Given time, Ponape might become a nation-state, a fledgling empire which would war with the distant islands of Truk or Kusrae. The drums would thunder as they had in centuries gone, and the war canoes would venture forth to repeat the world’s sad story one more time here in the Micronesian microcosm.
Liese appeared far down the beach. She came up to them, breathless, dark blonde hair, skin of golden bronze, and otter-sleek. Lessing admired her. There had been no need to explain about Jameela; Liese understood. Since arriving on Ponape she and Lessing had been friends. Just that and no more. The fire was banked, the coals buried. They both realized that it would take very little to make it blaze up again.
“Mrs. Delacroix,” she said. “Back to the house.” With the others Liese still spoke in choppy phrases; she was more relaxed when she and Lessing were alone.
“Any news?” Jennifer appraised her covertly: the look of the not-so-pretty second-banana eyeing the belle of the beach. Lessing was amused. People were the same everywhere.
“Radio says situation soon under control in most areas. Refugees from Russia being rounded up. Repatriated soon as the plague’s gone.”
“Well, hallelujah for that!” Jennifer said. “I’d hate to see Prague or Budapest or Vienna go the way of Moscow.”
“Some refugees broke through into Germany, though. Rioting and killing still going on.”
“Jesus!” Wrench breathed. Lessing echoed him and Borchardt hissed something in German.
“Mess,” Liese added unnecessarily. “Everywhere.”
“At least, nobody’s using nukes!” Wrench growled.
“No. Major powers trying to cool things. Enough dead now.”
The understatement of all time! Lessing saw ghosts again. The beach swarmed with Russians, Germans, Poles, Czechs, Hungarians, American soldiers in tom and bloody, green uniforms. He wanted to cry out but could not.
The spectral figures swirled, accused, and disappeared, all but one which kept coming toward him: a pale, pink, old man, nude except for white shorts and thong sandals, a neckless, bald, ugly kewpie doll. It was Herman Mulder, stepping gingerly down onto the hot sand from the path that led to Club headquarters.
Wrench got to his feet to hand their employer a beach towel. “Sir?”
Mulder waved it away, although his forehead was bedewed with bright droplets. “News… terrible! Goddard’s on the radio now. Russians… somebody… hit the United States. Biological weapon!”
They all babbled at once.
“Struck Washington, New York, Chicago. Used the water supplies as the vector. A bacteria-generated toxin, something like botulin… as deadly as botulin, anyway… but the microorganism which releases it is aerobic and thrives in places, including the human body, where Clostridium botulinum can’t. And it’s highly contagious. God, so many dead…”
“My mother!” Jennifer screamed. “In Los Angeles… telephone…!”
“You’ll never get through,” Mulder outshouted her. “I tried. We’re not sure what’s happened. Los Angeles may be all right. Be patient, for God’s sake! Calm down! Nothing but military emergency broadcasts now anyway.”
Jennifer continued to wail.
“Help her, please, Liese! Goddard’s talking to some shortwave ham in Ottawa. Toronto’s been struck too, he says.”
“I’ve got to call my mother! ” Jennifer dug scarlet fingernails into ashen cheeks and dashed away, up the path toward the radio tower. Borchardt followed her.
Lessing discovered Liese in his arms. He had no recollection of putting her there. She pressed against him and husked, “You? Anybody in States?”
“Nobody I really knew any more. You?”
She shook her golden mane. “Same. Now?”
“God knows. Stay here? Wait it out? Become citizens of the sovereign state of Ponape?”
“Gone.” She began to shudder, then to cry. “Gone. All finished.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant. Their enterprise here? The Party of Humankind? Western civilization? The whole human race? Did little details matter?
Mulder was saying, “Properly delivered, eight ounces of botulin toxin could wipe out most advanced life on earth. Creating a new bacterium to do that job was the trick. This must be the Russians’ ‘Starak,’ their answer to Pacov. Their revenge!”
“Revenge?” Wrench groaned. “Surely not just revenge! They’d have to be crazy!”
“The old system bred insanity. Isn’t that what our movement is about? To unify, to establish order, to build a united world in which this could never happen?”
Lessing said, “Revenge, maybe; more likely just determination. You lose a battle, but you don’t give up the war. The enemy deals you a blow, you slug him back harder.”
“What the hell for?” Wrench cried. “To own a dead and destroyed planet? Shit!”
“What’s destroyed? It’s all still here. Lots of people gone, but so what? Piles of plunder! Economic goodies! Lebensraum, buddy, like you guys always say. We win, we get it all. You win, you do. God damn it, doesn’t that make sense?”
“Soldiers!” Liese whispered sadly. She sounded more mournful than accusing. She drew back out of Lessing’s arms to stare up into his face.
“Alan’s right,” Mulder told her. “That’s what any committed patriot would do: fight to the last. Defeat your enemy at any cost; then hope you have enough left to rebuild.”
“Anywhere else hit?” Wrench inquired.
“There’s a lot going on. Goddard heard that the British blew up a fishing boat in the Channel while it was laying down some sort of fog from aerosol tanks. They got the boat, but the winds still carried the stuff on over the English coast. No reports of deaths yet. The Chinese caught somebody too: a Latin American of some kind. He had an empty bottle.”
“What was in it?” Lessing asked.
“Vino,” Wrench couldn’t help snickering.
Mulder gave him a pained look. “They haven’t any idea. The mob got him first and tore him to bits. Goddard picked this up just before the news about Washington came in.”
“In vino Veritas; now it’s in vino botulinus!” Wrench’s small, handsome features resembled an embalmer’s masterpiece more than anything living. He hunkered down upon his beach towel and stared out to sea.
Mulder beckoned Lessing aside. “We’re going back,” he announced.
“What? Where?”
“To the United States. Guam, Hawaii, then McChord Air force Base in Washington state. From there to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex in Colorado.”
“That’s insane!” Lessing cried. “What about the toxin?”
“I’ve been told that as long as one avoids contact with infected corpses and doesn’t drink unsterilized water, it should be reasonably safe. Anyhow, we pick up decon suits and a special escort plane in Hawaii.”
“May I ask, why?” He was treading on dubious ground; an employee — especially a mercenary beegee — didn’t question the boss.
Mulder said, “Ever heard of Jonas Outram, the Speaker of the House of Representatives?” “Yes, of course.”
“Well, he’s President pro tern now. Old Rubin and his cabinet drank water with their breakfast in Washington, D.C. The Vice President had a shower and a morning gargle in New York. Now they’re all dead. By American law the presidency passes to the Speaker of the House.”
“My God…!”
Wrench looked up and said, “One thing the Establishment never figured on! They threw Outram that post like you’d toss a bone to a barking dog. A little present to the opposition to make things look democratic. Now I’ll bet they’re sorry!” He began to laugh, shakily. “Except they’re thumbed.”