Vitto and David were being led rather hastily down the halls of the White House. There wasn't much time!
Vitto wouldn't have dreamed he'd be walking these halls one day, although, in the past few years, he'd developed some political ambition. But nothing like this. He was a priest, after all. A preacher! Not a politician. The hem of his soutane was sweeping the ever-so-polished floors of the White House now though and, despite the circumstance, he thought it was incredible. Thank God, they gave him time to get dressed properly before they escorted him out of the building, and David. And then they had them both flown to D.C. on a military aircraft. They weren't cuffed or anything. It was made clear they weren't prisoners here. They were seated comfortably. They were served food and drinks during the flight. People escorting them were all very nice to them; only none of them talked. Everyone was being very tight-lipped for some reason. And Vitto thought he could guess why. No one bothered to explain to them what was happening and where they were going. Vitto had to figure everything out for himself. Although there weren't many reasons why the government might have wanted him. They wanted information out of him, of course, regarding the stones and the boy. He wasn't a prisoner, he was a guest. And he had a feeling, soon he'd be a reluctant consultant.
Having passed through a series of small rectangular rooms, the two were prompted to enter a large oval one. Inside there was a big crowd of people. All dressed in white lab coats, they looked alike to the point that you couldn't tell one from the other. Like one living and breathing organism, they seemed to be a part of one giant bustling mind. And that mind was trying hard to find a solution to a problem. The problem. And Vitto knew immediately what that problem was. Duh!
There were others too–a few–not dressed in white, who looked like ones that brought Vitto and David here. The not-scientists. The military. The command. And besides those, there was also one more person who was a bit of both, but at the same time neither of those. His bulky shadowy figure was at the far end of the room, seated at the head of the big table. Vitto recognized immediately who that was–President Liedenberg.
Vitto was nudged lightly in his direction. David was asked to stay behind this time. No longer escorted, although he was surely still being watched, Vitto stepped closer. The mahogany table in front of him was huge. Up to fifty people could be seated at it, although right now there was only one. The man at the table wasn't paying Vitto any attention. His studious fingers were working the tablet and his eyes were down. Vitto cleared his throat.
"Mr. President?" he croaked; never in his life did he think he'd be saying these words but here he was. At the sound of his voice, Liedenberg looked up, first grazing with his eye his soutane, then landing on his. Vitto bowed his head lightly.
"Father!" Liedenberg allowed, pleasantly, as if he'd been expecting him, as a welcome guest, not a not-bargained-for contactor. Vitto looked down. It wasn't often that he was called Father these days. Even though he was wearing a soutane, he wasn't really a Father. More than anyone, Liedenberg must have known about it. Vitto wasn't ordained. Yet Liedenberg chose to address him that anyway and Vitto could respect that. A peace offering? They must have really needed him here if the man was willing to go there. Really really needed him.
"Why am I here, sir?" he asked, point-blank, looking at Liedenberg questioningly, though it wasn't a question. Liebenberg's smile disappeared; his lips tightened. He gestured for Vitto to take a seat across from him.
"We have a situation, Father," he stated, innocently enough. "But I'm sure you're already well aware of it."
Vitto nodded, grimly. He'd known about the end of days all his life; he couldn't have been more aware of it even if he wanted to. And when the government apprehended the fifth element, he figured they'd now known about it too.
"I don't think I have to explain to you what we're grappling with, now do I, Father? After all, it was your scripture that we've been betting on this whole time. Without it, we would have been clueless."
Vitto's left eye twitched at the mentioning of the scripture because the man was speaking of being appreciative of it in the most accusatory way. It was as if he wanted him here sooner with all of this. But it was the government that banned the scripture in the first place.
"I've been aware of these things all my life, Mr. President. Pretty much since I was a little boy. My father read to me from the scripture every day. A passage a day actually. Until the day the government took him away and I've become an orphan." Now it was Vitto's turn to sound accusatory.
Liedenberg lowered his gaze. He nodded lightly before he talked. "I'm sorry about that. It's a shame what happened to your father." He crossed his arms on his chest and sighed. "I wish we knew back then what we know now. I really do."
Vitto didn't say anything. His expression didn't change. As far as apologies went, he heard better. Liedenberg looked at him, reading into his expression. He was good at it, understanding what other people felt. He would have been a bad president if he wasn't good at it. And he wasn't a bad president.
"We all make mistakes, Father. I'd be a fool not to admit to mine. But I want to learn. I want to do better. And I could really use a guiding hand right now. Are you going to give me your advice, Father? Are you going to help me save the world?" he asked, earnestly, looking into Vitto's eyes. He wasn't being dishonest. There was genuine remorse in his voice. He was sorry for what he did. Only…it didn't feel like enough.
Vitto figured finding yourself face to face with death would do something like this to people. And he wasn't here to judge. God knows he'd done his fair share of mistakes in his lifetime. At least, Liedenberg wasn't trying to play down his. Most would. But he still couldn't forgive him, just like that. He wanted back what was stolen from him, or at least a part of it. He wanted Liedenberg to reimburse him for what he did.
"If you want my help, Mr. President, you're going to have to clear my family's name first," Vitto said, unapologetic. "We cannot go any further with this until you do, I'm afraid. There's reputation of many a generation at stake."
Without a second of hesitation, Liedenberg blurted, "Done! Consider your family's honor rehabilitated, Father. You have my word for it. I would have issued a public apology too but I'm afraid we don't have time for that. Help me get us more time, and you'll have it. I promise."
Vitto looked at him surprised. He didn't expect to get what he wanted so easily. It was not how he imagined it in his head, finally having his family's name cleared, coming out of the shadows. It was only so-so again, much like the president's apology. But although Vitto was a proud man, he was also a smart man. He was going to take what he could get here and wasn't going to push the matter further. Besides, Liedenberg was right, his family's honor was the least of their worries now. They didn't have much time.
"How bad is it, Mr. President?" he asked. Liebenberg sighed. Laid on the surface of the desk in front of him were various Eyes-Only papers. Charts, maps, graphs. Every one of them reeked of desperation; Vitto could tell without even giving them a second glance. And if the government was this desperate, with the kind of copious resources they had, across the board, what was to be said about the rest of them?
"It's bad, Father," Liebenberg confirmed with a straight face and a dispassionate tone of voice; he had enough time by now to process this, accept it for what it was. He no longer harbored any illusions about it. He gave General Monroe a nod and she walked up to them, intending to fill Vitto in on the doleful details.
"Give or take, we have forty-eight hours, Father," Monroe said, deadpan. Vitto looked up to her. He had to look up. She was a big woman. Twice his size. Her appearance alone was baffling. And then it registered what she actually just said.
"This…this is sooner than I expected," he said uneasily. "Much sooner! We were supposed to have more time."
"We don't, Father," returned Monroe. She wasn't joking either.
"But…but…what do we do now?" he asked, looking at the two of them incredulously.
"According to your scripture, Father, in order to defend ourselves we have to have both the fifth element and the stones. Is this true, Father?"
"Yes!" Vitto exclaimed passionately. This was more in his wheelhouse.
"We don't have either," supplied Liedenberg, lightly shaking his head.
Vitto gulped. "You don't?" This conversation was not going where he expected it to. It was giving him a headache. Quite frankly, he expected the government to…well, have their shit together.
"But I thought you had the boy," Vitto said.
"We had the boy. But not anymore, unfortunately."
"Where did he go?"
"We don't know," Liedenberg admitted. "Somehow he managed to slip through our fingers." He looked reproachfully at Monroe; she cast her glance away and coughed, embarrassed.
"We are working on determining his location," she said quickly though not very convincingly.
"But…you don't understand, the boy... he's…"
"We do understand, Father. He's our only chance to get ourselves out of this. We know that."
"Him and the stones, the two are–" Vitto started, but Monroe interrupted him.
"You were the last person seen carrying the stones, Father. Where did they go?" she asked. Both Liebenberg and Monroe were looking at him with anticipation now. Monroe put her hand on his shoulder, and he seemed to have shrunken under it. He gulped.
"I…I…I…" he stuttered. "I wanted to protect the stones. I had to dig my way under the pyramid to get them."
"And we appreciate that," said Liedenberg. "But where did they go?"
"I had them…" he said, pantomiming having them with his hands. "But…but…"
"Father," Liedenberg nudged.
"It was the dog-faced," he breathed. "They barged in on us. My apartment. I didn't know what to do. I have no combat skills. And neither does David. They've taken them away. I couldn't do anything. I'm so very sorry!"
Liedenberg closed his eyes and sighed. Monroe put a finger on her earpiece.
"I need units eight-oh-eight and eight-oh-nine dispatched immediately. Have them find the damn dog-faced," she commanded angrily.
Liebenberg rubbed his eyes in frustration. "Goddammit, how did we miss this?"
"I should have done better," Vitto said. "It was my job to protect the stones. And I failed it. It's all my fault."
"It's not your fault, Father," Liebenberg said. "And it wasn't just you. We all failed. We should have prepared for this better. But it doesn't matter now."
He turned to Vitto.
"The dog-faced, can they use them, the stones? Can they–I don't know–make them work or something? Is there a way for them to figure out how they work?" he asked, hopeful the answer would be a resounding no. But after everything he'd been through the last couple of weeks, he could no longer be certain.
"Not without the fifth element, no," Vitto said. "They're not smart enough for this."
Liedenberg sighed a sigh of relief.
"Are you positive?" he asked.
"Absolutely," Vitto said. "Besides, even if they did try to use them…" he added, and then suddenly there was an awkward pause. He noticed the buzz in the room quieted down. Vitto looked at the people around him all listening in on their conversation. All eyes were on him now.
Liedenberg raised his eyebrows. "Is there more, Father?" he asked tentatively. "Is there something you're not telling us?"
Vitto gulped. There was something people in this room didn't know because there was something that didn't make it into the scripture. Something that was never allowed to be written down. Something that was passed down from one member of the order to the next by word of mouth only. For five thousand years they'd kept this secret. But now as everyone was looking at him expectantly, Vitto didn't think he could keep it a secret anymore.
"For heaven's sake, Father! We have forty-eight hours to live. We don't have time for this," Liebenberg roared, impatiently. "Spill!" he encouraged.
Vitto closed his eyes for a moment and breathed, before he started, "The Gods…You see, they never completely trusted us humans. Not enough to actually give us the stones. Human nature and all, you know what I mean. We are flawed. The stones were too valuable, too important to entrust to us, so..."
"So?" Liedenberg asked, piercing him with his eyes.
"They figured…They figured…they'd give us three of the real stones, and keep the fourth one separate. Keep it someplace safe, you know. So, one of the stones the dog-faced have is a dud. It was never supposed to be real to begin with."
The room exploded with gasps and commotion. This changed everything. And it never really occurred to anyone before.
"The Gods figured they needed a contingency plan, in case the humans failed them," Vitto explained. "Which come to think of it now, wasn't a bad idea at all."
"Which one?" Liedenberg asked sternly. Vitto blinked.
"Which of the stones is a forgery, Father? We need to know." There was no point discussing who was wrong and who was right now; they needed to have all the information, so they could figure out what to do with it.
"The water stone, Mr. President," Vitto said. "It was always a fake. The real one was bestowed upon a race of creatures the Gods could trust, on a far-away-from-here planet."
"How far? What planet?" demanded Liebenberg.
"Floston, sir. Scorpius Constellation."
Suddenly, there was chaos in the room again. The puzzle was now complete; it was time to get cracking. What the priest had said, it was the game changer. Now they could finally have a real shot at this.
"I'll have my people find the stone, sir," Monroe said, looking at Liedenberg.
He pursed his lips. He certainly hoped so. He looked up to her. "What about the boy? Have you been able to locate him?"
"Last seen leaving Manhattan in a yellow Buick Roadmaster, license plate one-one-seventy-nine-eleven," supplied Monroe grimly. "He's off the radar now."
"Do we know who the Buick belongs to?" asked Liedenberg, stretching vowels in irritation. He was losing his patience now with this lot. If he wanted to live past the next forty-eight hours, he supposed it was time for him to butt in personally on every goddamn detail of this end-of-the-world business. He couldn't trust anyone. This was his last chance for salvation. This was everyone's last chance, actually.
"The car was operated under a rental agreement, sir," Monroe said and winced. "The name on the agreement is Corby Dallas."
Liebenberg gave her a surprised glance. He heard that name before. He was certain he heard it. Meanwhile, a small robotic bug crawled the length of the undersurface of the conference room desk. No more than a quarter of an inch long, it remained unnoticed by anyone. Via a short-distance wireless connection, it relayed everything it just heard to its human counterpart in the next room over. The human, on the other hand, via a long-distance connection relayed everything he'd heard to his master's office. On the other end of the makeshift line…Zorc was listening.