Extinction Machine

Chapter Thirty-nine

VanMeer Castle

Near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Sunday, October 20, 8:47 a.m.

Mr. Bones knocked quietly and came into Howard’s bedroom. The old man was awake, sitting propped up, a Ghost Box on his lap and open file folders scattered around everywhere.

“So much for resting,” said Mr. Bones, arching an eyebrow.

“I’ll rest next week.”

“It’s Sunday, it is next week.” Mr. Bones dragged over a heavy hand-carved wooden chair, flopped into it, crossed his ankles, and laid his heels on the edge of the bed.

Howard waved a hand. “You know what I mean. The doctor said it was stress and exhaustion. Big surprise. Said all I needed was some rest … so I’m resting.”

“How are you feeling? No bullshit.”

The old man took off his reading glasses and tossed them onto the bed. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. After a moment he said, “I know this is what I wanted,” he said. “I know this is what I’ve worked my life for … but sometimes getting what you want is such a goddamn pain in the ass.” He cut a look at his friend. “No, don’t say it: It’s like a man complaining because he has to count every penny in a heap of treasure he found. This isn’t something that’s going to take me off the path. I’m not going to come to my senses and devote the rest of my life to charity and good works. I’m a monster, Bones, and I like being a monster.”

“But it’s still a pain in the ass to count all that treasure,” said Mr. Bones softly.

“It is. Am I weak for saying that?”

“You’re human. And I’ll bet every hero and every conqueror in history had these moments. Alexander the Great probably needed to hang out in his tent, get drunk, fart, read some trash scrolls.”

Howard nodded. “They should show that in the history books. Downtime of the rich and powerful.”

“We can fund a reality show,” said Bones, “Kicking Back with Kings.”

They laughed about it. Quietly, respecting the needs of the moment. And then they sat in companionable silence for a time, listening to the drifting music from the speakers mounted high in the corners of the room. A playlist of old blues. All covers of Willie Dixon tunes.

“We could bag it,” said Mr. Bones, and when Shelton looked at him in surprise, he continued, “We could. All of it. We could let the air show be just an air show. We’ll have everyone here to fly their planes and we’ll be affable hosts. We could let Yuina continue to do what she already thinks she’s doing. We could stop the cyber-attacks and let Ledger and the DMS dig their way out from under without any further interference from us, we could call off the Closers and tell Tull to go back to trying to be a person.”

“What about the Chinese? I can’t help feeling that they’re closer than we think.”

Mr. Bones shrugged. “We initiate the tapeworm and turn their project to junk, and let the rest of the world go back to the arms race they think they’ve been running since the Cold War ended. We could do all of that, Howard.”

They both nodded, thinking about it. It wasn’t the first time they’d had some version of this conversation. It wasn’t the tenth time.

Howard said, “What’s wrong, Bonesy? Nervous there at the wobbly end of the high dive?”

“Of course. No matter how many times we run the math, there’s still a chance this could all go flooey.”

“‘Flooey’?”

“Flooey,” agreed Mr. Bones. “There might be something we haven’t thought of, some X-factor that makes it all go wrong.”

“There isn’t.”

“That’s what we believe, Howard, but we can’t know everything. No one has ever done what we’re about to do.”

“That’s what makes being the first so much fun.”

“What if the joint chiefs and the DoD suits won’t be bullied? What if we lay it all out and give them our terms and they call our bluff?”

“We’re not bluffing,” said Howard.

“What if they force our hand?”

Howard Shelton lay back and stared at the ceiling for a few moments. “I said I wanted to get out of the fast lane for a few minutes, collect my wits, get my second wind. I never said that I wanted to lose the race.” He closed his eyes and smiled. “No f*cking way.”