Gray suspected that was part of the reason for her delayed return, as punishment. While she was happy he’d returned in one piece, she was still peeved to have missed out on all of the excitement.
He shifted his body, turning to Painter, ready to change the subject. “Has there been any sign of Nolan De Coster?”
Painter sighed. “Kat’s been beating the bushes, rallying intelligence services around the globe. But it’s like he’s vanished off the face of the Earth.”
After events in the Congo, De Coster’s yacht had been found crashed and abandoned down the river. Only the jungle-ravaged body of Dr. Ngoy had been found aboard. Nolan himself remained missing. His corporation adamantly denied any knowledge of his whereabouts. But no one could be certain. He could’ve slunk off anywhere and be biding his time. Not that there would be much of a company to return to. Due to its CEO’s crimes, De Coster Mining & Industry was being systematically dismantled, its assets sold off to cover the expenses of the ongoing global recovery efforts.
Additionally, the vast deposits of gold discovered in the mountains held the promise to finally end the DRC’s cycle of colonialism. The wealth buried up there would fund the country’s self-rule for decades, freeing it of the need to ever lean on the Chinese or any other government. In addition, all the archaeological attention and global interest ensured many eyes would be on that gold, helping to keep it protected.
As for the rest of the valley, it remained a cratered ruin. All the wonder hidden for millennia had vanished in one explosive moment. After the blast, a fire had spread throughout the valley, consuming everything. Gray and the others had barely escaped the flames to reach the rally point and the evac helicopter.
A month later, Gray still remained haunted. He struggled to find the hope in all that destruction, remembering Tyende’s final words: Some times it takes fire to clear a forest for new growth. Even with the cure, Gray could not balance out all the death, the devastation, the displacement of countless people.
Mostly because it all could have been avoided. They’d had the cure all along, from the very beginning. Afterward, he had questioned Faraji. The boy had insisted that Woko Bosh knew nothing about the significance of the ndop carving, how it was actually a box within a box, a treasure hidden inside another.
None know, Faraji had assured him.
Apparently, it was a secret that Sheppard kept, shared only with Tyende, who remained behind in the valley to act as warden and caretaker. The reverend must have respected the tree, cherishing its secrets enough that he only wanted it shared with those who were deemed worthy enough to deserve it. In order to do so, one needed to make that sojourn, following the clues tied to the Kuba, before one could be judged.
And while the tree did not find us worthy—another did.
He pictured Tyende patting his hand, assuring Gray that he was honorable enough, entrusting him in the end with Sheppard’s centuries-old secret. As Gray sat in the waiting room, he rubbed at that hand, wondering even now if that were true.
Am I worthy?
Painter noted his attention, and it clearly reminded him of another matter. “I heard from DARPA. Their latest plans for Monk’s prosthesis are promising. He’s been working with them, refining the schematics.”
Gray smiled. “All so he doesn’t have to keep blowing up his hand.”
“He’s a man on a mission.”
“Like a dog with a bone.” Gray inwardly winced at his choice of words, reminded that not all of the teams had returned from the jungles intact. He quickly swallowed and waved down the hall, shifting to another topic. “What are the chances that Kowalski’s bone marrow transplant will put him into remission? The doctors have been more forthright with you. What are they saying?”
“Well, his oncologists are hopeful, certainly more than before. Whatever happened in the forest, in that glowing pool, it seemed to have improved his condition. Significantly so. His numbers are better across the board. It’s why they rushed this procedure. To take advantage before he worsens again.”
“So, he wasn’t cured?” Gray asked.
Painter shrugged. “It’s impossible to say. Batteries of blood tests showed no evidence of a curative virus, like the one being employed throughout the Congo. If anything was passed to Kowalski, it’s gone.”
Gray recalled Tyende’s words: She is generous with her gifts, but they are brief. Once partaken, they fade quickly.
“We still don’t understand that Tyende virus,” Painter admitted. “It vanishes just as quickly in the patients treated in the Congo. It also seems to have no other curative power, no ability to extend life or longevity.”
“At least, not this version,” Gray said.
“Exactly. This Tyende strain seems tailor-made to only attack the Omniviridae virus. Nothing more. And once the task is complete, it dissipates. If there are any other miracles buried in its code, waiting to be released, it’s beyond our scientific ability to obtain them.”
But not beyond another’s ability.
Gray pictured the mother tree. He knew it was just a figurehead. The true organism lay rooted far deeper—spread across a network both woody and fungal—a vast intelligence like no other.
Motion drew his attention down the hall. The slim figure of Maria Crandall appeared. She was fully gowned up, wearing a bonnet and mask. She waved a gloved hand toward them.
“If you want to visit,” she called over to them, “they’re finished.”
Gray and Painter crossed to join her. Once they reached the door, she showed them how to don all the necessary isolation gear: gowns, masks, gloves.
“You should keep the visit short,” she warned. “He’s pretty wiped.”
“Of course,” Painter said.
Gray nodded his assurance.
Once decked out, they entered the hospital room. Isolation procedures were fully enforced due to the risk to the immunocompromised patient.
As Gray entered, he stumbled a step, shocked by Kowalski’s current state. He hadn’t seen the man since he had started chemo and radiation. Kowalski looked like a ghost of himself. His skin was ashen, with dark shadows under his eyes. His head was a smooth scalp.
Still, Kowalski filled the bed, looking as muscular and bulky as ever.
His eyes glared at the visitors, likely embarrassed to be seen in this state. Then again, that was his usual expression.
Gray revealed the gift hidden behind his back. He had it special-ordered. Though sealed in clear plastic to match isolation standards, there was no mistaking it.
Maria smiled, knowing Kowalski’s obsession. “That’s perfect.”
It was a furry teddy bear—one that shouldered a tiny replica of Kowalski’s lost Shuriken.
“No, that’s stupid,” the big man said. But before Gray could pull it away, Kowalski snatched it out of his hands. “But I can sell it on eBay.”
“You know you’re not going to do that,” Maria scolded. “Though maybe you should. We’re running out of shelf space at home.”
He pulled the bear closer, settling it on the bed next to him. He patted its head but still looked disappointed with it.
“What’s wrong?” Gray asked.
He turned, clearly wounded. “You could’ve got me the rifle, too.”
6:20 P.M.
Spitskop Nature Preserve, South Africa
Tucker sat alone on the wooden porch of the sprawling, three-story home. The planks underfoot were whitewashed, matching the corbels and posts. Wide ceiling fans stirred the air but did little to diminish the heat of the dying afternoon.
To help with that, a cold bottle of beer sweated next to him.
The sun sat low on the horizon. Mirages still shimmered across the endless spread of savannah, dotted with clusters of acacias and bushwillows. Closer at hand, sprinklers hissed and swept a mist over a half acre of green buffalo grass. Elsewhere, the hum of grasshoppers sawing their legs droned on in an endless chorus.