Red by Ted Dekker Page A

of information actually interested them. They were incensed. How convenient. The Books of Histories have gone missing! Yes, of course, what did you expect? It always works that way.
    Or maybe they were disappointed. Some of them at least wanted to believe everything he had said.
    And so they should. Decent men and women could see sincerity when it stared them in the face.
    â€œThis is absurd!” Olsen said.
    â€œThen I’m afraid that I’m leaning toward the absurd, Dwight,” the president said. “Thomas has earned himself a voice. And I think Clarice is on to something. Can you find anything more for us, Thomas?”
    Could he? His answer was as calculating as it was truthful. “Maybe.”
    Olsen muttered something, but Thomas couldn’t make it out.
    The president closed his folder. “Good. Ladies and gentlemen, please send any additional thoughts and comments through my staff. Good evening. And may God preserve our nation.” He stood and left the room.
    Now the crisis would divide.

    SIX MORE cities,” Phil Grant said, slapping the folder down on the coffee table. His maroon silk tie hung loose around his neck. He ran a finger under his collar and loosened it even more. “Including St. Petersburg. They’re climbing the walls. If the Russians keep this under their hats, it’ll be a miracle.”
    â€œThis . . . this is a nightmare,” his assistant said. Thomas watched Dempsey walk to the window and stare out with a lost gaze. “The Russians have decades of experience keeping things under the lid. I’d worry about the United States. If I were a betting man, I’d say Olsen’s already leaking this. How many did you say?”
    â€œTwenty. All airports. Like clockwork.”
    â€œWe aren’t closing the airports?”
    â€œCDC ran another simulation using the latest data. They say closing the airports won’t help at this point. There’ve been over ten thousand flights in the continental U.S. since the virus first hit New York. Conservative estimates have a quarter of the country exposed already.”
    Grant put his elbows on his knees and formed a tent with his fingers. A slight tremor shook his hands. Dempsey paced back from the window, frowning. Sweat darkened his pale blue shirt at the armpits. The full reality of what had been delivered to the United States of America was finally and terribly settling into the CIA.
    Grant had brought Thomas to the CIA headquarters in Langley forty-five minutes ago.
    â€œYou’re convinced this psychologist is worth our time?” Thomas asked. “It just seems like a lot of downtime.”
    â€œOn the contrary, trying to unlock that mind of yours is the only thing that makes sense where you’re concerned,” Grant said.
    â€œMemories, maybe. But I wouldn’t assume that whatever is happening is happening in my head,” Thomas replied.
    â€œI’ll settle for memories. If you gave the antivirus characteristics to Carlos like you think you may have, that information would be a memory. With any luck Dr. Myles Bancroft can stimulate that memory. You have no information, none whatsoever, on where Svensson might be holing up?”
    â€œNone.”
    â€œOr where he could have Monique?”
    â€œI assume she’s wherever he is. The only communication has been through the faxes, sent from an apartment in Bangkok. We took it down six hours ago. It was empty except for a laptop. He’s using relays. Smart to stay off the Web by using facsimile. The last fax came from an address in Istanbul. As far as we know, he has a hundred relays. Took us how long to track down Bin Laden? This guy could be worse. But in a few days I doubt it will matter. As you pointed out earlier, he’s undoubtedly working with others. Likely a country. You’ll know where to look then.”
    â€œBut only because he wants us to know. We can’t very well bomb Argentina or