CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Freedom Alliance vehicles, full of jubilant fighters, converged on Pasteur Plaza from all directions, created a bottleneck. The truck on which Davidson sat took almost twenty minutes to squeeze through to the southern end of the plaza, opposite the Palace. Hundreds of vehicles were parked all over the place. More than a thousand fighters were building firing positions or wheeling artillery pieces into position. Helicopters buzzed overhead.
Commander Solon stood half-way up the main steps of the City Museum, amidst a dozen staff and bodyguards, scanning the Palace through binoculars. The truck stopped at the bottom of the steps. Captain Tucker jumped out and strode up them. Davidson followed with the precious pack slung over his shoulder. Helen Watkins trailed behind him.
When they got close to Commander Solon, someone touched the Commander's arm and nodded towards Tucker. The Commander lowered his binoculars and smiled. "Hello, Captain. I hear you have the canisters of Agent Pandora?"
Tucker pointed at the pack on Davidson's shoulder. "They're in there."
"Good. We've already secured the CDC building. I want your squad to take the canisters over there and put them in a sealed room. Keep them under close guard. We'll destroy them later."
Tucker looked dismayed. "But sir …"
"What?"
"I don't want to miss the big show-down."
Solon frowned and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Captain, but this is a vital task. I'm giving it to you because I trust you more than anyone. Believe me, you will have my sincerest gratitude."
Captain Tucker sighed and saluted. "Yes, sir."
"Thank you. Treat those canisters like they're new-born babies."
"I will."
The Captain gingerly took the pack off Davidson, strode down the steps and got into the cabin of the truck.
As the truck drove off, Commander Solon glanced at Davidson and Watkins. "Well done. You'll have to tell me what happened later. As you can see, I'm rather busy right now."
Davidson looked across the plaza, past the cenotaph and the statue of Alexander Webster, at the Palace. "What's happening?"
"We now control the whole city, except for the Palace. I've just sent an officer inside, under a flag of truce, to see if the Palace Guards will surrender."
"Surely, now the Chancellor is dead, they'll throw in the towel."
A shrug. "I hope so. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do …"
"Of course."
Davidson and Watkins strolled to the other end of the Museum steps and stood watching the unfolding drama.
Watkins said: "You tired?"
Davidson realized that he hadn't slept for almost 30 hours, but was too excited to be tired. "Not yet. You?"
"Nope. I don't think I'll ever need to sleep again."
For the next ten minutes, Freedom Alliance vehicles kept arriving and disgorging excited fighters who assisted those already preparing for the siege of the Palace. Then a man wearing Alliance khaki fatigues, carrying a large white flag, walked out of the main entrance of the Palace. It took him five minutes to stride through the main gate and across the plaza to where Commander Solon stood on the steps.
Davidson and Watkins moved closer to hear what was said.
The fighter furled the white flag and saluted. "Sir, the Palace Guards know the Chancellor is dead and want to surrender."
"All of them."
"Yes. I said that, if they leave the building unarmed, we will let them go home. They agreed and will start coming out in about ten minutes from now."
"Excellent. Well done." Solon turned to his staff. "Spread the word: when the Guards come out, no shooting or reprisals. In fact, I'll shoot anyone who disobeys."
Half-a-dozen staff officers scattered to carry out his instructions.
About ten minutes later, a few unarmed Palace Guards left the Palace and, under the muzzles of hundreds of weapons, nervously crossed the plaza to the far end. When they reached it, Alliance fighters patted them down for weapons and sent them home.
When the remaining Guards saw those who surrendered were not mistreated, a swelling tide left the Palace and followed in their footsteps. Within about twenty minutes, almost 1200 Guards and 50 civilians left the building and surrendered. All were searched for weapons and sent home.
Most of Commander Solon's staff had re-gathered around him. He looked around until he saw Davidson and Watkins. "I'm going inside. Do you want to come?"
"Of course," they said in unison.
Solon, his staff and about 50 grizzled fighters who seemed to be his personal bodyguards, strode across the plaza towards the Palace. Davidson and Watkins trailed behind.
The group passed about a hundred Muslim troops from Florida kneeling on mats, praying to Allah while facing where Mecca would be if a suitcase nuclear device hadn't destroyed it. About 50 years ago, an Outlaw in Florida proclaimed himself an Iman and started preaching from an English translation of the Koran he had found. There were now almost 50,000 Muslims in the area.
Everyone in Solon's group solemnly passed under the Palace portico and entered the building, treasuring their moment of triumph. When they reached the main entrance hall, they were awestruck by its opulence. Solon looked up at the large fresco on the ceiling and glanced at Davidson. "The Chancellor lived well, didn't he?"
"He enjoyed the finer things in life. Will you move in here?"
A laugh. "No. It looks a bit draughty. Which way to the Chancellor's office?"
"I'll show you."
Solon selected four mean-looking fighters to accompany them and told everyone else to search the Palace for any Guards still holding out. "And remember: no looting - this is a public building, it belongs to everyone."
Davidson led Solon, his team and Watkins up a long flight of stairs into the first large marble hall. The corpse of the Sergeant who Davidson killed still lay on the floor.
Solon glanced down. "Who killed him?"
"I did, I'm afraid, on the way out."
A wry grin. "You're a dangerous man. So, tell me: what happened last night, after we parted company?"
While they strode through the next two marble halls and the long corridor that ran through the administration wing, Davidson summarized what transpired.
When he'd finished, Solon smiled at him and Watkins. "You two had a big night, didn't you? I thank you both. You say Colonel Prentice was already wounded when he entered the Palace?"
"He was half-dead; he knew he wasn't coming out."
A rueful smile. "You know, I always feared he was a double-agent. I shouldn't have."
"Don't feel bad: he would have admired your suspicion."
A chuckle. "I guess so."
When they reached the elevator, Davidson was pleased to see no sign of Corporal Nesbitt, who must have recovered from his attack and left the building.
Everybody squeezed into the elevator and it climbed two floors to the circular marble hall outside the Chancellor's office. When Solon saw the corpses of the two Palace Guards outside it, he looked at Davidson. "You again?"
"Had to kill them to reach the Chancellor."
"I'm glad you changed sides."
Davidson led everyone through the open door into the office. The corpses of the Chancellor, Prentice and the other two Palace Guards lay where they fell.
Solon looked down at the bullet-riddled corpse of the Chancellor, staring up at the ceiling. "You know, I feel cheated. We planned to put him on trial for his crimes."
"You mean, you weren't going to shoot him out of hand?"
"That wouldn't have achieved anything. That's the wrong kind of thinking."
"I guess I'm a bit old-fashioned."
A chuckle. "You'll have to change."
Prentice's corpse lay on its side, covered with dried blood. Davidson bent down, rolled him onto his back and neatly folded his arms over his chest. His blood-stained face looked oddly peaceful.
Davidson felt a lump in his throat as he stood up. "Goodbye Colonel, I will mi
ss you." He turned to Solon. "You know, he said he had a lot of blood on his hands that he wanted to wash away. I think he succeeded."
"He certainly did. When you're fighting for the wrong side in a war, it isn't easy to cross over to the right side. But he managed. He was a brave man. You know, l never found out: does he have a family?"
"Yes, a wife, two children and a mistress. He asked me to give flowers to both women. I'll tell them what happened."
"Good. Let me know when the funeral's going to be held. I'd like to attend."
"I will."
Solon looked around and smiled. "Nice office."
"Are you going to use it?"
"No, that would send the wrong message, don't you think? I'll set up my headquarters in another building."
"Will you be the new Chancellor?"
"Of course not. Secretary Monroe and the rest of the High Council will arrive in a few hours. They'll take over the civil administration of the City. I'll help them, of course. But I'm tired of fighting. I want to go back to Tennessee and start a farm. Outlaw communities will blossom now. In 30 years, there will be lots of cities like this one."
"What about food and fuel? Can you keep them flowing into this city?"
"Fortunately, the Chancellor was a hoarder. There's plenty of food and fuel in storage, and we've got plans to bring in more. In a year or two, the City will hold elections and govern itself."
"You really mean that?"
A smile. "Yes. We're called the Freedom Alliance. You can trust the label."
"The citizens of Webster City aren't used to freedom."
"Maybe. But they aren't the citizens of Webster City anymore. This place is now called New Chicago. And don't worry, Outlaw communities understand democracy. We can make it work here."
"What about your comrades? What about the religious groups? Will they give up power? What if they start fighting each other?"
Solon's face clouded. "I guess that's possible. We fought so the future could get started. We'll have to wait and see what it brings."
The radio on Solon's belt crackled. He put it to his ear. "Solon here."
The Commander listened for about thirty seconds and smiled. "Understand. We're on our way out."
He clipped his radio back onto his belt and turned to Davidson and Watkins. "Let's go outside. I've got a big surprise."
Watkins said: "What?"
"Come on, you'll see."
The whole party returned to the elevator and rode it down to the administration wing. As they walked down the long corridor, Solon chatted with one of his men, and Watkins moved up next to Davidson.
She said: "What are you going to do now?"
"Well, first I've got to deliver some flowers and arrange a funeral."
"You need help choosing the flowers?"
"Definitely."
"What will you do after that?"
Davidson considered searching for Professor Pettigrew and asking him for extra life. But he wasn't sure he wanted to live longer than his allotted span and put that on the backburner. "The new regime won't want ex-ISB officers with blood on their hands, and I'm tired of this city. I'm going to travel in the Badlands. I think I'll go to Kansas first and look around."
"You mean, to find your brother?"
"No, to find out what happened to him, that's all."
"You taking your wife?"
"Of course not. Like I said, that's over."
A pause. "Can I go with you?"
His heart fluttered like a bird soaring above the City. "Sure. It'll be rough."
She smiled. "Maybe. But I think it'll be rougher in this city."
He laughed. "You're probably right."
On the way out, they passed dozens of Alliance fighters wandering around the Palace, gawking at its luxurious trappings. Many yelled their congratulations to Solon as he strolled past; he waved back and congratulated them.
When they emerged from the building, Davidson saw the surprise that Solon had in store. A heavy truck was parked beside the massive gilt-bronze statue of Alexander Webster. Ten fighters were unloading large crates and stacking them around the concrete plinth. Davidson realized with trembling excitement they were going to blow it up.
He glanced at Solon. "Good idea."
A big smile. "I've dreamed of doing this since I was a kid."
The fighters finished stacking the crates and most climbed aboard the truck, which drove off. However, two remained behind and spent fifteen minutes attaching wires to the explosives inside the crates. Finally, they strode off together, unspooling a wire for several hundred yards.
They attached the wire to a detonator and looked across at Solon, who gave a thumbs-up. One of them pushed down the plunger of the detonator. A deafening roar echoed around the square. Huge chunks of masonry heaved out of the plinth. Smaller pieces peppered the watching fighters like shrapnel, without causing serious injury. Dust and smoke enveloped the bottom half of the statue.
For a few moments, Alexander Webster refused to move. Then he slowly toppled forward. The arm holding the test-tube seemed to reach out to break his fall and shattered on impact. The torso slammed onto the ground and rocked several times before settling. A dust cloud rolled across the plaza towards the Hall of Guardians.
Enormous cheers echoed around the plaza. Fighters danced and wept.
Davidson realized he held Helen's hand and they were both cheering. Colonel Prentice said the Freedom Alliance was trying to liberate the City and he was right. Davidson felt like he had stepped out of a dark prison cell into blinking sunlight. The world glowed with potential. However, at the height of his euphoria, doubts about the future intruded. What monsters would this new age produce?
Commander Solon appeared at his shoulder, beaming. "That was magnificent. Maybe we should raise a new statue of Colonel Prentice."
Davidson shook his head. "You know, I don't think he'd want that."
A grin. "You're probably right. What are your plans now?"
"After we've buried the Colonel, we're heading into the Badlands."
Solon looked downcast and his shoulders slumped. "I wish I could go with you. But I could be here for a lot longer than I thought."
THE END
Webster City Page 25
