The Newton Prophecies

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Harvard Divinity School was a war zone.
         The entrance to Divinity Avenue was closed off. Agent Camillin flashed his ID and was swiftly waved through.
         An unholy blackness choked the muggy air; billowing clouds of soot and pulverized concrete made navigation through ground-zero arduous.
         Fire trucks, rescue vehicles, police cruisers, the entire Cambridge force and many others from Boston, were on scene, franticly trying to make sense out of the situation and help those who had fallen in one of the worst tragedies to have hit Cambridge Massachusetts in recent history.
         Camillin pulled the SUV as close to Divinity Hall as possible, which wasn't very, and veered to the side of the road, yanked the hand-break, and leapt from the vehicle.
         DiBianco gazed out the window at the remnants of his school. Where his class had once been, now gaped a massive hole--a crater the size of the volleyball court in the Divinity Courtyard, now in the side of Divinity Hall.
         A sinking weight filled his stomach. His students, Savanna. God, let them be okay. But he knew they weren't. How could they be?
         No flames were visible, yet two fire trucks had been propped in front of the hall, releasing a steady belt of water onto the crumbling roof and into the gaping bowels of the 182 year old historic structure.
         People gathered about the complex, sprawled out on lawns, sitting on stone walls, everyone in shock. Many held wet towels to their mouths. Some received attention from EMTs and nurses.
         Afridi opened the back door and yanked DiBianco from the car. Out of a thick black haze which hovered low in the pathway between Divinity Hall and the BIO-Center ran Dean Sheila MacDougle. Her face blackened with soot, bright pink circles enveloped her eyes, her hair clotted with gray powder and debris.
         DiBianco could tell she'd been crying--and not long ago. But now she had her Dean face on and was storming the agents with fire in her soul.
         "What is this bulls***?" Her veins popped from her neck like the cables of the Zakim Bridge.
         The agents froze in place, instinctively resting their hands on the butt of their guns, unsnapping the straps on their holsters.
         "I know you're upset," Camillin said, "but you must calm down. I assure you we're here to help."
         "You show up at my school telling me my staff is involved in some international crime..."
         DiBianco gawked at the agents, shaking his head in disbelief. Camillin assured him with his eyes: It's a misunderstanding. Don't sweat it.
         "...less than two hours later my school blows up, and you're telling me you're here to help!"
         "Mrs MacDoug--"
         "You listen to me." Her voice lowered, eyes tearing. "Thirty-six of my students are dead. Many more, missing. I have mothers lining up, crying for me to help them find their children. What the hell is going on here?"
         The agents looked at each other briefly, then back at the Dean. "We're sorry," Camillin said. "We don't have answers."
         "But I feel your Professor may." Afridi's face was stone cold, like a serial killer.
         "Michael?" she cried.
         DiBianco's eyes shimmered, glossed over in tears they looked like oil slicks. His face was distant. Sure, he had theories, estranged clues, but nothing real, nothing that meant anything, not yet at least. Who could have done this, and why?
         Was this meant for me? he thought.
         "Michael!" she yelled, her eyes like poison darts ready to pierce the hearts of anyone involved. "Do you know what happened here?"
         His face chilled. Goose-pimples brushed his entire body, sending shivers down his spine. He knew.
         "I think someone's trying to kill me."
         The Dean's eyes glossed over. She was crying. "Michael," she started, her voice cracking. "Your class. They. I'm so sorry." She could barely speak. "They're all gone."
         DiBianco's stomach squelched. His heart ached--his entire body ached. Tears streamed his face, burning his cheeks, before tumbling off his quivering chin.
         "Why would someone want you dead?" Camillin said.
         Choking back tears, his throat sore, DiBianco spoke softly, "God Science."
         "What?" MacDougle cried.
         DiBianco knew that whoever did this had to have somehow gotten a copy of his latest book, even though it had not yet hit stores, and didn't much like the theories he had mapped in it.
         "Whoever did this," DiBianco cried, "knows what I know and wants me dead for it."
         "What exactly do you know, Mr. DiBia--"
         Just then, another explosion rocked Divinity Hall; a massive rumble shook the earth; and with a deafening crash a cloud of debris cascaded over them.
         Everyone scattered.
         Within seconds DiBianco found himself running down a dark, cloud-filled alleyway.
         He was alone.
         Debris and soot cluttered his way.
         Still he ran. Nothing was going to stop him.

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