Extinction Machine

Chapter Twenty-two

VanMeer Castle

Near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Sunday, October 20, 6:26 a.m.

Once the call was ended, Mr. Bones closed the Ghost Box and turned to Howard Shelton. The old man was leaning heavily on the desk, head low, eyes staring fixedly into the wood grain. His color was bad and he was sweating.

“This is scary as hell,” said Mr. Bones.

Howard merely grunted.

“I mean,” continued Bones, “on one hand we should be happy that she’s still clueless about the cyber-attacks and—”

“F*ck the cyber-attacks,” snarled Howard. “We’ve got that safeguarded seven ways from Sunday. What about this thing in D.C.? What the hell is happening?”

“It’s definitely not the Chinese.”

Howard’s lip curled back from his dentures. “Yeah? And how do we know those slippery bastards aren’t screwing us?”

“We know because they can’t. Remember the last time they tried? That entire lab complex in Tangshan became the epicenter of a very, very big earthquake. Worst of the twentieth century, am I right? You really think they’re going to risk that again?”

“How the f*ck should I know?” growled Howard, his face becoming livid. “We keep risking it. Any risk is worth it. Mount St. Helen’s, Haiti … even if someone ever puts two and two together, they’ll see how everything we’ve had to do is all for the ultimate good. That’s easy math. Besides, if we hadn’t gotten lucky with the organic component we’d be in the same boat as them.” He shook his head. “But it’s not the damn Chinese I’m worried about. Or the Russians or the frigging North Koreans or anyone.”

“Then what?”

“What Yuina said … about the Truman Projection. Christ, Bones, what if she’s right?”

“Oh God, you’re worried about that? You think we’re being invaded by aliens?” Mr. Bones burst out laughing. “Yuina is a very brilliant, very dedicated, very crazy lady and she’s been in the lab far too long.”

“Yeah, but what if she’s right?”

“She’s not right. ET’s gone home, Howard. We have junk and burned bodies and nothing else. This is all past tense and you know this.”

“What if she’s right?” Howard insisted.

“Not a chance in hell,” said Mr. Bones with absolute certainty.

Howard merely grunted, but sweat continued to boil from his pores. It ran in lines down his cheeks.

“Jesus Christ, Howard,” yelped Mr. Bones, “what’s wrong?”

“I … I think you’d better get my nitro,” said Howard very carefully. “I feel like shit.”