Page 46 of The Presidents Shadow

I FEEL COMPELLED to report to Acting President Myoki that we have made very little progress in identifying the source of the devastation to the Kyoto University campus. The look on his face clearly registers grave disappointment.

He says, “But, Honorable Mr. Cranston, we were so very much expecting success from you.”

The most awkward silence possible follows. No doubt he’s thinking that Dr. DaSilva’s ringing endorsement has proven false.

What he doesn’t know is that I’m afraid our lack of success may predict even more tragedy.

With Kyoto and Harvard already demolished or devastated, what’s next?

Who’s next? Oxford? The Sorbonne? Stanford?

And what of the medical chaos in Australia?

Is there, as we suspect, a connection between the earthly destruction and the virus poised to ravage the world?

Myoki, his eyes wet with tears, speaks softly.

“Tomorrow morning at dawn is the Shinto-Buddhist memorial service for Dr. Wellington Nakashima, former chairperson of our university science departments. Dr. Nakashima and his wife were both victims lost in the disaster. My hope was that we might have an answer to protect the living. I was hoping to announce a breakthrough as an honor to Dr. and Mrs. Nakashima, as well as the thousands of other faculty and students who are dead. But we will pray. No matter what, we will pray.”

Talk about making a guy feel lousy. Both Margo and I bow our heads. Then I tell Mr. Myoki that we will work through the night but that it is unlikely we will uncover anything.

Mr. Myoki says our devotion is praiseworthy, but that Margo, Burbank, and I should rest to renew our hearts and minds.

“Tomorrow you should direct yourselves to the memory of the dead,” he says. He turns away for a moment. I am certain that it is because he does not want us to see him weeping.

He turns back and adds, “Please honor my direction. My own heart tells me that you long to work, but my lips tell you that rest and prayer are what we all need.”

Our arms and legs and backs are aching. Our minds are tormented by our fruitless endeavors. But we obey Myoki’s advice.

We go to our Quonset hut. We try to sleep.

We cannot. Margo and I discuss whether we should use our mind power to approach sleep, to control it, to fall deeply into rest, but we quickly agree that such an exertion for personal comfort would be selfish.

Our powers are best saved for the demanding work ahead of us.

We nap. We wake. We nap some more. We wake again.

As the early morning sun begins to brighten our room, Margo has a suggestion.

“The memorial service should be starting just about now,” she says. “We should go.”