"Oh, I have my reasons," he said, sighing again; but the sound was heavier this time, and as it came, Tressalian suddenly winced. "I have my--" His eyes opened wide as the apparent attack of pain suddenly seemed to worsen. "Forgive me, Doctor--all this excitement seems to have--" And then he suddenly clutched his head and pitched over with a cry, bringing Colonel Slayton to his side even before I could offer any help. "I think, Colonel," Tressalian said through gritted teeth, "that I'd better rest for a bit. If our guest will excuse me..." His breathing became labored as Slayton pulled one of his arms around his own neck and lifted his disabled body as if it were weightless. "I'm sorry, Doctor--I know you want answers," Tressalian gasped. "Dinner--we'll talk at dinner. For now--remember--" He looked up at me and, through his agony, gave me a look that I will never forget. It was a smile, one full of all the mischievousness of his sister, but something else too: a terrible darkness that seemed somehow sinister. "Remember," he went on, "what you saw on the door..." And with that, Colonel Slayton whisked him away.

Tressalian's sudden attack, combined with the images on the screens at the table as well as the ongoing combat outside--not to mention the fact that I was now quite alone--served to turn my growing anxiety into the beginnings of what I feared would soon become panic. I tried to calm myself by focusing on what Tressalian had said, by forcing my mind to delve deeper into the Latin I'd learned so long ago in order to come up with an answer to the riddle of the legend on the door.

I don't know how long I stood there, watching Larissa decimate our pursuers and mumbling to myself like an idiot. "Mundus vult decipi," I repeated over and over, as bullets streamed around the ship. "Mundus--'the world,' yes. Vult--'wills'? 'wants'? Something--"

And then I froze at the sudden sound of a pulsing alarm that echoed throughout the vessel: not a harsh tone exactly, but enough to let me know that something big was happening. I scanned the horizon in all directions, trying to catch sight of what might be prompting it--and looking forward, I got my answer:

The wide expanse of the Atlantic Ocean had appeared on the horizon.

I spun around when a voice I recognized as Julien Fouche's began to speak over some sort of ship-wide address system:

"Thirty seconds until system transfer--25--20--"

We showed no signs of slowing our approach to the water as Fouche continued to count down, in five-second increments, to "system transfer," whatever that might be; and then I experienced a startling chill as, in the midst of my mounting fear, I succeeded in translating the legend:

"Mundus vult decipi," I said aloud. "'All the world wants to be deceived!'"

Not yet realizing the threatening connotation in the words, I felt a sense of triumph--one that quickly reverted to terror as the ship sped over the shoreline and dived into the open sea beyond.

TO BE CONTINUED...
This is the second installment of the novella that is being serialized in each of TIME's five Visions 21 issues. (c)2000 Caleb Carr

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