It’s okay. I’m fine.
“A lot of them are,” agreed VanOwen. “A towering vision is hard for most people to grasp. History will explain it to them. That’s what is important.”
The bunker was empty except for them and two agents. Everyone else had left to dive into crisis management. Most to the devastation, and a few to spin control.
“My tweet was simple,” groused the president. “After all, I am the country and I wanted to reassure them that this will be business as usual, despite setbacks.”
VanOwen did not even blink at the word “setbacks.” Her smile was pretty and accommodating and unbreakable. It was exactly the right wattage for him and it drew him like he were a moth.
“The people will understand once they’re over their initial shock,” she said. “That’s why I think it would be best if you stayed off of social media for the rest of the day.”
“No way, I—”
“Please, Mr. President,” she said patiently, “it’s the best way to play this. If you dominate the conversation now, then you draw attention away from the rescue efforts. Even the corrupt news services are helping with relief efforts, posting locations of rescue stations, and sending out information. The best thing we can do is sit back and let the professionals do their jobs. Believe me, you’ll be thanked for your restraint and for the trust you show in the emergency responders. And then once the first responders have done their job, then you can step forward and show them the strength and presence that the public will need for comfort and optimism.”
The president frowned and cast a longing look at his phone, then he nodded and put it away. “I should suspend trading, though. Have you seen the numbers?”
Again VanOwen smiled and shook her head. “Surely you don’t want to blink now, Mr. President. You know how this works. Who better? The stock market goes up, it goes down, but it always levels off. If you suspend trading, then you validate the flight-to-safety fear that causes such swings. The most commanding play is to stand firm and make a visible statement that you believe in the enduring power of the American economy.”
The president got up from the couch and walked across the bunker floor. His frown was deep, but he was nodding again.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ve decided to keep the stock market open.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
The cabin of the AgustaWestland AW101 was so thoroughly soundproofed Church could hear the beating of his own heart. Faster than he wanted, but understandable. As the bird flew toward the airfield, he wondered at what speed his heart would need to beat for it to break. It was poetic music, which usually annoyed him, but he let it go without self-excoriation.
Aunt Sallie, he mused, and felt the deep ache.
If she died, then she would become another of the ghosts that haunted him. She should have retired years ago. Definitely after that time assassins nearly killed her at her condo during the Predator One affair. Church had allowed her to bully him into keeping her active; he’d agreed to it out of compassion, but also because he was selfish. The war required him to be selfish, to keep in play those assets that gave him the best chance of winning. It would take ten people to replace Aunt Sallie. Her insight, her judgment, her experience… those things made her invaluable.
Now she was going away.
Brick poured tea for both of them and handed Church a cup. His dark, wise eyes scanned Church’s face.
“She’s going to be a tough act to follow,” he said.
If it was anyone else, those words might have sounded insensitive. Burying the body before it stopped breathing. But Brick got a pass because Brick understood. The war was the war. Soldiers fell. The war did not allow time to stop and mourn, because a pause is also a moment of inattention. His comment had nothing at all to do with whether she would live or die. It was all about the needs of the moment.
When Church did not comment, Brick said, “Body count is rising. No word at all from POTUS. Not directly. He wasn’t hurt and they got him to safety, but he hasn’t made a statement yet beyond that one tweet. Kind of weird. Seems like a good time for a hand at the wheel.”
“Yes,” said Church. The chopper flew on.
They both put on headsets and plugged into the MindReader Q1 communications network. There were a lot of calls to be made. Brick coordinated with the Hangar and the Warehouse to make sure that the DMS field teams were putting the right resources into play. Church made calls to friends in various industries, arranging for the highest-quality medical experts to begin heading to D.C. Cost was no object, and any logistical issue was dealt with.
He called Junie Flynn, who had returned that morning from one of her many trips to field test or implement the technologies entrusted to her by the DMS.
“Miss Flynn,” began Church.
“Call me Junie, for God’s sake,” she pleaded. “We’re practically family.”
“Junie,” he conceded, “you’re right. We are family. Captain Ledger — Joe — has had a challenging day. Details are unfolding and some can’t be shared at the moment. He has some minor injuries, but that’s all we know. He is taking care of Aunt Sallie and I will make sure he calls you at the first opportunity.”
There was a pause and Church let her process things. Then she said, “I want to ask you a question. You may not be able to answer me. I understand that there are some things you can’t talk about.”
“Ask anyway,” he said quietly.
“I’m watching the news right now. They’re showing people fighting in the streets during the earthquake. Killing each other.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not normal, even during a crisis like this. People attacking each other, I mean. Killing themselves.”
“It’s unusual.”
“It’s not normal,” she repeated. “And right before the earthquake, the Speaker of the House killed himself. Tell me… is this a DMS case? One of your, um, special cases?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because for the last five nights I’ve been having strange dreams.”
“What kind of dreams?” asked Church.
“Before I tell you,” said Junie, “I want you to remember my background. My history. I want you to remember who and, more to the point, what I am.”
“I remember,” said Church. Junie Flynn had come into his life, and that of Captain Ledger, during the Extinction Machine case. She was a woman with exceptional abilities, including an exceptional intelligence as well as eidetic memory and hyperthymesia — a superior autobiographic memory. These were not gifts from random genetics but actual features designed into Junie and hundreds of children like her as part of a breeding program run by Majestic Three. The goal was to create potential pilots for T-craft. People who were mostly human but who had a small percentage of DNA harvested from the pilots of crashed vehicles of unknown origin. “What were your dreams?”
“I dreamed I was standing in a field of wildflowers somewhere. It was in the States. Don’t know how I knew that, but I was sure of it. The sky was on fire and dark clouds covered the sun. The whole landscape was shaking. It was an earthquake, but not exactly like one. It was more like there was a thunderstorm beneath my feet, inside the ground on which I stood. People were screaming and running and dying, catching fire or choking, and the sky above me was filled with T-craft.” Junie stopped, and when Church said nothing, she continued. “It was a very vivid dream, though also surreal. Now, I know you’re going to tell me that it’s just a dream, but…”