Amanda Ng asked, “You can tell the difference?”
“Absolutely. There are hundreds of strains around the world but we’ve analyzed them. A couple of days, we’ll know if we’re dealing with a known strain, lab strain, or mix.”
The naval officer — from the sub — explained that the Virginia and the icebreaker would remain offshore as long as ice stayed away and allowed it. Major Kevin Jackson went to quarantine logistics, patrol schedules, areas where electronic jamming was in effect, two monitored rooftop areas where authorized sat calls could go out, rules on public gatherings, and efforts to keep the troops separate from civilians, in case the rabies spread and vaccinations did not work. It was a quagmire of problems.
“At night we’ll have searchlights mounted on the Humvees,” Jackson said, eyeing Merlin and the mayor, who’d been pretty much ignored up to then. “It would be a good idea if police came with our patrols, house to house. We’ll be doing spot checks, mobile teams, looking for home laboratories or sick people hiding away and—”
Merlin spoke up. “You want my people going with you through all the homes?”
“Yes, sir.”
Merlin and the mayor exchanged glances. They didn’t like it. Merlin nodded. He’d do it.
“Good! Also, we want an announcement from you, Mr. Mayor, that people should stay away from the wire. No gatherings of more than five. No one out after eight P.M. You will—”
Mayor Brower cleared his throat, interrupted the major. The mayor shook his head vigorously, agitated. “Actually,” he said. “You will not tell my people what to do.”
On the table sat mugs of steaming Maxwell House coffee, a sugar bowl, a half gallon of milk, and a glass bowl piled with chocolate — and coconut-flavored PowerBars.
The major blanched, glanced at the general for assistance. Homza handled the interruption smoothly, showing none of the harshness of which he was capable in private. “With all respect, Mr. Mayor…”
The mayor cut him off. “‘Respect’? You didn’t respect us enough to tell us you were coming. Or to let us know that a protocol four event — yes, General, I know what it is — had occurred. You’re not putting my police under your command, or this major’s command, or anyone’s. Plain and simple.”
Homza sat back and sighed, refusing to be baited. My sense of him as a thinking commander had been rising all morning. He said, low key, “I understand that you are upset, Mayor. But martial law is in effect. Cooperation would be best for all. I have trained experts here, highly qualified to end the quarantine as safely as possible.”
“The same experts who failed to recognize rabies, even after Joe told them it was here?”
The general’s eyes flicked to me. He was playing it soft before he made threats. That’s the way drills suggest we do it. “Mayor, believe me. In this kind of situation, it is best to work together.”
“You’ve run a quarantine before?” the mayor said.
Homza pursed his thick lips. “We’ve planned them, gamed them out in great detail, sir.”
“Gamed. You’ve gamed them.” The mayor drew himself up; he was small and gray haired and wore a button-up blue-and-white-striped cotton shirt and a spotted sealskin vest with a walrus-ivory bolo tie. I’d been in a hundred meetings on “ways to handle locals.” The mayor was the guy D.C. paid no attention to. And now he addressed the meeting with dignity and force. “Martial law ends at some point, General. And when it does, you’ll want cooperation with building permits, pipelines, bases, training. Cooperation as any federal Arctic projects go forward.”
“I don’t see how that is relevant just now.”
“Yes you do. We’re not rubes here. You fly in and see a few houses. Ice. You figure you can do what you want. We’ve got lobbyists in D.C., good Georgetown lawyers. I can pick up this phone and call our Senators. We’ve stopped the oil and can do it again, and if we do, when we do, I’ll make sure everyone knows you are the cause. You personally. General Wayne Homza. Who fucked up the North Slope.”
“Mayor, there’s no need to make threats.”
The mayor’s finger went up. “There’s more. The weather’s going bad. You have no housing if you bring in more people. You can’t kick us from our homes. That’ll look bad. You’re unprepared for Arctic ops. You don’t have the men to manage a growing crisis. Will you bunk your people in the infected zone? You really think you can do your job without us, and get out of here before the big freeze hits? Because once it hits, your guys will freeze out there in those stupid tents. How will you explain that failure in Washington? They’ll want a scapegoat. They always do.”
In the beat of silence, Homza pulled out a pipe and packed it. I would have guessed him a cigar man. I was unsure whether he was thinking about his career, the best way to run the quarantine, or both. He asked the mayor, “You’re suggesting an alternative?”
“Joint,” said the mayor, as if he’d never made a threat. “You and us. Together. My people do NOT work under yours. We split up jobs. However we agree to do it.”
I sensed muscles working beneath the general’s bland expression. “Done,” he said, ignoring the anger flashing on Lieutenant Colonel Ng’s face.
She tried to fight it. She invoked the two magic words, or at least magic to her: national security. She reminded us that the law specified that where a national threat exists, the task force has the lead. “General, Mayor, may I respectfully point out that we have jurisdiction?”
“Meaning, I have that,” said Homza.
I flashed to Karen in the auditorium, coughing. I was worried about Karen’s health. I was only peripherally aware of a soldier entering the room, whispering to the general, until the halt in conversation snapped me back to the present. But this time the expression in Homza’s face was not accusatory, and what I saw filled me with dread.
“Joe, let’s go outside for a moment,” said the general. That use of my first name, not my title, ratcheted up the fear. Homza looked softer. Ng looked confused. Hess was staring. What just happened?
But somehow I knew. I was a Marine officer who had visited the homes of men killed in the line of duty. I knew that expression on Homza’s face. I’d seen mothers faint under it, and strong fathers weep. I’d worn that expression myself in the past, a look that officers shared with priests. A look that said afterward… too late.
Eddie?
Karen?
You think it won’t happen to you. You think if it does happen, it will never be today. There is no way to prepare for it. It is the sum total of human fear, love, and mortality.
The general repeated himself, but not with anger, not with the expectation of instant obedience this time. I heard the future in that voice. I heard years ahead.
“Colonel, let’s go out into the hall for a moment, okay?”
FOURTEEN
Steel yourself, General Wayne Homza had said.
I was awake but my body moved too slowly, as if in a nightmare. My legs propelled me toward the cabin and police cars, the floodlights shining out from windows that seemed misshapen to me, manufactured rhomboids, not rectangles. Deputy Luther Oz’s face loomed, broken into pieces, as in a splintered mirror. Deputy Steve Rice’s jaw looked elongated, Pinocchio’s nose. Gusts whipped up snow, made the scene grainy and colorless, interference on an old TV.
Had someone put the hat on my head? Had someone slid on gloves? I tottered through the black gap of open doorway, and into a bright frozen diorama of hell.