The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(46)

The strange voice or voices spoke to her again. We are the Numen, and we bring peace. We would like you to tell people about us. We want to come to Earth, but we need you. You are the only one who can help us, Nevaeh.

“How do you know my name?”

We know everything about you. You have been sent to find us. We are here. We want to help. We bring peace. We bring endless understanding and love.

And suddenly, her hand found the handrail, and she heard cheering in her headset. She vaguely realized her fellow astronauts and flight crew were all crying and shouting. But the words she’d heard—they weren’t coming from her headset. This voice—these voices—were coming both from inside her suit and outside, in the void, somehow.

Tell them we’re here waiting, Nevaeh. You must tell them to stop all the satellites coming into space. We can’t communicate, too much interference. Tell them we need to silence the heavens so we can come to you.

How many times had she thought this? So much junk in space, too much, surely too much. “I will tell them. Thank you for saving my life.”

Nevaeh couldn’t take it in, couldn’t believe it. The Numen? Aliens had saved her life? She was to be their messenger? She was safe, she was alive. She watched the space lock open. She felt strangely disoriented. There was Verlander motioning for her to go first. She could see the relief, the joy, in his eyes. He was talking but she couldn’t make out his words. She smiled at him, she didn’t feel capable of doing anything else. She felt a punch of outrageous pride, a joy so profound, that speech, for the moment at least, was beyond her. Her brain, her heart, all of her buzzed with the incredible feelings flooding through her. She had fulfilled NASA’s prime mission.

She had spoken with an extraterrestrial being.

She was to be their emissary.

She was the chosen one.



She breathed deeply, waiting. Would the Numen come? It was dark, it was quiet. She heard the words reverberating through her body like a bell tolling, as strong and intense as she’d heard them the very first time.

We’re here, Nevaeh. We’re here. That is exactly what happened. You are the chosen one. You are the one to join with us to bring peace to a troubled world. At last we are together in peaceful quiet and we can more easily be with you. We know Dr. Fontaine was wrong and so was Dr. Holloway at NASA. We understand your anger, your frustration, but it doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. Forget them, they can’t touch you. Never believe you created us as a coping mechanism, never allow yourself to think that even for an instant. No, we are on a journey together and we will succeed. Give us the quiet we need so we may speak to you. You must find a way. We know you will find a way.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


T-MINUS 40 HOURS

Strait of Malacca

Off the Coast of Sumatra

Jean-Pierre Broussard yelled in Grant’s face, “You’re saying you heard Nevaeh’s name before The Griffon blew up? That’s utterly preposterous. Dr. Patel is a brilliant scientist with an extreme passion for space travel. She was a highly decorated and accomplished astronaut before she came to work for Galactus. There is simply no way she would do anything like this—this terrorist attack.”

No one said a word.

Broussard drew in a deep breath. “Take your seats, we’re diving.” Without waiting, he punched several buttons and the submersible dove, moving toward the rescue site.

Grant said calmly, “I understand you’re upset by this news, but how else could I know the name? Nevaeh isn’t a name you hear every day.”

Broussard didn’t spare him a glance, kept his eyes on the depth meter. “If you’re remotely decent at your job, you would have read her name in the dossier when you took this protection detail.”

“Jean-Pierre—sir—I most certainly did read the dossier, and her name wasn’t in it. You are the client, not your company. I’ll be happy to show it to you when we’re back on land.”

Now Broussard turned to stare at him. “Then you heard her name on the news, or you heard me mention her name. I simply refuse to believe she would do anything like this. And to say that she would hurt Devi—” He went into a spate of French curses. Grant looked at Nicholas and Mike, shrugged.

He said quietly, “I know what I heard.”

Nicholas said, “Gentlemen, please. We’ll have plenty of time to research Galactus and Dr. Patel. We should surface now, we’re near the lifeboats.”

Mike couldn’t agree more, she couldn’t see anything but bubbles and rushing water, and it was disconcerting, considering they’d been on the other side of this glass only minutes before.

Broussard brought the sub back up to the surface, stepped to the periscope, peered through the eyepiece, then slapped the handles back into place and nodded. Mike watched as they broke the surface of the water fifty yards from a lifeboat and lifted the top. The people aboard waved wildly.

She was relieved to see the rescue area was quickly becoming mobbed with helicopters and boats. There was even a frigate in the mix. The deck of a ship would feel more secure to her than this bubble-faced submarine. She noted the name on the side of the frigate with a smile—the RSS Tenacious.

Grant was still angry, but he pulled himself together, said to Broussard, “Take us to that frigate, sir.” No more Jean-Pierre. “We can coordinate from there better than being in the water with the lifeboats.”