Etiquette for the End of the World

chapter Twelve





“Richie, wake up, we’re landing.”

He had slept the whole way to London. They hadn’t been in the air an hour before he had fallen asleep. Now he opened his blue eyes and sat up, running his fingers though his matted hair, which only made it messier. Tess smiled at him. This man was quickly becoming one of her best friends—even though she had rarely seen him outside of the Scrub-a-Dub-Pub—and she knew almost nothing about him. She had been looking forward to having a long conversation with him during the plane ride. But he had met her at the airport all disheveled and bleary-eyed, mumbling about having gotten no sleep the night before because of Jason. (Tess certainly did not want to ask him about that. She wasn’t ready to be that intimate, traveling companion or no.)

Tess had wanted to go to England right after the meeting at Homeland Security, but the cost of the flights at this time of year was totally outrageous unless they waited at least three weeks. Even then, for it to be remotely affordable they had to leave on Monday, June 25, and turn around and come back on Wednesday the twenty-seventh. After a bit of a fight with Richie (Tess finally got to see the ornery side of the easygoing bartender), wherein Tess pointed out to him that the money WOOSH was paying her should, logically, go to checking up on them, Tess had used her Visa card for both tickets, with the understanding that Richie would pay her back. But when they checked in to their hotel in Russell Square, Richie wouldn’t hear of it when Tess had suggested putting his room on her card, so Tess dropped it.

She had not slept at all on the plane, so she fell into her bed exhausted and did not wake up until the late afternoon. Richie, who had been out wandering around all day, wanted to go to an authentic British pub, having never been to England before. He wanted to kibitz with the bartender, Tess suspected. So they went down the street to The Lamb, where they sat at the bar, ordered fish and chips, and drank pints of beer. Richie was intrigued by the frosted-glass “snob screens” that dated back to the Victorian era, as well as by how much warmer the beer was served. (“It’s not room temperature, mate,” the bartender said, “it’s cellar temperature.”) They chatted with other customers about London, trying to keep their minds off the next day. They would have plenty of time to worry about Orbus on the train.

Tess had gotten his contact information from Dakota and called the phone number before they left the States. She informed the woman who answered the phone that her name was Tess Eliot and that she was working on a project for Wayne Orbus. She said that she and a friend were going to London for a wedding, and she was hoping to get a chance to meet with Orbus. After putting Tess on hold, the woman returned to say that “Mr. Orbus would be absolutely delighted” to see her if she could be prevailed upon to come to Suffolk. Furthermore, he would arrange to have “his man” pick her up at the train station in Ipswich on Wednesday morning at 10:15. Tess had been pleasantly surprised at this; she had been thinking they were going to have to just show up there uninvited.

And so the next morning they took a ten-minute taxi to Liverpool Street Station, where they got the 8:55 train to Ipswich. Tess was nervous; she wanted to talk strategy about what they are going to say and do when they met Orbus. “We need to just draw him out,” Tess said. “Let’s not make him think we are suspicious about anything. He can’t know I‘ve been sleeping with Peter, and that I think there has been foul play there. We need to make him believe we are his admirers.”

“You can be an admirer. I’m just along for the ride.” Richie seemed out of sorts. He didn’t seem to want to make eye contact with her. Maybe he was regretting coming.

“And I am so glad you are,” said Tess, squeezing his shoulder. How she wished they really were here for someone’s wedding—or a vacation.

It was cloudy and breezy when they got off the train at Ipswich. There, waiting for them as soon as they exited the station, was an honest-to-goodness black Bentley, with an honest-to-god chauffeur standing at its side. Tess had been expecting a jeep, or maybe a solar or electric car.

“Miss Eliot?” the man said to her, tipping his hat.

They were out of the town of Ipswich and in the country within about five minutes. The scenery was beautiful, bucolic, with well-tended farms, cows, horses, and the greenest green everywhere. It made Tess relive all the Jane Austen novels she had read and reread since she was sixteen; she wanted to stop and look behind every gate and hedge she saw. But as they went on and on, thirty minutes, forty minutes, and the country became wilder, Tess grew more uneasy. She began trying to read signs as they passed, should they have to try to find their way back to the station by themselves.

“So where are we going?” Tess finally said to the back of the driver’s head.

“Orbus Hall, mum. Not too far from Frizzler’s Green.” Tess thought she detected a bit of disdain in his voice, as in “What a silly question—why would anyone not know where Orbus Hall was?”

After almost an hour they turned onto a dirt lane with thick stands of trees on either side. After a few more minutes they came to an immense, medieval-looking iron gate, through which they could see a long gravel driveway. The driver got out and unlocked it with an enormous key he pulled from his pants pocket, and then he pushed some sort of lever, causing huge weights hanging high up on either side to slowly descend to the ground, which in turn pulled open the gates.

“I expected a fancy automatic gate,” Tess said in a soft voice to Richie. “Don’t you see,” answered Richie, “Orbus is planning to be off grid. Everything mechanical, nothing computerized.”

Tess nodded. They continued for at least five more minutes on the tree-lined driveway. Here there were manicured grounds, acres and acres of rolling green. They came upon a rectangular stone house on the right side of the driveway that looked very old, with small windows and ivy growing up over it. “Is that Orbus Hall?” asked Tess.

“No, that’s the carriage house, mum.” Again the disdainful tone.

They went around a bend in the road, and suddenly there it was, looming, and the first thing that went through Tess’s mind was, It’s Manderley! From Rebecca! Of course at second glance it wasn’t quite that big. It was, however a very grand stone manor, probably centuries old, three stories high, with dozens of windows. It looked stately, respectable, aristocratic—certainly not the home of an eccentric cult leader.

Tess and Richie got out of the car and before they could even get up the steps, one of the two massive front doors was flung open, and in the doorway was Wayne Orbus himself. By now Tess had expected at least one butler, if not two, to greet them, so this took her off guard.

“Tess! Tess Eliot! Welcome!” he called out in a booming voice, waving at them, wearing the biggest smile she had ever seen. It went almost ear to ear, and he opened his arms wide for a hug. So much for British reserve. He looked very much the same as he had in the video—bald, with those unbelievably rapscallion eyebrows—but he was dressed in an elegant tweed jacket, complete with patches on the elbows.

They were shown through about three consecutive living rooms into a pretty sitting room with floor-to-ceiling windows (obviously this room was a modern improvement to the house), which opened onto a formal garden with hedges and a square pond in the middle. Tess looked around for signs of a cult lifestyle but all she saw were tasteful, understated furniture and carpets, paintings of horses and ancestors, and antique vases and bowls dotted here and there. All the kind of things one would expect in a house like this. A severe woman in a high-necked brown dress brought in tea on a tray and set it on the coffee table.

“Well,” said Orbus, pouring from the pot, still smiling, “I was so very delighted when you called. I have heard such tremendous things about you from Dakota. I confess, I have not yet read much of the book you are writing for our little organization, but what I did read, I thought was absolutely brilliant. You’ve captured something really important, Tess! Really, quite marvelous. We are so fortunate to have obtained your services. You can’t imagine the people you are going to be helping. I credit Dakota Flores for finding you. Capital woman.”

She had always been a sucker for a British accent, but Wayne Orbus also had a way of looking you straight in the eyes when he spoke; he never wavered or looked off at the table (or at your chest), and Tess found herself sinking into the pleasurable feeling of being appreciated, liked, accepted. His eyes really were an extraordinary blue, like bright marbles. She was glad to be in this man’s presence, she felt suddenly everything was going to be okay. She had been worrying for nothing, she probably just had not been looking at things right; this man was a total darling! Then Richie cleared his throat, and Orbus turned to him, and she snapped out of it somewhat. Oh boy, did Wayne Orbus have major personal power. On the other hand, why should that surprise her?

“And you, my good fellow, you were gentlemanly enough to accompany our Miss Eliot on her journey across the pond? Perhaps you are also interested in the mission of WOOSH? What is your field? You look like an extraordinary man—intelligent, capable. In fact, you look like someone who has innate talent in his hands—a craftsman, perhaps?” He was beaming at Richie.

Richie smiled back, looking pleased and surprised. “Well, actually, I do dabble a bit in furniture making.” Tess could tell Richie was succumbing not only to Orbus’s charisma but also to his accent. His response sounded more clipped than usual, almost British. So it wasn’t just women Orbus charmed.

They talked about the weather (it being cooler here than in America) and what they had been doing in London (which Tess had rehearsed in her mind beforehand, as of course all they had done was get off the plane and have fish and chips and then come here) and then Orbus asked if they would like to see “his operation.” Here we go, thought Tess.

They went out the French doors and he led them through garden after garden—some with masses of flowers, some just trimmed hedges and fountains—until they finally reach a huge flat field, where they could see two airplanes and about a dozen small car-like vehicles. Beside the field was another old house. (How many houses does Orbus have? Tess wondered.) This one was smaller, but had more of a castle aspect, and there was a little footbridge up to the front entrance—was that a moat?

“Well, there’s no drawbridge at least,” Richie said quietly in her ear.

Orbus dropped back to walk side by side with them now. “Over on the east side of the property, there are the garages, and the stables that have been converted into barracks—which we will be needing very soon—and I have another field where we will be setting up yurts. But these,” he said with pride, “these are my ornithopters and my cyclemobiles.” Orbus gestured grandly toward them with his arm. The airplanes were delicate-looking, with huge wingspans, and cockpits underneath which appeared to be big enough for only one person. Orbus led them over to inspect one of the cars. Tess recognized it as the type of car she had seen in the WOOSH brochure. It was very compact, maybe a little longer than a Smart Car, made mostly of some kind of wood, with some kind of fabric for the seats and roof. “All of my inventions are designed to be human-powered,” he said, smiling. “As you can see”—he opened the door of the car—“there are pedals on the floor, on both sides. The more people pedaling, the faster the car goes, and the more weight it can pull.” The pedals looked a lot like bicycle pedals. There were some for the backseat passengers as well. “Just think about what great physical shape everyone will be in when we build our new future.”

“What is it made of?” asked Richie, putting one hand gently on the thin roof of the car. Tess could tell he was more spellbound by the inventions than by Orbus.

“Balsa wood and canvas, mostly, with a light aluminum frame. If you do not have to worry about being on the road with cars and trucks that use petrol, your safety considerations become vastly different.” He pointed over to one of the planes. “The Orbus Ornithopter also has foot pedals and a series of complicated pulleys and gears, which actually cause the wings to flap in the precise way that a bird does. I wish you could be here on one of our test-flight days! It’s like a festival around here!” Tess had never in her whole life seen any human being look so joyful as Wayne Orbus. She found herself wishing she could be here for those days. Maybe, after all, Orbus was one of the good guys.

He turned and led them toward the stone outbuilding. “The Orbus family founded one of the major bicycle companies in the U.K., among other things,” he explained, “so I already owned a lot of the patents used to make these machines. Flying under your own steam, using no fuel, that was my father’s dream, and we have achieved it! Obviously, you especially, Tess, can understand that what is now just a novelty will soon become a necessity, by 2013. Anyone who owns one of these machines is going to have an advantage.”

Tess smiled. “Of course,” she said. They crossed over the footbridge. The water in the moat was dark and brackish. Orbus took out a set of keys and opened the front door of the building.

“This is the original house, dating from the sixteenth century,” he said. “But it’s in a bit of disrepair, and so we use it now for the laboratory.” The second they were through the door, they could smell the mustiness of age and could hear a loud humming, undeniably an insect hum.

Shit, Tess thought. This is much more like the horror movie I was expecting.

“Ah, I see you are put off by the sound. Everyone has that initial reaction, but if you spend any time around insects, you really grow to understand how intrinsic they are to the world. Everything depends on them; they are our friends, not things to fear. And we can learn a lot by studying them.”

They were in a dim central hallway with a high vaulted ceiling. Orbus led them into a room off to the right. It was a bright office, with many shelves of books and a large oak desk as well as an upholstered couch and some armchairs. Perfectly normal. No insects flying around. Tess glanced at Richie and could tell he was as relieved as she was.

Orbus gestured for them to sit, and he took his place behind the big desk. “I assume Dakota told you that yours is one of several handbooks we have commissioned that we feel will be essential aids after December. Now, I know your purview is manners and mores, but I do hope you might have occasion to mention … oh, you know, some of our green philosophy—living in harmony with the animals and insects of the planet, that sort of thing. I assume you’ve heard of my predilection for the beetle. Wonderful creatures. I raise them here. They are truly cosmic beings—creators as well as destroyers.” Orbus picked up a large paperback from the top of a pile of books and showed it to Tess. It had a friendly-looking cartoon beetle on the cover. Tess nodded and smiled. He put it back down on the pile. And then, miraculously, three books underneath, Tess spotted it. She could read the title on the slender spine, even though it was sideways: Fix Your Silk Stockings with a Wyoming Walking Beetle.

Tess wanted to grab Richie and yell. Instead she managed to look dispassionately interested in the books on the desk. Feigning puzzlement, she reached out, saying, “Excuse me, may I see this book? I have ancestors from Wyoming.”

“Be my guest,” smiled Orbus. In one motion she slipped the book out of the pile as smoothly as if she were doing the magician’s traditional tablecloth-pulling trick.

It gave her a surreal feeling to finally hold this book in her hands. The jacket, tattered at the edges, featured an old-fashioned graphic of a smiling woman in an apron sitting at a table with a stocking in one hand and a plum-size beetle in the other. The pages were yellowed, almost brown, with age. She could sense both Richie and Orbus watching her. She tried to look casual as she flipped through the pages. It was, after all, too much to think the document was going to still be in it. And what would she do if it was? She couldn’t exactly grab the paper and put it in her purse, saying “Oh, good, my great-great-grandmother’s long lost recipe for meat pie!” What plan, really, did she have in coming here?

“It’s fascinating really, that little tome, isn’t it?” said Orbus. “Apparently, though I can find no other reference to the practice, the Wyoming housewives of the World War II era would place these specially bred beetles down on a silk stocking that had a run in it, and the beetle would actually walk up the stocking and knit the bloody thing together with its fossorial legs.”

“Wow, amazing,” said Tess, continuing to leaf through the book. There was an odd silence in the room.

“Something wrong, Tess? You aren’t looking for this, by any chance?” She looked up at Wayne Orbus just as he was closing his desk drawer. He had papers in his hand and he held them up. With a sinking heart, Tess saw the NSA seal at the top.

Tess would have gulped, but she couldn’t seem to move a muscle. She could see a slight movement from Richie, though, out of the corner of her eye.

Orbus observed Tess carefully, his smile finally gone from his face. “Alfred seemed to think you had somehow found out about this, but I’m afraid I did not believe him. I will have to apologize to the poor fellow.” The temperature in the room was suddenly colder. “Did you get the information from Peter Barrett? God knows how that dilettante found out.”

“Found what out?” Tess stalled. “Do you know where Peter is? Is he okay?”

“Peter is in Australia at the moment, where I need him to be. He knows he has to do what I need him to do, when I need him to do it. You must know, as intelligent as you are, that Peter is nothing but an empty suit.”

“Don’t you mean more like a mended suit?”

“I beg your pardon?” He looked at her quizzically.

“I mean, I couldn’t help noticing that all his suits were mended, in the same place too. Every single one of them had slits in them.”

“Tess, I think we …” warned Richie.

But somehow, even though she knew it was not the wisest thing to do, she could not stop herself. “Recently I found a slit in my own coat, right after meeting with Alfred at the WOOSH offices.” She held her breath.

Orbus nodded, and then sighed almost apologetically. He leaned back in his chair. “Alfred is a very loyal follower, one of my most devoted. He brought me the book you have in your hands. He’s always on the lookout for things I might not have in my library regarding beetles. However, he has some … quirks. He did not like Peter. Felt I should never have enlisted an outsider. The ‘slits,’ as you call them, were an homage to a particular kind of beetle, I’m afraid.” (“Homage to a Beetle”—isn’t that a song? Tess thought, her mind starting to swim.) “There’s a species of beetle that I had developed years ago—never mind why, it was a failed experiment; they can’t all be successes—that would eat anything that had wool fiber in it. Interestingly enough, it was sort of the opposite of our Wyoming friend, when you think of it. This beetle would walk in a straight line and leave a gash, rather than repair one. Alfred had some of these beetles years ago, as pets, when he was helping me in that capacity. Now, I’m sorry to say, since I took his beetles away, he uses a razor blade, or something of the sort, I imagine. When he feels threatened.”

“Peter mentioned something about an unbalanced ex-girlfriend doing it,” said Tess, trying to absorb what Orbus was saying. He was so matter-of-fact about it all that she was having a hard time grasping it.

“Peter Barrett was under orders from me to keep Alfred’s idiosyncrasies … to himself. Although I have no doubt that Peter has had many unbalanced paramours,” he said, chortling. But why would Peter go along with Orbus on all this? Tess thought. It couldn’t have been just the money.

Richie was sitting forward on the sofa, watching Tess and ready to run for the hills, she could tell. All she had to do was give him a sign. But for some reason Tess felt that now that she was here, she had to see it through.

Orbus stood up and walked to the door. “Now if you will both follow me, please. I very much want you to see the laboratory downstairs.”

Richie and Tess stood up. Tess began to follow Orbus and felt Richie’s hand grab hers. She glanced at him. His eyes were open wide and he was shaking his head a little as if to say, “No way we are going into the basement with this guy.” Tess squeezed his hand in a reassuring way and nodded an “it will be okay.” But as she followed Wayne Orbus down the winding stone steps, and the insect hum got louder, she wondered, not for the first time, if she had lost all sense of self-preservation.

The staircase led down to a huge room with several thick square columns evenly spaced throughout an otherwise open area. There were six or seven men and women in white coats, obviously the lab workers, standing or sitting at various stations along eight long narrow tables. The tables were cluttered with computers, beakers, and other equipment. The room smelled slightly of formaldehyde. The sound of insects was very loud, and Tess and Richie could now see, around the edges of the rooms, movement within large cages and aquariums lining the walls. There were no windows (the lab was probably below moat level) and the whole room was illuminated by halogen lights. The lights came from the floor as well as the ceiling, making it incredibly bright. Some of the insect cages had black cloths over them, some were merely screened, some looked like just big wooden boxes.

Orbus was smiling again, the smile of a proud papa. “I have many more species, species I can say without false modesty I have created myself over the years, which live in what used to be the estate’s garages. But here is where my current work takes place.”

Richie and Tess were huddled close together, looking around in a mixture of fear and awe. Orbus faced them.

“Tess, do you believe the Maya had it right, and that the Earth is going to face major cataclysmic changes on December 21?”

Tess looked up at him, calculating what to say. A lot depended on it.

“Well, it certainly seems like it might, from everything I read.”

Orbus nodded. “As you know, that eventuality is something we have been planning for for years, and we think it will ultimately save mankind, allow him to start over, and do it correctly. And when these NSA blueprints fell into my hands, Tess, it was like providence!” He spoke the word “providence” so loudly that all the lab workers looked up, and Tess could swear that some of the beetles even stopped buzzing. He lowered his voice again. “Because sometimes we are not here merely to watch a prophecy unfold, sometimes we are meant to be a part of the prophecy!”

Tess snuck a look toward the stairway and to her dismay saw a large man, dressed in all black, standing in front of it with his arms crossed in front of him. Tess looked at Richie. Richie was doing well maintaining a placid expression but she could tell his eyes were saying, “Shit!!”

“There’s no sense in trying to pretend you didn’t know about this computer virus project, Tess,” Orbus went on in now fatherly tones. “I nursed a small suspicion, because of Alfred, but I knew it for certain the minute I saw you with the book. Come to think of it, as you are much more intelligent than Peter—perhaps you are the one who told him, not the other way around. I must say, that would be ironic indeed, since I had him moved to Australia, in part, precisely so he would not share this information with you. I never worried about Peter causing trouble with the authorities. He is too cynical and self-involved to believe or care that this kind of endeavor could ever be realized, but you”—Orbus peered into her face—“I can see that you have more imagination. Isn’t that so?”

“I would never doubt your abilities, Mr. Orbus.” Tess said, trying to keep her composure, sound neutral, flatter him, even though everything inside her was telling her to get the hell out of there.

“Hmm.” He scrutinized her and then glanced over at Richie. Tess did not dare look at her friend. “Well, since you are both here … I do so love showing people my work.” He walked over to the nearest table. Tess and Richie could do nothing but follow.

“The NSA document may not have been extensive, but it was quite thorough in outlining and diagramming the proposed method of synthesis between insect DNA and specific microchip-conductible electrons … .” Orbus walked from station to station, speaking in a scientific jargon Tess could not understand. The other people in the lab seemed to take this all in stride, as if he gave tours down here on a regular basis. They all pretty much kept working at whatever they were doing.

“… the dung beetle,” Orbus was saying, with a great look of delight on his face. “That was the one we chose. Its insatiable appetite for fecal matter, I also thought, was perfect.” Orbus reached over and took a long tong-like instrument, uncovered a tank, reached in, and came up with a scrambling inch-long, black beetle. “Scarabaeus viettei,” he said. Tess’s skin crawled, but she tried not to show it. “Dung beetles have always played a remarkable role in agriculture. By burying and consuming dung, they improve nutrient recycling and soil structure. Tess and Richie, don’t you see the beauty of it?” Orbus’s eyes were sparkling with excitement. “This micro-organism we are inventing will take the shit mankind has made out of the world and rejuvenate it!”

He really was a madman. Tess tried to keep a positive, interested look on her face.

“We intend to release the formula into the system at several dozen key digital hubs at 11:59 p.m. on December 20.” He dropped the beetle back into its tank. “My people tell me the bug will spread so fast that major metropolitan areas will be paralyzed in approximately twenty-four hours.”

He turned to them. “Now, the question is, what are you two going to do about it? Have you already gone to the police, I wonder? They probably wouldn’t believe you. Still, you two could cause a problem. What should I do with you?” His eyebrows no longer seemed wild and whimsical but, under his deeply furrowed brow, appeared more like wispy little snakes about to strike.

Tess darted a quick look at the guard in the stairwell, who had unfolded his beefy arms, and one at Richie, who from his body language, seemed itching to find a tool to hit Orbus over the head. Tess knew there were too many people here and they would never get away. And that even if they did, they’d be looking over their shoulders for months. Tess racked her brain for what to do. Always humor the host, her mother used to say.

“Anything you like, Mr. Orbus,” Tess answered sweetly. “Don’t you know that we are only here to help? Haven’t you figured that out?” Please, Richie, follow my lead, she pleaded silently.

Orbus’s blue eyes were now boring into hers. “I would be most grateful for you to explain that,” he said.

“Look, may we sit down, please?” she said. This wasn’t just a ploy—Tess could feel her knees weakening. Somewhat taken aback, Orbus motioned them over to some stools next to a table that was more or less empty, and the three of them sat down—Richie and Tess on one side, Orbus on the other.

“Mr. Orbus, why do you think I came all the way out to Suffolk? Do you think we would have just walked in here by ourselves if we were trying to stop you? Didn’t you say you knew I was smart?”

“Hmm. Continue,” said Orbus, studying her closely.

“I’ll admit to you when I started this project I thought the whole thing … I mean, WOOSH … was totally crazy,” said Tess. “But the more I learned, the more I started believing. I even went to Mexico so I could talk to the Maya myself—I mean, the ones who are still there.”

Richie, getting where Tess was going, nodded. “I can attest to that. She even got me believing.”

“It’s obvious the world is about to self-destruct anyway,” said Tess. “I myself was living life in the exit-only lane. I had lost my job, my boyfriend, my family.” She was hoping to offer Orbus the perfect profile of a potential convert. “Frankly, I feel the Industrial Revolution came too soon; humans were not spiritually evolved enough to handle it, and now the mess we have is irreparable. We have no choice but a do-over. So when I heard about the NSA computer bug formula … Okay, I admit I was scared at first but”—she looked at Richie and put her hand on his arm—“as I told Richie, if there’s one thing I feel has ruined all of human interaction, human emotional life, the whole human journey, in fact, it’s computers.”

Richie blinked, then nodded. “Everyone is brain-dead,” he said. “Literally. There are brain-mapping studies that show people’s brains have been rewired. Only one in fifty ten-year-olds has ever climbed a tree. Computers!” He made a gross hocking sound, which Tess thought might be overdoing it. Orbus eyed him curiously.

“But my real epiphany came,” Tess said quickly, “when I actually got an audience with one of the thirteen crystal skulls—you know, from the Pleiades? What I saw that evening convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt. The world is headed for a rebirth, and that means most of what has been built has got to go, to make room. You can’t make an omelet …” Okay, now she was overdoing it. “Mr. Orbus, we came here because we want to support you. I know I was hired freelance, but I was hoping to really join you.”

“We both were hoping to,” Richie said.



***



Tess and Richie did not exchange one word on the ride back to the Ipswich station. They both looked out their windows in the Bentley as if they hadn’t a care in the world. But as soon as the chauffeur was completely out of sight, they grabbed each other and started talking at once.

“Oh my god, I thought we would never—”

“You were so brilliant when you—”

“Can you believe he really bought it that—”

“That whole crystal skull thing, I think that did it—”

Tess had bet on Orbus having a big enough ego to believe he had two more followers, instead of enemies, and it had paid off. The man had hugged them, and had given both of them pamphlets containing instructions on what to do to prepare before the Big Day and details of the locations of what were to be the WOOSH outposts around the world. Then he had let them use the restrooms and had sent them on their way.

“God, I was afraid we were going to have to go through some weird initiation or get tattooed or eat beetle juice or something,” said Richie. “You know, there was a part of me that really did think you were hallucinating all this, Tess. Do you think the stuff he’s making will really work? It didn’t exactly look like a state-of-the-art biotech lab or anything. Maybe he’s just an eccentric who thinks he’s doing real science?”

“I don’t know. All I know is we still don’t have any proof. But at least now I am sure of what he plans to do. I no longer have to think it’s just my paranoia. After seeing all this, I am going to keep trying, go to Washington, whatever it takes.

“I have a feeling you are going to get someone’s attention this time,” said Richie with a mysterious smile.



***



Tess and Richie sat at a corner table at the Café Rouge at Heathrow. They had gotten to the airport too early, but when they had gotten back from Ipswich Richie had been incredibly anxiety-ridden, uncharacteristically so. So they had collected their bags from the hotel and hightailed it to the airport.

“Richie, is there something the matter?” Tess said, pouring a hefty amount of cream into her coffee, the way she always did with coffee whose taste she could not trust, “You’re all fidgety. There is no question this has been a weird trip—the whole thing has been totally, horribly unsettling and I know it’s scary, but when we get home we can keep trying, we can go to D.C., we can … Richie, what is it, what’s wrong?”

“Tess, I wasn’t going to tell you this. I didn’t want to freak you out.” He certainly looked just that: freaked out. “I also thought if I got caught, then you would have better deniability.”

“What do you mean? Caught doing what?”

“Okay, I’ve done something. It was kind of on impulse—I thought it was the right thing but now I think we might have a problem. I didn’t really think it through.” He leaned forward, looking around nervously to make sure no one was within earshot.

“What?” Tess exclaimed.

“Shhh.” Richie motioned for her to be quieter. “The thing is, I … swiped some of it.”

“Swiped some of what?”

“The stuff—Orbus’s concoction.” Tess’s mouth fell open and she was speechless.

Richie was smiling, though nervous. “It was so not like it is in the movies, Tess. Remember when we went to the bathroom, there was that little anteroom there? Well, while I was waiting for you, I was left alone, which I could not really believe they would do, and I was looking over at this cabinet on the wall. And the crazy thing was, this cabinet was very similar in design to one I made last year, which had seamless doors, and all kinds of compartments you can’t see. It was inspired by the Japanese … but never mind that. Anyway, I was just staring at it and I suddenly just knew how it would open. So I went and tried one of the doors just for the heck of it. You have to put pressure on two precise areas of the wood.”

“Oh my god,” said Tess

“When the door clicked open, I could see there were rows and rows of vials of this dark liquid on the inside shelf, and there was one row that wasn’t quite filled up. And I didn’t think—I just took one. I am hoping nobody will notice it’s gone.”

“Jesus Christ. You are Batman,” said Tess. “You are the Green Lantern.”

“Of course, we don’t know if it’s the formula …”

“But, Richie, there’s a good chance—since it was in the basement, right next to where they were all working! Though you’d think they’d have it under lock and key … . God, Richie, is it — you know, well sealed? Doesn’t it scare you, just having it on you?”

“No, it’s one of those vials-within-a-vial. But the problem is, I never really thought about how to get it on the plane. We can’t very well carry it on with us. It doesn’t exactly look like shampoo and I think it’s over the ounce limit anyway.”

“We could check one of our bags, I think there’s still time.” Tess thought furiously for a minute. “But … what if the vial broke; what if someone—dogs or something, who knows what they sniff for? If they found it, the airport security people could open it—it could spread to someone’s iPad … . We don’t know … .”

They sat there, thinking. Tess felt a new chill go through her. We definitely have to get out of here, she thought. What if Orbus finds out one of the vials is gone? “Richie, whatever we do, we need to decide. We need to be on the other side of security, like ten minutes ago.”

Tess went to the ladies’ room with her brain still racing. She figured they had two choices. They could risk checking it in a bag (which might be a more viable option if either one of them had brought something other than a shapeless nylon carry-on bag), or they could leave the airport and take a taxi straight to Scotland Yard. Just turn the whole thing over to the authorities. Of course, they would probably have as much luck as they did in the United States. And who knows how long Orbus’s arm reached in his own country? His family went way back. For all they knew, he could be related to Scotland Yard.

Tess went to the sink and threw cold water on her face, trying not to hyper-ventilate. This was really happening. She had to decide what to do—and fast! Drying her face, she looked at herself in the mirror, wondering if she had aged as much as she felt she had aged over the last forty-eight hours. As she looked in the glass, she couldn’t help noticing a navy-blue-clad flight attendant standing at the next sink who had extraordinary red hair, Botticelli hair … . Tess’s jaw dropped. “Betty!”

Betty Phoenix looked confused for a moment, then exclaimed, “Tess!” They embraced, ignoring the stares of the other travelers streaming in and out who were not used to seeing women hugging in an airport bathroom.

“What are you doing here?” they exclaimed in unison.

“Remember when I last saw you at the boathouse?” said Betty as they left the ladies’ room together. Betty rolled a small suitcase behind her. “And remember how I told you I wanted to travel as much as I could? Well, first I checked into joining the international traveling librarians, or signing up for Greenpeace, and other organizations like those, but”—she stopped and looked Tess in the face, her eyes asking for understanding—“I was in too much of a hurry to see the whole world, not just one or two third-world countries. I know it was selfish of me, but … Then one day on the subway I just happened to see an ad for Delta airlines, for their flight attendant program. I was afraid I would be too old, but they don’t really have age requirements—just size requirements. I was so thrilled when they accepted me. Eight weeks of training and here I am—a stewardess!” Betty did a little twirl, showing off her tailored pantsuit.

“Don’t you mean ‘flight attendant’?” Tess asked.

Betty was all merriment. “To me, ‘stewardess’ always sounded more exciting. I guess from reading too many novels.” At the library Betty Phoenix had seemed content, but Tess had never seen her exuberant. She was like a new woman. She looked so natural in her uniform, cute little carry-on bag and all.

Suddenly Tess took hold of Betty’s arm. It wasn’t really an idea, more like a spark of an idea. She guided her back to the table where Richie was sitting and quickly introduced them.

Then, hurriedly, desperately, and as quietly as they could, Tess and Richie explained to the ex-librarian how they came to be in England, what happened at Orbus Hall, and what their current dilemma was.

Betty Phoenix was horrified. “I chose that odd little book on beetles as sort of my own ironic joke—you know, computer bugs, beetles? I had no idea it would be that very choice which would lead to its getting into the wrong hands. I can’t believe it—I was so terrified of what might happen with that virus that I … I … actually helped to make it happen!” She looked as if she might fall to pieces.

“It’s not your fault, Betty,” Tess said. “How could you possibly know some twisted megalomaniac would have a thing for beetles?” She and Richie both patted Betty and soothed her until she composed herself again. “But maybe you can help us now.”

Betty was silent for a moment, considering, weighing, in the calm way she always had, and then she looked down at her bag. Richie and Tess looked at it too. ”I think it’s destiny that I ran into you, Tess. You all will never be able to get the vial through security—at the very least, it’s enormously chancy. Much better that I should do it.” She patted Tess’s hand. “Do you know how cautious they are here at Heathrow? Tell me, was this … substance … refrigerated?”

Richie shook his head.

“And the vial contains no metal?”

“Not that I could see.”

“Good.” Betty swept them both with her cool, calm green eyes, and gave them a determined smile. “I can lock it into a safety deposit box here in London; I’m here on a two-day layover. In about three weeks, I have a schedule that takes me back through London and then on to New York. I’ll pick the thing up then. I can keep it on me when I go through airport security. They scan our bags but they never frisk flight attendants.”

Richie and Tess looked at each other. Each knew what the other was thinking: that three weeks was a lot of time to lose.

“This does sound like the safest way,” said Richie.

“Betty,” said Tess cautiously, “I don’t have to tell you what would happen if … if the vial were to fall into the wrong hands … .”

“Or spill onto an airport computer,” said Richie.

“Or even onto your phone. We just don’t know,” Tess added.

“I understand,” said Betty, tightening her lips. “Believe me. But I do feel responsible. I should have destroyed the document, burned it.” She looked as if she was about to cry and then she gave a little sad laugh. “I guess it’s so ingrained in me, in the librarian in me, to preserve books and documents at all costs … .”

They stopped talking when the waiter came over to take their check. After he was gone, Richie looked around the crowded restaurant and made an awkward move toward his jacket pocket. “So how do we …”

Betty shot him a stern look, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. She stood up abruptly. “Well, it was so nice to meet you, Mr. Arnell,” she said, smiling at him.

At first he looked confused, and then he understood. He reached quickly into his jacket, and then took her hand. Only the three of them knew that more was being exchanged than a handshake.



***



The flight was not crowded; Tess and Richie had three seats to themselves. Tess had taken the window, leaving an empty seat between them.

“Do you think Betty Phoenix will come through?” Richie asked her, unfastening his seat belt. “How well do you know her?”

Tess’s closed her eyes. “You know, I think if we talk about this anymore I am just going to lose it. I feel like my head is going to explode. I can no longer process. Any minute now you are going to have to check me in to Bellevue.”

“I hear you,” he said.

They were quiet with their own thoughts for a few minutes and then Tess said, “I know what. I never did hear about your furniture business. I really would love to hear about it.” She twisted around toward him. “Please?”

Suddenly it was Richie who looked tired and depressed. He was silent for about twenty seconds. He moved his seat back slightly. “That’s just it: it’s not a business. For me, it’s more like art. I don’t make any money at it—I don’t know whether anyone will ever buy my designs. I seriously doubt it. Well, okay, especially not after December.”

“Right,” Tess said with a pained nod (as in, yeah yeah, the world might end, I know). “But tell me anyway.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “I have this vision about how furniture can change people’s lives, if it is designed right. Take a chair. Everyone sits in a chair, for most of the day, but it is almost always purely functional. If that chair could also be, not just a work of art to please your eye, but something that actually makes you feel intrinsically connected with the tree it came from, connected with the whole history of chairs, even with the essence of the human form …” He chuckled in a self-deprecating way. “As you can see, this is a passion for me, like a religion.” Tess was truly fascinated and impressed by this side of Richie. He was more animated than Tess had ever seen him. For over an hour, they talked about his designs—where he got his inspiration, who were his favorites among established designers, what tools he liked to use, what he was working on at the moment.

“I am working hard to build up enough pieces so that I could show somewhere,” Richie said wistfully, “but frankly, I hardly make enough extra money for the wood I need, so it’s very slow going. And then there’s Jason, so I don’t really have enough hours after working at the bar.”

Tess gazed at Richie, this incredibly kind, cute, smart, interesting guy who was always willing to be there for her at the drop of a hat, more than almost anyone ever had in her entire life. She could not remember him judging her the entire time she had known him. Whether it was a drink, or a trip to England, he was always right there beside her. His sense of humor matched hers in a way she had never found in anyone else before. She looked at the way his hair curled over and into his ear a little bit and suddenly she just wanted to kiss him so much that she had to turned away and look out the window for a moment. Then she turned back to him.

“I’m sorry, Richie,” Tess said, unable to stop herself, the color rushing to her face. “I have to tell you something. I’m sorry, I can’t help it, I just wish to god you were not gay.” There, she had said it.

Richie stared. He blinked slowly, twice. “Um … . I am assuming you mean ‘gay’ in some kind of British sense—as in positive, optimistic? Because any other meaning and I might just be insulted.”

“What?” Tess said, startled.

“Why would you think that?” He was incredulous.

She gaped at him, her brain trying to catch up to what was happening. “That you’re gay? Well—for one thing, Patrick told me you were.”

“Patrick? That a*shole? Tess, why would you even talk to that guy about me, much less … Jesus!” He said it loud enough that the woman across the aisle turned her head to look.

“But … what about Jason? Aren’t you seeing someone named Jason? You know, the guy you told me you got no sleep because of?”

Tess was still confused. She was thinking, could Jason be one of those new masculine girl’s names, like Jamie or Murray?

“Tess, Jason’s my son.”

“Your … your son?”

“My six-year-old son. And I got no sleep because he was up all night with a stomach bug. So you really thought …” Richie stared at Tess.

Tess buried her head in her hands, feeling that it might spin right off her neck if she did not keep a firm hold on it. Then she peeked at him out of one eye. “So, you’re married?”

“Divorced.” Tess felt something inside her chime a major chord. The flight attendant suddenly appeared beside them with the drink cart, and for a few minutes they were busy with the mundanities of refreshments. And then, Richie proceeded to really talk about himself, at long last. He told her about growing up in Philadelphia, about how he met his wife in college in Boston, how they had moved to New York for her work. But his marriage left him feeling crushed and insecure.

“Lauren and I were fine at first. I actually felt very hopeful about everything, but then when Jason came along, she became intent—no, it was more fixated—on my giving up my furniture design dreams and making money. She wanted me to make a lot of money; she wanted to quit her job; she wanted a better apartment, private school for Jason. And P.S., she ended up marrying an Upper East Side dermatologist, so she eventually got what she wanted. But after the divorce, I just … well, I took myself out of the romance game, kind of, at that point. I had Jason, and … I get him for weekends. It’s hard for me not seeing him all the time, so I don’t talk about him at work.” Tess remembered Patrick saying “Every week his boy toy Jason comes in on Friday” and she put her head in her hands again and kind of groaned.

How thick she had been. As it dawned on Tess that this man she already adored was not only straight but potentially available, she felt a great rush of relief, followed by a flood of intense self-consciousness. It was like finding out she had been dancing naked down the street for a very long time, after having been sure she was wearing a dress.

“So then, Richie, how come … why … ? I gather I’m just not your … your typeface?” It never failed, this tendency of Tess’s to make the corniest joke possible when she was embarrassed.

He looked uncomfortable, so she tried to take it back. “No, I’m sorry, never mind—”

“Tess,” he looked at her exasperated as if she were a clueless four-year-old and he was trying not to lose patience with her, “of course I’m attracted to you. I’m crazy about you, you idiot, what do you think I’m doing here?”

“But … but … but …” God! Now she sounded like a chicken! “You never, I mean, all the time at the bar, and …”

“Tess! Until that day we went to Homeland Security, and you told Whitman about Peter not showing up on New Year’s Eve, and that you suspected some kind of foul play, I thought you were still with him, even though he was out of town. Even in Suffolk, when you asked Orbus about Peter, I wasn’t sure …” He shook his head. “Really, this whole time you thought I was gay?” He unclasped his seat belt and stood up. At first Tess thought he was leaving in disgust, but he was just moving over to the middle seat toward her. Tess felt her sleeping libido sit right up and take notice. He grinned at her. She blushed. This was a man she had told all her troubles to, who had been in her bedroom, seen her drunk—the man who she had braved the realm of Wayne Orbus with—and still she felt as awkward as if she were a teenager on a blind date. She didn’t know where to look, what to do. Richie solved this for her by reaching over, picking up her right arm, and leaning his beautiful head over to kiss the underside of her wrist. Her whole body instantly lit up like a bonfire. (Whoever said men were lightbulbs and women were irons?) Then he kissed her on the mouth, and she melted away. She had never kissed a man with a beard; it somehow made his mouth a sensuous and silky surprise, hidden inside all that woolly fur. He tasted like coffee and peanuts. She never wanted the kiss to end.

He sat back and stroked the hair back from her forehead. “Look, I guess I never thought I was in your league, because I made no money. I thought, Why would you, Tess Eliot—‘Tess Knows Best’ Tess Eliot—go out with a lowly bartender?”

“What, you thought I was some kind of a snob?”

“Come on, don’t tell me women don’t care about men having money.” She could hear the hint of bitterness in his voice. “Listen, to me, you were a well-known New York columnist, and okay, when you were down and out, after you got fired, and broke up with Matt, I thought I might have a chance—I’m sorry to put it like that … . But then you suddenly come in with the god-like Peter Barrett … and yes, I can actually be aware he was a good-looking man, and that doesn’t make me gay!”

Tess smiled at him and laid her head on his shoulder. She could tell that his first wife had really done a number on him, making him feel like a lousy breadwinner, emasculating him. Well, her loss was Tess’s gain. She couldn’t believe her good fortune. Her fortune … Tess flashed back to Aunt Charlotte’s tarot card reading, when she had said, “the man you love is being kept from you by a woman who has cut him down to size.” She had meant Richie!

“Oh my god, the Queen of Swords!” Tess yelled suddenly. Everyone near them on the plane turned and looked at her as though she had lost her mind.

“Good lord, Tess! What!?”

Tess giggled. “Nothing, never mind.” She put her head contentedly back on his shoulder and slipped her hand inside one of his bear-size ones. At this moment she did not care one whit about prophecies, deadly computer viruses, earthquakes and tsunamis, or anything, except the amazing miracle of Richie Arnell.