Fallen Masters Read online

  She glanced again at the alarm clock as she dialed his number. The time was 3:43 A.M.

  She heard the called phone ring. It rang four times and she was about to punch the call off when she heard someone pick up.

  “Charlene,” Ryan said, “what took you so long?”

  * * *

  Not since the last royal marriage in London had there been a more fairy-tale wedding. This American prince had won the heart of his princess, and they were married in the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine in New York. Charlene was not Episcopalian, but Ryan was, and he thought that marrying someone whose last name was St. John at the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine was appropriate.

  The cathedral was filled to overflowing, but there were no cameras allowed in the church. There were plenty of cameras outside, though, and the police had blocked off traffic on Amsterdam Avenue.

  They were married for less than two years, “The Couple” that every magazine and television show pointed out as an example of a marriage of famous people that could not only survive, but thrive in the public eye. The world was waiting for a child to complete the storybook couple’s charmed life, when they learned that Ryan had been diagnosed with a quick-acting, and inoperable brain tumor.

  Charlene canceled all her concerts and tours. She spent every minute with the man who had become her whole life. There were rumors of special treatments, all in a vain attempt to forestall the inevitable.

  Not since the public mourning after the death of Princess Diana had the grief been so widespread. More than one newscaster choked up when news of Ryan’s death was announced. And the young widow, Charlene St. John McAvoy, achieved legendary status in the hearts and minds of people around the world. To the tabloids, her day-to-day life was busy, filled with activities, and she devoted a good chunk of her time to charities created in Ryan’s name. But the reality of Ryan’s death threatened to engulf her.

  She had lost her center, and while her closest friends, mother, and family tried to help, she couldn’t see a way to any kind of future that didn’t have Ryan in it. Her mother offered to come and stay with Charlene for as much time as she needed her, but Charlene refused, saying that her mother had suffered too much as a widow herself and she wouldn’t want her to go through that again, even if it was to comfort her daughter. And so Charlene created a cocoon around herself, a cheerful façade that she presented to the outside world, but when she finally came home, she retreated to the sanctum of her bedroom and cried herself to sleep most every night. She was alone with her grief in the huge house that she and Ryan swore would be their nest, a place they would grow old in, a happy home that would ring with the glorious sound of many children.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Washington, D.C.

  President Marcus Jackson had left his desk and was sitting on one of the two facing wheat-colored sofas separated by a cherrywood table. A huge presidential seal was the centerpiece of the oval carpet. Ollie McKenzie, the President’s science adviser and Dr. Jason Chang were sitting on the sofa across from him. He finished reading the report the two men had given him.

  “I tried to put it in as plain a language as I could, Mr. President,” Chang said. “I wanted you to be able to get through all the scientific jargon so you would understand it.”

  “Oh, I understand it, all right,” POTUS said. “What you are saying here is that there is a possibility that this mysterious dark force, whatever it is, is going to intersect with Earth within a matter of days? Weeks?”

  “We think less than a month. We can’t be certain.”

  “Why can’t you be certain? Isn’t it a matter of speed and distance? I am reminded of the old mathematical problem: ‘How long does it take a train doing fifty miles an hour to go from point A to point B if they are one hundred fifty miles apart?’”

  “It isn’t that simple. This dark matter is not moving in any clearly defined direction or velocity,” Chang said.

  POTUS put the folder down then held his hands together in an almost prayerlike manner. “Are you aware, Dr. Chang, that there is a gathering of the world’s religious leaders to discuss this?”

  “I’m sorry, we have tried to be very careful about letting any of this information out, in order to prevent any kind of world panic.”

  “Do you remember when you first contacted me about this?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “How long before that initial contact had you been aware of this”—he made a motion toward the manila folder—“dark matter?”

  “Only a couple of days.”

  “Would it surprise you to know that the religious leaders have been dealing with this thing for at least six months?”

  “How could they? I’ve checked all our tracking—this had not even manifested itself six months ago.”

  “And yet, more than one religious figure—and from more than one religion, I might add—were aware of this as far back as six months ago.”

  “I don’t know how to respond to that, Mr. President.”

  “Nor do I,” POTUS said. “All right, I’ll ask you again: What do you need? What can the government do?”

  “I’m afraid, Mr. President, that I just have the problem. I don’t have a solution.”

  “If you have a solution, or even a request that might help you find a solution, call me.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “In the meantime, I will do what my religious adviser has suggested that I do. I will pray.”

  “That can’t hurt,” Chang said.

  As Chang left the Oval Office, President Jackson reflected on the previous conversation. He was faced with a situation that no president, king, or emperor before him had ever faced. He was being told by scientists and religious leaders alike that there was a possibility that all humankind could be destroyed by some mysterious black cloud from outer space.

  “Just my luck,” POTUS stated quietly in an attempt at dark humor. “I get elected president and the world comes to an end.”

  He thought: This is where Superman or Doctor Who would descend and save the planet—as well they should! But what human power could save the Earth from such a destructive force? It would take every ounce of spiritual strength he—and every man and woman—possessed to find a solution. If one were to be found at all.

  God help us, every one, he prayed silently and intensely.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Houston

  The director of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration had convened a meeting of the International Scientific Council in Houston, bringing together the leading scientists and those in positions of power from every continent on earth to focus on the emergence of scientific evidence of a strange dark energy that threatened the planet. After opening the meeting he turned it over to Dr. Jason Chang, who had first noticed the phenomenon.

  “I wish first to thank you all for coming to this conference and second to commend you on the preparatory work that you did in record time to present important data here to the international community. We have more than ninety nations and every continent represented. In short, we have evidence of a force that is a form of dark matter, with no known origin, which is expanding within the universe.

  “We are here to discuss just what is the physical and scientific nature of this dark matter. And if we determine that this force is dangerous, what can we do to prevent this new force from damaging or destroying us?”

  As he consulted his notes on the laptop screen, he tried to hold in his emotions and remain the cool, competent professional in a leadership position during a potential crisis. Could he steer these scientists, bureaucrats, and politicians toward a constructive, unified conclusion and even toward the correct action for the sake of their planet?

  Never had Chang felt so vulnerable, not even in his astronaut days when he had been disconnected from his own EVA line, the umbilical cord that connected him to the space shuttle, and to life. Then there had been only one choice, only one right ac
tion—to try to save the life of another human being. Here, in the face of this amalgam of scientific reality and moral imperative, he simply did not know the answer—or the answers—and he would have to trust the minds of many others even as he tried to guide them to the right choices that might affect every person on earth.

  In this task, he reported directly to the President of the United States. The two had spoken the week before the opening of the international conference. Chang had briefed President Jackson on the agenda and the expected attendees.

  “Can we get a handle on this phenomenon, Dr. Chang?”

  “We are going to try, Mr. President. The Russians, Japanese, and Australians are particularly cooperative and open to sharing their own research with the rest of us. We have opened all our satellite data to scientists around the world. It’s the only way we will be able to ask others for their research results. Either we all cooperate or we all go down together.”

  “What, exactly, do you mean by ‘all go down’?”

  “A terminal event, Mr. President.”

  “Terminal event?”

  “The end of all life on this planet.”

  “It’s that serious?”

  “We believe it might very well be the case, Mr. President.”

  “What can my administration do to help you in your work? What resources do you need to stem this tide?”

  “Well, at the moment, it is a matter of data-gathering and analysis. For that we need global involvement—without delay. You can encourage the Chinese and the Europeans to be more cooperative. I don’t think they realize what is at stake here.”

  “I’ll contact the leaders today—personally. Meanwhile, good luck with your meeting. You have a lot on your shoulders.”

  Jason Chang realized that what the President had said was true. But that didn’t help very much. Now, as he gazed out at the faces of so many scientific colleagues and competitors, he tried to put aside the burden of what he knew and focus on the simple yet urgent duty of communicating his knowledge with those who had answered his invitation.

  This moment was very much like the liftoff of the space shuttle—at which time he had to put out of mind all the information he had crammed into it for years. Instead of thinking, he became pure action and reaction. He recalled the fearsome thrill of the shuttle’s thrust into flight even as he stood before his global peers—then he put all emotion out of his mind.

  “For this task,” he continued, “all of us as men and women of science must put aside purely national and parochial interests for the good—I should say, for the survival—of the planet.

  “What we at NASA have been calling dark matter has appeared from nowhere—or, more correctly, from a point near galaxy cluster Abell 2744. We may never know its source, but we do know it is constantly expanding and moving dangerously close to Earth. Concurrently, there is evidence of substantial increase in solar activity. There is no way, yet, of calculating when the planet will physically encounter this dark matter. We estimate, however, that it may occur within weeks—not months, and certainly not years. How many days or weeks? This is infinitely faster than climate change, a ‘greenhouse effect’ on fast forward.”

  Chang saw the assembled scientists shift in their seats and whisper to one another. He knew what they were thinking, because he had thought the same things himself when the bizarre phenomenon had first been revealed to him.… Now, what would they do with their thoughts? Could they come up with an idea to conquer this seemingly insurmountable threat?

  There were far more questions than answers in his mind at this point.

  “My friends, let’s take a look at the data available to us and decide how we can help one another find a solution for our world.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  POTUS and his staff discussed whether he should keep his appointment to speak at the National VFW conference in San Antonio, or stay in Washington to deal with the earthquake in Turkey.

  “Mr. President, your core constituency is made up of veterans and their families,” Charley said. “The way I see it, you don’t have any choice. You have to go to San Antonio.”

  “But wouldn’t it seem rather uncaring if I did that?” POTUS asked. “I mean here the poor people of Turkey are suffering unspeakable privations, while I enjoy the pomp and ceremony of a speech that is like preaching to the choir.”

  “On the other hand, the country needs to see that business is still being conducted. I think it is important that you do go.”

  When POTUS called in the Speaker of the House and the Senate Majority Leader, both of whom were members of the opposing party, and they agreed with his staff that he should go, he made up his mind to do so.

  * * *

  Inside the boardroom of Air Force One, POTUS sat in an overstuffed leather chair at one end of the long oak table, conducting a meeting with people from his inner circle. Charley Crawford sat just to his left, tapping into a laptop, and Freddy Harris, chief of the President’s Secret Service detail, was standing in front of the door that led into the boardroom. Win sat on a chair near her husband and as she watched him she was overwhelmed with pride and love at his calm and assured manner.

  Here she was flying on Air Force One, arguably the most elegant and powerful mode of transportation in the world, and she contrasted that with her experience as a child on the overcrowded, leaking boat in which she and thirty-three others had escaped Vietnam. A short while ago the chef of Air Force One had served a meal of bacon-wrapped filet mignon, asparagus spears, and rice. It was rice instead of baked potato as a concession to Win. They ate from gold-trimmed Air Force One china, and drank from crystal embossed with the presidential seal, and Win was humbled by the unique gifts that life had given her.

  The pilot’s voice came over the speaker. “Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been given priority clearance, and we’ll be landing at SAT in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Wow, we’ve been given priority clearance. Can you imagine that?” Crawford asked, and the others laughed.

  * * *

  The presidential limo was parked on the tarmac right beside the plane, and after POTUS, his wife, and his son came off the airstair, they got immediately into the car that was to take them to the Gonzalez Center, where the VFW convention was meeting. They were led and trailed by police cars, and flanked on either side by police motorcycles. Just before they turned off South Alamo onto East Market, POTUS saw someone holding a sign. The sign read:

  PRESIDENT—AN AGENT

  FOR THE DARK FORCES

  OF THE UNIVERSE

  “That’s a strange sign,” POTUS said, pointing through the window.

  “What sign? I don’t see any sign,” Win said.

  “It’s right there, right on the curb, not ten feet away. And you don’t see it? It’s right—” POTUS paused in midsentence. “It’s gone. Where did it go?”

  Win smiled. “Darling, don’t let anyone else know you are seeing things. Otherwise, I fear they might start questioning your sanity.”

  A moment later the car turned off East Market onto Convention Way. There were several people being held behind a rope line by police officers. Here, too, were three signs.

  WE LOVE YOU, MR. PRESIDENT

  THANK YOU FOR COMING TO SAN ANTONIO

  WELCOME, MR. PRESIDENT!

  “Do you see those signs?” POTUS asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you see them? Because these are ‘good’ signs?”

  “No, I see the signs because they are there.”

  “Uh-huh,” POTUS said.

  “Mr. President, there is a side entrance where we can take Mrs. Jackson and Marcus Jr., so they’ll be only about a hundred feet from their box,” Freddy said. “Tim and Mick will meet them there.” Tim and Mick were two other members of the Secret Service detail.

  “Good. Can you take me there as well?” POTUS joked.

  “I’m afraid not, sir. As you can see, there is an honor guard waiting for you,” Fredd
y said. “You and I will be getting out here.”

  POTUS looked through the window and saw an honor guard of twelve; six on either side. The honor guard of ten men and two women was made up of veterans wearing the uniforms that represented “their” war, including every war from World War II (an old veteran, standing tall and proud in his ribbon-bedecked olive drab Ike jacket) to Afghanistan.

  A Korean War vet in his “pinks and greens” uniform, with the silver leaves of a lieutenant colonel on his epaulets, called out as POTUS approached. “Present arms!” His voice was still strong and commanding.

  As one, the honor guard brought their highly polished M1 rifles to the present arms position, holding them trigger guard facing out, with the stacking swivel even with their eyes. As a soldier himself, POTUS was impressed with the precision of this mismatched group of veterans. He saluted as he started through the corridor.

  Then time turned once more on its eternal wheel.…

  CHAPTER

  11

  Atlanta

  “Are you sure he’s a doctor? Or is he an actor sent here to portray a doctor?” one of the new nurses asked Rae Loona, the head nurse at St. Agnes Hospital. She was talking about Dr. Tyler Michaels. “He’s a dreamboat!”

  It was funny that Dr. Michaels would be compared to television doctors, because his future was charted for him when, as a boy, he became entranced with the TV show M*A*S*H, which in its day was even more popular than Grey’s Anatomy. Others watched the show for the black humor, or the political satire, or even because of its military theme.

  But young Tyler had been intrigued with the life-and-death decisions Hawkeye, Trapper, B.J., and Colonel Potter, his old-time TV heroes, had to make every episode. He knew that someday he was going to have to make those same decisions—not in the army, he had no intention of joining the army or any other branch of military service. He would be making those life-and-death decisions in a civilian hospital.