each leader was given a special leather folder to hold the business cards handed out after the first glass of wine.

Leaning over the edge of the balcony, Michael watched Mrs. Brewster move through the crowd. Her turquoise blue skirt and jacket stood out among the somber business suits and olive green military uniforms. From a distance, she appeared to be a catalyst molecule dropped into a beaker filled with different chemicals. As she met and talked and parted with a kiss, she formed new connections between the young leaders and those who wanted to serve them.

He left the balcony, passed through some French doors, and walked into what had once been a master bedroom. Now his father lay on an operating table in the center of the room. White plaster Cupids gazed down on him from the ceiling. Matthew Corrigan’s head was shaved and sensors had been inserted into his brain. The body’s heartbeat and temperature were continually monitored. One of the neurologists had announced that the lost Traveler was as “dead as you can be and still be alive.”

It bothered Michael that he kept returning to his room to see the motionless body on the table. He felt like a boxer who had backed his opponent into one corner of the ring. It looked like the fight was over, but somehow his father had sidestepped and danced away from him.

“So here’s the famous Matthew Corrigan,” said a familiar voice.

Michael made a half turn and saw Kennard Nash standing in the doorway. Nash wore a blue business suit with an Evergreen Foundation pin on the lapel.

“Hello, General. I thought you were still on Dark Island.”

“I was in New York last night, but I always show up for the final ceremony of the Young World Leaders Program. Besides, I wanted to inspect Mr. Boone’s recent acquisition…” Nash strolled over to the table and studied Matthew Corrigan.

“This is really your father?”

“Yes.”

The general extended his index finger and poked at Matthew’s face. “I must admit, I’m a little disappointed. I thought he was going to be a more impressive-looking individual.”

“If he were still active, he could have caused significant resistance to the Shadow Program in Berlin.”

“But that’s not going to happen, is it?” Nash sneered at Michael, making no effort to hide his contempt. “I realize that you’ve manipulated the executive board and made them frightened of a lifeless body on a table. As far as I’m concerned, Travelers have stopped being a relevant factor. That includes you-and your brother.”

“You should speak to Mrs. Brewster. I think I’m helping the Brethren achieve our goals.”

“I’ve heard about your various suggestions and I’m not impressed. Mrs. Brewster has always been a firm believer in our cause, but I think she’s done great damage by allowing you to travel around Europe and spout a lot of nonsense.”

“You were the first person to introduce me to the executive board, General.”

“That’s a mistake that will soon be corrected. It’s time you went back to the research center, Michael. Or perhaps you could just join your father in a different realm. I mean, that’s what Travelers are compelled to do. Correct? You’re genetic freaks. Just like our splicers.”

The French doors were still open, and Michael listened as the string quartet glided toward a soothing conclusion. A few seconds later, there was a slight squeal of audio feedback and then Mrs. Brewster’s voice boomed out of a portable speaker.

“Welcome,” she said, pronouncing the word with two distinct syllables. “It’s a beautiful day and a fitting conclusion to this three-day symposium of the Young World Leaders Program. I have been inspired-no, not just inspired-I have been genuinely moved by the comments I’ve heard in the garden today…”

“Sounds like Mrs. Brewster is about to begin her little speech.” Nash thrust his hands in his pockets and headed for the doorway. “You coming along?”

“That’s not necessary.”

“No, of course not. You aren’t really one of us. Are you?”

General Nash swaggered away while Michael remained behind with his father’s body. The threat from Nash was quite real, but Michael felt calm at that moment. He had no intention of returning to a guarded room, nor was he planning to float off to another realm. There was still time for some maneuvering. He had already formed an alliance with Mrs. Brewster. Now he had to get other members of the Brethren on his side. Michael found it easy to talk to anyone these days. Since he could see the subtle, split-second changes in each person’s expression, he could adjust his words to guide them in the right direction.

“So why didn’t you do that?” he asked his father. “Get some money. Get some power. Get anything. Instead you made us hide…”