Without Warning Part 30

"What d'you mean?"

"It's on the radio," she said in a quavering voice.

He cast a quick look back over his shoulder, but the kids were back watching the movie. He stood next to Barb, who grabbed on and held him tightly. She seemed even more scared than she'd been after the Disappearance.

"... of sixty million dead in the Nile delta. Israel remains on the highest state of alert, and the Israeli cabinet is meeting in secret. Full-scale fighting continues in the Gaza Strip, West Bank, and southern Lebanon, but hostilities elsewhere in the region have ceased ..."

The report was short, sourced from somewhere in England to judge by the accent, and frustrating in the brief details it gave of American forces, which were reported to be unaffected, for the moment.

"What if they bomb here, Kip? What will happen?"

"Shh. That's not gonna happen. This is a local thing, over there. It's been coming for a week. It won't affect us."

"But the Chinese or the Russians ..."

"Barb, we didn't do it. They weren't our bombs. It's not our issue, and even if it was, all of the navy's missile boats are still at sea. I think. Most of them anyway. n.o.body is going to bomb us."

Barb was shivering violently, and kept looking over his shoulder to the lounge room, where he could hear Buzz Lightyear hamming it up.

"To infinity. And beyond!"

"You're seeing Blackstone today, right?" said Barbara, almost accusingly.

"Right," he said, with some care.

"Well, if you get one thing out of that useless c.o.c.ksucker today, make sure it's a good idea about whether we're on a target list. Because I mean it, Kip. We're so gone. We are out of here if he even hints that we might get hit."

"Okay," he said, still holding her. "I can do that. It's the sort of thing I would ask anyway. But you need to stay calm, all right? Don't go losing it in front of the kids. Do you still have everyone coming around for the home-school thing today?"

Barb shook her head, but didn't look up.

"I don't know now."

Kip pushed her away gently. "You should. Suzie needs it. That rain's cleared out and people will be looking for you. They'll be looking to you. You need to hang tough, Bub," he said, invoking a pet name he used only in the rarest of circ.u.mstances. "I'm not going to sit here for the sake of it. If we had to leave we would. Right away. But if people panic this place will unravel so quickly that n.o.body will get out. Do you understand?"

Barb looked up and wiped away a few tears. Her eyes were swollen and red, and she had to sniff to clear her nose. But she nodded.

"I'm sorry. It's just... on top of everything, you know?"

"I know. Be strong, okay? I do have to go. I have to get to Fort Lewis this morning and pick up a bunch of guys coming up from Olympia."

"You're not driving down there, are you?" she asked, suddenly fearful again. "That's much closer to the Wave."

"No," he a.s.sured her. "They stayed in town overnight. They're just coming out to coordinate the relief effort through the rest of the state. What there is of it anyway."

Kipper kept his misgivings to himself, but he really didn't know how much use they'd be. The state government had lost about a third of its people and was still reeling in shock. He couldn't blame them. Seattle would be exactly the same in their position. He just didn't want to get sucked into their death spiral.

"I'll be late. But I will be back. Don't worry. And don't spend the day hovering over the radio while we have power. That stuff means nothing to us now. It's somebody else's problem."

He saw Barbara gather her forces and quell her fears. She was so much smaller than him, but stronger in many ways. He wished he could have taken her to sort out General Blackstone. One of Barb's patented maulings and the old p.r.i.c.k would run up the white flag for certain.

He kissed her on the head and went through to say good-bye to Suzie and Emma, knowing it would probably be the last pleasant moment of the day.

"Release them now!"

"Now is not the right time."

"Now is completely the right f.u.c.king time or I walk. My people walk. Every f.u.c.king city council employee walks, and you can deal with the consequences," said Kipper, pounding at the tabletop for emphasis.

General Blackstone, half hidden in shadow under the shaded light, folded his arms and leaned back, disappearing farther into the darkness.

"The consequences will be that you go down in history as the man who destroyed America," he said, just as implacably.

Kipper snorted. There were at least twice as many military personnel as there were civilians in the underground conference room at Fort Lewis. Blackstone had obviously insisted on scheduling the meeting here to keep them off balance, but Kip was determined that it wasn't going to work. He wished he had Barney with him, though. Two ax handles across the shoulders and dangerously impatient with bulls.h.i.tters and idiots, he'd have made a great shotgun rider for this mission.

"America is more than just a name on a map," said Kipper. "Or a bunch of business interests. It's not the military. It's not the president. In fact, it's none of those things anymore. It hasn't been since they disappeared. I'm not destroying America. You are, General. America is an idea. Of the people. By the people. You do the math on the rest of it. Because locking up the people's representatives, no matter how useless and f.u.c.ked up they might be, that is destroying the idea of America. And I'm here to tell you that we won't stand for it. Release the councillors now."

Blackstone, who had been sitting back absorbing Kipper's attack, suddenly exploded forward into the light and slammed both open palms down on the table.

"How dare you! You march in here under the pretense of amity and lay down a subversive agenda ..."

"Oh, please. What are you, channeling McCarthy? The only subversives here, my friend, are toting guns and pretending the f.u.c.king Const.i.tution doesn't exist. I'm here to tell you that it does. And if you won't defend it, we will."

Blackstone gaped as though struck, and Kip wondered if he might have gone too far. But no, d.a.m.n it. He would be heard. Even if it meant that he ended up in the cells, too. He didn't dare take his eyes off Blackstone, lest it be interpreted as weakness, but he could sense the presence of Dave Chugg and Marv Basco on either side of him, and of the state government people beyond them. They weren't exactly supporting him yet, but they weren't backing Blackstone either.

"Haven't you seen the news, son?" asked the general. "Are you a complete imbecile?"

Kipper smiled, but without warmth.

"The news? Is that what you call it? I've seen the censored bulletins your media people let out."

"Uh-huh," said Blackstone. "And did you happen to notice anything about a nuclear war starting overnight? You think that might affect how you see things? You really want to turn the city over to a bunch of headless f.u.c.king chickens who couldn't even decide what cookies they were gonna vote themselves the last time the world was ending? What'll it be this time, Kipper, as the fallout cloud closes in? Deadlock over flavored milk or Kool-Aid?"

"I don't know, General. That'll be up to them. And they'll be judged on their performance or lack of it the next time they go to the polls ..."

"Oh, my G.o.d, man! There won't be a next time!"

"Why, you getting rid of the vote while you're at it?"

"Don't be obtuse."

Kipper closed the manila folder in front of him and scanned the ranks of military personnel arrayed around and behind the general. The only one he recognized was Major McCutcheon, on Blackstone's right. What could they all be thinking, he wondered? They had to take off those uniforms sometime. Surely they didn't want to live in a prison camp at the end of the day.

At least Blackstone hadn't ordered him thrown in irons yet. He let his eyes wander around the room, playing for time. It was an unremarkable concrete block structure, somewhere deep underground. Maps of Seattle and the local area covered most of the walls. Some others had been obscured by hastily hung drop cloths. He had no idea why. Perhaps it was time to roll a hard six.

"How about we ask Admiral Ritchie?" said Kip, turning back to let Blackstone get the full wattage of his stare.

The general wouldn't have made much of a poker player. His lips curved downward, his shoulder rolled. He did everything but run a finger around the inside of his collar and make an exaggerated cartoon gulp. A few of his uniformed officers shifted noticeably in their seats, too. McCutcheon, he noticed, was as still and quiet as a stone.

"Holy c.r.a.p." The engineer smiled, chancing his hand again. "You haven't told him, have you?"

"I have full authority for line management of the tactical situation here and I ..."

The bl.u.s.tering tone nailed it.

"Oh, General," said Kipper. "Oh, dear me. We are in trouble, aren't we? My apologies. I mean it. I came in here, all ready to beat you down. But now I see that what I needed to give you was an exit plan, right?"

A long uncomfortable silence greeted that, broken in the end by Major McCutcheon.

"Keep talking."

"An offer?" said Kip. "Truth be known, I don't have one. This has sort of caught me by surprise, but if my colleagues agree to let me take this on the fly ..." He glanced sideways at Dave and Marv, who nodded, and the state government people, who were now more obviously behind him. "Look, I guess, if you let them go, and apologized for the inconvenience, I could do my very best to make sure that the councillors don't make a meal of it. Unless you've tortured them or anything. You haven't done that, have you?"

He was joking but Blackstone took genuine umbrage.

"They've been quartered more comfortably than any of my people, I'll tell you that."

"They had Xbox and satellite TV," offered Major McCutcheon.

"Well, then, I'm sure they'll see the upside of their imprisonment," said Kipper. "Look, being serious. I can understand why you felt the need to take them out of the decision loop. But you just can't do that, okay? Let them go. Put them back on the Special Means Committee ..."

He held a hand up to stave off any objections.

"... but in the meantime we'll set up an operational committee, with my heads of department, some guys from state capital, and whoever you feel the need to have on it, and the OC can do the actual grunt work of ensuring that the power stays on and people get fed. Okay? Special Means can discuss ... I dunno ... the meaning of life ... but at Operations we'll actually get stuff done. Like a.s.signing security to food distribution," he finished, pointedly.

Blackstone let out a long breath and leaned across to consult in a lowered voice with McCutcheon. After a few moments of muttered discussion, he leaned forward and nodded.

"All right. You square it with the councillors, or it doesn't happen. Believe me, Admiral Ritchie is going to be a lot less interested in what's happening here than in the Middle East for the next little while."

"Well, let's hope for your sake we don't have to find out," said Kipper.

"Is that all?" asked Blackstone. "Can we get on with the meeting now?"

"No," said Kipper. "All of this 1984 bulls.h.i.t has to stop, too. Travel permits and monitoring people's phone calls and shutting down the media. It's convenient in the short term, G.o.d knows I understand that, but it is a road to h.e.l.l, General. And it has to stop here and now."

"Are you crazy?" said Blackstone. "Even in normal times, during natural disasters, the government reserved the right to temporarily restrict travel, to federalize services, ration supplies, and limit communications. You surely can't be serious about letting people run around as they please. Think of the scene at your food bank the other morning. Some controls are necessary. Especially given that we have a fallout cloud from the Middle East making its way around the world."

Kipper leaned back and tapped his pen on the table. Some of what Blackstone said made sense, but he couldn't help but feel that they were paving a path to h.e.l.l with good intentions.

"The fallout, we'll deal with. We have some experience with it now, thanks to the pollutant storms. They were a bit of a left-handed gift that way, I suppose. But I am serious, General. This police-state bulls.h.i.t won't stand. It weakens us in the long run. I'm going to suggest that one of the first things the Special Means Committee could do, when it's formed up with its elected members, is look at exactly what restrictions are necessary."

Blackstone looked like he was going to choke.

"Or we can take it up the line to Admiral Ritchie," Kip suggested helpfully.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n, this is why we need a proper chain of command," grumbled Blackstone. "These decisions should be no-brainers. Instead I've got a bunch of no-brain pen pushers telling me how to do my job."

Kip sensed Marv Basco stirring beside him. His sanitation chief was slow to anger, but he did hold grudges and he wasn't one for ignoring a personal slight. There was no sense in letting this get out of hand, seeing as how he'd done so much better than he had expected.

"Listen, if an elected official tried this KGB stuff, fine. There's checks and balances to constrain them. And they can always get a.s.s-whupped at the polls. But you're not elected, General. You have force. But you have no power. n.o.body consented to being ruled by you, and that's what's been happening. Rule by decree. It has to end. We have to get back to first principles. Now more than ever."

Blackstone's hands were clasped, thick fingers knitted together, but they barely moved. He had stilled himself again.

"We will agree to disagree on the necessity of certain emergency measures, Mr. Kipper," he said slowly. "For now, martial law will remain in place, as it remains in place throughout Alaska and Hawaii, without all of the amateur dramatics we've endured here. But I will release your councillors-on the proviso that they understand the extremity of our situation, and the absolute necessity of matching ends to means."

"I will do my best, General," said Kipper, in as conciliatory a manner as he could. "I guess we can get on with business. And I guess that business has to be the Middle East and any fallout that might reach us."

He felt Marv Basco nudge him with an elbow.

"Oh, and on a sort of related topic, we really need to talk about the nuclear plants back behind the Wave. Marv thinks some of them are going to melt down."

Fairmont resort, Acapulco

Everything had been going so well. Pieraro had spoken very quietly to a deputy manager at the Fairmont-the manager being a complete w.a.n.ker- and between them they had quietly drawn up a short list of potential pa.s.sengers for Julianne. The deputy manager did not seek transport, merely a cut of the shakedown. A sum was agreed upon. Discreet contacts were made. A meeting was arranged in one of the resort's more expensive bars. It had all taken about four hours, but everything was going swimmingly. And then some f.u.c.ker turned on the telly.

Even Julianne, who had an unnatural ability to maintain her focus under the worst of circ.u.mstances, was blindsided by the reports coming out of the Middle East. If there'd been any upside to recent events, it was the sudden collapse of the media's obsession with that benighted s.h.i.thole. Even the Iraqi war news still ran a poor second to the Disappearance. But sixty, maybe seventy million dead in a nuclear strike, that did get your attention.

She had gathered a small group of potential customers around a table, sipping c.o.c.ktails at hyperinflated prices, eating macadamias that weren't quite worth their weight in gold. The bar filled up as the day waned, mostly with displaced Americans and wealthy vacationers from Mexico City. Her grandfather Lord Rupert had been in Singapore just before the j.a.panese took it, and Jules wondered idly if Raffles had felt like this: a genteel outpost surrounded by a gathering darkness. It was hard to tell which group was more desperate: the Americans who filled the room with booming voices and sheer physical presence, or the Mexican elite, whose anxiety was quieter and, if possible, much more extreme. For her purposes, however, only the gringos held any interest. She'd been following enough of the news to know that she could get them into port legitimately at a number of places around the Pacific as part of some deal called Operation Uplift. She could even hit up the remains of the American government for her fuel and supply costs if she felt really cheeky and could be bothered to fill out the appropriate forms for lodgement at the nearest consulate or emba.s.sy. The wealthy Mexicans, however, had nothing even resembling the wreckage of a government to lobby foreign capitals on their behalf, and Jules wasn't willing to take the risk of running them all the way to Sydney, only to have some little migration n.a.z.i with a clipboard tell her they couldn't land. Pieraro and his family she'd get in somewhere by other means. But that marked the outer limits of her largesse.

So they were sitting at the large table in the coolest, darkest corner of the bar, a small band of superrich refugees, negotiating payment for pa.s.sage, when the background buzz in the place suddenly spiked upward and drowned out all conversation. Somebody screamed "No!" and Jules tensed up, instinctively reached for the pistol hidden in her small carryall, then stayed her hand as she realized that nothing was going down. A small crowd had gathered under a television fixed high in another corner of the bar, and something had set them off. Briefly she fought down a surge of panic, like a rat twisting in her mind, terrified that the Wave had expanded again.

A barman turned up the volume as people argued and shushed each other, and Jules recognized the voice of BBC World presenter Mishal Husain. Poor old Pete'd had the hots for her, and Jules smiled sadly at a memory of him drunk on Jamaican rum, stoned on hash, and growling at the TV exactly what he'd like to be doing to Husain while she burbled on about some EU trade meeting.

She missed him terribly.

"In Tehran alone," read Husain, "it is estimated that three million died in the initial blast and firestorm, which extended more than a dozen miles from ground zero. Many more died quickly from radiation exposure, and experts say that the final toll in that city may reach six million. Other Iranian cities destroyed in the attack include Qom, Isfahan ..."

Pieraro crossed himself as the news silenced the entire bar for a second. Her Gurkhas, Shah and Thapa, standing a few feet away, providing a formidable barrier to anybody wanting to approach them, did not visibly react. Their eyes continued to sweep the room like cameras.

"That's it. I'm not going to Hawaii," said the construction magnate.

"What?" asked Jules, still straining to hear the telly.

"Pearl Harbor. That's in Hawaii. If there's gonna be a nuclear war it'll get hit for sure. I'm not paying you everything I have left just to get my family turned into f.u.c.king shadows on a wall by some Chinese A-bomb."

Cesky was his name. Henry Cesky. A squat, powerful-looking man with coa.r.s.e black hair and a nose that had obviously been broken more than once. He owned more than a hundred building cranes towering over twelve North American cities. Within half an hour of hearing about the Disappearance he'd transferred as much available cash as he could from his U.S. accounts to a series of shelf companies registered in Vanuatu, using that money to buy gold and diamonds in Acapulco. He was traveling with his second wife and four children, all girls, and as soon as they'd met he'd demanded pa.s.sage to Hawaii for them and then Seattle for himself.

"I still got an office in Seattle," he'd initially said in a deep, rasping voice that was just barely inflected with the merest trace of eastern Europe under his harsh Brookyn accent. "My girls, they can't go to Seattle. Too close to that f.u.c.king wave it is. But I don't mind that. I can handle it. I don't think that f.u.c.king thing is going nowhere. So you take me there. Lotta f.u.c.king work to be done in the Northwest now. Lotta money to be made. To make up what I lost and what you f.u.c.king pirates are stealing from me. But my girls. They go somewhere I know they're safe. Hawaii."

That had been half an hour ago.