The Governor's Lady (26 page)

“He’s a bit upset.”

“So here’s what I can do. I can call in what’s left of the Posse here, anybody besides Roger you’ve got on babysitting duty, fire ’em on the spot, and get some people who aren’t joined at the hip to you and Pickett.”

“You wouldn’t,” Plato said flatly.

“Try me.”

“All right, Cooper. But hear this: You’re climbing way out on a limb.”

She laughed. “Plato, you just don’t get it. We have a disaster. The state is paralyzed. People are in danger. And you and Pickett can’t manage things from Iowa. If you tried, you’d make more of a mess than you already have. Do you want to take the heat for that?”

“No.”

“All right. So now, give me your best advice.”

“Mine?”

“Plato, I wish you were here right now. You know this business like nobody in the world, not even Pickett. But you’re not here. I am. So help me.”

Cooper waited, knowing he was weighing all the options.

“Do you need to talk to Pickett?” she asked after a while.

“No, I don’t need to talk to Pickett.”

“I’m putting you on the spot.”

He grunted. “That’s where I hang my hat, Cooper. On the spot.”

“I understand.”

“All right,” he said, drawing a deep breath, “here’s what I think.”

By the time they finished, she had a few scribbled notes—not much detail, but a framework, a way of getting at the details.

“One other thing, Cooper. Wheeler Kincaid.”

“Look, Plato …”

“I probably shouldn’t say this, but if you’re really going to take the bull by the horns …”

“And I am.”

“It’s brilliant. If you ever tell anybody I said that, I’ll say you lied.”

She took a few minutes alone to compose herself. She felt overwhelmed, going like a bat out of hell into territory she knew nothing about, playing it all by ear. But then she told herself,
No, I am not alone. I have some good people here, and they just need a bell cow. And then there’s the other thing: Cleve Spainhour’s hand on my shoulder
.

She took a deep breath and felt calmer—until Wheeler and Burgaw appeared at the door.

“We’ve got a missing school bus,” Wheeler said.

SIXTEEN

They gathered at the big electronic map of the state.

“Up here,” General Burgaw said, using a remote to zoom in on the upstate. “Foxhall County. The bus left an elementary school yesterday afternoon when the snow was starting, dropped off several kids, then disappeared.”

“All night?” Cooper said. “And we’re just now hearing about it?”

“Parents started calling when their kids didn’t arrive home, but by the time the word got to the right people, the snow was so heavy nothing could move.”

“Eighteen inches up there,” Wheeler said.

“How many on the bus?” Cooper asked.

“As far as we know, three kids and the driver.”

“And we don’t know where?”

“The school people have given us the bus route, so we know the general
area. But there’s a long stretch beyond where the last of the other kids got off.”

“How can we help?”

“Search and rescue,” Burgaw said. “I’ve got an aviation company a hundred miles away. Helicopters, fixed wing. We’re rounding up people.”

“How long?”

“We should have a couple of choppers airborne in a half-hour. We’ll search the area, try to spot the bus.”

“What about people on the ground?” Wheeler asked.

“We’re stretched damn thin in that part of the state in the best of times. I’ve got a support company in the county—cooks, supply clerks, people like that. The biggest piece of equipment they have is a mobile kitchen.”

“Colonel Doster, what have you got up there that could help?” Cooper asked.

“Some of our trooper posts have four-wheel-drive vehicles.”

“Can they travel in eighteen inches of snow?” Burgaw asked.

Doster glared but didn’t say anything.

“Sweet Jesus,” Cooper breathed.

“We’re doing all we can,” Burgaw said. “And I’m sure that goes for Colonel Doster’s people.”

“Nothing to do but wait,” Doster said.

“No,” she said, “that won’t do. Get me the names and phone numbers of those parents.”

They were painful, wrenching calls—the hysterical parents of a boy and two girls, and then Carl, the sobbing young husband of the bus driver.

“She’s got a cell phone!” he cried. “I’ve been trying all night. If Stacy
was okay, she’d answer. Wouldn’t she? She’d answer and tell me everything’s okay.”

“Maybe the battery went dead, or the phone can’t get a signal,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean Stacy’s not okay. We’ve got the army going in there. They’re going to find that bus and Stacy and those kids. Carl, is anybody there with you?”

“No. Just me.”

“Okay. We’ll work through this together.”

“All right,” he said, his voice calming.

She waited while he found pencil and paper, wrote down the number she gave him at the command center.

“Now, Carl, if you hear anything, call me.”

She gathered them around the conference table, the numbers swelled now to include the state transportation director, the head of the emergency management office, the commissioner of education, and the state health officer, whose department regulated nursing homes. She glanced over the single page of her notes from Plato, then folded the paper and set it aside.

“We’ve never been here before, not with an emergency of this sort. Am I right?”

Doster said, “We’ve got contingency plans—”

“Yeah,” the emergency management head interrupted, “plans for dealing with chemical spills, localized flooding, but not something that involves the whole state at the same time.”

“This ain’t New Hampshire,” Burgaw growled.

“So we’re flying by the seat of our pants,” Cooper said, “making things up as we go along. First thing, I’m declaring an official state of emergency. It gives us room to maneuver, work around restrictions.
We’ve got to get as many people as possible, as quickly as possible, in places where they’re needed. General Burgaw, what’s your situation, other than the bus?”

“My people are moving,” he said. “We’re putting boots on the ground as fast as we can.”

“What about wheels?”

“Most units have vehicles that can handle snow—trucks, Humvees. It’s a matter of getting folks where the equipment is.”

Cooper gave her notes another glance. “All right. I’m putting the National Guard in charge of the effort. Everything.”

“Hey!” Doster said.

Cooper cut him off. “The Guard has the people and the ability to move them, and every county has at least one Guard unit. They’ll work with the local folks. If we look at this thing statewide, it’s chaotic. But if we tackle it town by town, county by county, we can make sense of things. Colonel Doster, your people will coordinate with the Guard units. We’ll use General Burgaw’s chain of command.”

Doster stared at his hands, the color high around his collar. An awkward silence fell over the room.

“Colonel?”

“I have to protest this,” Doster said finally.

Cooper’s gaze swept the table, then landed again on Doster. “Everyone, work with General Burgaw. Everyone.”

Doster sat back in his chair, rubbing his face with both hands.

“I’m incredibly glad you’re here,” she said, rising. “You’re professionals. I can depend on you.”

They filed out, all but Kincaid, who sat watching her.

She closed the door, took a deep breath, and turned to him. “All right,” she said.

“Yeah, all right.”

“Is that all?”

“What do you want me to do, write up a proclamation and award you an attagirl?”

“Look, Mr. Kincaid, I don’t have time to waste on sarcasm. Give me something I can use.”

“Good move, putting the National Guard in charge. Burgaw will kick ass, take names, and get the job done. Was that something you got from Plato?”

“How do you know I talked to Plato?”

“He called me, too. Read me the riot act. I’m a loose cannon, a dangerous, muckraking sonofabitch, and if I’m behind this craziness of yours, if I’m fueling the fire, he’ll have my nuts on a platter.”

She picked up her notes. “Plato helped me.”

Wheeler gave her a hard look. “Look, you’ve got ’em over a barrel right now, but later, when the snow’s gone, see how helpful Plato is. Remember this: Whatever Plato says or does or thinks, he’s inside Pickett’s head. So in the end, it’s always you and Pickett.”

“So what did you say to Plato?”

“I said how much I appreciated his candor, thanked him for giving you the benefit of his wisdom, and told him to go fuck himself.” He stood. “One other thing. If you don’t start calling me Wheeler, I’m gonna quit.” He walked out into the command center, which was filling up with people struggling in from the snow to man the consoles, the phones, the radios.

The door swung open, and a National Guard major stuck his head in. “We’ve got a guy on the phone out here, about the bus. He insists on talking to you.”

“I found her! I found her!” Carl screamed.

“What do you mean?”

“I kept calling, and then all of a sudden she answered. I know where she is!”

Cooper waved a hand, summoning Burgaw and Wheeler. “Carl, the National Guard’s sending helicopters. Can you give them the location?”

“They’re holed up in a barn. The bus ran off the road, but they found this barn and spent the night in there.”

They had Carl on speaker now. People from all over the command center crowded around.

“One of the kids hurt his arm, but they’re okay. Cold, scared, but okay.”

“Carl, this is General Burgaw with the National Guard. Are you on the phone with your wife right now?”

“No, sir.”

“Can we reach her?”

“I don’t think so. She said she dropped the phone in the snow last night and didn’t find it until just now. It was working, but the battery was about gone. She had just enough left to call me. You can try, but I don’t think you’ll get through.”

“Where are they?”

“Gray Mountain Road. About three miles north of Highway 10, it goes steep downhill to a sharp curve. That’s where the bus went off the road.”

Someone switched the big map to a satellite view and zeroed in on the area.

“We’ve got it,” Cooper said. She turned to Burgaw. “Are you flying?”