“C’ mgep l’ ah,” he said.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Valen and Ari met with a small group of agents provided by Gadyuka. Nondescript but capable-looking people who’d long ago been seeded into American society. They had jobs, friends, lives, and secrets.
They were the kind of people who, Valen was sure, could probably laugh and love and appear totally plausible to anyone who knew them; but now they were on the job. None of them smiled. None of them showed a thing.
Valen walked over to the dresser under the TV, opened a door, and knelt in front of the small room safe. He punched in the code and removed a stack of disposable cell phones. Each of the agents accepted one, and Valen gave one to Ari and kept the last.
“As soon as you’re all in position,” he said, “I’ve sent the cleanup code, but we haven’t got confirmations from all the devices. There’s a chance that the quake might have damaged some or buried them under so much debris that the signal can’t get through. I want each of you to go through your sectors, locate those devices, and either detonate them from a safe distance, or if that doesn’t work, then transmit the deactivation code and retrieve the faulty device. Bring any remaining devices back here.” He paused. “If you are cornered or caught, you know what you have to do.”
They nodded. All of them wore leather motorcycle jackets that were laced with special explosive compounds. No one was to be taken alive. Even Valen and Ari had identical jackets.
“If all of your devices are clear, then follow your orders. Park your bikes, place the jackets over the gas tank, and once you’re at a safe distance and are sure you’re not being observed, activate the detonation sequence. After that, go back into the crowds near any crisis site. Be visible. Make sure you’re seen helping friends and neighbors. Volunteer at shelters.”
They nodded. None of them asked a question or made a comment as they turned to file out.
“Christ on the cross,” said Ari once they all left. “Remind me never to play poker with those sons of bitches. You can’t read a thing on their faces. Worse than freaking robots.”
“They’re soldiers,” said Valen weakly.
Ari answered that with a derisive snort. “They better do their damn jobs,” he groused. Since getting back from the restaurant, Ari had become increasingly moody and uneasy. Visibly nervous.
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Valen.
Ari flinched at the question and even shivered. “Oh, hell… I don’t know, brother. I think we should cut and run, you know? We did our bit. Hell, they said on the news that the president was nearly crushed to death in the Oval Office. Kind of a shame if he was. I love that motherfucker.” He went to the window and looked out as if expecting to see a squad of Secret Service agents about to storm the hotel. “I want to get the hell out of here.”
“So do I,” said Valen, and for a moment they studied each other. A whole conversation seemed to be taking place without words.
“We had a run of good cards,” said Ari, “but luck doesn’t always hold.”
A good run of cards . That made Valen think about sitting aboard the Suicide Kings offshore from where everyone they worked with lay dead. Murdered, or by their own hands. All because of them. Because of their “good luck.”
Aloud he said, “We have to oversee the cleanup.”
“Let those robots do it.” He went over to the bed and picked up his motorcycle jacket. “We’re the executive level. Why are we putting our asses on the line like this?”
“Because those are all the agents Gadyuka had in the area,” said Valen. “And because I told her we’d oversee the cleanup.”
Ari shook his head. “You really have been drinking the Kool-Aid, haven’t you? Are you really that willing to die for the cause?”
Valen shook his head and took the jacket from Ari. He opened it and showed him the lining. “I deactivated the switches and removed the thermite. Unless you blow yourself up trying to retrieve a broken machine, you’ll be fine.” He handed the jacket back to Ari.
“Well,” said the Greek, a slow smile forming on his face, “it’s nice to know that you’re not completely out of your mind.”
Valen turned away and began changing his clothes. He did not reply to Ari’s comments. He’d told enough lies already.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
I tried to take Aunt Sallie to a local hospital, but everything was crowded. Even though she was critical, there was a flood of others with massive wounds from the earthquake or from fighting. I could have pulled rank, flashed credentials, and gotten her a bed ahead of a mutilated five-year-old girl, or a pregnant woman who was in danger of losing her baby and her life, or…
Well, you get it. And Calpurnia estimated the quickest triage and treatment time, based on the hundreds being brought in to all ERs, was two hours and sixteen minutes. So, I made a judgment call and prayed Aunt Sallie and Mr. Church would understand.
“Calpurnia,” I yelled, “what is the closest hospital that can handle a stroke victim?”
“Johns Hopkins University Hospital.”
My heart sank. That was in Baltimore. It was a hundred miles away.
“What are my chances of getting Aunt Sallie there in time?”
“I’m monitoring her vitals, Cowboy,” said the computer. “She has a forty-six percent chance of survival if you leave now.”
“Shit.”
“She has a twenty-one percent chance if you take her to a local hospital under the current conditions.”
“Shit, shit, shit,” I said, and punched the steering wheel. “Plot me the best route.”
I threw the car into gear and hit the gas.
“Route is computed,” said the AI. “I will adjust streetlights as we go to allow for maximum posted road speed.”
I did not drive at the maximum posted road speed. By the time I was on the highway I was punching along at 140.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Doctors were waiting with a gurney before I had the engine off. Calpurnia made all the right calls, and the right specialists were on deck. Maybe Church had been on the phone, too. It would be like him.
I handed Auntie off to the experts and told them what I could and explained that my vehicle had an onboard medical triage system and that all details were being uploaded to the Johns Hopkins servers. That got me some strange looks, but the doctors and nurses there are too professional to blink, and they are always out on the cutting edge of technology, so they accepted it and thanked me and took her away. She was still alive.
Still alive.
My back suddenly flared, and I canted sideways against the intake nurse’s desk, hissing with pain. Ghost gave a single bark of alarm.
“Sir,” said the nurse sharply, “are you hurt?”
It took a lot of effort not to yap at her like a cranky shih tzu. Five or six different caustic expressions warred to be the first one out of my mouth.
“I’m fine,” I said in a voice that sounded so false that it was like bad comedy. “Just lost my balance.”
Her wise eyes scanned me but then read something in my expression and did not pursue. Instead she nodded toward Ghost. “Is he the patient’s service dog?”
“No,” I said through gritted teeth as I pulled an ID wallet out of my pocket and showed her a badge. “I’m with the Department of Homeland Security and he’s my dog.”
Despite the badge she looked skeptical, but her phone rang before she could say anything. She answered, listened for almost fifteen seconds, then frowned and looked at me again.
“Are you Captain Ledger?”
“Yes. Why?”
The nurse held out the phone. “It’s for you.”
I took the receiver, expecting it to be Bug, but it was Church.
“Captain,” he said, “this will be quick. First, thank you for getting Auntie to the hospital. I have specialists on the way.”
“I figured.”
“Right now, though, I need you back in the field. I know you’re injured, but we are resource poor. Can you manage it?”
“Yes,” I said without even asking what it was first.
“Something is happening back in D.C.,” he said. “A series of small but unusual explosions. We’ve been tracking them via drones and by hacking into feeds from news helicopters and other aerial surveillance. No one else has pegged them as anything more than additional damage from ruptured gas lines or other damage related to the earthquake.”
“But you don’t think so?”
“Nikki has been running pattern recognition on them and she’s seeing a clear pattern. The explosions have been occurring in a wide ring around the Capitol. Too perfect a circle around the epicenter of the quake. Police and firefighters are too badly stretched to be able to check it out. And Sam has virtually emptied the Warehouse. Everyone down to the janitorial staff is on the streets helping with the rescue operations. I’ve sent him in, too, because there are curious gaps in the ring of blasts. It may be that the devices, whatever they are, have been disrupted by the quake. Some may have misfired.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Go back to D.C. Sam can’t check out all of the unexploded bombs, if they are indeed bombs, and if they are there at all. We can give you probable locations of two of them. Sam is checking out three others. If these things are somehow tied to what’s happened — either the earthquakes themselves or the violent behavior of the people, then we need to identify what kind of tech nology this is. My guess is that they are involved and the explosions are part of a post-event cleanup. We don’t want a clean sweep. All of the details will be sent to Calpurnia. Go.”
“I’m gone,” I said, and ran for my car. As best I could, with Ghost having to slow down to keep from outrunning me.