I whispered, “You too?”
“More than you’ll ever know.” She lifted her tea, splashed the counter, set it down. “Damn. Sorry. But—damn!” She fled to the hall. “Say good night for me.”
“Hon—”
“Please, Nick!” She was gone.
“Booker’s disappeared from the face of the Earth.” Mark Tilnitz looked grim. “We’ve searched, Naval Intelligence is hunting, U.N. Security has pulled out all the stops.”
“And?” I tapped my desk, wishing I’d held the meeting in the comfort of my Washington compound, but I’d hoped the formality of my Rotunda office would spur the world’s security forces to greater effort.
“We’re falling all over each other,” Karen Burns said, “and getting nowhere.”
General Donner glowered. As head of U.N. Security Forces, he was nominally Mark’s boss, but he knew that in reality Mark was answerable only to me. “We’ve run analyses on the two manifestos. We think one person wrote them both.”
“That’s a great help.” I sounded too sarcastic, and regretted it.
“The joey in the terminal was Brian Keltek,” said Tilnitz. “From Vancouver, a metallurgist for BP Shell. A loner, no surviving family. Father was a fisherman until the North Pacific die-off.”
“The fish kill wasn’t our fault. The temperature inversion had nothing to do with global warming.” Why did I sound defensive?
“A number of scientists agree with you. Keltek contributed to the Enviro Council for seven years.” Mark regarded me steadily.
“It figures.” Let them claim what they might; Winstead headed a gang of loonies.
Captain Binn of U.N.A.F. Security asked, “Does this Keltek have friends? Associates?”
“Neighbors. Naturally, they saw nothing.”
“Now, look.” My tone was sharp. “A man can’t just disappear unless he goes transpop. There’s hotel records, travel vouchers, credit billings—”
“Don’t tell me my job.” Donner was blunt. “We’re working on it.”
Captain Binn demanded, “Who knew the SecGen would visit Academy?”
Tilnitz said, “We’ve been over that. The Commandant, two of his lieutenants, the SecGen’s security detail. The media wasn’t informed until he was on the way. That’s routine.”
“The Eco Action League manifesto referred to the SecGen at Academy. That means a leak.”
I rubbed my temples, hoping to soothe the first intimations of a headache. “Anyone could have known. Once we announced it to the media ...”
“Lots of enviro sympathizers in that bunch.” Mark sounded gloomy. “We’re checking.”
“This is nonsense.” I flipped off my holovid. “These Eco League joeys are glitched. They’re throwbacks to some other century. We simply don’t have terrorism anymore.”
“I know, sir. Perhaps we imagined the gunshots.” Tilnitz withstood my withering glare.
I suppressed an urge to pull out my hair. “What about the airport joey’s car? The driver?”
“The electricar was stolen the morning of the attack. No clues. We’ve taken it apart looking for prints or DNA, but all we get is the owner’s.”
“Find the Eco League. We’re running out of time.”
“Time?” Mark looked puzzled. “How so?”
I cursed under my breath. Nobody in the room knew about my impending dismissal, and I couldn’t tell them. Only fear of my impatience would spur them on. “The E.A.L. may attack again,” I said. “Worse, every day that passes sends a message to the public that we can’t catch fugitives. This isn’t some untamed colony, it’s Earth itself.” I stood. “We meet again in two days. I want results.”
The massive jet droned toward New York, my third trip this week. I might as well move there, I thought disgustedly.
Charlie Witrek, my middy, sat across from us, reading a holozine. As always, he was immaculately groomed.
Alexi sat comfortably at my side. He was hitching a ride back to Moira, he said, though I knew he had come along to provide moral support for my showdown with the Patriarchs.
Derek would have joined us as well, but with the Patriarchs’ attitude toward our colonies, I wanted him out of harm’s way. Lord knew what the Elders might do at the sight of him.
Hope Nation was no longer a colony, thanks to my highhandedness years before. Derek’s government had maintained its independence through several SecGens, despite unrelenting pressure from the Church. Perhaps, if the Patriarchs had their way, Galactic might someday appear over Centraltown, bristling with lasers, to reassert our control over a free people.
I sighed.
Alexi said, “What’s wrong, sir?”
“It won’t be my problem much longer.”
A pause. “Sometimes you’re too cryptic even for me.”
Across the aisle, Charlie Witrek nodded emphatically.
I couldn’t help but smile. “Hope Nation, I meant.”
Alexi said, “What will you do after, ah, you retire?”
“After I’m dismissed? Travel, I suppose.” If they let me.
“Sir, I know you’re worried they might—”
“Why do you keep calling me ‘sir’? You have more seniority than lever did.”
“Would you rather I called you ‘Mr. SecGen’?”
“‘Nick.’”
A moment’s silence. “I never called you that.”
“Start.”
“I don’t think I could.” He waved his glass at a steward, waited until his drink was poured. “It’d be sacrilege.”
I frowned. Lord God shouldn’t be taken lightly.
“You never cease to amaze me, you know.” A long sip. “When we were young, you’d have reamed that middy Speke so he never dared to be rude again.” He stared at his liquor. “We were terrified of crossing you, back on Hibernia. You had a way about you.”
Charlie slowly put down his holovid, all ears.
“I was harsh.”
“When needed. But you were gentle with Captain Stanger’s middy.”
I stirred uncomfortably, as if at an accusation. “We’d provoked him, and he was too young to deal with it.”
“He’ll revere you now.” A bleak smile. “You’ve mellowed, sir. Kindness comes easily to you.”
“Preposterous.” I frowned at the porthole, while we droned over billowy clouds.
“Those joeys who come to stare at your compound wall—why do you think they do it?”
“They’re deluded.”
“You offer them a hope. Of what they might be.”
“Bah. All this from not making Speke turn himself in?”
“Of course not. It’s your honesty, your refusal to dodge blame ... I’ve tried to raise my Mikhael in that mold.” Alexi sighed. “I’ve work to do yet.”
“Problems?”
“He’s fifteen. Should I have brought him on Melbourne? I wanted him to have a normal life. After my last cruise, Moira and I agreed to raise the joeykids at home.” His eyes were moody. “I don’t think it worked.”
“If there’s anything I—”
“It’s my problem.” But he brightened. “There, you see, sir? You’re SecGen, the busiest man in the world, and without thinking, you offer yourself.”
“It’s only words.” There was nothing I could do for his son, and I knew it. People made too much of polite phrases. Then, before I had time to stop myself, “Alexi, why don’t you bring the family to Washington? Stay with us awhile.” What was I doing? He needed time alone with them, to rebuild relations. “You could stay in the cottage, if you prefer.”
He brightened. “I’ll ask Moira.” Then, after a pause, “For all these years I’ve treasured you as a friend, more than you can ever know. But I’ll continue to call you ‘sir.’”
I stared out the porthole. Slowly, as if by its own volition, my hand stole across and settled on his arm.
“I thought you were going home to Moira.” We clumped along the walkway, in the shadows of the U.N. towers.
“After you meet with Bishop Saythor.”
“I’ve Jerence, Carlotti, and Witrek, here—a whole bloody squadron. Look at them!” Behind us, ahead, alongside, some twenty-five aides, security joeys, and flunkies hurried to keep pace.
Charlie said brightly, “I could have stayed home, sir. You wanted me along to—”
“I was wrong.” My tone was gentle.
Alexi’s face closed into a stubborn mask. “I’ll see you through your meeting.”
I nodded, knowing what outcome he feared. It would, no doubt, be a short conclave. This time, I’d have no choice but to face the baying pack of media gathered on the front steps. My disavowal by the Patriarchs would be world news. Many in my own Supranationalist Party, I suspected, would be glad. Too long, I’d barred the way to their ambition.
We negotiated the steps. Perhaps I should let the doctors have at my knee. Old age would soon be upon me. There was no reason to go through it in pain. I nodded grimly at the mediamen.
“Sir?” Alexi paused, to let me go first through the massive doors Charlie held. We strode down the ornate hall. “You could buy time, you know.”
I stopped, leaned against a marble column. “I won’t prevaricate.” And if I found Elder Saythor in my seat, I’d evict him. By force, if necessary. I gripped my cane.
“Consider a strategic retreat.” Alexi spoke with urgency. “Tell them you’ll look favorably ... hell, you know the words better than I. Tell them you’ll—”
Whump!
Alexi receded toward the far wall, as if seen through a zoom lens in reverse. A thump shook my chest. I sought breath, found none. The room tilted. I slammed into a lamp, crashed to the floor, skidded to the wall. My head slammed into a panel. The day dimmed.
Pandemonium.
It was time to get up. I had chores to do, and Father would be annoyed. I reached for my shoes.
“Don’t try to move, sir.” The voice was far distant.
My arms flailed as I struggled to get out of bed. Pain lanced my side. I tried to wiggle my toes. My legs were asleep.
Blood dripped onto my forehead. “DON’T MOVE, MR. SECGEN!” Why was Mark Tilnitz in Father’s house? Why was he bleeding? I wiped my brow.
“Where’s the fucking ambulance?”
I strained to hear. My ears were clogged.
“It’s landing on the lawn.” Jerence Branstead, weeping.
“Shape up, Cadet.” My growl was barely audible.
“Stand back, all of you! Give him room! Karen, how many dead?”
I blinked, trying to bring the room into focus. Gingerly, my fingers probed my side, came away red.
“Four, so far.”
“The SecGen gets the first ambulance.”
“The med helis hold three—”
“You heard me. Where in God’s name is a gurney?”
“They’ll have their own. Easy, Mr. Tilnitz.”
“Easy, hell! If I’d shielded him as I was supposed to ...”
“Mark ...” I struggled for breath. “What happened?”
“You’re hurt, sir. A bomb.”
I laughed, and coughed up salty blood. “And they missed? Incompetent idiots.”
The clatter of running footsteps.
“The column blocked the blast. Please, sir, don’t try to talk.”
“Why not? It may be my last chance.”
“Don’t say that!” His tone was agonized. “You, this way! It’s the SecGen!”
Strangers bent over me. “His side, any foreign objects protruding? Bind it. Sir, can you feel this?”
I gasped. “Christ, yes!” Sorry, Lord, but it hurt so.
“Move your fingers, if you would.”
I did.
“And your toes.”
I did.
“Try again.” A pause. “Don’t lift him. Slip the stretcher underneath. Careful, an inch at a time. Sir, you’ve lost blood, we’re starting an IV.”
“Tell Arlene I ...” It seemed too much trouble. Anyway, she knew. I closed my eyes, let black claim me.
5
MY MIND WAS CLOUDED. Joeys leaned over me to ask incomprehensible questions. I slept, woke again. Arlene sat alongside me, holding my hand. Sharp pain. I groaned. Someone adjusted a tube. I slept.
I drifted back from a far place.
“Where am I?” My throat was so dry I could barely make a sound. I licked my lips.
A white-clad nurse turned from the holovid that helped pass her vigil, “At Boland Memorial, sir.” She held a cup so I could drink from a straw. Never had water tasted so good.
I struggled for memory. “A bomb went off.” A sudden panic. “Mark Tilnitz?”
“Outside. He’s taken over the floor. We all have special passes.” She showed me hers, pinned to her tunic.
“How long have I ...”
“Four days.”
“Lord God above.” I tried to throw off the covers. Something stabbed at my side. “I have work waiting.”
“Lie back, Mr. SecGen.” She spoke urgently into a caller.
“Where’s Branstead? What’s on my schedule?” Tubes snaked from under the covers. Others were attached to my veins. “Unhook me.”
“Wait, sir. I’ve called the doctor.”
I tried to swing my legs out of bed, but couldn’t. “Am I tied? Help me up.”
The door burst open. “He’s awake? Good. Sir, I’m Dr. Rains.” He wore the white coat that was the uniform of his profession.
“Hello. Let me out of here.”
“Sit back, Mr. Seafort.” It was a command, sharp enough to give me pause. Gently but firmly, he helped me ease back onto my pillows. “You’ve been hurt.”
“How badly?”
“Your forehead is only bruised, and your concussion is fading. You’ve regained most of your hearing. The hole in your side is repaired with skintape. Two broken ribs, but we’ve applied the bone growth stimulator every morning.”
“So, then.” I had no patience with his recital.
He flung off my covers, revealing my nakedness and the catheters invading my body. I flinched. “Mr. SecGen ...” His voice was unexpectedly gentle. “Move your right foot.”
“What is this nons—” I couldn’t. I tried again.
“Your left.”
I grunted with the effort.
He tapped my ankle. “Feel this?”
“No.” Suddenly, I was clammy with sweat.
“There’s been, uh, spinal damage. We operated to stabilize you, to fuse the cracked vertebrae that—”
“How long ’til it heals?”
“It won’t heal,” said Dr. Rains.
I gagged. Nothing but spittle came up; I hadn’t eaten for days. I fought back terror.
“Mr. Seafort, there may be hope. We’ve procedures that—”
“Get out!”
“Neurosurgery has come a long way.”
“I don’t want to hear.” I twisted wildly, trying to move my legs.
“We can help you adjust—”
I pulled myself to a sitting position, pounded my knees. No sensation. I was numb nearly to the hips.
Dr. Rains caught my hand. “You’ll do yourself damage.”
“Let me go!”
“Nurse, twenty cc’s of Almonel, stat.”
“What’s that?” Desperately, I tried to twist free.
“A calmative.”
“No!” I struck at his wrist. “Don’t put me to sleep!”
He grabbed my forearm, held me still, brought the hypo to bear.
“Mark! MARK, HELP!”
The door crashed open. My security chief skidded in, laser ready. “Get away from him!”
“He needs a sedative.”
“For God’s sake, don’t let him do it!” I scrabbled to twist free.
“GET AWAY!” Mark’s face was like death. Gaunt, unshaven, a jagged scab crossed his forehead. He knelt, aimed two-handed.
Hastily, Dr. Rains stood clear. In the hall, running steps.
“Put that down.” Ti
lnitz slammed the door in the startled faces of a pair of orderlies.
“He needs—”
“Now!”
Carefully, Dr. Rains set down the hypo. “This man is my patient.”
“He was going to ...” I tried to bring my voice under control. “Get him out!”
“Do you need a sedative, sir?”
With more effort than anyone would ever know, I made my tone calm. “No, I need to be left alone.”
“You’ve got it, Mr. SecGen.” He herded Dr. Rains and the nurse toward the door. “I’ll be outside.”
Before the door closed I called him back. “How long have you been on duty?”
“Four days.”
“I thought as much.”
“When I go to the bathroom Karen and Tommy take over. The security zone is two floors below, two above. You’re safe.”
“Thank you.” My tone was tremulous. “Get some sleep. Call Alexi, he’ll sit with me.”
Mark came to the bed, knelt by my side, as if a child seeking his father’s blessing. His eyes sought mine, fled quickly to the distance. Nonetheless, his tone was resolute. “Captain Tamarov is dead.”
An awful cry, that echoed from the cold unforgiving walls. After a time, I realized the wail was mine. “How ... when—”
“The bomb, sir. He felt no pain.”
I feel it. My eyes darted to the door. He took the hint, patted my shoulder, and left.
Over and again I pounded the mattress. Let it have been me, Lord. He deserved to live.
I stifled a moan. Lord God still toyed with me. Bereft of my truest friend, helpless, bedridden, with no reprieve in sight. A pitiful old man. In the open closet, near what was left of my clothes, lay my silver-tipped cane. I’d not need it again. I retched. Come, night. Take me to your bosom.
I don’t know how long I lay, lost in misery. Across the room, the holovid chattered softly. It was set to a newsnet.
“—according to the latest bulletin from Boland Memorial.”
“Any word on when he’ll be up and around?”
“A highly placed source says within days, despite the rumor of serious injuries that would keep the SecGen bedridden for months. Phil Bansel, reporting live from Boland Memorial Hospital. Back to you, Dan.”
“Meanwhile, Acting SecGen Valera confirms that little progress has been made in identifying the Eco Action League, which claims it carried out this third terrorist attack on the—”
Patriarch's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 6) Page 11
