by Alex Irvine
“They had to clean the wound out a couple of times,” Noah reported as the rest of the kids gathered around. Junie watched from a short distance away, where the JTF escort was waiting.
“Violet,” Junie said. “Can you go find Mike? Tell him to meet us in the library.”
“Okay.” Violet ran upstairs and located Mike resting in one of the Castle’s towers. They had cool windows that looked out in every direction. She told Mike that Junie was back and he said he would be right there.
When she came back down and reported that, Noah and Wylie were gone. Shelby and Ivan, too. “Helping Wylie get settled upstairs,” Junie explained. “The rest of you can go, too.”
Amelia, Saeed, and Violet looked at each other. They knew they were being dismissed, but they wanted to hear whatever Junie was trying to get them not to hear. So they wandered away through one of the Castle’s downstairs galleries, but they stayed close enough to be able to see where Junie and the JTF patrol went once Mike got downstairs.
The meeting spot turned out to be the old librarian’s office, which was later some other kind of office. It had a conference table and a bunch of chairs and useless computer stuff. The kids couldn’t get too close to it, but they could get to the main stairwell, which was right outside the door. About a week before, they’d figured out that the stairwell conducted sounds from the ground floor. They crept up to the second-floor landing and listened.
“I’m here to give you some difficult news,” someone was saying. Since they didn’t recognize the voice, it had to be the lead JTF officer. “The militia that’s been exerting pressure on the eastern side of the city, specifically the area around the Capitol and the northeastern parts of the Mall . . . they’re getting stronger. They’ve moved into Smithsonian museums on both sides of the Mall—the Air and Space Museum, along with the two just across from the Castle here.”
“Who are they?” That was Junie.
“Well, this isn’t easy to admit, but the core of the group is a JTF unit that went rogue. They may be allied with other armed militia elements that were already present in the city, but we’re not sure. Gathering intel isn’t easy. Also, we’re stretched particularly thin because there are two other groups growing and getting more organized in the west and north of the city. Our base of operations in the White House and surrounding grounds is secure, but . . . I’m not sure how to put this, so I’m just going to say it. We—”
“You’re not going to be able to help us anymore,” Mike cut in.
“I wouldn’t say that exactly,” the officer said. “But it is true that we won’t be able to respond as quickly to threats. You might want to consider relocating.”
“To where?” Junie snapped. “There’s floods and poison south of us, and crazy people with guns everywhere else.”
“There are settlements at Ford’s Theatre and—”
“There’s no room for us there,” Junie interrupted. “Where’s the rest of the JTF? Where’s the rest of the military? This is Washington, DC! Where are the people who are supposed to hold everything together?”
“Easy, Junie,” Mike said.
“Easy, hell. We’re talking about dying here. Where are the people who are supposed to keep us safe?”
“They’re coming,” the officer said. “Believe me. There’s a lot going on outside DC right now, and the government’s going to get back on its feet. I don’t know all the details, but I do know that. Believe me.”
“Why should I?” Junie had a head of steam now, and she wasn’t stopping.
“Because I’ve got no reason to lie to you. And if I was going to lie to you, I would for damn sure come up with a better lie than the embarrassing truth I just laid out.” The officer was trying to control his temper, the kids could tell that. His voice was tight with tension.
There was a pause. Then, “Okay,” Junie said. “Fair enough. So while we’re waiting for all this to happen, what do we do?”
“Stick very close to settlements. Try to contact us and arrange supply transfers instead of scavenging. Whatever you do, avoid the eastern end of the Mall. In general, don’t travel outside approved zones.”
“Where are approved zones?” Junie asked.
“Well,” the JTF officer said. “Those boundaries are fluid.”
“That’s very helpful,” Junie said. “Thank you.”
“Look, just stay as close to home as possible,” the officer said.
“The other night, we watched a firefight from our home,” Junie said. “We heard the shots. We saw the flashes. Two hundred yards from our house. How close do we need to stay to be safe?”
“What do you want from me?” the JTF officer asked. “We’re doing everything we can.”
“Okay,” Mike said. “We get it.”
“But we don’t like it,” Junie added.
“Yeah.” Mike paused. “Can you tell us what happened down in L’Enfant Plaza, at least?” Mike asked. “With the yellow smoke, or powder, or whatever it was?”
The JTF officer shook his head. “I can’t really say anything about that.”
“The children said a Division agent told them it was dangerous,” Junie said.
Violet could almost hear the JTF officer rolling his eyes. He came across as one of those adults who didn’t put much stock in what children said. “Listen,” he said with a frustrated sigh. “That much is true. Don’t go down there. But there are a lot of reasons not to go a lot of places in this city right now. So don’t get too worked up about whatever it is a bunch of kids think they saw.”
“So it is dangerous.”
“Sure. Yes.”
“Is it dangerous to us in the Castle?”
“I . . . don’t think so,” the JTF officer said. “Honestly, that’s the truth. If I were you I wouldn’t get anywhere near it, but it’s not going to move, if that’s what you’re worried about. Especially not after all that rain. A lot of it’s probably washed down into the river by now.”
“Bad news for the fish,” another voice muttered in the stairwell below them. Violet peeked down and saw the JTF soldiers were all hanging out there. She looked back at Saeed and Amelia, pointed down, and put a finger over her lips. They nodded.
“Floodwaters have risen again over the past few days,” the JTF officer went on from inside the conference room. “Whatever happened down there, it’s underwater now. You really don’t want to go anywhere near it.”
“So basically we’re cut off,” Junie said. “Like I said. Floods and poison to the south and west, armed lunatics everywhere else, and you don’t know if you can help.”
“Remember: We’re to the north. We will keep patrols up in the area south of the White House all the way to the flood zone, and west to this location. We do the same for the other settlements where large numbers of survivors are grouped.”
Chairs scraped in the conference room and they heard the clump of boot heels as the officer rejoined the rest of the JTF patrol. “Listen,” he said, “I’m glad we could help out over at the pond. And we’ll be there whenever we can in the future. But DC is going to be a difficult place to live for the foreseeable future. I would consider it a dereliction of my duty not to tell you that.”
Mike’s crutch made a squeak on the stone floor as he came out of the room. “So I guess we should schedule a supply transfer now?”
“Since we were coming anyway, I brought quite a bit of stuff,” the officer said. “We’ll help you get it loaded in.”
* * *
• • •
They ate well that night, celebrating the new supplies a little. But the overall mood was pretty downcast. Word of the JTF officer’s warning had spread through the Castle even before dinnertime, and it was all anyone was thinking about—even if they kept trying to talk about other things. “So basically he means we’re screwed,” Saeed said.
“No,” Amelia sa
id. “That’s not what he meant. He was just telling us we have to be careful.”
Ivan looked up at her and said, “We knew that. Right?”
“Yeah. Right.” Amelia rested her hand on her little brother’s shoulder.
“Hey, I have a question,” Saeed said, like he’d just noticed they were there. “Your dad. How did you know he was a Division agent? Did he, like, announce it before he stood up and walked off?”
He was looking at Ivan when he said it, but Ivan looked up at Amelia. “I don’t know,” Amelia said. “We weren’t there. Our mom just told us he was gone. Then . . . then a week later she was, too.”
That wasn’t quite the answer Saeed—or the rest of them—had been expecting. Violet decided to change the subject. They were all jumpy because of what they’d heard the JTF officer say. “Hey, Wiley,” she said. “Can we see the bullet hole?”
She was surprised when he grinned and said, “Yeah, check it out.” He pulled up his shirt and carefully peeled back the dressing. The bullet wound on the right side of his rib cage was a purple pucker, stitched up and surrounded with little black specks. They must have been dried blood, Violet thought.
“Whoa,” Saeed said. “It looks like one of those craters on the moon, you know? With the lines coming out of it where debris and stuff sprayed all over?”
Ohhhh, yeah, a couple of them said. It did look like that. Saeed even reached out like he was going to poke it, but Noah stopped him. “Hey, don’t.”
Saeed pulled his hand back. “Okay. Sorry. But it really does remind me of that. You guys know what I mean?”
They did. “What about the back?” Amelia asked. “Is that the same?”
“I don’t know,” Wiley said. “I haven’t seen it.” He was enjoying the attention. “It didn’t really hurt that much, you know.”
None of them reminded him how he’d been crying and sobbing at the time he’d been shot. After all, they probably would have been doing the same thing.
Looking at the wound, they got quiet after their initial burst of interest had passed. Wiley set the dressing back in place and Noah helped him make sure it was taped up again. They were quiet for a while after that. It could have been any of them. And it could have been much worse.
“What do we do?” Shelby asked. “If we’re cut off, I mean. What do we do?”
“We’re not cut off,” Violet said.
“Yeah,” Saeed agreed. “We just have to be careful.”
“We were already being careful,” Shelby pointed out. “And look what happened.”
“Well,” Wiley said. “Be more careful, I guess.”
They all laughed, but they were scared, too. The adults weren’t telling them anything, and they knew that was a bad sign.
18
AURELIO
By the time Aurelio had lost twenty minutes taking out the remnants of the DPF, the main op at city hall was already in its mop-up stage. JTF brass had predicted the gang would crack as soon as the JTF penetrated their perimeter security. This was usually the case with gangs. They pretended to keep paramilitary hierarchies and discipline, but when push came to shove they fell apart.
He tried to raise Lieutenant Hendricks back at the Post Office, but she was wrapped up in operational duties. Next Aurelio checked Ronson’s status on ISAC. If he was going to file a report on Ronson for dereliction, he wanted to have all his ducks in a row. Declaring an agent rogue was a serious step. Aurelio had never made such an accusation before, but he didn’t know how else to interpret what Ronson had done.
ISAC showed Ronson as currently deployed on a mission. That was it. No notes about him bailing out on an operation and getting a bunch of civilians killed.
Thinking about that nearly made Aurelio boil over with anger again. What he really wanted to do was get on a boat and hunt Ronson down.
Instead he went back to the Post Office and waited until Lieutenant Hendricks had finished her after-action reports and consults. Stationed by her desk, he could see her through a window into a briefing room. At one point she looked up and saw him, but that didn’t seem to make her hurry. It was a good hour after he’d gotten to the Post Office before she emerged from the briefing room and returned to her desk.
“Agent Diaz,” she said. “What brings you here?”
“Nothing good,” Aurelio said. “I pulled off the city hall op this morning to answer an SOS from Ike Ronson. When I got to the location, I found a bunch of dead civilians and no Ronson. I pinged his location and he was on a boat headed across the river.”
Hendricks took all this in for a moment. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I’m saying Ronson called in for fire support and then hightailed it out of a combat zone. As a result of that, a lot of people died.”
Hendricks brought the ISAC interface up on her desk workstation. “According to ISAC, the op was completed and he is conducting a follow-up that took him across the river.”
“I saw that, too,” Aurelio said. “But if you want to come down to Duane Park with me, I’ll show you something different.”
“This is a very serious accusation, Agent Diaz.”
Aurelio nodded. “Yes, it is. I do not make it lightly. Ike Ronson issued a false alert and abandoned his duty. He endangered my life and caused the deaths of at least a dozen people he was supposed to protect. Any way you slice it, that makes him a rogue agent.”
“I’ll enter that status in ISAC,” Hendricks said. “When he sees his watch go red, either he’ll head to the closest SHD base and get things sorted out, or . . .”
Or he’ll keep running toward whatever he’s running toward, Aurelio thought.
He knew which outcome he thought was more likely.
“Why hasn’t ISAC tagged him already?” Aurelio asked. Typically the system could tell by an agent’s movements and actions whether that agent had gone rogue. It should have tagged Ronson the minute he ran out on the op down by Duane Park.
Hendricks was studying the display. “I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t make a formal judgment from here about whether he did anything wrong. For one thing, that’s above my pay grade even for regular JTF personnel. For another, as you well know, we don’t decide whether Division agents are rogue or not.”
“I get that,” Aurelio said. “But when I saw ISAC hadn’t tagged him, I figured I should say something.”
“And now you have. I’ve added your report to his operational profile.” Hendricks stood. “ISAC still isn’t tagging him as a rogue. Maybe there’s something about this situation you don’t know.”
Aurelio considered this. “Could be,” he said. “But I’m going to find out.”
“Thought you were going back to DC.”
This was the crux of the problem. Aurelio wanted to go back to DC. He could do better work there, and he could maybe keep an eye on Ivan and Amelia.
But if he headed for DC now, he would be letting Ike Ronson walk out on a bunch of dead kids who had every bit as much to live for as Ivan and Amelia did. That cut against everything he’d sworn to do when he became a Division agent.
Ike Ronson had chosen another loyalty. Aurelio wasn’t going to do that.
“Ronson didn’t skip out on that op just to go get a sandwich,” Aurelio said. “He had a reason. He’s answering to someone else now. The most important thing I can do is find out who.”
“Makes sense to me,” Hendricks said. “If he’s gone rogue, I hope you find him and nail him to the wall, Agent Diaz.”
“I will.” He waited a moment as Hendricks nodded and swiped open a new screen on her workstation, but Aurelio wasn’t quite done yet. “But I need a hand with something.”
She looked back up at him. “What would that be?”
“His comms. Someone must have been talking to him.” ISAC had nearly universal surveillance over digital and voice comms fo
r both Division agents and JTF personnel. That was a crucial part of the Division’s rapid-response capability. Aurelio reasoned that a capture of Ike Ronson’s comms from that morning might help narrow down his location and direction.
“You want me to sweep up his comms?”
“It would be a big help. If we can find out who he was talking to, that might shed some light on where he’s going. And why.”
He could tell Hendricks didn’t like the idea. Aurelio was asking her to eavesdrop on a Division agent based solely on his field analysis of a combat operation that from her perspective might have been just a disastrous failure. Part of the latitude granted by Directive 51 meant Division agents weren’t answerable to the JTF, so essentially Aurelio was asking Hendricks to exercise oversight of an agent outside her command structure.
“I’m not asking you to judge,” he said. “All I need is information so I can make the right decision.”
“Okay,” Hendricks said, after a long pause. “I can do that. But it won’t be until later in the day.”
“Fair enough.” Aurelio stood. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you’re wrong about Ronson, but if you’re right, go get the SOB.”
“That’s the plan.”
Aurelio walked away, out of the Post Office and west on Thirty-fourth Street toward Hudson Yards. Ike Ronson had a three-hour head start, and ISAC said he was still in New Jersey. Aurelio knew that much. So the logical next step was to get on a boat and figure things out once he was across the river, too.
* * *
• • •
It was late afternoon by the time he could catch a ride over to Jersey on a JTF patrol boat. He hopped off the boat at a marina in Weehawken, now a JTF staging area that spread over the adjacent park and the approach roads to the Lincoln Tunnel. ISAC said Ike Ronson was on Interstate 80, already most of the way to Pennsylvania. Still no change in his status, either. As far as ISAC was concerned, Ike Ronson was a Division agent in good standing.
