ENOCH LENG SET DOWN his cigar and removed a notebook from his pocket, into which Humblecut’s long telegram, cut into leaves, had been bound. He opened it and began perusing it, turning pages covered with his own extensive notations in a tiny, perfect hand.
“Well, well, Aloysius,” he said. Then he added: “May I call you Aloysius? You may call me Enoch. That is the name I prefer now. We are, after all, blood relatives.” He smiled at Pendergast. “But I’m not quite clear how we’re related. My father was Hezekiah Pendergast... who must have been, let’s see, your great-great-grandfather?”
Pendergast said nothing.
Leng took a long moment to examine Pendergast. It was the first time he’d really had a chance to examine the man at leisure, and he was somewhat unsettled by the resemblance to himself, and by the keen intelligence evident in those silver eyes; the lean physique; the patrician visage. He was indeed a Pendergast, through and through. All the more reason to take the most extreme care.
“Since I have no children,” Leng continued, “and have no intention of fathering any, you must be descended from one of my brothers. Comstock? Maurice? Or... Boethius?” He leaned forward, gazing into those silvery eyes, but could not interpret the expression. “I would guess Boethius. He’s the only one who has married so far. Atia is the name of his wife, and they just had a strange little child named Cornelia. Atia must be your great-grandmother. Which makes you my great-grandnephew. And I, your great-granduncle.” He smiled. “So glad that’s settled.”
Pendergast remained silent.
“Amazing how the Pendergast likeness follows the generations.”
Sitting back, he took a long, slow puff on his cigar, laid it down in the ashtray, and crossed his legs. “Now, Aloysius, are you in the frame of mind for this important—indeed, for you, decisive—conversation? How it goes will determine whether you and your associates live or die. If you plan on remaining silent, I shall have you taken back to your cell immediately, so no more of my time will be wasted—and you will all be disposed of accordingly.”
“I do not object to a conversation,” said Pendergast coolly.
“A wise decision. Have you guessed my plans?”
“You wish to extinct the human race.”
At this, Leng gave a little laugh. “Wrong. The word isn’t ‘extinct.’ The word is ‘cleanse.’”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The idea is to eliminate the vast bulk of humanity, leaving behind a small group to continue the species in a superior way. Purified. Decontaminated. Perfected.”
“And you, naturally, are to be part of this small group.”
“Naturally. Do you think my plan is evil?”
“Is the mass murder of innocents evil?”
Leng smiled broadly. “Human beings—innocents? I think not.” He licked his finger, turned another page in the notebook. “Let us review the century to come, the twentieth, and what will happen. It featured two so-called world wars, correct?”
“Yes.”
“In the first, forty million people died. In the second, eighty million. Correct?”
“Approximately.”
“Among the dead were six million Jews, murdered in a coldly systematic and scientific way by Germany under a man named Hitler, in an attempt to eradicate an entire people. Men, women, children, helpless old people, babies—everyone. And it went beyond Jews: Romani, homosexuals, the retarded … Anyone considered genetically or intellectually inferior was liquidated. Correct?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“The second war was ended by the use of a new weapon called an atomic bomb, which killed two hundred thousand people in just two explosions. After that, an even more devastating weapon called the hydrogen bomb was developed, which in your current day a dozen or so countries possess. Correct?”
“Where are you going with this inquisition?”
“You know perfectly well where I’m going. Also in that century of yours, there was a man named Stalin, who killed nine million of his countrymen. Another named Pol Pot, who killed a third of the entire population of his country, and a man named Mao, who killed forty to eighty million in China—through mass starvation, prison camps, and executions. A truly staggering figure. Again, correct me if I’m wrong.”
“You are not wrong.”
“Let us return to the case of Germany. I am particularly interested in this, because I spent many good years there studying medicine. It is a country I know well—and when I learned from your associate about Germany’s conduct in the mid-twentieth century, I could scarcely comprehend it. Germany today—I mean, in 1881—is the most advanced country on earth. It produced Bach and Beethoven, Goethe and Gauss. It fathered some of the greatest advancements in medicine, science, and mathematics the world has ever seen. And yet this country, at the very apex of so-called civilization, made this man, Hitler—and through him, perpetrated the most profound evil in all recorded history.”
“Yes.”
“Staggering. And appalling. But I’ve learned a lot more about the twentieth century, and quite frankly this summary has barely scratched the surface.” He paused. “Which leads me to an overwhelming question.”
“Which is?”
“You know very well what it is. How can you believe the human race is worth preserving?”
He waited, and after a slight but meaningful hesitation, Pendergast said, in a low voice: “I concede that, as a species, we are anything but exemplary. I assume that’s why we blame the serpent in the garden for all our faults. But we have also produced good things, beautiful things—even magnificent things.”
Leng looked at him, then flipped another page in his notebook. “I also understand from your colleague that the sole thing humans of the twenty-first century are united in doing—humans who otherwise are more divided than ever before, having learned nothing in the intervening century—is destroying the earth. All eight billion of you. Polluting the oceans, heating the planet, burning the rainforests, exhausting the mineral wealth. Your own scientists are now calling your age the Sixth Extinction.”
He stared at Pendergast, the man’s pale face now tinged by a slight flush. He might be breaking through. “You admit these things occurred and are occurring—do you not?”
“I admit it.”
“You admit the technological advances of the twentieth century pale in comparison to your descent into barbarism?”
“There is nothing exceptional about the evils of the twentieth century.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“As a species, we have always been bloodthirsty. The twentieth century merely gave us the technology to conduct killing on a mass scale.”
Leng clapped his hands. “You are only reinforcing my argument: this godlike technology will eventually lead the species to selfdestruction. Do you agree?”
A hesitation. “It seems likely.”
“Then, if we are to destroy ourselves: shouldn’t it be done in a logical, controlled way, with the idea of starting afresh?”
“You’re speaking of the massacre of billions of people.”
“Irredeemable people.”
“There are many bad people. There are also good and even great people.”
“But most are brutal, stupid, and selfish.”
“I might point out that you, while not stupid, are one of the brutal and selfish ones.”
“I beg to disagree. What I’m doing is nothing less than providing a path to salvation for our species. I’ve always had a low opinion of humankind—but when I learned of the evils of the twentieth century, I could scarcely believe it. Good God! Now I’m certain our species—if unchecked—will not see the twenty-second century. So: instead of destroying ourselves completely, or leaving behind naked savages fighting rats and cockroaches for sustenance, I would rather see a carefully conducted cleansing that will preserve the species, which, when combined with a longer life expectancy, will yield marvelous benefits. My methods are lethal—yes. But they are necessary. I am an agent of good.”
“Good?”
“My dear nephew, how can you possibly support the status quo—the continuation of this madness? Especially given the fact that we have a chance to wipe the slate clean, start afresh.”
“We?”
“You, me …” Leng halted.
“Is this an invitation?” Pendergast asked.
“Of course. But not one issued lightly. You have proven yourself a most superior man. You are just the kind we need to rise from the ashes, phoenixlike.”
Pendergast said nothing.
Leng added, in a significant tone: “The invitation is extended to Constance Greene, if she will lay aside her vengeful mission. The children will come, too—Joe and Binky; that is, young Constance. They are highly intelligent. Even Mary, whom I am on the verge of vivisecting to ensure the Arcanum does its work without damage to the internal organs—I’ll spare her, as well.”
“A family affair. I see.”
“I’ll even throw in your friend D’Agosta as a sweetener, although he is hardly suitable material for our new world. Together, Nephew, we can create a just society, a logical society, one rooted in respect, stability, and obedience to rational principles of good order.”
“And how will you accomplish this?”
“Through use of your portal. Our small band will travel to your century. Science in your time is superhuman in its power. From what I understand, a biologically engineered pestilence—like the Black Plague, but far more virulent—combined with a special vaccine for our select few will do the trick. As I’ve said, humanity is going to destroy itself regardless. I have no doubt bad actors in your century are already working on doomsday weapons.”
“No doubt.”
“But we,” Leng said triumphantly, “will beat them to it!” He paused, finding his heart rate elevated. He took a deep breath and looked at Pendergast, trying again to see into his mind. He thought, not for the first time, that he spied glimmers of curiosity, if not actual interest.
“Just so we’re clear: your ‘wiping the slate clean’ means, at its core, ridding the world of ninety-nine percent or more of its inhabitants—and beginning again with a handpicked few. Not unlike Dr. Strangelove.”
“I’m unfamiliar with this doctor you speak of, so I imagine his brilliant work lies in the future. But that’s beside the point. Will you join me?”
A long silence ensued. “It is worth considering,” Pendergast finally said, slowly and deliberately.
“My dear nephew, the time has come for you to make a decision. I will not wait. What is it to be? Will you join my endeavor: yes or no?”
A long silence. And then: “Yes.”