Without Warning (61 page)

“Over there. Faggy-looking mope.”

Jed saw him straightaway then. Aaron Metz from Microsoft.

He was attempting to cut a path through the tidal flow of the crowd and not doing so well. Jed could see that he was holding something aloft in one hand.

“Come on, make a fucking hole, would you,” shouted Cesky, bruting his way into the crush and virtually hauling the fragile-looking Metz out of it by force.

“Not you, of course, buddy.” Cesky grinned. “Wouldn’t want you making free with any holes around me, eh?”

The very obviously gay Metz was both flustered and grateful, and chose to ignore the up-front homophobia of Cesky’s comment.

“Thank you,” he said. “So many people here, Mr. Culver. It’s almost as mad as the convention floor. Not that I can get in, of course, but…”

“How can I help, Aaron?” Jed asked, cutting him off before he started to babble. He’d learned the hard way not to let Metz get up a head of steam.

“Oh, Mr. Ballmer wanted you to have this, sir, right away, Mr. Culver. It’s one of our new smart phones. Well, not ours, it’s an iMate, but it runs the Windows Mobile OS. It was still in development, you know, when …”

Jed nodded and waved off the rest of the explanation.

“Thanks, Aaron. You tell Steve it’s greatly appreciated.”

“It has some special security features, Mr. Culver …”

“I’m all over it, Aaron. Thanks again. Tell Steve and Bill, I
will
be in contact, later today.”

Metz looked even more flustered than when Jed had first seen him, but he gushed and flapped around and even bowed at one point.

“What a bag of fruit,” grunted Cesky as soon as he was out of earshot.

“To each their own,” said Jed, pocketing the smart phone. “I’m grateful for their help, Henry. I’m grateful for anyone’s help, given the mess we’re in.”

“So how come they’re not here, then, those big software guys? You got a lot of corporate types here, Culver. Really heavy hitters, eh? You can’t tell me there’s anyone big enough in this town to put the fucking frighteners on Bill Gates. He’s still richer than God.”

“You wouldn’t think so, would you?” Jed replied, but not with enough volume for Cesky to hear him. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he said, a little louder. “I have people I need to talk to. Now, as for you, Henry, I can count on you and your guys?”

“You bet, Culver. I’m not gonna get rolled over and ass-fucked without a fight.”

“Great. And your family, they’re good? There’s nothing I can do to help out there?” he asked, studiously avoiding the actual reason Cesky had
fronted him: his complaint about getting shut out of city work by the Army Corps of Engineers.

Cesky shook his head and flexed one bandaged hand.

“We had some trouble getting out of Acapulco,” he said. “Some people I gotta settle up with about that one day. But my girls are all in Sydney now. They’re safe. I don’t have to worry about them if things get difficult around here.”

He cracked the knuckles on his undamaged hand and jutted his chin out. Culver gave him a comradely squeeze on the shoulder, excused himself, and made for the nearest exit. As he muscled through, at least half a dozen or more people attempted to intercept him, but Jed shook them off with a smile and a wave of the smart phone that implied that he had A Very Important Call to make, which he did.

Out in the corridor, it wasn’t nearly as hectic and crowded, but he was unsurprised to find a spillover crowd working the space just as intently as the folks back in his suite of rooms. It was a weird vibe, for an old hack like Culver. He saw figures he recognized from both the left and right of politics, some of them West Coast, some national figures who hadn’t been caught by the Wave. Their heads bent together, their devious minds were plotting against a new enemy, this cross-party faction in favor of a total rewrite of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, paring it back and ceding permanent powers of near-autarchy to a smaller, militarized executive, all of it sold in terms of the dire need to protect the Republic from annihilation or anarchy or some such bullshit.

Culver had seen it all before. Frightened people driven to mortal foolishness by the extreme situation in which they found themselves.

Well, not on my watch, buddy,
he thought.

He’d been blindsided by how bad things were politically when he’d first arrived in Seattle. But Jed Culver was nothing if not adaptable.

The future of the country was being fought out in this city, and he was a large part of the battle. As Governor Lingle’s personal envoy to the surviving representatives of the civil authority in what was left of mainland United States, he had driven the convention process harder and faster than anyone thought possible. And yes, he had to admit, to himself if nobody else, that the whole push to institutionalize a role for the military in the new system of government had caught him unawares.

It certainly wasn’t coming from any of the uniformed guys he’d dealt with back in Hawaii. That wasn’t their style, and they had their hands full anyway. And it wasn’t coming from the military power structure here in the Northwest, as best he could tell. Not publicly anyway. That Blackstone asshole
out at Fort Lewis—a real Captain Bligh character, thought Jed—even he was scrupulously careful not to be drawn into any political debate.

But then as someone who’d perpetrated all manner of villainy in his professional life, Jed was well aware of how easy it was to use cutouts and puppets to do your dirty work while you fronted the media, or the investigators or some nitpicking congressional committee, with your halo shining and hands washed free of blood.

Somebody, somewhere, was driving this madness, attempting to hijack
his
convention, and he’d be damned if they were going to get away with it.

He threaded through the hallway loiterers, smiling, waving, and glad-handing everyone as he went. A part of Jed seemed to float outside of himself, marveling that a fixer from the backwoods of Louisiana could find himself at the center of the storm that had destroyed so much already. He spotted a few Alaskan delegates he would need to corral later in the day, and a couple of Canadian diplomats who caught him by surprise. Jed made a mental note to investigate their presence but hurried on around the corner and into the fire escape. Two floors up he finally had some privacy.

The phone numbers were preloaded as arranged, and he found the one he was looking for without trouble. He was a bit of a gadget freak, if truth be known, and the chance to play with a new toy was reward enough in itself. But the call he had to make was important. The connection went through on the third ring.

“Hey, Bill, it’s me, Jed Culver. I got your package. Thanks for that.”

The strangely youthful voice at the other end came through with great clarity, in spite of all the filters and washers and heavy encryption he knew had been packed into the phone.

“Oh, hey, Jed. Good, that’s great. I’m glad that got through to you.”

“So, I don’t want to come on as a nattering nabob of negativism, but you’re sure this is secure?”

The man on the other end laughed.

“My guys are sure, Jed. As sure as they can be anyway. I’m confident, if that helps. I am talking to you, after all. Some people in this town would consider that treason.”

“Okay. Good enough,” said Culver. “So, you can get more of these units out where they’re needed?”

“Already on their way. Six hundred of them, give or take a few. They’ll be distributed by nightfall. The network will light up when you want it.”

“You sure? I understood the Net was terribly patchy now. Not at all reliable. Do we want it sitting there as a weak link?”

“It’s fine. At least here, it’s fine. There are massive holes everywhere else,
but the local nodes in the Northwest are good. We made sure of that. You can rely on them. Especially for this. We’ve taken precautions.”

“Okay,” said Culver. “If you say so. We’ll proceed. I can’t tell you how important this is, what a difference it could make.”

“I’m happy to help. It’s important to do what you can. I’ve been here, remember. Could have flown out, but I stayed. All my people stayed. We’re not ready to give up yet.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Jed.

“Okay. Well, anything you need, you have my number.”

“Thanks,” said Jed. “I will be in touch.”

“I hope so,” said Bill Gates, before hanging up.

Jed studied the small piece of technology, wondering how long it would be before the appearance of such things, and the progress they spoke of, became commonplace again.

Possibly never, if he didn’t win the confrontation he knew was coming.

He could feel it down in his guts.

He was confident of the alliance he was building up here in the city. In his quiet moments he was even proud of what he’d achieved since arriving. But he knew it wasn’t enough.

Jed Culver understood humanity. He understood their baser, uglier nature, the way fear could rob them of reason and send them rushing over the cliff like lemmings. Look around the world and you had proof enough of that.

But he also knew that if led well, if led with some wisdom and just a modicum of courage, a frightened horde could rise above itself and act with outward calm and considered grace that completely belied any inward turmoil. But they had to be led, and he was not a leader.

He had come here knowing that he would need to find one and fast.

He opened the contacts file on the smart phone again and, yes, the name and number he had asked for were there.

He did not dial, however.

It was time to make contact, but he would have to do so personally.

Everything he had heard about this man, everything he’d learned since flying into Seattle, had only confirmed Jed’s suspicion that he was the one. But because of that, he was not the sort of man to be played like Henry Cesky.

This one would have to be given the opportunity to make a choice. A real choice, for good or ill.

And if he was, Jed was certain he’d choose wisely.

He put the phone away and headed downstairs.

“I think we’re probably right to go,” said Jules.

Fifi agreed, and triggered a burst from the PKM.

“Yeah. I think you’re probably right.”

Tracer rounds zipped away over the heads of the islanders, forcing them all to duck below the gunwales of the small fleet of lobster boats heading toward the
Rules.
Jules hit the press-to-talk button on her headset.

“Mr. Lee, are those contacts still closing?”

The old pirate’s voice came crackling back to her.

“They are still on a course to intercept us, Miss Julianne. In forty-two minutes if we do not leave now.”

“Okay, Lee. Everyone’s aboard. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Jules felt the deck thrum under her feet as the engines growled into life, and she reached out for the handrail to steady herself against the inertia. The bow lifted appreciably as they thrust forward, adding their speed to the bluster of a freshening nor’wester. Jules and Fifi crouched instinctively as a few puffs of white smoke from the decks of the lobster boats told of a couple of ancient shotguns being fired in their direction. Fifi responded with another snarling burst from the heavy Russian machine gun. Again she aimed well
over the mast of the lead boat, and again their pursuers all ducked. It would be a ridiculous pantomime were it not so serious. The islanders meant to delay them long enough for those radar contacts to close with them. Jules was now certain they were being chased by one of the Peruvian syndicates.

She pressed the talk button on her headset again.

“Sergeant Shah. Have your men stand ready. I don’t think they’ll be needed, but best we don’t try our luck.”

The Gurkha leader’s voice came back to her.

“They are in position, Miss Julianne. The passengers have been secured below by Pieraro. He will join us on the boat deck.”

Jules thanked him. She didn’t bother looking for the small squad of mercenaries. The yacht was too large, and they were mostly arrayed on the lower decks toward the stern, giving them a clear field of fire over the heads of the lobster boats as the yacht came around. Fifi safed her weapon when she could no longer draw a bead on the little wooden tubs.

“You want me to head on down there, Julesy? Be a shame to waste the ammo, if we’re not trying to hit them. Seven-point-six-two Eastern Bloc standard doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

Julianne shook her head, trailing a regretful look back over the retreating vista of the Juan Fernández Archipelago.

“No, save your fire. We’ll need it soon. And those guys are no real threat.”

Behind the tiny, bobbing armada of trawlers the soaring peaks of the main landmass, Robinson Crusoe Island, knifed into a slate-gray sky above the village of San Juan Bautista. The lonely settlement, the only one anywhere in the archipelago, clung to the water’s edge at the mouth of a steep valley that funneled bitter winds down into Cumberland Bay. The uppermost reaches of the jagged, volcanic mountains were lost inside a mass of scudding clouds. The gale roaring down on them had teeth and blew stinging salt spray into her face, but in spite of all that, it had been a great port in which to lay up and recover from the mad dash away from Acapulco and down the coast. Even more important, it had been about as far removed from the rest of the world as you could be, without pulling on your thermal knickers for a trip to the Antarctic. That had been the deal clincher after the Middle East went up. None of her passengers or crew had objected to the change in course. None of them wanted to be anywhere near a big city that might disappear inside a mushroom cloud.