“Nothing.” Ben rubbed the back of his neck. Müller might be trying to cover his ass, but having Ben here was smart, too. It made sense. “Nothing. There’s no way he could have known. I didn’t even know. It was just a wild guess at the time.”
Roger leaned in close to Ben. He pointed at the backpack and whispered, “So that’s the old Red Shift Data? Gliese 445?”
Ben nodded slowly. “Not sure how we’re going to read it. There’s old magnetic drum tapes from the 70s, floppies from the 80s, CDs from the 90s…”
Roger let his breath whistle out. “And who knows what formats. How could you even decode it?”
“I don’t know. But what’s in there,”—he pointed at the backpack—“if that’s evidence of Nomad, it’ll pinpoint a starting trajectory, thirty years ago. Problem is, the data never fit theoretical models of a black hole accretion disk.”
“But isn’t all the data in that paper you tried to publish?”
“Not quite.”
Roger stared at Ben. “Not quite?” He sat upright and pressed his lips together. “What do you mean, not quite?” He opened an email on his laptop screen, then began typing quickly.
A knock on the door.
“We’re busy,” Roger said loudly. He turned back to Ben and pointed at his laptop screen. “You gotta look at this.”
A louder knock.
“I said, we’re—” Roger started to say, but the door opened.
A face appeared, smooth and olive-skinned with piercing green eyes above a manicured two-day-stubble beard, a brown knitted-wool cap set askew atop a thick head of jet-black hair. “Dr. Rollins?” Ufuk Erdogmas said, peering around the door. “You are here?”
“Sorry, but this is a private room,” Roger said, getting up and standing between the door and Ben.
“It’s okay,” Ben said. He got to his feet and stepped forward to open the door fully. It wasn’t every day that a famous billionaire entrepreneur came knocking.
Ufuk frowned at Roger, and then turned to face Ben and smiled, reaching out to shake his hand. “Dr. Rollins, I can’t tell you what a honor this is. I tried to find you at the IAU meeting. I’ve studied your work in Doppler spectroscopy. My name is—”
“I know who you are, Mr. Erdogmus.” Ben took his hand. It felt dry and warm. A firm handshake. Ben’s grandfather always said the mark of a good man was a firm handshake. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to speak to you. Urgently.”
“Come in, then.” Ben took a step back.
“Sorry, but this needs to be in private.” Ufuk glanced at Roger, smiling thinly.
“I can go out,” Roger said after an awkward pause.
“No, you stay here.” The thin smile disappeared from Ufuk’s face.
Ben frowned, glancing at Roger and then back at Ufuk. Did they know each other? “I’m sorry, but what is this about, Mr. Erdogmus? I appreciate what an important person you are, but right now…does this have something to do with the Mars First mission?”
Lines creased the smooth skin around Ufuk’s eyes. He pressed his lips together. “Yes, you could say that.”
“Mr. Erdogmus, can’t this wait?” asked Roger, stepping forward again. “Right now isn’t—”
Someone screamed in the hallway. Someone else swore loudly in German.
“What the hell…?” Ben took two steps around the door and looked down the hallway.
More loud voices. People ran toward the lounge, a crowd already massed there, staring at the television screens.
Ben turned and grabbed the remote from beside Roger and clicked on the TV above the couch. A grainy picture of an orange fireball roiled into an overcast sky—not just a fireball, but a mushroom cloud.
“These images are from webcams in the center of Rome,” said the news anchor, his face ashen. “We have reports of what appears to be a nuclear device detonated over the Vatican…”
The blood drained from Ben’s face, a ringing in his ears suppressing his senses. “Oh, my, God…” The apartment Jess was in was a mile from the Vatican. He staggered back, his hands numb, and slumped into the chair by his workstation.
In the hallway, cursing and crying.
“…perhaps hundreds of thousands dead,” continued the news anchor, “and ten times that many wounded. Over a million people were assembled around the Vatican today for a Papal address. Reports are that the Pope has been killed, a smoking crater and rubble all that remains of St. Paul’s and the Sistine Chapel…”
Ben stood unsteadily and turned to Ufuk. “I’m sorry, Mr. Erdogmus, but right now isn’t a good time.”
“Make sure you talk to me, it’s very urgent. It’s about sanctuary,” Ufuk said as Ben pushed the billionaire out the door and closed it.
Roger stared slack-jawed at the TV screen, but then looked at his laptop again. “Ben, I know this is insane, but you’ve got to look at this…”
Ben fumbled with his phone and tried Jess’s number again. Busy signal this time.
“They weren’t at the apartment when the driver came, maybe they were out of the city,” Roger said in a gentle voice. “But you gotta look at this,” he repeated.