Page 212 of The Secret of Secrets

“Precisely,” Katherine said. “To quote the great Czech psychiatrist Stanislav Grof, ‘The elimination of the fear of death transforms the individual’s way of being in the world.’ Grof believes that a radical inner transformation of consciousness might be our only hope of surviving the global crisis brought on by the Western mechanistic paradigm.”

“Well, if that’s true,” Nagel offered as she poured more coffee, “perhaps we should spike the world’s water supply with antianxiety meds.”

Katherine chuckled. “I’m not sure Xanax is the existential answer, but there is hope on the near horizon.”

Nagel paused mid-sip. “Oh?”

“As I wrote in my manuscript, I believe our views on death are about to change. Top scientists around the world are increasingly convinced that reality is not at all as we believe. This includes the provocative idea that death is, quite possibly, an illusion…that our consciousness survives physical death and lives on. If this is true, and if we can prove it, then within several generations, the human mind will function under an entirely different premise—the belief that death is not so terrifying after all…”

Katherine’s voice was brimming with passion. “Just think about that. The one universal fear that drives so much of humankind’s destructive behavior…would evaporate. If we can hold on long enough to arrive at that paradigm shift without blowing ourselves up or destroying our planet, then our species may well turn a philosophical corner that ushers in an unimaginably peaceful future.”

The ambassador fell silent, and Katherine sensed in her eyes a deep desire to feel encouraged despite all she had witnessed of the world. “How I hope you are right,” she whispered.

Moments later, Robert finally materialized in the doorway.

Nagel leaped to her feet. “How did it go?”

He entered with a weary smile. “Ambassador, I believe it’s time you call the director.”

It was late afternoon in Langley, Virginia, when Director Gregory Judd ended his second video call of the day with his former lead counsel, Heide Nagel.

I was a fool to fire her, he thought—not because Nagel had come back to haunt him, but because she was so damned good at what she did. Few people cut through the bullshit like Nagel. While most attorneys lived in a black-and-white world ruled by the letter of the law, Nagel lived in the real world, as it truly was—a shifting, complicated landscape, rendered in shades of gray.

With clarity, humility, and surprising emotional transparency, Nagel had shared with him the unexpected developments pertaining to Sasha Vesna, as well as the obvious implications for the inevitable reconstruction of Threshold. Like any good negotiator, Nagel had helped Judd arrive at her conclusion, while making it seem the idea had been his own.

The director was not a scientist, but the CIA’s research into the human mind had certainly unveiled a reality unlike anything Judd had imagined as a younger man. Fortunately, Judd’s job was not to comprehend the nature of reality, but rather to harness its power to best serve his nation and to protect it.

On occasion Judd allowed himself to dream about a future where programs like Threshold unveiled proof of the interconnection between all human minds, ushering in a global community bound not by fear and rivalry, but by empathy and understanding…a world where the concept of national security was a relic of the past.

For the moment, however, there was work to be done.

Chapter 136

Outside the private terminal at Václav Havel Airport, Heide Nagel stood on the tarmac and felt the weight of the plan she had forced into motion.

Asylum.

It was the correct decision, she told herself. The only decision.

Not far away, Scott Kerble sat behind the wheel of the idling embassy sedan, its trunk loaded with duffels full of Sasha’s hastily packed clothing and personal belongings. Sasha herself sat quietly in the backseat, still securely restrained in flex cuffs, looking dazed but calm as she played with the two Siamese cats in the pet carrier on the seat beside her.

A small private jet emerged from the terminal hangar and turned toward them. It was the Citation Latitude on which Finch had arrived earlier. The pilots had received direct orders from the CIA director personally, commandeering a “ghost flight” for two unnamed passengers back to Langley Air Force Base in Virginia.

No manifest.

As Nagel watched the jet approach, she felt increasing trust in Director Judd. Even so, her years at the CIA had taught Nagel the perils of blind faith. In the world of national security, the bond of trust—even the deepest of loyalty—was routinely betrayed when the needs of the country outweighed the needs of a few of her citizens. Serving the greater good had a nobility to it, but Nagel had done her time.

To cement her leverage, Nagel had taken four IronKey 256-bit encrypted hard drives from embassy storage, loaded each with a copy of Gessner’s interrogation video, and locked each with a requisite sixteen-character passkey, chosen tonight and known only to her. One of the drives was in her pocket, one was in her personal safe, and the other two were already sealed in diplomatic pouches en route to two attorney friends—one in Europe and one in the U.S.—along with instructions that the pouches were to be opened only in the event of Nagel’s untimely death or disappearance.

A redundant, double-blind, dead man’s switch.

The wild card in this situation was Sasha Vesna and the unusual condition that made her very difficult to predict or trust. The young Russian was in need of psychiatric care, to be sure, but with all she had endured in her life, she also deserved a home, friends, security, and a chance to live a somewhat normal life. Her protective alter personality had come forward only when people had harmed Sasha, and Nagel’s plan revolved around avoiding that.

I need to give Sasha a safe haven, she thought. As safe as possible under the circumstances.

The ambassador felt eager to get Sasha airborne and out of Prague. Within the hour, a literal army would be landing from the U.S. air base in Ramstein, Germany, to begin “restoration” of the blast site. As Nagel understood it, the debris in the crater would be pulverized using targeted microexplosions and covered with a layer of poured concrete. Atop that would be a layer of gravel, followed by topsoil and then sod. If all went to plan, within weeks, the lawns of Folimanka Park would look like they’d never been disturbed.

Buried and gone, she thought. Only a handful of people would ever know Threshold had even existed.