Drucker thought about it, then waved it off like a minor nuisance. “Then we’ll figure out a graceful exit.”
Rydell nodded stoically, processing it all. He just sat there, hobbled by the shock of it all, his eyes staring into the distance as if he’d just been told he had a week to live. “No,” he finally told Drucker, his voice thick with dismay. “This is wrong. This is a huge mistake.”
Drucker’s eyes narrowed a touch. “Take some time to think this through properly, Larry. You’ll see that I’m right.”
The words didn’t really sink in with Rydell. The image of the priest standing on the roof of the monastery in Egypt, with the sign hovering over him and hundreds of prostrate worshippers before him, shot to the forefront of his mind again. “Even with the best intentions, even given what we’re trying to do . . . I won’t be a part of this. I can’t help you make this . . . this virus any stronger than it already is.”
“You’re gonna have to. We both have too much at stake here,” Drucker reminded him dryly.
“It’s wrong,” Rydell flared. “The plan was to scare them, Keenan. To make them sit up and think about what they’re doing. That was it. A few carefully chosen appearances, then it’s gone. Keep it unexplained. Keep it mysterious and unsettling and scary. We were in agreement on this, goddammit. We agreed that it would be a good thing if people didn’t know where this was coming from, if they ended up thinking it was coming from some alien presence, from some higher intelligence out there. The beauty of this whole plan was that beyond making them sit up and listen, it might also help them pull away from this childish notion they have of this God of theirs, this personal God, this old man in a white beard who listens to every pathetic request they make and who sets down ridiculous rules about what they should eat or drink or wear or who they should bow to, and help them grow into the notion of God being, if anything, something that’s unfathomable and unexplainable—”
“—and nudge them to the half-assed mind-set of agnostics,” Drucker commented mockingly.
“Well, yes. It’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it?”
Drucker was unmoved. He shook his head. “It’s a noble thought, Larry, but . . . this was the only way it was ever going to work. The world’s not ready to give up its obsession with religion. Far from it. It’s becoming more fundamentalist by the day. And it’s not just our enemies. We’re doing it too. Look at what’s happening in this country. We don’t have a single congressman or senator who can admit to being an atheist. Not one. Hell, we had ten presidential candidates on a podium last year, and not one of them dared raise his hand and say he believes in evolution.”
“And you’re helping make it even worse.”
“It’s a trade-off. It’s a message they’ll understand.”
Rydell shook his head again. “No. It’s wrong. There was no need to do it this way. You might help get rid of one evil, but you’ll be feeding one that’s just as vile. One that’ll turn our world into a living hell for any rational person.” His face darkened with resolve, and he fixed Drucker with a hard stare. “We need to figure a way out of this. We need to stop it before it gets too big.”
“You saw what just happened in Egypt. It’s too late.”
“We have to stop it, Keenan,” Rydell insisted.
Drucker shrugged. “We might just have to agree to disagree on that one.”
“I still have a say in this.”
“Within reason. And right now, you’re being unreasonable.”
Rydell thought for a moment, then said, provokingly, “You need me for the smart dust.”
“I do,” Drucker nodded calmly.
“You can’t do this without it.”
“I know that.”
Rydell was momentarily thrown by Drucker’s lack of even the slightest hint of agitation. “So?”
“So . . .” Drucker winced, as if pained by something. “So I had to take out some insurance.”
Rydell studied him, unsure of what he meant—then it fell into place. “What?” he hissed. “What have you done? What have you done, you son of a bitch?”
Drucker let him stew on it for a moment or two, then just said, “Rebecca.”
The word stabbed Rydell like an ice pick. His eyes turned to saucers as he yanked out his phone and stabbed a speed-dial button. After two rings, a voice answered. Not Rebecca’s.