I went out of the room, motioning for them to let me go, and I stood in this dreamy little tropical garden. I could hear a waterfall somewhere, perhaps more than one, and that throbbing engine of the jungle, that engine of so many voices.

“Who are you, Voice?” I asked aloud. “Why don’t you tell me? I think it’s time, don’t you?”

Laughter.

Low laughter and that same distinctly male timbre. Right inside my head.

“What’s the name of the game, Voice?” I asked. “How many are going to have to die before you finish? And what is it you really want?”

No answer. But I felt certain someone was watching me. Someone was off in the jungles beyond the border of this garden, beyond this horseshoe of little thatched-roof luxurious guest suites, staring at me.

“Can you even guess what I suffer?” said the Voice.

“No,” I said. “Tell me about it.”

Silence. It was gone. I could feel its distinct absence.

I waited a long time. Then I walked back into the little suite. They were sitting together now on the foot of the bed which looked a bit like a shrine with all its draped white mosquito netting. David was holding Jesse. Jesse was drooping like a broken flower.

“Let’s do as Maharet asks,” I said. “Perhaps she has some plan, some plan she doesn’t dare confide in anyone, and we owe it to her and to ourselves to allow her time to work it. I need a plan myself. This isn’t the moment for me to act on my suspicions.”

“But what are your suspicions?” demanded Jesse. “You can’t think Mekare has the cunning to do all this.…”

“No, not Mekare. I suspect Mekare is holding the Voice back.”

“But how could she do that?” Jesse pressed. “She’s only the host of the Core.”

I didn’t answer. I marveled that she hadn’t guessed it. I wondered how many others really hadn’t guessed it. Or was everyone out there—Benji and all those calling him—afraid to say the obvious?

“I want you to come with us to New York,” said David. “I hope many others are already there.”

“What if that is exactly what the Voice wants?” I sighed. “What if it’s becoming ever more clever at controlling others like Khayman and enlisting them in its pogroms? We all gather in New York, and the Voice brings a cabal of monsters against us? Seems foolish to make it so easy for the Voice.”

But I didn’t say this with much conviction.

“Then what is your plan?” asked David.

“I told you. I need time to think on it.”

“But who is this Voice?” Jesse pleaded.

“Darling,” said David in a low and reverent voice as he embraced her. “The Voice is Amel, the spirit inside Mekare, and he can hear all that we’re saying to one another right now.”