Douglas Preston - Impact

Khon bowed and the monk bowed. They spoke, but once again Ford couldn't follow the dialect. The monk gestured Ford over. "You are welcome here," he said in Khmer. "Come."

They entered the roofless temple. The floor was of close-cut grass, as smooth and tended as a golf green. At one end stood a gilded statue of the Buddha, in the lotus position with half-closed eyes, almost buried under offerings of fresh flowers. Joss sticks burned in clusters around the statue, perfuming the air with sandalwood and merintane. A dozen robed monks stood behind the Buddha, almost defensively in a tight cluster, some hardly in their teens. The temple walls were made of stone recycled from the older ruin, and Ford could see pieces of sculpture peeking out of the broken, mortared blocks--a hand, a torso, half a face, the wildly gyrating limb of a dancing apsara. Along one wall ran two ragged lines of bullet pits made from a spray of automatic weapons fire. It looked to Ford like the site of an old execution.

"Please, sit down," the monk said, gesturing at some reed mats spread on the grass. The afternoon sun slanted in the broken roof, painting the eastern wall gold, incense smoke drifting in and out of the bars of light. After some minutes of silence a monk came in with an old cast-iron pot of tea and some chipped cups, placed them on the mat, and poured. They drank the strong green tea. When they had finished, the abbot rose.

"Do you speak Khmer?" he asked Ford in a birdlike voice.

Ford nodded.

"What brings you to the end of the world?"

Ford dipped into his pocket and took out the fake honey stone. With a gasp, the abbot rose quickly and stepped back in one fluid motion, and the other monks shuffled away. "Get that devil stone out of here."

"It's a fake," said Ford smoothly.

"You're gem traders?"

"No," said Ford. "We're looking for the mine producing the honey stones."

For the first time, a flicker of emotion passed across the monk's face. He seemed to hesitate, running a hand over his dry, shaven scalp. His fingers made a slight bristling noise as they ran over the stubble. "Why?"

"I come from the U.S. government. We want to know where it is and shut it down."

"There are many ex-Khmer Rouge soldiers there, armed with guns, mortars, and RPGs. Violent people. How do you expect to go there and survive?"

"Will you help us?"

The monk spoke without hesitation. "Yes."

"What do you know about the mine?"

"There was a big explosion in the forest about a month ago. And then, a little while later, they came. They raided mountain villages to get people to mine the devil stones. They work them to death and then go out and capture more."

"Can you tell us anything about the layout of the mine, the number of soldiers, who's running the place?"

The abbot made a gesture and a monk on the other side of the room rose and went out. A moment later he came back leading a blind child of about ten in monk's garb. His face and scalp were a web of shiny scars, his nose and one ear gone, his two eye sockets knots of fiery scar tissue. The body under his robes was small, thin, and crooked.

"This one escaped to us from the mine," said the abbot.

Ford looked at the child more closely, and realized she was a girl, dressed as a boy.

The monk said, "If they knew we were hiding her, we would all die." He turned to her. "Come here, my child, and tell the American everything you know, even the worst parts."

The child spoke in a flat, emotionless voice, as if reciting in a schoolroom. She told of an explosion in the mountains, the coming of ex-Khmer Rouge soldiers; how they attacked her village, murdered her mother and father, and force-marched the survivors through the jungle to the mine. She described how she slowly went blind sorting through piles of broken rock for the gems. Then, in clear, precise language, she described in detail the layout of the mine, where the soldiers patrolled, where the boss man lived, and how the mine operated. When she was done, she bowed and stepped back.

Ford laid down his notebook and took a long breath. "Tell me about the explosion. What kind of explosion?"

"Like a bomb," she said. "The cloud went way up into the sky and a dirty rain fell for days afterward. It knocked down many trees."

Ford turned to the monk. "Did you see the explosion? What was it?"

The abbot looked at him with penetrating eyes. "A demon from the deepest regions of hell."

19

Abbey jammed the pin into the anchor stay and came aft, hopping down into the wheel house. "We're outta here," she said, grabbing the wheel and revving the engine, swinging the prow away from Marsh Island, which they had just searched.

"That was a bust," Jackie said crossly.

"Two down, three more to go," said Abbey, trying to put a little cheer into her voice. "Don't worry--we'll find it."

"We better. Crawling through that brush just about did me in. I feel like I was tied up in a sack full of wildcats. Look at all these scratches!" She stuck her arm in front of Abbey's face.

"War wounds. You can brag to your grandchildren about them." She guided the Marea around the northern end of Marsh Island. The sinking sun blazed blood-orange over the distant mainland, a soft haze drifting in the air. She checked the chartplotter and set a course for the next island on her list: Ripp. She could see it on the sea horizon, several miles beyond the old Earth Station complex on Crow. The station always looked so out of place, a huge white bubble rising from the rugged islands like a giant puffball mushroom. A small cluster of lights floated on the water, the Crow Island ferry heading for Tenants Harbor.

"Remember when we went out there on a field trip?" Jackie said, following her gaze. "Those three freaks living on the island, tending the station 'round the clock?"

"That was when they were using it to send signals to the Saturn probe."

"You have to wonder what kind of crazy-ass person would take a job like that on an island in the middle of nowhere. Remember the guy with the buck teeth leering at us? Ew. What do you think they do all day long?"

"Maybe they're busy calling E.T."

"Yo, E, got any more of that Martian bud?" Jackie said.

Abbey laughed. "Speaking of mind-altering substances, I note the sun's below the yardarm." She held up a bottle of Jim Beam.

"Roger that."

Abbey took a pull and handed the bottle over. Jackie took her own swig. The sun winked out on the horizon and a slow twilight spread across the glassy bay.

"Uh oh," said Abbey, peering ahead. She picked up the binoculars from the dashboard and glassed the island ahead. "The lights are on in the house on Ripp. Looks like the admiral's already up from Jersey for his summer vacation."

"Shit."

As they neared the island, a shingled mansion hove into view, all turrets and gables, lit up by exterior floods.

"That admiral, he's one crazy motherfucker," said Jackie. "They say he was in the Korean War, killed a bunch of women and children."

"Urban legend."

"What I'm saying is, maybe we should forget Ripp."

"Jackie, the line runs right across the middle of the island. We'll search it at night--tonight."

Jackie groaned. "If the meteorite landed on Ripp, the admiral would have already found it."

"He wasn't around when it fell. And it's a big island."

"They say he has security guards."

"Yeah, right, a couple of donut-eaters parked on their fat asses in the kitchen watching American Idol ."

Abbey scanned the harbor and house with the binoculars. The admiral's launch, a Crownline outboard, was tied up to a floating dock while a large motor yacht was anchored in the cove. She could see activity in the windows of the house.

"We'll anchor on the other side."