‘I can tell.’
‘Look, you want to talk or what? Time’s wasting.’
Carl paused, wondering how he could ask the question without sounding like a fool, and then decided there was no other way. ‘His dog. What happened to it?’
Troy put his hands in his coat pockets. ‘His what?’
‘Merl’s dog,’ Carl said. ‘What happened? Where is he?’
Troy shook his head. ‘Jesus Christ on ground zero, I can’t believe you got my ass out here to ask me about that old guy’s fucking dog. Man, have you been out in the sun too much?’
‘Troy, just answer the question, all right? The dog?’
He coughed and looked around again, licking his lips nervously. ‘The dog’s dead, man. Gone for over a month.’
‘And what did he do with it?’
Troy cocked his head at him, and then started laughing. ‘Man, that’s a good one, like you knew there was an answer there. All right. You know what he did after the dog died? The landlord, old Mr. Townes, he told me what happened, one day while I was taking out the trash. Seems old man Sawson, living on retirement income and whatever shitty pension the Army gives out, he actually spent the money for a funeral. Can you believe that? Homeless and orfie gangs in the street, and this old guy spends his money to bury his dog in a goddam pet cemetery.’
Troy looked around at the throngs of people, and he shook his head again. ‘Man, if that isn’t just another sign that this is one fucked-up country, than I don’t know what is.’
‘Where did he bury the dog?’
He shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Some place up north, in New Hampshire. That’s all I know, and that’s all I’m saying. All right? We’re even, man, except for one thing.’
‘And what’s that?’
Another glance around at the people, some now elbowing past them. ‘There’s going to be a bust-up later today. Keep your head together and don’t get in the middle of the crowd.’
Carl stared at him. ‘Then why are you folks still going ahead with the rally?’
Troy winked. ‘Politics, baby, politics. The more heads get busted, especially the ones with the coats and ties, the better the chances of getting the draft ended and getting this country back in shape.’
And with that Troy melted into the crowd and was gone. Carl checked his notebook and his knapsack, and then looked at the crowd, saw in his mind’s eye similar crowds a few days hence, marching out from the outskirts of San Diego, Omaha, Miami, DC, counties in Alabama and Georgia, and Manhattan, of course, old New York City. Crowds of people, just as determined, just as angry, marching out for recognition, for their rights. Facing lines and lines of armed soldiers, and foreign troops who had no allegiance to them and who were here as the vanguard of a revitalized empire.
His shoulders felt heavy, like the lining of his coat had suddenly turned into lead.
~ * ~
Then he spotted her, crossing over from the direction of Winter Place, down whose narrow alleyway lay one of Boston’s famous restaurants, Locke-Ober. She wore her long black coat, the tails flapping around her legs, and her head was down. She looked up at him as she walked up the crowded sidewalk.
‘You came,’ he said simply.
‘Yes.’
‘And where are your watchers?’
She motioned with her head. ‘They said they would leave me alone.’
‘Do you believe them?’
‘No.’
‘Good,’ Carl said. ‘Neither do I. Let’s go someplace quiet, just for a moment.’
He picked up his knapsack and walked with her, trying not to bump into the people as they streamed up to the sound-stage, and he stood with Sandy under a large pine tree. He leaned against the rough trunk and said, ‘All right. Let’s talk. You said you came here to do your story and to also do some favors for MI6. True?’
‘Carl, I really don’t know if I can—’
‘Look,’ he said sharply, moving away from the tree. ‘I don’t have time for any more games, any more secrets within secrets. What the hell is going on? Was this ... damn it, was our relationship, was that part of the design? Was it?’
Her eyes started to fill up. ‘Damn you, Carl, if that’s what you believe—’
He threw up his hands. ‘What can I believe, if you’re not going to say anything?’
She looked around. ‘All right, but make it quick. Please. I shouldn’t be saying anything.’
‘Favors,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk about favors. One of your favors was to meet up with Merl Sawson. Right?’
There. Surprise in her eyes. ‘Carl, I…’ and the words trailed off.
‘Sandy, in Manhattan you asked me about the murdered vet. I never told you that Merl Sawson was a vet. I said he was just an old man. You knew who he was. So, one last time and then I’m walking, Sandy. Were you supposed to meet Merl Sawson?’ He could have told her about the surveillance photo, but he ached at confronting her with it. He wanted to give her a chance, at least a chance, to come clean.
Even with the noise and the drums and the music, he could sense the struggle within her. Then she stepped closer to him and said, ‘Yes, I was.’
‘What for?’
‘To pick up some documents, documents of great importance.’
‘Why you?’
‘It was thought that he was under surveillance,’ she said, stammering slightly. ‘But I could interview him for my piece on the anniversary of the war, and that would give me enough cover to retrieve the documents and get them to the consulate.’
‘And what happened?’
‘I got to Boston and before I could set up an interview, he was dead.’
‘And then you were told to attach yourself to me?’
Her eyes were watery. ‘Yes.’
‘And what for?’
‘Somebody knew that you had talked to Merl, and were following up on his death,’ she said. ‘It was thought that you might find the package, or that you might have it already.’
‘And what were these documents?’ Damn you again, Merl, he thought. If you had just given me the goddam thing the first time we met...
She shook her head and looked away. ‘I don’t know. All I know is that they were very important and that they had to be got out of the country. And that Merl was meant to come out as well.’
‘That was the deal, to get him out in exchange for these papers?’
A sad nod. ‘That’s right.’
And what about the dead British general, the one who died just before you got here? Coincidence?’
A pause. ‘No, I don’t think it was a coincidence. I think he was sent here to see Merl before me. I was second choice.’
‘Manhattan,’ he said, thinking over their trip. ‘Was that for real, or a cover?’
‘Oh, that was for bloody real,’ she said, kicking at a clump of leaves on the ground. ‘I was tired of playing at spooks, and I told them I had to get some real work done. And the Manhattan tour was an opportunity to do just that.’
‘And why the invite to me?’
She looked back at him. ‘What?’
‘Sandy, why did you invite me along to New York City?’ he asked, looking intently at those eyes, at that smooth skin, wondering if he could ever understand what was going on behind that cool British exterior. ‘If the goal was to see what I knew about Merl Sawson, then why invite me to leave Boston and spend a few days with you in Manhattan? What’s the point? Or were you trying to find out more about Jim Rowley and his people?’
She looked pained. ‘The point, you oaf, is that I was falling in love with you, and I wanted you to be with me. That was the point. And my watchers were none too pleased to find out about my invitation. They’d have far rather you stayed in Boston, poking your nose into things. And I knew nothing about PS 19 until we met them. That’s the truth.’
And what about PS 19?’ he asked, not wanting to tell her about Jim Rowley’s plans to come out before the election. ‘You know what’s planned, with your paras get
ting ready to go in. You said something before, about wanting to help them. Another story, or the truth?’
She rubbed at the side of her head with her hands. ‘The truth. But. .. I’m not allowed to make any overseas phone calls, Carl, and I’ve been warned that anything I write will be heavily vetted. I... I don’t think I can do anything, as much as I hate to admit it. I think the consulate might be involved in all of this. And I hate what’s going on.’
He thought again about Manhattan. ‘That first day, right after the ambush, when you left the apartment and came back with candles. You made a radio call, right? Using that radio you had dummied up to look like a tape recorder.’
For a moment her mouth dropped open and she said, ‘How did you know about that?’
‘Oh, come now, you know a good reporter never reveals his sources,’ he said, feeling a shamed sense of pleasure at the shock in her face. ‘What were you doing? Arranging a pickup?’
She still look flustered. ‘Yes. I managed to get a quick message out and I got an acknowledgment, but we were moving around too much for them to find us. I knew MI6 would get to us eventually.’
And these documents, they were going to do what?’
‘They were going to make a difference, that’s all. A very important difference in our nations’ relationship.’
He looked at those bright and intelligent eyes, and he still could not tell what was going on there. Carl paused, remembering the smoothness of her skin, the taste of her mouth, the scent of her hair, and the old feelings she had rekindled. Hope. A hell of a thing to depend on. Hope. He thought for a quick moment, about what had happened and what could happen, and he said, ‘You still want those papers?’
‘Of course I do,’ she said, her voice suddenly eager. ‘Do you know where they are?’
‘It might mean going away for a day or so. Do you mind ditching your watchers?’
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘It would be a pleasure, and—’
The music up front stopped and then a chanting started, a chorus that grew and grew, until it almost hurt his ears.
‘Hell no, we won’t glow, hell no, we won’t glow, HELL NO, WE WON’T GLOW!’
Carl leaned forward until his lips touched her ear. ‘I think the demonstration is about ready to kick off. Want to get a better look? It will help us slip the guys who are following you.’
‘Sure,’ she said, and slipped her hand into his and squeezed. After just a moment, he squeezed back. He knew what he was doing. Maybe. ‘Stick close,’ he said, bending down to grab his knapsack and tossing it over his shoulder.
They stepped away from the tree and then they were swept up by the crowd across the Common’s lawn, moving and chanting and waving signs and placards, jutting clenched fists in time to the chorus:
‘HELL NO, WE WON’T GLOW!’
‘HELL NO, WE WON’T GLOW!’
‘HELL NO, WE WON’T GLOW!’
Sandy tugged at his hand and leaned in again. ‘Can we get closer to the stage?’
It was hard to talk in all the noise, so he just nodded. He took hold of her hand again and started moving toward Tremont Street. She looked at him with surprise, and then he headed up to the intersection of Park Street. He didn’t want to be stuck in the middle of the crowd. As they moved they were jostled and bumped, and he winced a couple of times as his feet were trampled on. He never gave up the hand lock on Sandy, and he looked back occasionally, just to make sure she was all right.
The chanting died down and then someone up on the stage began talking, and the voice was so amplified and distorted that he had a hard time making out complete sentences. The speech came out in a series of clipped phrases that echoed along the buildings on Tremont Street.
‘... we need a new beginning, a beginning that recognizes our sins of the past and the promise of our future ...’
Boston police barricades were now up along the street, and he felt something in the air, a tension and a sense of some indescribable forces coming together, like the still air before a late-summer thunderstorm. A helicopter roared overhead, surveying the crowd, and some people shook their fists up at the green machine. He stopped against a lamppost and pulled Sandy in close to him.
‘... a dictatorship, no matter how helpful and high-sounding, is still a dictatorship…’
Sandy leaned in against him, raising her voice to make herself heard. ‘Why are we stopping?’
‘Needed a break,’ he said, his eyes roving over the crowd, picking out the individual faces, the thousands upon thousands of people who streamed around them. They were close enough to the stage to see the makeshift platform that had been set up. Banners flapped in the breeze, with garish colors and letters. Tall amplifiers flanked both ends of the stage, and a figure in jeans and a U.S. flag shirt was in front of a micro-phone, raising his arms as he talked.
‘... and a draft that sends our brothers and sons to a wasteland is still slavery ...’
Beyond the stage was the gold dome of the State House, and Carl saw movement back there, green uniforms coming down the steps and across the sidewalks, up there on the hill. He felt cold. He remembered what Troy had told him a few minutes ago. Sandy said, ‘Why can’t we get closer? I want to get closer.’
He said, ‘No, we don’t want to do that. This is good enough.’
She looked at him and then over at the crowd. There were shouts and a scream, as a phalanx of hard-hatted construction workers waded into the crowd by the corner of Tremont and Park, battling a group of bearded youths who were flying an American flag upside down. The voice on the stage got louder.
‘... and we’re not going to take it anymore. We’re going to take this country back, one street at a time, one city at a time, one State House at a time!’
The shouting grew and grew and grew, and he leaned against the pole, seeing other scuffles break out in the crowd. A woman went by, sobbing, holding a bloody handkerchief to the head of a male friend. Three or four men stood in a circle; holding their draft cards up and burning them, as people around them applauded. Siren whoops started, off in the distance, and he looked over at the alleyways between the office buildings on the other side of Tremont Street. They were lined with soldiers in riot helmets, carrying clear plastic shields and long wooden batons. Just like the supplies stored back in Manhattan. Beside the soldiers were Boston police officers on horses, and Carl was horrified to see that both the cops and horses were wearing gas masks.
‘. . . let’s go, let’s seize this place and show them what free people can do!’
Sandy reached up and hugged him and said, ‘Something bad is going to happen.’
‘Yes.’
‘Should we get out of here?’
‘Let’s see if we can.’
Carl looked at the people moving about them, some running and stumbling, and saw the grim face of Captain Rowland, who was heading right for them, a hand under his coat, reaching for something.
Then it was too late.
~ * ~
The popping sounds started, one or two, and then a chorus. Up on the hill behind the stage white and yellow streams of smoke arced into the air and fell into the crowd. The white clouds blossomed and blew in the wind. More screams and shouts and Sandy yelled in his ear, ‘Oh, Christ, are they shooting at us?’
‘No, it’s just tear gas,’ he said, grabbing her hand again and heading down the sidewalk. ‘Look, we’ve got to get out of here. It’s going to get hairy here, real quick.’
He held her hand tight and spared a glance back. Captain Rowland was stuck in the crowd, but he was one angry soldier and he was coming toward them, and Carl had a pretty good idea why. Consorting with the enemy was still officially frowned upon, even when there wasn’t a war on, and Carl also wasn’t following orders. A bad combination.
‘Carl—’
He moved quickly, not wanting to run. When you run it’s easy to lose your footing, to tumble, and with all the people bumping and surging around them, it would be easy to get trampled. The
crowd wasn’t in a panic, not yet, but there were many anxious looks and fearful glances at the chaos erupting around the stage.
‘There’s going to be a lot of people hurt here in the next minute or two, and I don’t want us to be part of them!’ he yelled back at her. Something whistled and there was a loud POP! behind them, and they both turned. Sandy screamed, seeing the huge cloud of teargas sweep upon them. Now the people shouted and broke and ran, and Sandy made to go with them but Carl pulled her to him.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Run this way, close your eyes and hold your breath!’
Resurrection Day Page 47
