White Nights

FREE COPY

WHITE NIGHTS (NOVELLA) — Robert Rouan is a kind of Don Quixote with a heroin habit. Strung out and desperate for drugs, Rouan stabs a drug dealer in a scuffle in the North of Paris. He is then locked up in the Santé, an old prison. After rumors spread that Rouan is a spy, he is brutally beaten and falls into a deep coma. Decades later, Rouan awakens to an altered and damaged world, marred by wars and the collapse of the U.S. Government. What is left of America is under quarantine: where life is controlled by monolithic corporations and its inhabitants live in misery.

…He went back to work. He had to get the figures right. Then they wouldn't laugh. Shortly before his arrest, Rouan visited the American Embassy. He had been warned that the French authorities weren't buying his explanation of self-defense in the death of Abbas Kali. Rouan desperately needed support for his predicament. A case of an American junkie stabbing a French drug dealer would get him little sympathy. So Rouan came up with a plan. He would bring evidence of a terrorist plot. Since Rouan spoke Arabic it wouldn't seem all that surprising that Rouan had picked up valuable information on the street. This information would put him in the good graces of both the American Embassy and French intelligence and by the time Rouan’s tips had been investigated with nothing found, he would be back in the United States. Rouan was not unaware how ridiculous, comical even, he must have looked to the folks at the American Embassy. He'd been strung out for some time. His skin was bad, his clothes unwashed. His hair was matted down and uncut. He was nervous. He had foregone his first shot of dope for the day. He didn’t want to nod out during the interview. Still he had the faraway gaze of a junkie obsessed with his next fix. Rouan resented that he'd been turned over to a young American case officer, Jim Sinclair. Sinclair was just a kid; his one qualification being that he spoke French fluently. When Rouan told Sinclair about the plans he'd discovered, Sinclair just smiled and ushered him out of his office as if he were an unwelcome relative in from the hills. Sinclair couldn't have been more transparent. Rouan was just someone who had to be dealt with and then written off in a report to be filed away and forgotten…

...Rouan was conscious but could not move. He was floating, hovering between worlds. He went back to the dream of the white horse. Marie appeared amidst a giant white cloud. She held her baby in her arms. She smiled so beautifully. She was so happy. The dream cheered Rouan up. Somehow, he believed, the future was out there waiting for him. The horse was so beautiful. When he petted its white mane and soft neck, the horse closed its eyes in response. He noticed that his own hair had turned white and that the horse and he were a part of each other. He did not know rationally how this could be. Then a young woman appeared above him dressed in a white wedding gown at the top of a long staircase in a grand castle. Her face radiated joy and light. It was his daughter, Terry. She threw a bouquet of flowers. Rouan reached out and caught the flowers. He was quite embarrassed since he was the father of the bride. It was a sign that he, too, would soon be married. Then Terry, Marie and the baby vanished and Rouan's mind went blank and he fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

  

Rouan awoke in a hospital bed in a room he did not recognize, in a place he did not know. He had no idea where he was. He felt like he'd been crawling uphill out of the darkness for ages, digging himself from out of a dark cave far below the earth. He was exhausted from the climb. For some time (he did not know exactly for how long) he could make out the outline of a kind of reality (a dreamscape really) but no more. He could hear voices, sounds, and at times could understand what was being said. But he couldn't put it all together. It was all a blur, one endless night of shadows and sounds. It was as if he was buried under a great weight, and the way forward was blocked. His awakening was gradual. There were flashes of awareness. The outside world was in darkness. Even so, a nurse noticed a change in him. She brought in several other nurses and a doctor. A light flashed in his eye and after that flash everything changed, the world opened up. He reacted involuntarily. He tried to speak. The doctor was startled. He smiled. With great effort Rouan raised his arm slightly. His head would not move; it seemed to be anchored to his pillow. He looked round the room using just his eyes. Everyone was amazed. He'd come back from the dead. But for Rouan everything seemed unreal; he was unaccustomed to the world that he'd awakened to.

As the days passed, Rouan began communicating, speaking in short sentences, with the nurses in French. Rouan was told he had been in a coma. When he looked at his withered arms and legs, he thought he must have been in a terrible accident. He had little recall of the blow to his head. Finally, he was given a mirror. He could not believe what he saw. He was an old man, wrinkled and gray. It was a shock. He recognized his features, his eyes; the shape of his jaw but his skin seemed paler and had aged. As his strength increased, he was allowed to move about in a wheelchair. Finally it was disclosed to him that he had been in a coma for well over twenty years. He had so many questions. It was all so much like a dream. It was like waking up after a long sleep. But it was impossible to comprehend that years had gone by rather than hours. What about his family? What about his court case? Would he be returned to prison? No, he was told his case had been dismissed years before. In fact, one of the nurses told him that the hospital had gotten in touch with his former lawyer, Jean-Marc Frenot.

Frenot had aged but still was fit, agile (he was in his thirties when he first represented Rouan; he was now in his late fifties). His attitude toward Rouan had changed, the skepticism was gone. There was a look of compassion and respect when he gazed into Rouan's eyes.

Frenot shook his head and smiled, "How are you feeling Robert?" He never had used Rouan's first name before.

“I am very tired. I feel that I've been packed away in an attic gathering dust for ages.”

“We have both gathered some dust." Frenot smiled. "You are lucky to be alive.”

“It is so strange. It seems as if we were speaking just a few days ago. But I know that isn't true.”

“No one expected that you would recover.”

“Do you know anything about my family in the United States?” Rouan asked.

Frenot had expected this question but Rouan sensed it was difficult for him to answer and not necessarily because he did not have an answer but because there was something unpleasant that he wanted to keep from Rouan.

Frenot sighed: “I was in touch with both your ex-wife and mother.”

“Have you heard from them recently?”

“No.” Frenot looked away.

Rouan could see that Frenot was wounded by the question.

“There is something more. Tell me.”

“Robert, no one believed you. We should have listened.” As Frenot said this, a weight seemed to have lifted from his soul.

“What do you mean? What does this have to do with my family?” In the back of Rouan's mind, a horrible thought was taking shape, but he wasn't sure what it all meant. He was confused.

“The plans you discovered.”

“What are you talking about, the plans?” Rouan was baffled.

“About the tactical nuclear weapon that you described,” Frenot answered,

“That was a product of my over active imagination"

“Made up or not, they were prophetic. Somehow the system broke down. The computers in the United States indicated an imminent attack. There is strong evidence that the initial attack on Washington DC was a tactical nuclear weapon and not a missile. When I first learned of that, I thought back to the weapon that you had described. I went back and reviewed your notes. I asked myself if there could have been some truth he what you described. Was it something more than a hallucination? I asked myself over and over again. I became convinced that the first explosion was a tactical nuclear weapon similar to the one you documented.”

“I don't understand what you are saying. Someone used tactical weapons.”

“Initially, the United States in its confusion, after Washington was hit, released several ICBMs. This brought on a counter attack from China. Over a dozen U.S. cities were struck before anyone realized it was all a horrible mistake.”

Rouan hesitated, afraid to ask the next question. He dreaded Frenot's response. “What cities?

“ The worst of it,” Frenot paused, “Houston was hit.” Frenot shook his head. “Along with Houston, a dozen more cities were hit. Fortunately, the bombings stopped before the whole country, the whole world for that matter, was left in ruins. A moment of sanity, I suppose, if one can call it that.”

“What about my family?”

A look of sadness crossed Frenot's face. “I'm so sorry. After the bombing, I did not hear from anyone in your family.”

“But many people survived?”

“Yes, many people survived. Many cities remained intact. They weren't targeted by the bombs or rather the bombing stopped before they were hit. But the bombings were just the beginning of the nightmare for America. For weeks, for months, even years, many more perished from radioactive sickness. What remained of the country, of the government was in shock, paralyzed. Washington DC was gone. There were wars of a kind between various factions, and then came well-armed battles for control by profiteers. Different parts of the country set up their own forms of government. But nobody was in control for long. That has changed in some parts of the country now. Armed militias, police, are paid for by the big companies. But there is no justice in the way they rule. There is order, but no justice.”

“How did this happen?”

“No one knows what exactly happened. Some say there was a computer malfunction. Several cities in both Russia and China were hit. Some have claimed that the Chinese had planted a computer virus in the Strategic American Command and this caused a malfunction and missiles were prematurely fired. But the damage in Russia and China was nothing compared to the United States. Actually, the United States sent out very few missiles. But retaliation came before anyone had a chance to catch their breath. Much of the old cold war mentality was still in place, the hair trigger effect. My God, the world still had its finger on the button.”

So it finally happened, Rouan thought, the thing that no one wanted to face. The monster, the Frankenstein of the nuclear age, had come down on the world and unleashed its wrath. Rouan had grown pale, his upper lip quivered with emotion.

“I believe, someone once affiliated with Al-Qaeda initiated the first tactical attack. This is what made the plans you discovered so important. I have no definitive proof of this. I have your notebook. It was given to me after you were attacked.”

“You kept my notebook all this time? But why?”

“Remember you were in a coma. I was the attorney of record. Your personal belongings were my responsibility.”

“I understand. But what I wrote was a complete fabrication. There was no truth to it. None of it was real. I was very sick. I lived in a fantasy world of drugs and delusions. I imagined I could save the world. Well, I didn't save anybody.”

“ Your fantasies were a foreshadowing of what was to come. What you saw was all too real. Proof? An entire continent is in ruins. Your country is gone, or at least as far as you once knew it. Those that have survived live a miserable existence.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Yes.

“But how?”

“My mind keeps going back to that initial explosion in Washington DC. It occurred a full fifteen minutes before the ICBMs were launched. No one knows the size exactly of the initial explosion, since Washington was hit a second time by a much larger warhead. There was a nuclear exchange between India and Pakistan. Wars broke out from one side of the world to the other. The whole world has been marked, turned upside down, wounded by this catastrophe, famine, bio- terrorism on an unimaginable scale." Frenot let out a breath. "We'll have time to talk about this later.”

“My family, my country.” Rouan was horrified. It was more than he could bear. Frenot stayed with Rouan while he took in all of the news, sitting silently with him. Frenot even held Rouan's hand at one point.

Frenot had written several articles in Le Monde. Many pointed out that tactical nuclear weapons weren't used but rather Inter Continental Ballistic Missiles. They went on to say that the tragedy was not caused by terrorists but by a system destined to end in catastrophe. Frenot replied to this in several more articles (stirring up quite a debate) that Rouan's hypothesis and notes only illuminated the dark path that the terrorists were on and pointed out the initial attack, the trigger, for the conflagration that followed was a rogue tactical nuclear weapon.

All this speculation disturbed Rouan. Long ago he'd accepted responsibility for the hoax he concocted. Rouan thought of the old adage in intelligence analysis: that there is some truth to be discovered even in a lie. Rouan was consoled with the realization that there a kind of inevitability to it all. If the weapons exist, someone would use them. Rouan then remembered something else. The dream he had shortly before being attacked in jail. He remembered every detail of the dream: the countdown, the Boeing blast door, and finally the firing of the missiles. Rouan was convinced that the dream was somehow prophetic. This was more than coincidence. He could come to no other conclusion. Why had he been handed this vision? He consoled with the thought that he wasn't the only one who foresaw this almost inevitable consequence of the U.S. nuclear arsenal and the arms race. A race that no one could win but everyone could lose. Many had warned about it over and over again from the very beginning. But no listened. Or if they listened, they took no action. The world had been in a state of denial and been awakened from its sleeping state (just as he had) by the sound of thunder in the skies. The shoe had dropped and now there was no going back. It is a wonder that the whole world hadn't been reduced to ashes and smoke.

In the following days, Frenot visited Rouan often. He gave him more details on what had gone on while he slept all those years. He gave him a kind of history lesson. He explained that electric power functioned sporadically in the United States in the years after the bombings (leaving pockets of the country without power). With a worthless dollar, commerce on a large scale became impossible. Biological weapons were released; no one had a reasonable explanation why. It was madness. There was civil unrest, massive starvation. What was once the United States was now under quarantine; in the beginning, martial law was declared and the remnants of the federal government existed but were powerless to exercise any control, and with no federal banking system and an inability to collect taxes, became irrelevant and ultimately collapsed. The country had been broken up into territories, counties, city-states. The United Nations was now headquartered in Geneva. Rouan could not believe what he was told. He asked himself over and over again, how was it that he had survived but his country had not?

While in a vegetative state, Rouan had been housed just outside of Paris along the Marne River in Champigny. Though he had been in the coma, the nurses had exercised his limbs so his muscles had not completely wasted away. Still his limbs were fragile, thin and weak. He was told he would never walk again; that his legs would never be strong enough again to carry the weight of his upper body. His heart had been weakened but his lungs were in good condition, normal for someone his age. They could have just left him to die. But Frenot and others saw to it that he had been properly looked after. Rouan was so grateful. He learned that while the blow to his head did cause unconsciousness, it did not cause the coma (or rather what was diagnosed after his awakening as a minimally conscious state). The coma was ultimately caused by an infection in his brain from his intravenous drug use. The infection eventually cleared up and after a change of medication, he awoke. It would have been relatively easy with the right medication to bring him out of his sleeping state (once the infection in his brain cleared up) but everyone assumed that his condition was hopeless; that his condition was irreversible. Who would have guessed that his grave condition could have changed so miraculously? Brain scans were done in the beginning, but bleeding from the blow to his head hid the underlying infection from those radioactive eyes. The good news, of course, was that he survived at all. The doctors told him there was no sign of brain damage.

Some days Rouan would fall into a deep depression that he could not climb out of (no matter how hard he tried). A dark cloud covered his world, time stopped and once again he was back in the Santé behind its bleak, gray walls, and once again its ghosts came back to haunt him. The United States had been taken to its knees―and so had he. But when we thought of his own descent into the depths, he would begin to recall the day of his rebirth, of his resurrection, and he found some consolation there, some hope, and gradually he would come out of his funk. There must be some reason for his survival. Other times, he'd find himself sitting beside by the Marne River looking out at that green water and he'd think about the life that it held; the fish, the plants, the turtles. Then he'd think about the future. And that gave him hope. Hope for a new world, a world without sickness, addiction, wars and bombs. He hoped for that better world. He prayed that he could be a part of it. He felt a responsibility. He wanted to make up for all the mistakes he'd made. He wanted to make amends to one and all.

While Rouan had been physically debilitated and disabled by his long sleep, his ability to communicate had not been diminished. He had begun writing in his journal in long hand. It was good therapy. But he tired easily (even after such a long sleep) and found it necessary to dictate his notes, his thoughts, to a nurse. She dutifully took down done all that he said (even at times laboriously transcribing his handwritten notes). Her name was Camille Demoulin. She had been a nurse for over twenty years. She was in her mid-forties. She had auburn hair and an alabaster complexion. She was a great beauty but without pretense or affectation. She carried out her duties with grace and humility. She looked after Rouan's every need (as she has been assigned exclusively to him since his awakening).

Things began to bloom in Champigny. Rouan spent as much to time as possible outdoors on the grounds of the center usually accompanied by Camille. The air was cool and fresh and the world was turning green once more. The blossoms hung from the bushes and were heavenly both to smell and to look at. On those days in particular Rouan would wonder again and again if any of what drifted before his eyes was real. How had all of this come to pass? Rouan had a hard time putting his mind around it all.

One day Rouan asked Camille how long she had worked at the home. She looked him square in the eyes and smiled: “I've been here eighteen months and I've known about you just as long. You know, you are kind of a legend in Paris and elsewhere. There have been several newspaper articles written about you and Monsieur Frenot.”

“Oh Frenot was mentioned.” Rouan laughed.

“You don't know, do you?” She looked at him oddly.

“Know what?” Rouan asked.

“About Monsieur Frenot, he is a very important person in the government.”

“Important in the government, how so?”

“He was the top assistant to the former president. They say Monsieur Frenot might one day be the president of France.”

"If I could vote, I would vote for him.” Rouan stated.

“Monsieur Frenot did not tell you?”

“Another surprise, I suppose.”

"You are a citizen of France. In order for your care to continue, French citizenship was necessary. Monsieur Frenot took care of it long ago.”

“Oh my father would be proud, his son a French citizen. I must thank Jean-Marc.” Rouan had begun calling Frenot by his first name. After all, they had known each other for such a long time and had been through so much.

“Jean-Marc Frenot, your good friend the next president of France,” Camille laughed. “You will invite me to the inaugural ball.” She winked.

"Whatever you want Camille. Just don't ask me to dance.”

"I don't know Robert; you are getting stronger every day. We might have to include dance lessons in your rehabilitation.” She put her hand on Rouan's shoulder and smiled so tenderly. That touch brought the world and all its joys back to him. After so much evil, so much loss of life, human tenderness had survived.

Rouan had known Frenot as the young lawyer who had taken up his case. Taken up the case of a seemingly delusional madman, murderer even, and in the end showed such affection and concern for him. It was not hard to comprehend that Frenot had made such a success of himself, Rouan thought. He was always bright, capable and seemed to know how to broker a deal and make peace even with fools (Rouan included himself as one of those fools that Frenot had dealt with. Rouan realized he had not been an easy client.).

Rouan teased Frenot when they met next: "They tell me that you are to be the next president of France."

"The rumors are greatly exaggerated. I suppose it was that pretty nurse of yours who put those ideas in your head."

"I suppose so. Or did she say you were holding out to be crowned king. There hasn't been a king in France for several centuries. Maybe it's time." Rouan laughed.

"It is good to hear you laugh, Robert." Frenot smiled. "I see you too still think big. But seriously, I have no interest in being out front in politics. I prefer to stay behind the scenes. Which brings me to another point, if you think you’re up to it, how would you like to visit the United Nations in Geneva? I have someone I would like for you to meet."

"I would love to go to Geneva. Who is it that you would like me to meet?"

"Assistant Secretary General Christophe Tousant. He is a friend of mine, an amazing man."

* * * *

Frenot arrived with his wife, Nathalie, at the convalescent home in a white Mercedes Benz van for the trip to Geneva. It had a wheelchair lift and an engine powered by a revolutionary fuel cell. Rouan had never met Nathalie Frenot. She was a lovely, articulate woman (a redhead, he would never have guessed). She was slightly taller than her husband and seemed to love him very much. Camille came along to look after Rouan's needs. It was a lovely drive. They discussed much. Madame Frenot mentioned the poverty and hardship for those living in the Q.

“The Q, what is the Q?” Rouan asked.

A look of pain flashed across Camille's face.

“Jean-Marc has not explained?” Madame Frenot seemed puzzled, surprised, that Rouan had not been filled in by Frenot on this highly controversial political issue. “Robert, the Q is short for the quarantined area. It is an area that covers all of North America; it stretches from the Mexican territory to Canada. Since the Canadian government still exists, the Canadian dollar is the currency of choice except in in the Mexican territories where the Mexican peso is used. There have been a number of viruses, some airborne in the past that spread in Asia, and Europe and millions died. Every human being residing in North America was contaminated, a significant portion of the population perished. Even plant life, beef, poultry carried lethal viruses. After that, all agricultural goods were banned. Strict restrictions on travel were imposed. Anyone traveling into the Q cannot return to France or anywhere in the EU without a wait of six months in a neutral area where doctors monitor and examine the traveler for any sign of contagion.”

“I understand now. Yes, Jean-Marc explained some of this to me. However, the abbreviation Q for the quarantined area is new to me. What about those born and living in the Q? What restrictions do they have regarding travel?” Rouan asked.

“It is not permitted. This is one of the issues that we will discuss with Assistant Secretary Tousant.” Frenot explained.

When they arrived in Geneva, Rouan was astonished. The city was so beautiful, so vibrant. The fountain at the mouth of Lake Geneva still sprayed hundreds of gallons of water high into the air just as he remembered it. Everyone looked prosperous, happy, content. Brightly colored streetcars and automobiles lined the roads. Geneva seemed to be the ideal city, a dream city, lodged in the center of a kind of Utopia. Everywhere people bustled about often carrying shopping carts loaded with goods. Rouan found the city cosmopolitan and culturally diverse (the United Nations served as the headquarters of a kind of world government; so it wasn't surprising to see so many races and nationalities among the populace). Orthodox Jews shared the same shops with Syrians, Iraqis and Iranians. The style of dress varied: some wore Indians saris while others were adorned in traditional African and Arab garments.

It was hard to believe that the horrors Rouan had heard about had happened at all. It was like a horror story he had read a long time ago but couldn't quite recall. Or a nightmare that he had woken from and was relieved that it wasn't real. But Rouan knew that the horrors of the past were true, that there were cities in America where the wounds were still fresh and the nightmare was all too real.

Rouan thought their hotel was fabulous. It had a marvelous view of the lake and the surrounding city. Rouan shared adjoining rooms with Camille. This was necessary since he could not yet get from his bed to his wheelchair on his own. Shortly after arriving, Rouan and Camille took in the view together. “It is so lovely,” Camille said as she looked out the lake.

“Yes, one of the great cities of the world I think.” A note of sorrow could just be detected in Rouan's voice. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he mourned for the cities in America that were now gone (or radically changed). Camille sensed this note of sorrow and grasped his hand. She said nothing. She didn't have to.

Assistant Secretary Tousant knew of Rouan's physical limitations, so it was arranged that they would meet with him in a private suite at the hotel. When Tousant entered the room to greet them, Rouan was taken aback by his appearance. Tousant was in his eighties, he suffered from a congenital hunchback that had worsened with age. He wore a white garment and sandals. He had long gray hair and a beard. He radiated with a kind of glow, a kind of aura. He smiled and greeted Frenot first with a warm handshake. He then kissed Madame Frenot in the French manner.

He looked at Rouan with a smile: “So here we have the awakened sleeper. I have heard much about you from my friend Monsieur Frenot.”

Rouan looked up at this dear old man and grasped his hand. When their eyes met, a flash of electricity passed between them (Rouan found it hard to define, but it was of another world). Tousant then greeted Camille and kissed her on both cheeks. Rouan could see that she, too, was moved by this otherworldly old man. They all moved to a sitting area.

“On our ride here, I told Robert about the Q and some of the problems the people face there.”

“Yes, we have lived through tragic times. We have seen the worst of humanity. What the people live within the Q is not humane, is not right. It is a living hell.”

“But everything seems so perfect here. Why can't something be done?” Rouan asked.

“ It is lovely here and this is why many want to protect our paradise here in Switzerland from the horrors found in the Q. In a word, people are afraid. They fear contamination and it is not a completely unfounded fear. The world has suffered through many hard times while you have slept Monsieur Rouan.”

“Robert, Assistant Secretary General Tousant wants to open travel and trade between the Q and the rest of the world.” Frenot interjected. “Goods are prohibited from the entering the euro zone. Many fear biological and radioactive contamination. Many believe that the survivors in the Q have developed immunity to the many viruses that have been unleashed in years past. But tests have been done and there is no evidence of this. In addition, much of the food grown in the Q has been tested and proven safe. There is just terrible prejudice. Even Secretary General Devereux opposes lifting the embargo and he is supported by both Russia and China on the Security Council. They have veto power.”

“And who replaced the United States on the Security Council?” Rouan asked.

“India,” Frenot replied. “And India is for lifting the embargo as is Great Britain and France, the remaining permanent members of the Security Council. But there are powerful factions amongst the other United Nation members who vehemently oppose it. Some of it is out of fear and some are swayed by the large corporations who control the Q.”

"It would seem the United Nations has lost it way. Its mandate is to help those in need, in poverty; it does not exist to just protect wealthy countries or wealthy corporations,” Tousant stated simply.

''That is true.” Frenot affirmed.

“I understand you lost your family in America. My family also was lost. I had a wife and two grown children in New York City in the first bombing. I was away. Actually I was here in Geneva when I heard the horrible news." A look of deep sorrow passed across Tousant's face.

“I am so sorry to hear that,” Rouan said.

“I want to thank you Monsieur Rouan personally for all you did in trying to stop those attacks in your own way. Monsieur Frenot has written and told me personally about what you discovered and how hard you tried to warn others." Tousant said with such deep sincerity that Rouan was overwhelmed.

“It was a hoax that I dreamed up to make myself a hero and to secure my release from prison,” Rouan confessed.

"The plans could have been taken up by another group, the idea could have been taken up by Iran or North Korea. I'm sure there were many plans, diagrams drawn up, before the actual execution. What you saw was much more than a delusion; it was a vision, a premonition, even if it was only an act of the imagination it was an accurate warning. But as I say, it is hard to pinpoint who was involved,” Tousant declared.

“At that time everything I believed was a lie. I lied to others and especially to myself. Even if I had actually discovered something, no one would believe anything I said. But then again, inquiries were made. Nothing was found to indicate I had actually discovered anything," Rouan said.

“You suffered from a debilitating condition; drug addiction is a terrible malady Monsieur Rouan. You did what you could. You tried to warn everyone even if what you saw was no more than a vision. There is no need to blame you for anything,” Tousant said softly.

At that moment, Rouan saw a tear well up in Camille's eye. She tried to hide it and then wipe it away. But he saw it. She looked down at him and then squeezed his hand and gave him a tender look. Tousant also saw the tear and looked at both Rouan and Camille tenderly.

"Ultimately, that those monstrous weapons had been stockpiled in such quantities is the real reason for the tragedy. I am afraid the blame can be placed nowhere else, “ Tousant said.

“I agree.” Rouan replied.

“Now that you have made such a miraculous recovery you are becoming even better known. I have read many of the articles by Monsieur Frenot. If they help the world see the dangers of nuclear weapons in the hands of not only terrorists but anyone, any government, then they will have served a good purpose. And the added dimension of your story, of your struggle, Monsieur Rouan, is an inspiration to us all. Monsieur Frenot has turned you into a popular figure. All of Geneva, it seems, has heard about your visit. This town is buzzing with chatter. Everyone wants to catch a glimpse of the onetime spy and now awakened prophet. The man who slept while the world nearly destroyed itself. I won't call you a celebrity since you are much more than that. Your story is much more important than the latest love affair of a matinee idol," Tousant said

"I hadn't realized that my recovery was known to so many people. You are very kind. And very kind of you to invite us all here to your wonderful country, but to be honest, I perpetrated a hoax. I accused a retired professor of coming up with a plan to use tactical nuclear weapons. I fabricated evidence, diagrams. I'm afraid Monsieur Frenot has fallen for my fantasies. One thing is for certain nuclear weapons were not invented in a Paris apartment or in my own mind. The whole world knew of the danger and no one did anything to stop it,” Rouan declared.

Frenot shrugged and looked to the ground.

“Monsieur Rouan. We are old horses now and we must work together" Tousant said with a gleam in his eye. He had something in mind when he said this, but what it was Rouan could not guess.

Everything in Rouan's life had this mysterious quality. This new world was filled with more questions than answers. Later after they returned to their rooms for some rest, Rouan asked Camille why she was so moved by Tousant's remarks regarding addiction.

“I worked in a treatment center,” she replied. Then her expression grew grave. “There is something that I want to tell you. It has been on my mind for some time.” Camille looked unsure of herself.

“What is it? You can tell me.”

“I was assigned to you after your awakening to keep an eye on you. I hate secrets. I'm no spy. But because of your history the doctors thought it was for the best.”

“It is only reasonable to keep tabs on me with my background. Right now I have no desire to use drugs; I have already missed out on too much of life. I have slept too long. But the desire could return. So I am grateful, I have you to turn to. There is one thing, something that has been on my mind.

“Yes. Tell me.”

“I have been keeping this to myself. But I have to tell someone. I sometimes wonder if any of this is real. It all seems like a dream.”

“What do you mean?” Camille asked.

“I awoke in a completely different world. Everything had changed. But what is so strange is this new world seems to be an extension of my own mind. I once believed there would be bombings in the United States. In fact, I was obsessed with it to the point of fabricating the plans for it myself. And it came to pass. I wanted to free of prison and that came to pass. I wanted to find love,” with this statement Rouan's voice trailed off momentarily.

“Go on,” Camille grasped Rouan's hand and gazed intently at him.

“ So it makes me wonder about the reality of it all. Is it all some kind of fiction my mind has invented. But it is more real than just a dream. In a sense, I did die. No one would question that. But I wonder about this place, this time that I've been brought back to. Sometimes I wonder if it is a fabrication, a fantasy. I've always had trouble recognizing what was true from what was false. I've always had a rich imagination. In fact, you know my medical record. That I have a history, that I was diagnosed with a bipolar disorder. That I am prone to fits of grandiosity. So I have doubts about everything. And if all of this is true, why do I question its validity? Has there been some damage done to my brain? Is my present reality a delusion of some kind?”

“Robert to wake up after so many years would be a shock to anyone. It would normal to question things, to question what is real.”

Rouan sighed, “Yes you are right. It has been bothering me. I'm glad I could share it with you.” Rouan took Camille's hand and held it tenderly.

“You can share everything with me, Robert. Never doubt that.” The look in Camille's eyes gave Rouan confidence not only in her but in himself; he believed that no matter what happened, everything would work out, that he could face the truth and accept it, whatever the truth turned out to be. Rouan felt better after making this admission to Camille. She had a point, he thought. After such a long period of unconsciousness ones sense of reality would be radically changed. It was funny, he thought, he could not remember any dreams while he was asleep all those years. There were flashes of something, but he could not say what it was. Maybe some sound, a voice, an image, penetrated deep into his brain and remained unprocessed. Rouan was sure of one thing this new world that he had entered into was fascinating, so full of strange and at times terrible events. Rouan could not shake off all that he learned about Christophe Tousant (the most amazing man he had ever met; he thought of Tousant as a kind of philosopher king). But Rouan's impression of him didn't end with their meeting at the hotel. At the last minute, they were invited to a speech Tousant was to make to members of the Security Council. It was there that Rouan learned how strong the opposition was to both Tousant and the people that made up the Q. And it was there that the most momentous turn of events took place.

Camille and Rouan arrived in the conference hall. Tousant walked up to the podium and began his remarks. He looked out at the crowd and smiled, his gentle eyes scanning the room. “Today we face many difficult issues. But none is greater than the problems facing those who live in the Q. We close our eyes and hearts to those who suffer from poverty, the whims of corporate profiteers, warlords, drug lords and human traffickers. Contraband goods produced in the Q do find their way into the euro zone and we use those goods, the fruits of nothing less than slave labor. Let us not deceive ourselves, the restrictions we have in place protect no one but criminals and thugs. As we once again find ourselves living in prosperity, we must not forget those who still suffer. After this unprecedented history of war and bio terror, we must tend to the wounded, the disenfranchised. There is no chance for the colonies in the quarantined area to become legitimized, to become members of this body, without our support. If the colonies in the Q do not get the support they deserve, they will be crushed by greedy men who treat human life cheaply, a commodity to be bought and sold. The hopes of the people living in the Q will be tossed aside, their aspirations forgotten. France, supported the original colonies in the old world and we must support these new colonies in the new world. With the support of the Secretary General and this body, we can assure the colonies legitimacy. It is for this kind of thing that this body was created.”

At this point, rumblings could be heard throughout the hall. Those surrounding Secretary General Devereux began whispering in his ear. The entourage that surrounded Devereux were obviously not happy with what Tousant was proposing. Secretary General Devereux did not look well. And not just because he opposed Tousant (and all he said), there was something else amiss. He looked pale and seemed to be trembling and became short of breath. He then collapsed, his head falling back in his chair. The meeting was hastily adjourned and Secretary General Devereux was placed on a gurney and transported by ambulance to a hospital a few minutes away. He was pronounced dead on arrival. This made Christophe Tousant the leading candidate for secretary general of the United Nations. Because of Tousant's age, if Tousant was appointed secretary general it would be only for the remaining eighteen months of Devereux's five year term. But with fierce opposition, Tousant's appointment even for just eighteen months was by no means a certainty. In less than a month, there would be a vote.

On the ride back to Paris from Geneva, Rouan had many questions for Frenot. He wanted to learn more about Christophe Tousant. Frenot said that Tousant had brokered the deal that led to the establishment of the Palestinian state. Israel had made concessions that a few decades before would have been unthinkable. But the Middle East had tired of war and wanted to see an end to it. Frenot went on to explain that Tousant was about to retire from the Security Council because of his advanced age (but had postponed his retirement in an effort to persuade the Security Council to open up trade and travel in the Q). Frenot went on to explain that Tousant was a Zen Buddhist having spent several years in a Zen monastery in Japan. He met his wife, Kyoko, there. They had two children and as Tousant himself told him were killed when two bombs were detonated over New York City. All in all, over a dozen warheads were triggered within minutes of each other in Chicago, Los Angeles, Boston, Kansas City, Washington DC, Philadelphia, Atlanta, San Francisco and of course Houston. Tousant knew exactly where his family was at the time of their deaths but Rouan did not. It made him wonder. In the chaos, could they be part of the disenfranchised millions (refugees in their own land) who remained in what was once the United States?

“Could my mother, wife and daughter have survived?” Rouan asked Frenot.

Frenot thought for a minute and then replied: “In the weeks after the bombings, contact with the outside world was sporadic. Computer servers crashed. There were massive power outages from one end of the country to the other. But in the years since the catastrophe your wife and mother would have been able to get a message to me. Considering your mother's age, I would say she did not survive. Your ex-wife, too, was very keen on checking up on you. When it was decided that you would be removed from life support, your mother, your ex-wife and daughter came to France to pay their last respects. It was decided that it would be too traumatic for your daughter to be in the room when your life support was removed. So only your mother was in the room. The doctors, the nurses, were all shocked that you continued to thrive. Your mother, ex-wife and daughter, were very happy (they stayed for several more weeks, visiting you every day). After that, your ex-wife and mother stayed in contact with me, hoping for another miracle. This is why I feel they did not survive. It is possible but not likely that your daughter may have survived. But of course, she was living in Houston at the time of the attack.” Frenot let out a sigh.

Rouan took in what Frenot had told him. He was astonished. His family had come to France to say goodbye. He was pretty sure that was their last goodbye. He missed his daughter, mother and even his ex-wife terribly. Before the coma they were separated by an ocean, now they were separated by time itself, and even more than that, he was alive. But he held on to the thought, a dim and secret hope that his daughter Terry might somehow have survived. He did not know why he clung to this hope. But it seemed to him more than just a hope. He sensed something. He sensed her presence, and not in some other world. She was not looking out at him from some other life, some other dimension; he sensed that they still shared the same planet. His sense of reality had always been tenuous at best but on this score he felt a growing certainty. It was the one thing that he held on to even as the rest of his beliefs had completely fallen away. 

.