Authors: James Hunt
***
After another hour of maintaining their high speed and keeping east, Brooke slowed the cruiser to a more manageable forty miles per hour. With the bulk of New Mexico behind them, she breathed a little easier. They were only thirty minutes from the Texas border. Brooke continued to ease off the accelerator until the cruiser came to a complete stop.
“What’s wrong?” Eric asked.
“If we’re going to try and head north, then this is the time we should do it,” Brooke said.
“So what’s stopping us?”
“The gangs will be worse the farther north we go.”
Eric motioned his hands up and down, weighing the options.
“Gangs? Police? We’ve got a regular smorgasbord of shit sandwiches.”
If they headed north, they would waste fuel and face the possibility of running into marauders again. But she knew sneaking through the border near the south would be difficult. Once they made it into the States, there wasn’t any guarantee that they would still be able to purchase fuel. The bullet holes in the cruiser, along with all of their packed-down gear, would make them easy targets for law enforcement. Aside from water, fuel was the most important commodity right now.
“We’ll stay here till nightfall. Then we’ll continue east and cross in the south,” Brooke decided.
Daniel signed the papers to have his belongings released back to him when he left the jail. He passed thieves, prostitutes, and junkies on his way out of the police station. For the past two hours, he’d been locked up with the scum of humanity. Part of him believed it was where he belonged.
The sun was beginning to set in the west, and the city was bathed in an orange glow. He walked down the steps of the station and put his hand in the air to flag a taxi.
“Daniel,” Smith said.
When Daniel spun around and saw Smith standing behind him, he didn’t know how to react. He found himself calm. The anger from earlier had run its course. He just wasn’t sure if that was because he’d forgiven Smith or because of Jones’s deal.
“How are you feeling?” Smith asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Daniel, we need to talk.”
“I’m done talking.”
Daniel raised his hand again, and Smith came over and pulled it down. Daniel shoved Smith back, clenching his left hand into a fist and gritting his teeth.
“Don’t touch me again,” Daniel said.
Smith raised his hands in submission. “All right, okay. But, Daniel, you have to listen to me. What happened with Jones I…”
“What happened with Jones is done. Neither of us can undo it.”
“We still have a chance to do some real good here, Daniel. It’s not too late.”
A yellow taxi made its way down the road. Daniel whistled, and the car pulled up to the curb next to him. Daniel opened the door and put one leg in before turning around to Smith.
“I’m done borrowing time,” he said.
Daniel climbed into the back seat and slammed the door shut.
“Take me to Capitol Hill,” Daniel said.
***
Beth waited for Smith inside the car. When he climbed into the back seat with her, she could tell by the sullen expression on his face that the interaction with Daniel hadn’t gone well.
“Are you sure you still don’t want to press charges? If he ends up siding with Jones, it could do you some good to damage his credibility. We can get a story out in less than an hour, and it’ll be posted with the evening news,” Beth said.
“No. No story.”
“Then what do you want us to do?”
“We move forward without him. Get Dr. Carlson his supplies and start construction on the site. What are the time estimates of having the factory retooled to his specifications?”
“I found a contractor that can do it in a week. He comes very highly recommended.”
“That usually means he’s expensive. What’s the cost?”
“Ten million.”
“What?”
“It’s not a job a lot of people are lining up for, David. Whoever we go with is going to be expensive, so we might as well go with someone who will do the job right.”
“Transfer the rest of the campaign money to cover the cost.”
“Not planning on running next year?”
“If we can’t get fresh water flowing at a high volume and affordable rate, then my reelection campaign will be the least of our worries.”
***
After his fifth attempt at reaching Gallo, Jones smashed the phone on the floor. The force of the blow shattered the screen, and he finished the job by driving his heel right on top of it. He also tried getting in touch with Captain Ford on the
USS Ronald Reagan
but couldn’t reach him, either.
Jones kicked the broken pieces of the phone away like a child discarding a toy he was no longer interested in playing with. He slumped into his chair and rubbed his temples. He was in the dark. He had no way of knowing what Daniel and Smith were going to do. Gallo had gone rogue, and the vice president had yet to commit to Jones’s plan.
In less than a day, years of plans were unraveling. That’s all it took. The egos surrounding him were too bruised and prideful to see the bigger picture. Jones loathed the ego. It clouded a man’s ability and turned his ambition into a hell-howling beast. And right now, all of the beasts were rampaging through the world, tearing it apart.
If Gallo ended up attacking official U.S. troops, it would collapse everything he was trying to build. Jones knew that if the United States entered a full-fledge war with Mexico, they wouldn’t have the resources to capitalize on South America. And if he couldn’t pull the water resources from Brazil, then the U.S. economy would collapse within a year. They needed that water now.
“Congressman?” Ken asked. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Ken’s frail head disappeared and was replaced by the grim face of Daniel Hunter, whose younger face looked how Ken’s must have felt all of the time.
“Daniel, I’m glad you came to s—”
“Save it,” Daniel said.
The room fell quiet, with Daniel’s voice acting as the silencer. Jones became aware of how dark the room was. The sun had finally set, and the windows provided no light for the two of them. Jones’s desk lamp was the only illumination in the office.
“You’re one of the most despicable creatures I have ever laid my eyes on,” Daniel said.
Jones’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he tried to clear his throat. His mouth felt dry. He reached for a glass of water but instead knocked it over in his unintentional haste. Daniel’s surprise visit and the tone he was using threw Jones off guard. Jones was in unfamiliar territory. He was now the one with something to lose, but he didn’t know how much Daniel knew.
“You manipulate, lie, and cheat to accomplish whatever goal you decide is important. It’s not Congress’s decision or the president’s or the people’s. Just yours,” Daniel continued.
Jones replied, “I know you couldn’t care less what I think of you, Daniel. But I do know that your family’s perception of you carries a great deal of importance. How would they react to what you’ve done? How would they see you if they learn what happened?”
Daniel reached for the spilled glass on Jones’s desk. Jones leaned back, creating space between himself and Daniel. Daniel twirled the glass in his hand. The color of his fingers turned from a healthy tan to a dark purple from the pressure he applied.
Jones jolted back as Daniel smashed the glass on the edge of the desk, turning it into jagged pieces. Daniel held the bottom of the glass, which was still intact, and thrust the sharp edges at Jones, who recoiled. A drop of blood ran down the side of Daniel’s hand.
“If you ever speak about my family again, I will end you. Do you understand me? I will kill you without hesitation, fear, or regret,” Daniel said.
Jones grew smaller in his chair. His breaths were short. The collar of his dress shirt and jacket rose to his chin. He had the look of a turtle too frightened to come out of his shell to confront the predator threatening him.
“I understand,” Jones answered.
Daniel threw what was left of the glass against the wall. It exploded upon impact and sent another shower of sharp pieces across the floor. Daniel fell backward onto one of Jones’s couches and closed his eyes.
“Me and my family have immunity against whatever charges are filed. The Colombia case is buried, and my children never have to worry about money again. Understood?”
“I’ll have Ken draft the paperwork up right now.”
***
Smith and Edwards were parked in a car just outside the factory where Dr. Carlson’s equipment was being delivered. The two of them exchanged a few documents detailing the costs and materials used. The contractor had all the material he needed. Now Smith and Edwards were stuck with the worst job of all: waiting.
“What do you think Daniel will do?” Edwards asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“You really don’t think he’ll side with Jones, do you?”
“I think he’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep his family alive and well. And if he thinks siding with Jones will accomplish that, then it’s in the realm of possibility.”
“Christ, David. How did we get here? Secret meetings, treason, exile. All of it is inconceivable.”
Smith wished he had an answer, but it was buried under miles of bureaucracy. The nation’s troubles went back farther than before either of them took office. What had happened over the past week had been decades in the making.
“It’s not over yet,” Smith said. The words sounded desperate and hollow.
A figure came walking toward them, and Smith recognized it as Dr. Carlson. He rolled down his window.
“Congressmen, so nice of you to join us. Can I interest you in a bottle of water?” Dr. Carlson asked while pulling out two bottles from his coat.
“Is the facility up and running already?” Edwards asked.
“No, but these were from the smaller-scaled model I created yesterday,” Dr. Carlson answered.
“Where’d you get the water for the process?” Smith asked.
“Right out there,” Dr. Carlson said, pointing to the Atlantic.
Edwards took a sip then set the bottle down. “This is seawater?”
“It was. Now, it’s the cleanest, purest, freshest water you’ll find this side of the Mississippi. Or at least what’s left of the Mississippi.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Smith said.
“Yeah, well, let’s just hope your construction team can get everything up and running sooner rather than later. I’ve got to head back in and meet with the contractor.”
Smith rolled the window back up as Dr. Carlson walked away. He squeezed the water bottle in his hands, and the plastic crinkled. He smiled. Maybe they could pull this off after all. He had just signaled for his driver to take Edwards and him back to the Capitol when police cars surrounded them.
“What the hell?” Edwards asked.
Both congressmen exited the car and were greeted with drawn pistols.
“Congressman Smith? Congressman Edwards?” one of the officers asked.
“What is going on here?” Smith asked.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m going to need the both of you to turn around and place your hands on the vehicle.”
Four other officers began approaching Smith and Edwards, their pistols still aimed with their fingers on the triggers. One of the officers spun Smith around and slammed him into the side of the car. Smith’s chin banged against the sedan’s roof, and he felt the tight steel of handcuffs restrain his arms behind his back.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say will be held against you in a court of law.”
Smith tried listening to the officer, but all he could see were the dozens of other police officers raiding the factory. The officer continued his speech as he pushed Smith’s head under the roof of his police cruiser and closed the door.