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“Because we both have so much invested in this universe. Our interests are completely different, but we both require the world to remain in existence, if one of us is to succeed.”

“We cannot play football if there is no field,” says Townsend.

I am wishing he would spare me his corny, lame metaphors.

“That’s one way of putting it,” I say.

Then he flashes the tiniest of smiles and speaks.

“I know why you’re here. You need help. Specifically, you need my help. More specifically, you need the help of the World Associated States to combat the Newbola disease and the massive ecological destruction.”

In a split second I realize that Townsend knows as much as I do about these two horrid situations. He may actually know even more.

Finally he smiles, a full grin stretching from ear to ear.

Then he says, “Am I right, Mr. Cranston?”

“You are absolutely right, Mr. Townsend.”

The new smile disappears.

“I will help you. But as I’m sure you suspected, we will first have to do a small bit of negotiation.”

CHAPTER 89

TOWNSEND AND I despise each other. We have diametrically different views on how to bring peace and happiness to the world. But I must add, Townsend is anything but a fool. He no doubt believes that I am setting him up for some form of betrayal.

But I have no way out of my extraordinary dilemmas without Townsend’s help.

He knows this, and he knows that I know that he knows. As a result, I must look like I am acting in good faith, and the fact is, I really will act that way. I will actuallybethat way. And if—or more likely, when—he betrays me, then, and only then, will I retaliate.

The deal he presents is simple: I get his assistance, and he gets anything else he asks for.

Yes, Townsend agrees to launch stealth rocket monitors to obliterate any rockets or rocket launchers that Ambrose is working on. Townsend’s air team can “indubitably” (his word) locate and control Ambrose’s designs and plans.

“Your Peruvian adventure was a fiasco,” he tells me. “Too elaborate. Too human. A schoolboy’s idea of combat.”

I am furious with his condescending opinions, but I work hard to keep my anger from showing.

Townsend builds on his demands. He not only wants me to share the details of Dr. Laksa’s involvement but also needs access to whatever computer messages we have from Ambrose.

“My government-trained people are not as skilled at extracting technological data as your little team of children,” he adds.

Children? He calls them children? Jericho? Margo? Burbank? Tapper? Hawkeye? My friends? My colleagues? The best of the best?

“So, we’re going to be sharing information?” I ask.

“Yes,” says Townsend. “In a manner of speaking.”

Then my frenemy says he wants to move on. “Let’s discuss this nasty little flu bug that has everyone so upset.”

I could jump up from my chair and strangle this devil, this monster, but I am tired and weak, and I really do need his help.

“Dr. DaSilva was anxious to work with you, even though I advised against it,” he says.

Remembering her somewhat lukewarm reception in Australia, I can’t help but wonder if Townsend put it into her head that I would try to take credit for any miraculous discoveries.

“I questioned her judgment at the time,” Townsend continues. “I would only use her services if I had a sprained ankle or a bad case of the sniffles.”