Silent Thunder Part 8

Bobby left feeling that, for some reason, Terence Unruh did not want him to linger.

Almost, Bobby thought, as if he was unwelcome in the Unruh home. That was okay withBobby, so long as their job relationship remained. Other people might fret over friendships. Not Bobby.

No, sir.

That night Laurie thought she was caught, for sure. She had let another batch of her play-tea percolate into the tin can she used as a teapot, and poured it into the cup she'd made from a smaller can. Johnnie had turned off the lamp to save its batteries so that the only light came from the fireplace and the little TV the woman was watching. Then, as she'd done several times before, Laurie moved to the raised hearth and slid the half-filled cup past the gla.s.s front and near glowing coals.

But Johnnie was watching. What the h.e.l.l're you doing?

Laurie jerked, then covered her guilty motion by sticking two fingers in her mouth.

Nuthin'. You made me burn myself, she mumbled.

Don't tell me 'nothing,' Laurel. Johnnie stood up and left the TV to stare at the tin cup.

What's that?

Now Laurie cowered in real fear? but she often did, with good reason. I'm, uh, I was just boiling tea.

Johnnie squatted at the hearth, squinting into the heat, and saw the clear 'tea' begin to boil around the cup's edge. Then, as Laurie stared, the woman grasped the cup by the neatly bent metal handle, with scorched adhesive tape Laurie had salvaged to cover the sharp metal edges. Suspiciously, Johnnie swirled the contents. Then, suddenly, she spilled some of it onto live coals and moved back as if expecting a sudden flareup.

It's just play tea, Laurie said as the coals hissed.

Uh-huh. Thought it might be cooking oil, Johnnie said, the threat implicit, watching steam hiss from the coals. Without another word, Johnnie returned to the TV and Laurie repositioned the cup. Soon it would be time for the nightly news, and then for Laurie's report on it.

Presently, after most of the water had boiled away, Laurie's trembling fingers retrieved the cup. She moved back to her pathetic little tea set and began to slurp noisily. Not the stuff she had been percolating through wood ash and then boiled down, of course, but the other cup with plain cold water. Laurie had learned more at camp than mere basic woodcraft.

She'd learned how settlers made soap, too.

TWELVE.

The Smithsonian's air and s.p.a.ce museum seemed an odd place, Ramsay thought, for his first meeting with an ally. But below those huge exhibits, where historic aircraft hung like the predatory toys of giants, sprawled a bas.e.m.e.nt where a man could get lost, a.s.suming he was allowed down there. Ramsay had to show his ID twice before he could descend into those depths, and consulted his memocomp after taking a wrong turn.

He found the door labeled FILM ARCHIVES at last, walked through with his video equipment, and greeted a graying woman whose smile was at first perfunctory, but widened as she recognized his face. She checked his credentials anyway. It's very unusual, but you're cleared into the archives, she told him. That makes two at once. Very unusual, she muttered again to herself as she ushered Ramsay into a tomb-like s.p.a.ce with multiple aisles stretching away between ceiling-high shelves. He saw the man with the ancient can of sixteen millimeter film immediately, but the man did not look up until the door had closed.

As the man turned, Ramsay's first impression was of a swarthy farm hand in expensive slacks, perhaps part mestizo; straight longish black hair, prominent cheeks, corded forearms sticking out from half-rolled sleeves and, in a jarring note, gossamer white nylon gloves. He stood and extended a hand, seeing Ramsay's gaze on the gloves. Just protective coloration, Mr. Ramsay, he said as they shook hands, and Ramsay recognized the voice. This old nitrate film is delicate stuff. People dart in here every so often, but it's as secure as a missile silo. Remarkable what you can do with the right lodge handshake, isn't it? Call me Tom; Tom Cusick; but if you're more comfortable with a name you know, make it Cody Martin. Both street names. Cusick had a face that could smile and squint at the same time, as though sharing a joke with someone a mile away.

I'm Alan, or Al if you want to bug me, Ramsay said, and took the vacant chair. Speaking of bugs, I'm clean. He brandished the wrist with the false Timex. And thanks. Forgive me for coming right to the point, but anything new on my daughter?

No; sorry. A one beat pause. We have a probable contact, maybe a second, but I can't talk about that yet. If you get picked up by the wrong folks, Alan, you can't talk about it.

Even though they could make you want to very, very badly.

Trying to scare me?

Yes. If you're already scared, good, and I'll lay off.

I am. Scared enough that I'm thinking about buying a gun.

Cusick c.o.c.ked his head, and his gaze was skeptical. We can't help you there. It's not something we do.

What, exactly, do you do, Tom?

His hands idly coiling the old black and white film as he replied, Cusick said, Most people think of lodge brothers as grown children who raise money for charities. True, as far asit goes, Alan. Did you know that nearly every President, until recently, has been a member of some Masonic order? Seeing the curiosity in Ramsay's face, he went on: We try to break no laws, but we'll operate in the c.h.i.n.ks between laws.

Because Ramsay had seen the grotesque ways in which honest folk had been co-opted by a LaRouche or a Kalvin, his question was pointed. Party affiliation?

None. Personally, I'm a radical centrist; I'd love to see some profound changes, some liberal, some conservative. It's really not an important question. What's important is this Donnersprache thing that Undersecretary Parker called a charisma device. It might somehow be used to help human beings, but in the wrong hands? well, there might have been a fuehrer in Germany without it, but maybe not. And Donnersprache is obviously not in good hands the second time around. Think of us as a few armchair sociologists, Alan, working up a list of the unpleasant things that might happen within, say, a month.

I've pared my list down to one, said Ramsay. I don't envision it as a factor on the foreign policy side. And you can put it down to my media bias, but the thing I see fast approaching is a Congressional vote on that d.a.m.ned Federal Media Council.

Cusick had a good poker face, and he was using it. What if it pa.s.ses?

Ramsay shrugged. Maybe nothing much. Might depend on who chairs it, and how they interpret their clout. Eventually it could be a Supreme Court issue, but the court moves slowly. A h.e.l.l of a lot of censorship could come down the pike before that.

Cusick nodded. I don't suppose you have any ideas about exactly how Donnersprache works, or what it is, he said, stirring the air with one daintily gloved hand.

Yeah, I do. Pretty obvious, once you research Walter Kalvin's background? and Rand's, Ramsay said. You've researched Kalvin. His degrees; the way Rand's career went into high gear after he and Kalvin got together; all that stuff?

Another nod. An interesting view, said Cusick, noncommittal; maybe too much so.

I don't know how many people are in on the Donnersprache idea, but I think it could be Kalvin's alone. I'm sure Rand knows, of course.

You are? I for one am amazed at the things our President doesn't know, said Tom Cusick. And at the things Kalvin does know.

Like how to build that G.o.dd.a.m.ned Donnersprache gizmo into a hand-held mike, Ramsay said. I'd love to get my hands on one. I'm sure he has a f.u.c.king drawer full of 'em.

For the record, Alan, I think you're fantasizing.

Ramsay grinned. But off the record?

Cusick's b.u.t.ton-dark eyes were hard as he shook his head. Under enough duress, everything goes on record. I can't give you anything that isn't for the record.

Ramsay's hand slapped the table with blinding speed, but without great impact. What the h.e.l.l can you give me, then? Tom Cusick's reaction was quick; a defensive motion with both arms, just as quickly relaxed. Easy, friend. Pretty quick hands, by the way; I like it. Let's talk about something else, he said abruptly. We aren't as well-heeled as we'd like, but foresight and the right handshake can sometimes beat money. What if worst came to worst, and you needed to ? what we used to call exfiltrate?

Ramsay frowned, then made a connection. Disappear, you mean? False ID, that sort of thing?

A nod. Don't think it can't happen. I've needed it to keep my head screwed on more than once, Cusick reminded him. Or maybe just a safe house for a few days. Most of that, we can do. What we won't do, his smile was wry and lopsided as he waggled a hand like a listing boat, others can, and we can point you in the right direction.

Ramsay needed a moment before making a troubled headshake. I'll keep it in mind, but that's not my style. And it presupposes that something has happened to Laurie.

Not at all. It just supposes someone decides to take you out. You're the one who's dangerous, not your little girl. And if you decide you need to run for it, call me. If you get the answering machine, whistle the highest, steadiest pitch you can for as long as you can; it's an alert signal. You can whistle?

Yeah. Look, why the h.e.l.l don't you just contact some other media people? A dozen of 'em; somebody not connected to me. Then Laurie would no longer be? oh, my G.o.d, he said, seeing Cusick's lowered head, and its slow negative shake. When she's no longer important, you're saying I won't get her back.

I'm wishing I could tell you otherwise, Cusick said. I realize now that we should've broken this to a dozen people simultaneously. But we didn't, we chose you.

Some favor, said Ramsay, his jaw twitching.

Some favor, Cusick echoed.

THIRTEEN.

TRANSCRIPT OF CONVERSATION FROM.

PERSONAL FILES OF TERENCE L. UNRUH.

(BY SUBPOENA; UNDATED):.

U: Go to Beta scrambler, please.

K: Wait a minute. Okay, on my mark: mark. (BRIEF LINE INTERFERENCE)

U: Kalvin, something's wrong with Ramsay.

K: (LAUGHS) There's supposed to be.

U: No, I mean he's not behaving right. He's been trying to talk back to those messages from his daughter, and I've recorded it for a.n.a.lysis. The stress a.n.a.lyzer showed he was climbing the walls. Now he's not.

K: Don't expect him to stay at panic stress levels forever, Unruh. Take my word for it, he should level off at medium to high arousal.

U: Well, he did. But he dropped off that plateau a couple of days ago.

K: Not too surprising if, uh, he's probably taking downers. That would figure, and you could verify it with Garza, I imagine.

U: I had Bobby Lathrop ask her about that. She says not, but Bobby is worried about her dependability. I'm not new on a stress a.n.a.lyzer, Kalvin, and I tell you the man is psyched up, wired. I don't know?

K: If that's all that's bothering you, see to it that his kid is crying in tonight's call. Must I think of everything?

U: You'd better, and one thing you'd best think about is just how long you can keep a man like Ramsay on the edge of a nervous breakdown. If he blows his top, Christ knows what he might say, and I don't have enough men to a.s.sault a mental ward.

K: Two weeks, Unruh, two lousy frigging weeks. I trusted you to recruit all the a.s.setsyou needed.

U: Look, I'm, uh, just sending you a flare. There's something going on in Ramsay's head and if it's a short fuse to a blowup, you could be lookin' at that fast flight to Quebec.

K: We covered that a long time ago, Terry. You said my exfiltration was all in place.

U: It is. But it's not exactly your favorite scenario, is it?

K: I was just asking; it won't be needed. Not ever, if everything goes as it's tracking now.

You just take care of your a.s.sets and I'll take care of mine. Uh, how are you doing?

Personally, I mean.

U: Am I still dying, you mean. (LAUGHS) I'll last more than two weeks, a.s.shole. I intend to stick around long enough to see what comes from all this.