The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [210]
47.
The streets of Denver slipped past the windows of the car; the tinted glass cast the world into premature night.
Travis sighed. Was that what the world—both worlds—would be like if Mohg stepped through the gate to Eldh? He was the Lord of Nightfall. If he ruled, would the sun ever rise again? Or would all things be forever shrouded in gloom?
“What is it, Travis?” Vani sat beside him on the backseat of the car, Beltan next to her. She hesitated, then touched his hand. “Are you afraid of what we do?”
He turned from the window and grinned despite the churning of his stomach. “How could I be afraid of anything when you and Beltan are here?”
“Hey,” Anders said in a wounded tone, turning around in the front seat. “What are Deirdre and I—chopped liver?”
Travis laughed. This was completely absurd. It was five of them against a fortress of steel. Then again, he couldn't think of five other people in the world—in any world—who would have a better chance of getting in there than they did. That was, if they had any chance at all.
Outside the windows, sharp towers jutted into the dusky sky. The car came to a halt.
“Do you have the videotape?” Deirdre said to Anders.
He slapped the breast pocket of his suit coat. “Got it right here, safe and sound.”
Deirdre switched off the ignition. “All right, everyone, put on your most pious faces. Remember, we're just a group of audience members. We love Sage Carson's show, and we can't wait to speak a few prayers.”
Beltan gave an enthusiastic nod. “I'll speak my prayers to Vathris.”
Anders cleared his throat. “Wrong god, mate.”
“Nonsense,” Beltan said. “Vathris is the god of warriors. What other god would I speak my prayers to?”
“Well, the thing is, according to these folks, there's only one god.”
Beltan scowled. “That hardly gives a person much of a choice.”
“I think that's sort of the point,” Deirdre said. “Entire nations have gone to war to prove not just that their god is the right one, but the only one.”
The blond knight let out a breath of exasperation. “I've never heard of such foolishness. Why shouldn't people be able to follow the god that best suits them? I'm beginning to think this is a very silly world.”
“I won't argue with you there,” Anders said, and got out of the car.
They joined the crowds of people hurrying across the gigantic parking lot, huddled inside their coats. It was too cold to talk, but there was no need; they had spent all day back at the hotel going over the plan. Such as it was.
“I was right,” Anna Ferraro had said after she showed up at their suite last night. After he told her what they wanted to do. “You really are a complete nut, aren't you?”
Travis had laughed. “You still came.”
Some of her annoyance changed into astonishment. She nodded, and he closed the door behind her.
For the next several hours, he and the others had watched while Ferraro spoke with Dr. Larsen. At first the reporter was skeptical; investigative journalists had been trying to pin all sorts of misdoings on Duratek for years, only to no avail. Then Larsen popped the disk into Deirdre's computer, and all of them watched the evidence flicker across the screen—the memos, the reports, the results of the tests performed on human subjects. Doubt wasn't an option; not only had Duratek created Electria, they were behind the entire trade in the illegal drug.
Ferraro pulled a small digital video camera out of a bag, a glint in her eyes. “Let's get to work, Doctor. We've got a multinational corporation to bring down.”
They had done the interview there in the suite. Ferraro had wanted to bring Kevin, the photojournalist she had worked with at the television station, but Travis had told her to come alone, so she set up the shot herself. She interviewed Larsen on the couch for over an hour. They had printed out some of the most damning pieces of evidence, and Larsen held them up for the camera as she spoke in precise sentences.
Once they were done, Deirdre downloaded