The Tree of Knowledge Daniel Miller (best android ereader TXT) 📖

her daughter’s hair. “Oh, Evalita, please. Sometimes you think like a child. The only people on the planet that can stop us now are Angus Turner and his associates.” She paused to let her anger dissipate. “As long as he is free, we are in danger. He has associates that know of the Tree of Knowledge, so as long as they are free, we are in danger. But now that you’ve sent them on the run, the enemy is in broad daylight. We know who his associates are and can neutralize the entire threat.”

Eva dropped the stiff pose that she had adopted for the crowd and turned to the great woman. Despite her best efforts, her voice took on the tone of a child’s plea rather than an impassioned argument. “But some of those people aren’t even involved in this. They’re just acquaintances of Turner. They don’t know anything about the bigger picture.”

Again, Cristina turned away from the crowd and looked her daughter in the eyes. The spark in her irises had grown to fire, and her lips turned deep red as she spoke. “Eva, you don’t understand. Anyone who has even a glimpse of the Tree is a threat to us. It was not Jesus who spread the gospel; it was his disciples. Until we have Turner and his disciples, our success cannot be certain.”

Eva opened her mouth to speak but was drowned out by the explosion of crowd noise as the master of ceremonies announced the candidate’s name.

Chapter 7

The inside of Ying’s motel room, which had been turned into the headquarters of Turner’s army, looked more like the playroom of a schizophrenic than a well-coordinated war room. Every inch of the laminate-paneled wall was covered with an elaborate game tree that mapped out all the potential avenues for retrieving the book. Over the past day, Turner, Albert, and Ying had methodically developed the tree with one objective: find the book. Should the journal be obtained openly or surreptitiously? Should it be obtained through force or persuasion? With each move, how would the opponent react? The team even briefly considered having Albert meet with Eva and use Ariel’s seduction skills to get the information from her. However, after considering his performance with Sarah at the singles bar, that idea was jettisoned in favor of a more auspicious approach.

Brick Travis was stewing. “I don’t like it. In fact, I hate it.” The flattopped military man clad in a green ARMY T-shirt and jeans stood staring at the game tree laid out on the wall while the rest of the gang perched on Ying’s bed munching on vending machine candy and soda. The motel’s vending machine failed to offer nutrition bars, so Albert was reluctantly feasting on something called “Mike and Ike.”

“What are your issues, Sergeant?” replied Turner from the one armchair that the Desert Motel provided.

Brick clenched his fists and puffed his chest out as if he could overpower the group’s will through sheer physical strength. “What are my issues? Where do I begin? First, your plan delivers the three of you right into the hands of the enemy. Of course, I don’t mind giving Puddles up, but you two are a different story. Second, you’ve got a seventy-year-old man and a hundred-pound woman breaking into a secured R&D division, while the guy in the unit that has actual combat experience is on the sidelines.”

Gabe grabbed a slice of day-old pizza and chimed in with half a slice in his mouth and the rest of it on his T-shirt. “He does have a point.”

Turner grabbed his walking stick and approached the far wall of their hotel room. A series of eight-and-a-half-by-eleven papers combined to form a game tree from floor to ceiling. He sighed, pointed, and tapped a section of the tree with his stick.

“I don’t know if I’m more disappointed in Sergeant Travis’s lack of faith in me or that Gabe is endeavoring to eat that day-old pizza. Good Lord, man, have some self-respect.”

Gabe’s face flushed as he quietly gulped down the crust and finally noticed the pizza stain on his T-shirt.

“Sergeant, let me tell you a brief story. When I was a young man, I was quite good at chess. Most of the time I played, I disposed of my opponents with ease. However, like any young man, I was impulsive and prone to mistakes. It happened rarely, but when I did make a mistake and found myself in a lost position, I would become furious and quickly concede the game in frustration.” The professor smiled. “A time or two, chess pieces may have been sent flying as a result.”

Ying and Albert smiled at each other. Turner’s stories calmed them.

“One day, I played a younger chess player named William Wessel. He was a mousy-looking British boy, but he was a tremendous player, and eventually, I found myself once again in a lost position. Knowing that he had me at a profound disadvantage, I forfeited the game. After the game, Wessel took me aside. And in his peculiarly quiet voice, he said to me, ‘Why did you forfeit?’ I laughed and said, ‘Because I was in a lost position. You had me beat.’ He just smiled, shook his head, and said something I’ll never forget.”

Turner paused for effect, and then crouched forward and spoke just above a whisper as though he were divulging a secret. “He said, ‘Lost position is the best position to be in,’ and then walked away.”

He paced the room and continued, “I went home that night and tossed and turned, trying to understand what he meant. The next day I saw him at the tournament and asked, ‘William, what did you mean when you said “lost position is the best position to be in”?’ He said, ‘If you know that you are in a losing position, then the pressure is gone. All that remains is the game in its purest form. You’re expected to lose. You should lose, so you