“No, because it’s based on statistical models. Looking at data from certain areas over a long period of time, we can build statistical models to say that an earthquake might happen there within a range of years.”
Camerota looked crestfallen. “Years…?”
“Years. We can’t yet pin it down to specifics. Even the weathermen can’t do that, and they have more indicators to work with. Maybe one day, but as of right now, we just can’t determine when a specific fault may rupture, as the interaction between earthquake faults worldwide is so complex.…”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
When United States Attorney General Norris Spellman heard that Aunt Sallie was in his outer office, he considered calling security. He also considered leaving by a side door. He even gave his window a long, appraising look. Worst-case scenario was that he’d break a leg on the jump down to the ground. That was better than the alternative.
“Send her in,” he said to his secretary, and hated the quaver he heard in his own voice.
The door did not bang open, nor did it creak like something in a haunted house. Aunt Sallie was too dangerous to be that dramatic. He didn’t know her very well, but he knew enough to be genuinely afraid of her. Not physically — although he was sure that as old and sick as she was, Auntie could beat him to a pulp — but because she represented something that he had no skills to confront. Power. She exuded it. It hung on her like armor and she wielded it like a sword. The very fact of her being here in his office felt like a statement about his own lack of power. He had never worn a uniform — not as a police officer or in the military. Not even a Cub Scout uniform. He had been a lawyer his whole life, mostly working as a prosecutor going after low-to-midlevel drug dealers because they were easy wins and it gave him good stats, at least on paper. That was a wave he rode for years, with pauses to back candidates whose political agendas suited his own. Law-and-order candidates, who knew how that played among lower-income blue-collar workers. The ones who thought their elected officials gave an actual damn about them. Whom Spellman and his friends called “rubes” when they laughed about it on the back nine.
“Sallie,” said Spellman, pasting on a smile that showed his white-on-white caps to their best effect. “How lovely to see you.”
He came around his desk and offered his hand and then waved her to a red leather guest chair. Aunt Sallie was dressed in a severe blue pantsuit and sensible shoes, along with her usual chunky jewelry. She walked with a cane that Spellman had heard rumors about. Some people said it had a sword inside; others said a gun. He didn’t know or care either way, because it had a silver handle that could qualify as a lethal weapon in any jurisdiction.
“Lovely to see me,” echoed Sallie as she lowered her bulk into the chair. “We both know that’s not true, Norris.”
“Oh, come on, Auntie,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Like it was nothing. “We know this is all politics.”
Her smile stopped him. It was one of the less human things he’d ever seen on a person’s face. “Norris, I’m too old and too sick at heart to play politics or any other kind of game. I’ve been at this since before your mama stuck her tit in your mouth, so don’t lecture me on what this is.”
“I—”
“Shhh, listen now. There’s no one else here. Not the Deacon and not your boss. No one. Just us. You can even pat me down to make sure I’m not wearing a wire. Go on, I won’t file any sexual harassment suits if you want to feel me up.”
He flushed a deep red but did not dare comment.
“I want a straight answer about what happened with Ledger,” continued Auntie. “No bullshit, no company line. If this is your boss just waving his dick around, tell me now. I need to know the truth in case he tries another stunt, because maybe next time someone will get killed. I don’t want that to happen, not even to one of the short-bus types your side’s been hiring. They’re dumb as bags of hair, but they’re probably not villains. So, if you have any influence at all over your boss, then tell him to check his ammo and pick his targets before going to war with us.”
“Is that,” Spellman began, but choked on it. He cleared his throat and tried it again. “Is that a threat?”
Aunt Sallie uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “Of course, Norris. It’s a very serious threat, and if I were you, I’d take heed.”
“I’m the attorney general of the—”
“Seriously, Norris… so fucking what? You know what I am? I’m an actual American patriot. In the service of this country I’ve killed more people than you’ve ever met. I’ve walked ankle-deep through blood on seven continents. So has Ledger. And so have a lot of the brave men and women who serve this country as operatives of the Department of Military Sciences. You want to measure dicks? Fine. You want to stack your service to this country against ours? You want to sit there and tell me that what you’re doing is more righteous, more surely in the best interests of the American people, go on. Let’s put all our cards on the table, faceup.”
Spellman met her eyes for exactly as long as he could bear it. Maybe three seconds. Then he picked up some papers and tapped them into a neat stack and placed them on a corner of his blotter.
“You don’t scare me,” he said without looking at her.
Aunt Sallie stood up. “Norris, you are either truly stupid or you are insanely stupid. Everything I said here is true; you know it. That should scare you. That should terrify you.”
“Good-bye, Aunt Sallie,” he said. “Have a safe trip back to Brooklyn.”
He turned his chair around and looked out the window, listening for the sounds of her leaving. There were none. Instead, something touched his shoulder and he flinched away from it, then looked along the length of her cane. The silver head had brushed his collarbone very lightly.
“You made your call, Norris,” said Aunt Sallie. She withdrew the cane and leaned on it. “You made your bed.”
She turned and limped out of his office.
Once she was gone, Spellman called down to the front security desk to make sure Auntie was out of the building. Then he used his cell phone to call Jennifer VanOwen.
INTERLUDE TWELVE
Gadyuka stood looking down into the open cooler that had been delivered to her suite. The note from Valen was cryptic, with only sparse details about where it was found. He texted her to say that he and Ari were hurrying back to the site because other artifacts had been uncovered, but with no additional explanation.
Gadyuka backed away with a hand to her mouth as if stifling a shriek. She stared at the green, scaly hand and the crystal gun.
“Oh, God,” she gasped. “They’re back.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Aunt Sallie saw the six agents standing in a defensive line before the security post in the entrance of the Secret Service headquarters. The agents were all large, impeccably dressed, unsmiling. A seventh agent pushed past them, an ID wallet with a blue-and-gold special agent’s badge held out so she could see it.
“Please stop right there, ma’am,” said the lead agent. “I am Special Agent Connor O’Hare.”
She walked right up to him and stopped, inches away. “What’s the play here, Agent?”