Water Rites (12 page)

“At ease, Colonel.” Hastings looked up at last, extending a stiff hand. “Welcome to the Columbia.”

He didn’t sound very welcoming. “Thank you, sir.” Carter returned the general’s strong grip. “My orders, sir.”

“I already looked at the file.” Hastings took the hardcopy, tossed it onto his desk and crossed his arms. “Tell me what you’re going to be doing up in The Dalles.”

A test? “My unit is responsible for maintaining the Pipeline in our sector, including the diversion complex where the Klamath Shunt splits off to the south, sir.” Carter could feel blood seeping into his face. “I’ve reviewed the flow reports for the last year, along with maintenance records and the tech namuals for the Pipeline and the Shunt complex. I understand the requirements for the system and the mechanics of its operation, sir.” I did my homework, General. Screw you, too.

“I
hope
you understand the mechanics.” Hastings’ expression didn’t thaw. “I hope you also understand the importance of maintaining the Pipeline flow. The Ogalalla aquifer has been pumped out, and the Columbia aquifer will be too low for cost-effective pumping in less than a year. That means the Pipeline
is
the water source for most of two states.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I wanted someone with more years,” Hastings said coldly. “The Dalles isn’t the place for an inexperienced CO, no matter how much of a hotshot you were in the riot.”

Carter flushed. “My name was added to the promotions list very recently. Sir.”

“I didn’t ask you, Colonel.” Hastings stared at him with distaste. “I just hope you can handle the situation. Because of the Shunt valves, The Dalles sector is particularly critical to the function of the Pipeline. We’ve had some local unrest there lately, including acts of sabotage against the Pipe. The integrity of the Pipe must be protected, no matter what the cost. Do you understand me, Colonel?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Hastings nodded. “Your predecessor, Colonel Watanabe, was murdered. Did you know that?”

“Yes, sir.” Hell, everyone knew it, just like everyone knew who’d fired the first shot in Chicago. “Has anyone been charged yet, sir?”

“No, but we know who was behind it. The same terrorists who are sabotaging the Pipe.” Hastings was watching him closely, his blue eyes sharp and wary. “They call themselves the Columbia Coalition. A man named Dan Greely heads it. Watch out for him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can get whatever else you need to know from your second in command, Major Delgado.” Hastings waved a dismissive hand. “Sandusky can drive you up there. Report into me when you’re settled.”

“Yes, sir.” Carter saluted smartly and marched out of the room. Great. This was about as bad a start as you could manage.

Corporal Sandusky was waiting in the outer office, his expression carefully neutral. “If you’ll come with me, sir.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll drive you to The Dalles.”

“Fine.” Carter let his breath out in a rush. “I’ve got a Portland car.”

“You can give me the keys.” Sandusky held out a hand. “Is your luggage in the car?”

“Just a carryall and a duffel bag.” He’d shipped the books and the few items too heavy to carry.

He followed the corporal back outside. It was already getting cold, as the daytime heat radiated away into the dry air. The corporal didn’t say much as he transferred Carter’s bags into a motor-pool electric Chevy. It was dark beyond the yellow glare of the base floods. Scattered lights gleamed like a small galaxy across the black gulf of the riverbed. In the old days, the cities had blazed with light. People had squandered it the way they had squandered water — had decorated with it, put up displays of color and dazzle. Not anymore. Electricity cost and the national power curfew cut all power at 10:00 PM local time.

The small galaxy of Bonneville disappeared behind them as Sandusky turned onto the highway and stepped on the accelerator. “Tell me about Colonel Watanabe.” Carter spoke into humming silence.

“A routine patrol found him by the Pipe. Shot in the head at close range, sir. They figure it was a setup. Rumor had it that the colonel got too close to the Coalition, sir.”

“You think they did it? This Coalition?”

“Who else?” Sandusky shrugged. “They’re the enemy around here, sir. A couple of our guys got shot out on patch detail. Hicks picked ’em off with a thirty-ought-six. Bastards. Excuse me, sir.” Sandusky threw Carter a quick, nervous glance in the rearview.

“Yeah, they were bastards.” Carter looked out the window. Darkness filled the Gorge, so thick you could cut it. You could feel the high walls on either side, holding in the darkness, squeezing it down around you. Violence. Maybe you found it anywhere you found water. Maybe you couldn’t separate one from the other. Carter shook himself and took a deep breath of the cool, conditioned air. “What about this Dan Greely person?”

“Don’t know much about him, sir,” Sandusky said briskly. “He bosses the Coalition, and I heard he’s an ex-con. Guess it tells you something about the hicks around here — who they pick to run the show.” He snorted. “The general won’t let him on base, so he doesn’t bother us any.”

Being an ex-con didn’t necessarily mean much. He’d come damn close to being one himself. Carter struggled against a growing sense of foreboding. Hastings wanted to hate his guts and he was walking into what sounded more and more like another Chicago.

“Sir?” Sandusky whipped the Chevy around another car. “I heard about the riot, sir. I just want to say . . . you guys sure kicked ass. Sir.”

“Yeah, we kicked ass.” Carter stared out into the darkness.

“Those campies are real scum. The hicks are about as bad, just so you know. Sometimes I think we ought to just go down the whole damn riverbed, run the troublemakers out into the Dry.” Sandusky slapped the steering wheel for emphasis. “Let ’em make trouble out there.”

Carter looked at the shaved back of Sandusky’s head. “It wasn’t just the camps.” He closed his eyes, remembering briefly the equal weight of his rage and the Beretta. It was as if all the darkness, despair, and rage generated by the shriveling, dying land had trickled slowly to the lakeshore, like a dark, ugly oil spill around the feet of the towers. He had been the spark that had set if off. “It was all of us.” Carter sat forward, peering at Sandusky’s young face in the rearview. “It was the towers and the base and the camp. We were all ready to start killing each other. So we did it, and the Corps came out on top, because we had the guns and the organization. Everyone else was just killing. It was hell, and it just happened. Let’s drop it, Corporal.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sandusky shut up after that. He didn’t understand. He probably saw the world in black and white, Carter thought. That was how you had to look at it, sometimes. Them and Us. Because you had a job to do and shades of gray could make it hell.

He must have drowsed for awhile, because the next thing he knew, they were at The Dalles gate. If anything, this one was better defended than Bonneville. Which said a lot about the situation, Carter thought sourly. The guards positively gleamed — they’d been expecting him. Wearily, Carter returned the razor-sharp salutes. He was the Old Man now, and everybody had to show for him. He stifled a yawn as Sandusky finally pulled the car up in front of a residence block. Security lights shed a yellow glow on the apartments. Ugly boxes, reflective siding and windows defended them from the sun.

Sandusky led him to the front door of the second unit from the end. A gusty wind pushed dust and trash down the concrete street, whirled grit into Carter’s face. Beyond the apartments, he could make out a bulking wall of deeper darkness. The Dalles dam? Like Bonneville, the Corps base seemed to have been built at its foot.

Sandusky was fumbling with the door. A dying geranium sulked in a pot on the narrow, concrete porch. A door opened somewhere and Carter heard a woman’s laughter before it slammed shut again. The wind buffeted the geranium, yanked at his uniform.

“Is it always like this?” Carter shielded his face.

“Windy, you mean? Yes sir. It either blows up or down the Gorge. Down is usually worse, sir.” Sandusky picked up Carter’s carryall and pushed the door open. “Here you are, sir.”

Carter stumbled over the threshold, blinking in the sudden glare of the florescent ceiling lights. The door was gasketed to keep dust out and cool air in. Sandusky grunted as he yanked it closed behind them.

“Anything else, sir?” He flicked on a small air conditioner set into the wall and saluted without meeting Carter’s eyes.

“No, I guess not. Thanks for the ride.”

He shouldn’t have been so short with the kid. You couldn’t blame him for being curious about Chicago. Carter looked over the two-room suite. It was smaller than what he’d had on the lakebed. The main room held a wide sofa bed, two upholstered chairs, and a big screen video. A refrigerator/single burner stove combo and sink had been fenced off into a kitchen by a Formica-topped breakfast bar. Doors led to the bedroom and a tiny bathroom, which was equipped with a digester toilet and a self-contained shower cabinet.

It looked impersonal without his books and his sound equipment, like a cheap motel room. Carter took his carryall into the bedroom, trying not to wonder if this had been Colonel Watanabe’s quarters. The warm, dry air smelled of disinfectant. The clock said ten. Midnight, Chicago time. He flopped onto the double bed that nearly filled the small room, still bleary from his nap in the car. What he needed right now was a beer, a shower, and about eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Someone knocked at the door.

Now what? Carter stomped across the apartment and jerked the door open.

A civilian stood on the threshold, dressed in jeans and a faded denim shirt.

“Welcome to The Dalles, Colonel.” The stranger walked past him as if Carter had invited him in. “I know it’s late, but I thought I’d better drop by and introduce myself.” He waited while Carter closed the door, smiling wryly. “I’m Dan Greely. You’re Carter Voltaire, yes?” He extended a hand. “Welcome the The Dalles, Carter.”

Carter kept his hand at his side, wide awake now. He looked the tall, lanky man over. Greely had weathered brown skin, dark eyes, and brown hair streaked with gray. Carter placed him in his forties. No sign of a weapon. “You’re the leader of the sabotage ring here,” Carter said deliberately. “What the hell are you doing here? Who gave you a pass?”

“If you mean the Coalition, we aren’t behind the sabotage,” Greely said. “I think we’re on the same side, Colonel.”

“That’s not what General Hastings told me.”

“No, it wouldn’t be.” Greely grimaced. “That’s why I wanted to introduce myself in person. There isn’t much . . . official communication between the Corps and the Coalition right now. Hastings hates my guts, to put it bluntly.”

Carter crossed his arms, a bit impressed by this guy’s cool. “Tell me why I shouldn’t call the MPs?”

“You could do that. You could even make a trespass charge stick, because I
am
trespassing. I didn’t come in through the gate.” A grin flashed and faded on his face. “That’s it, though. If you could get away with anything else, Hastings would have locked me up long ago.”

Carter tugged at his lip. “You showing off for me? Or what?”

Greely’s expression sobered. “I’m here because
we
want to find out who’s sabotaging the Pipe, too. We don’t want to take on the Corps, or stop the water. We’re a bunch of farmers who’re trying to keep crops alive long enough to make harvest. Someone’s sabotaging the Pipe, but it’s not us. Colonel Watanabe knew that, too. He listened to us.”

“Colonel Watanabe’s dead,” Carter said softly.

“Yeah.” Greely held his eyes. “Think about that, okay? Think about this, too; What the hell do we gain by cutting off our own water? Don’t let Hastings sic you on us. It’s the wrong trail.”

“I guess that’s for me to decide,” Carter said. This guy had balls. Carter lifted the phone and called base Security. “I have an unauthorized civilian in my quarters,” he snapped. “I want an escort for him.” He cradled the phone and faced Greely’s wary stare. “I’ll tell you this much,” he said slowly. “I’m the CO here, which means my people and the Pipeline come first. But I’ll make up my own mind about things. If you want to cooperate, come talk to me. I’ll listen to you.”

Knuckles rapped briskly at the door. “Base Security, sir.” The grizzled sergeant’s face was expressionless as Carter opened the door. “You have an unauthorized civilian, sir?”

A retreaded Green Beret? They made up the bulk of MPs these days. “Escort this man off the base, Sergeant,” Carter said coldly. “I want him to go through the gate in exactly the same condition he is in now. And then you tell your CO that I expect to see him here in ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant’s salute was precise. “Ten minutes, sir. This way,” he said to Greely and his tone was absolutely neutral.

Greely looked over his shoulder. Gave Carter that crooked smile. “Glad to have met you, Colonel. If you want to talk to me, leave a message at the government store in town. I don’t have a phone.”

“Greely.” Carter waited until the man met his eyes. “Any more killings will screw everything up.”

“I’d like to give you a guarantee, Colonel.” Greely paused in the doorway, his expression grim. “We’re trying to stop this. Think about Watanabe, okay?”

Yeah, he was thinking about Watanabe. Carter watched the clock, frowning. The sergeant’s commanding officer, a young captain, arrived in exactly five minutes. He left ten minutes later, his back ramrod straight. No one in Security was going to sleep well tonight, Carter thought grimly. Not until they’d found the hole Dan Greely had walked through.

“Sir?” This time, the man at the door was a major, dark haired, with a long face that gave him a Saturnine air. “Major Delgado reporting, sir.” He saluted. “I understand you had trouble here, tonight?”

It hadn’t taken him long to get dressed and over here. Carter gave him a point or two for that. “A trespasser,” Carter said. “At ease, Major. Come in.” He stood aside, tired and twitching with tension now. God, what a beginning. “Security’s dealing with it.”