After the Dark Read Free Page B

intimidation, this was not the voice of God, unless God had a German accent . . . and, since that seemed unlikely to White, he had a good idea who among the Conclave was doing the talking.
    “That's true,” he answered, calmly.
    “And you know the price of failure.”
    The voice had all the warmth of December in Meander River.
    “I do. But—”
    “But?
You're going to try to negotiate with us, at this point? . . . After these countless failures?”
    White had the good sense to not answer.
    “. . . Do you imagine you have something with which to negotiate?
”
    Despite the sarcastic tone, the man seemed to be
leading
him—as if trying to . . . help him?
    Why?
    White knew this man to be a key figure among the Conclave, wielding a power far greater than any he himself had ever hoped to achieve. And yet now, for some reason the former NSA agent could not comprehend, this important figure was trying to guide him in this dark hour.
    White considered his response carefully—the correct answer could mean another chance for him, and the wrong answer . . . well, that would most assuredly lead to the imminent death he had expected ever since seeing those ski-masked trackers back in Meander River.
    Injecting the proper confidence into his voice, Ames White said, “I can deliver X5-452.”
    At first silence . . .
    . . . then a terrible, dismissive laugh rattled the speakers in the ceiling.
    Chilled, White realized instantly that he had just made a tragic, perhaps even a fatal, error. His response did not seem to be what the Conclave figure had wanted to hear.
    But what else could he offer them besides 452? Every plan for the future the Conclave had made hinged upon that bitch's extinction! Within days, the comet would arrive, and a new era would begin—an era threatened only by the existence of X5–452! What in hell could be of greater importance than “Max”?
    A terror rose within him—a panic that urged him to scream, to beg for his life; yet some strength in him wisely prevented any sound, any words, from coming out. But the logical part of him, his keen intelligence, failed him as well—he simply did not know what to say, what to bargain with . . .
    “You can ‘deliver' X5–452—how many times have you promised us that very thing?”
    “More than once, I know.”
    “And how many times has she bested you? How many times have you failed your brothers?”
    “Too . . . too many.”
    “
What makes you think this attempt will be successful? Why should this be any different from all the other failures?
”
    Hesitantly, White said, “The plan I have in mind is—”
    “
Foolproof? Like all of your other cunning plans? . . . You've had so many plans, haven't you, Brother White . . . and yet on every single occasion she has defeated you.
”
    “Meaning no disrespect,” White said, “she has defeated us—all of us—too frequently. As much as we may despise her and what she represents, she is a worthy foe.”
    “
Worthy . . . ?
”
    “If she were an insignificant impediment, her existence would not pose such a threat to our cause.”
    Now a terrible silence followed, and White wondered if he had spoken too frankly, if his brashness would result, finally, in the ultimate, fatal censure of the Conclave.
    “Your previous ‘plans' have left much to be desired, Brother. How can you reassure us of your abilities? How can you restore our faith in you?”
    “You can allow me to present my plan to you. For your consideration. Surely I don't need to remind
you
that only
days
remain.”
    “. . .
Speak, then.
”
    Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, forcing himself to stay calm—losing his temper here would be to lose his life—White explained the scheme, in broad but complete strokes. Even he didn't know every detail as yet, but the high points were already in place, and he went with them.
    And, too, there were aspects of his plot that it was best the Conclave not know, at least as yet—not until after the