Eater (19 page)

Perhaps, he pondered, that explained his anomalous entry into these elevated circles. He had been willing to make predictions that came true—and not only about basic physics and astronomy. These minds around him were used to dealing with social forces that were, in the large, predictable. But the very concept of the utterly strange was for them the stuff of horror, not thought. Yet science taught its practitioners, at an intuitive level, that the universe was fundamentally of the Other.

Still, he felt a curious claustrophobia in the entire proceedings. It would be good to escape back to Hawaii.

Regrettably, he had agreed to submit to an interview arranged for the press pool. Arno had not worked out well in that regard, proving too brusque for the whipsaw warm-and-reassuring pose useful before the cameras. As well, Kingsley’s attempts to fashion Benjamin Knowlton into a serviceable media buffer had failed ignominiously. After losing Channing, the fellow would probably be much worse. It had hit him hard.

So he found himself facing a battery of the modern breed of journalist, faces famous in their own right for being at great events while having no responsibility for them. Their assurance equaled only their ignorance as they shot questions at him and he tried to convey some of the scientific issues without looking impossibly prissy about terminology.

He got through a vague description of what they knew of the hole’s interior regions, and then a savant of the image works asked, “Why is an Englishman leading the scientific arm of what is mostly a United States effort?”

Kingsley paused just long enough to give the appearance of thinking this over. “Because the Americans have pulled in those they can work with, I suppose.”

“There’s a resolution before the Security Council to force control into the Council’s hands explicitly—”

“Yes, very bad move.”

“—and world opinion is lining up pretty solidly behind it.”

“The only solidity to be gained here is through the alliance the United States has yet again stitched together. Who could imagine, say, the Chinese doing remotely likewise?”

“But assembling the wisest heads of all nations at the U.N. would—”

“Be a madhouse.”

“But certainly with everyone’s lives at stake—”

“Since the Gulf War of thirty-two years ago, the Americans have twice more put together a coalition to deal with a rogue state. This one deals with a rogue entity, but the classic means of alliance diplomacy are the essential skills.”

“As a scientist, how are you qualified—”

This last from a frowzy woman apparently noted for her “incisive” questions. He put a stop to her by turning his back and walking away, which from startled looks from the “handlers” assigned to him was Just Not Done to Famous Media Personalities. Nonetheless, it got him quickly out of the floodlit room and shortly after into a helicopter for Dulles.

Everywhere people seemed to have only a dim notion of what was at stake in this crisis. He avoided conversation with people in nearby seats from State and Defense. Takeoff was delayed by several people maneuvering for seats near others. The Marine guard got irked at this, quite rightly, and threatened to throw a White House aide off if he would not “get your ass in gear,” a delicious American turn of phrase that no foreigner could ever get exactly right in intonation.

“Hey, Kingsley,” a fellow from the U Agency called, plunking himself down next to him before Kingsley could think of a plausible reason why the seat had to be kept open as a grave matter of national security. “Herb Mansfield. I met you a couple weeks ago on the Big Island. You heading back?”

“To Hawaii? Yes.”

“We’d like you to catch a chopper at Dulles, visit us over by Langley.”

“Sorry, can’t. Have to”—
What’s the Americanism
?—“mind the store.”

“We had a few things to go over.”

Something ominous in his tone? “I believe there are a plentitude of you fellows at the Center.”

“Not policy stuff.”

“Scientific?”

“Personal.”

The helicopter roared into the air then, giving him time to judge this odd approach. He barely knew this man. There was an air of heavy assurance about the way he wore his gray suit and undistinguished tie, a massive sense that he was not used to being differed with. When they had cleared
the trees over the nearby hills, Kingsley said, “I didn’t think you cared.”

This lightness had no effect upon the government armor. “Oh, we do. Vital personnel we are taking a big interest in.”

How nice
. “I am scarcely vital.”

“You handled getting your friends into the Center pretty well.”

“I prefer to work with people I know.”

“Funny you didn’t bring your wife in.”

“She is not a scientist.”

“Talked to her lately?”

“I haven’t spoken to her in months; I don’t like to interrupt her.”

This little joke provoked not even a twinge of his upper lip. The helicopter hammered at the long pause between them.
All right, then, dead earnest it is
. “I suppose I might find it difficult?”

“Some people are hard to reach.”

He had to admire the style of this threat, as anyone overhearing it would think it completely bland chat. “You may have overestimated the value of that particular card.”

“Don’t think so.”

“We are separated.”

No big effect, but the eyes lost a touch of hardness.

Kingsley sat back and allowed himself the luxury of looking out at greenery zooming by. Generally this sort, from his admittedly limited experience, took a steely stare as the
lingua franca
of such negotiations. Perhaps a show of indifference would work best. He took his time with the scenery. Then: “I don’t believe you have weighed all factors here.”

“I think so, friend.”

“Negative inducements seldom work.”

A shift of mood in the otherwise uninteresting face. “Maybe not, for a customer like you. Let me shift the terms.”

“Do.”

“Your wife could be taken to one of the shelters.”

“Which are?”

“The hot ticket. How come you don’t know?”

“I have been rather busy.”

“A global system, using the old shelters put up to protect national asset people in case of nuclear war.”

“Which this promises to be.”

“Right, hadn’t thought of it that way. Anyway, we stocked these up, got them running. Spot for your wife in one of ours, the best.”

“If I…”

“Do your duty.”

“I might remind you that I am not required to feel any patriotic sentiment.”

“Yeah, but you’re one of us.”

“And I have a job you do not seem to properly appreciate. I work for the world now.”

“And for us. The U is making this all happen for you—and fast.”

“I am aware of that. And Mr. Arno knows I shall cooperate.”

“Just wanted you to know she can have the spot—”

“So long as I am a good boy.”

“Uh huh. Want me to have her picked up?”

A long pause. A small, malicious part of him visualized how irked she would be, to be incarcerated among such types as these. On the other hand, she would be safer, and he did have feelings for her. He loved her, in a way he had been incapable of conveying very well. Not a night passed, even in these circumstances, when he did not wonder how she was getting on.

He made himself stop thinking of that. Seconds mattered here, decisions that could affect everything of importance to him. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Good decision. We’ll give her top-flight treatment, believe me.”

“Will there be a flight involved?”

“Huh? Oh, will we bring her here?”

“Versus, say, getting her into the parallel U.K. citadel.”

“Well, I don’t know, but—” He reached for his portable,
punched two numbers, and was speaking into it before Kingsley could tell him to not bother.

Kingsley sat thinking rapidly. Obviously some faction in the U Agency wanted him well in hand. A split in the U.S. government itself? An all-encompassing emergency could provoke extreme reactions in nations as well as in people. The President had been edgy and had referred glancingly to a division in the advice he was getting. By coming into such advanced policy disputes late, Kingsley became a pawn readily conscripted with a touch of leverage. The U Agency was more accustomed to using muscle.

Taking deep breaths, a decision percolated up from within, tightening his stomach muscles with a tingling anticipation. He recalled from schoolyard scrapes that the best way of dealing with a punch was to duck it. Very well.

Only after Herb had rung off did he realize that the reassuring report Herb was giving them, smiling all the while, would work in nicely. Herb’s superiors would take it that matters were going well. That would, in turn, give Kingsley more time to act once they were on the ground.

Herb gave a reassuring nod. “They say sure, we can move her over here.”

“Actually, I’d rather she were in England. The installation is out toward Wales, I believe, and that is country she has always appreciated.”

Herb frowned. “Afraid it’s done, friend.”

“Not changeable?”

“I really don’t want to go back and keep switching—”

“Very well. I understand.”

Though he had not planned matters this way, this tiny sign was just what he needed to resolve him to a course of action. Now if only he could bring it off.

“We want to be on your side in this thing, y’know,” Herb said.

As if it had a sense of timing, the helicopter began its yowling descent. The world had a habit of forcing his hand, of late. “All right. Done.”

They landed in one of the great pools of light that dotted Dulles. Most of the airport had been closed off for national security reasons for weeks now. Aircraft of every description, many military, took off in a continual background yowl.

Their party got out and walked quickly into the terminal. The usual Dulles passenger transports worked the truncated civilian part of the field, moving like ponderous, big-windowed apartments on wheels.

The U Agency type stuck with him as he made his way upstairs. There was a special check-in counter for people traveling on government craft. His special flight to Hawaii was to leave in less than an hour. Herb announced, “Y’know, I might just come along on that same jet, if there’s room.”

“Oh?” Herb did not seem to doubt that there would be a seat for him. This sudden decision was more confirmation of Kingsley’s working hypothesis. The plan he had improvised was unfolding from his unconscious. There was something tensely delicious in allowing it to do so in its own good sweet time.

The big executive jet for their group was already in place at the end of a passenger ramp, guarded by two conspicuously armed Army men. Such a plane was wasteful, but mandatory in the pecking order. Protocol officers babbled at him while he watched the crowd, but no one came forward to join the U Agency fellow.
Very good
.

Perhaps half an hour before boarding, but there was much to do. “Unbearable in here, isn’t it?” Kingsley began, his heart thudding at this opening pawn move.

“Yeah, they overheat these places.”

“Let’s get a breath, shall we?”

Herb thought a second too long, perhaps realizing that there was no plausible reason to object. “Sure, sure.”

They went out a side door and down a corridor, Kingsley furiously trying to remember times before when he had wandered through this terminal. After a false lead, he found a door that opened out onto a broad parapet, the sort of use
less ornament to the building where no one actually went. Sure enough, there was no one looking at the waning sunset. Planes buzzed on the field about twenty feet below. Kingsley put his briefcase down and made a show of sucking in a lungful of moist air.

“We can go around to the other side, should be able to see the burning in D.C.,” Herb volunteered, his voice mellow in good-buddy mode.

“That should be a sight. Still out of control?”

“Yup. Got the National Guard in now.”

“Pity.”

“People just plain going crazy, is what it is.”

Idly Kingsley walked along into a more shadowy zone. Herb tagged after. Kingsley thought again through his chain of logic and could see no flaw in it.
Still
…“I presume she can leave the facility in the U.K. whenever she likes?”

Herb did not pause. “Oh, sure.”

Clear enough, then. A trap being set, disguised as a plum
. Herb was a remarkably inept liar.

“See that big one? What sort is it?” He pointed out onto the field.

As Herb followed the line Kingsley checked again in both directions along the parapet. No one in view. The parapet’s guard rail was of raised concrete with a thick lip, suitable for leaning on. This Herb proceeded to do, gazing out at the moving airplanes.

Kingsley had taken a course in judo long ago and had been trying to remember some of it over the last few minutes. Frustratingly, the only item he could call up was the instructor’s admonition that the
body
had to learn the moves, not the nasty old, unreliable
mind
.

Fair enough
, he thought, stooping slightly to grab the belt at Herb’s back.
Now the difficult part
. As Herb turned, Kingsley took a firm hold of the back of the man’s suit and shirt collar. He dropped farther and turned himself, bending his knees to take Herb’s weight. As he pulled the man over onto his back, he heard a strangled exclamation, “Wha—”

He felt the weight come fully onto his back and a fist slammed into his left ribs. The pain made him suck in air. Kingsley turned farther, lifted with the one burst of energy he had. The other fist pounded at him. “Help—”

This shout Kingsley cut off by straightening up suddenly and twisting. This heaved Herb over the guard rail. The body went partway over, then the suit coat caught in the railing somehow. “Help—”

Kingsley found the wadded coat cloth that was exerting just enough strength to keep Herb’s scrabbling hands and feet on the parapet’s lip. He shoved at the body and it was gone. A soft thump came from below. He leaned over. Herb lay on his side about fifteen feet below. A trickle of blood had started down his brow and ran onto the tarmac.