by Tom Clancy
"Well, I want to try one out. Westinghouse will lend us one for free."
"This is really starting to sound good," Griffin noted. "But have they really ironed the bugs out yet?"
"They say so, except for some occasional voltage fluctuations. They're not sure what causes that, and they want to do some field tests."
"How bad are the fluctuations?"
"Marginal." Alex pulled out a pad and read off the numbers. "It seems to be an environmental problem. Looks like it only happens when the ambient air temperature changes rapidly. If that's the real cause, it shouldn't be too hard to beat."
Griffin considered that for a few seconds. "Okay, where do you want to set it up?"
"I have a spot picked out down in Anne Arundel County, south of Annapolis."
"That's a long ways away. Why there?"
"It's a dead-end line. If the transformer goes bad, it won't hurt many houses. The other thing is, one of my crews is only twenty miles away, and I've been training them on the new unit. We'll set up the test instrumentation, and I can have them check it every day for the first few months. If it works out, we can make our purchase order in the fall and start setting them up next spring."
"Okay. Where exactly is this?"
Dobbens unfolded his map on Griffin's table. "Right here."
"Expensive neighborhood," the field superintendent said dubiously.
"Aw, come on, boss!" Alex snorted. "How would it look in the papers if we did all our experiments on poor folk? Besides" — he smiled—"all those environmental freaks are rich, aren't they?"
Dobbens had chosen his remark with care. One of Griffin's personal, hobbyhorses was the "Park Avenue Environmentalist." The field superintendent owned a small farm, and didn't like having some condo-owning dilettante tell him about nature.
"Okay, you can run with it. How soon can you set it up?"
"Westinghouse can have the unit to us the end of next week. I can have it up and running three days after that. I want my crew to check the lines—in fact, I'll be going down myself to set it up if you don't mind."
Griffin nodded approval. "You're my kind of engineer, son. Most of the schoolboys we get now are afraid to get their hands dirty. You'll keep me posted?"
"Yes, sir."
"Keep up the good work, Alex. I've been telling management about you."
"I appreciate that, Mr. Griffin."
Dobbens left the building and drove home in his two-year-old company Plymouth. Most of the rush-hour traffic was heading in while he headed out. He was home in under an hour. Sean Miller was just waking up, drinking tea and watching television. Alex wondered how anyone could start the day with tea. He made some instant coffee for himself.
"Well?" Miller asked.
"No problem." Alex smiled, then stopped. It occurred to him that he'd miss his job. After all the talk in college about bringing Power to the People, he'd realized with surprise after starting with BG&E that a utility company engineer did exactly that. In a funny sort of way, he was now serving the ordinary people, though not in a manner that carried much significance. Dobbens decided that it was good training for his future ambitions. He'd remember that even those who served humbly still served. An important lesson for the future. "Come on, we'll talk about it in the boat."
* * *
Wednesday was a special day. Jack was away from both his jobs, carrying the bear while Cathy wheeled their daughter out. The bear was a gift from the midshipmen of his history classes, an enormous monster that weighed sixty pounds and was nearly five feet tall, topped off with a Smokey Bear hat—actually that of a Marine drill instructor courtesy of Breckenridge and the guard detail. A police officer opened the door for the procession. It was a windy March day, but the family wagon was parked just outside. Jack scooped up his daughter in both arms while Cathy thanked the nurses. He made sure she was in her safety seat and buckled the belt himself. The bear had to go in the back.
"Ready to go home, Sally?"
"Yes." Her voice was listless. The nurses reported that she still cried out in her sleep. Her legs were fully healed, finally. She could walk again, badly and awkwardly, but she could walk. Except for the loss of her spleen, she was whole again. Her hair was trimmed short to compensate for what had been shaved, but that would grow out soon enough. Even the scars, the surgeons said, would fade, and the pediatricians assured him that in a few months the nightmares would end. Jack turned to run his hand along the little face, and got a smile for his efforts. It wasn't the smile he was accustomed to getting. Behind his own smile, Ryan's mind boiled with rage yet again, but he told himself that this wasn't the time. Sally needed a father now, not an avenger.
"We have a surprise waiting for you," he said.
"What?" Sally asked.
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise," her father pointed out.
"Daddy!" For a moment his little girl was back.
"Wait and see."
"What's that?" Cathy asked on getting in the car.
"The surprise."
"What surprise?"
"See," Jack told his daughter. "Mommy doesn't know either."
"Jack, what's going on?"
"Doctor Schenk and I had a little talk last week," was all Ryan would say. He released the parking brake and headed off onto Broadway.
"I want my bear," Sally said.
"He's too big to sit there, honey," Cathy responded.
"But you can wear his Smokey hat. He said it was okay." Jack handed it back. The wide-brimmed campaign hat dropped over her head.
"Did you thank the people for the bear?" Cathy asked.
"You bet." Ryan smiled for a moment. "Nobody flunks this term. But don't tell anybody that." Jack had a reputation as a tough marker. That might not survive this semester. Principles be damned, he told himself. The mids in his classes had sent Sally a steady stream of flowers, toys, puzzles, and cards that had entertained his little girl, then circulated around the pediatric floor and brightened the days of fifty more sick kids. Smokey Bear was the crowning achievement. The nurses had told Cathy that it had made a difference. The monster toy had often sat at the top of Sally's bed, with the little girl clinging to it. It would be a tough act to follow, but Jack had that one figured out. Skip Tyler was making the final arrangements now.
Jack took his time, driving as though he were carrying a cargo of cracked eggs. His recent habits at CIA made him yearn for a cigarette, but he knew that he'd have to stop that now, with Cathy home all the time. He was careful to avoid the route Cathy had taken the day that—His hands tightened on the wheel as they had for weeks now. He knew he had to stop thinking about it so much. It had become an obsession, and that wasn't going to help anything.
The scenery had changed since the… accident. What had been bare trees now had the green edges of buds and leaves with the beginning of spring. Horses and cows were out on the farms. Some calves and colts were visible, and Sally's nose pressed against the car window as she looked at them. As it did every year, life was renewing itself, Ryan told himself. His family was whole again, and he'd keep it that way. The last turn onto Falcon's Nest Road finally came. Jack noted that the utility trucks were still around, and he wondered briefly what they had been up to as he turned left into his driveway.
"Skip's here?" Cathy asked.
"Looks like it," Jack replied with a suppressed grin.
"They're home," Alex said.
"Yeah," Louis noted. Both men were perched at the top of the utility pole, ostensibly stringing new power lines to accommodate the experimental transformer. "You know, the day after the job," the lineman said, "there was a picture of the lady in the papers. Some kid went through a window and got his face all cut up. It was a little brother, Alex. The lady saved his eyes, man."
"I remember, Louis." Alex raised his camera and snapped off a string of shots.
"An' I don't like fucking with kids, man," Louis said. "A cop's a different thing," he added defensively. He didn't have to say that so was the kid's
father. That was business. Like Alex, he had a few remaining scruples, and hurting children was not something he could do without some internal turmoil.
"Maybe we were all lucky." Alex knew objectively that this was a stupid way for a revolutionary to think. Sentimentality had no place in his mission; it got in the way of what he had to do, prolonging the task and causing more deaths in the process. He also knew that the taboos against injuring children were part of the genetic programming of any human being. Mankind had progressed in its knowledge since Marx and Lenin. So whenever possible he'd avoid injuring kids. He rationalized that this would enhance his sympathy in the community he was seeking to liberate.
"Yeah."
"So what have you seen?"
"They got a maid—black o'course. Fine-lookin' woman, drives a Chevy. There's somebody else in there now. He's a white dude, big guy, an' he walks funny."
"Right." Alex made note of the former and dismissed the latter. The man was probably a family friend.
"The cops—state cops—are back here every two hours minimum. One of them asked me what we were doing yesterday afternoon. They're keeping an eye on this place. There's an extra phone line into the house—gotta be for an alarm company. So they got a house alarm and the cops are always close."
"Okay. Keep your eyes open but don't be too obvious."
"You got it."
"Home," Ryan breathed. He stopped the car and got out, walking around to Sally's door. He saw that the little girl wasn't playing with the seat-belt buckle. He took care of it himself, then lifted his daughter out of the car. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and for a moment life was perfect again. He carried Sally to the front door, both arms clasping her to his chest.
"Welcome back." Skip had the door open already.
"Where's my surprise?" Sally demanded.
"Surprise?" Tyler was taken aback. "I don't know about any surprise."
"Daddy!" Her father got an accusing look.
"Come on in," Tyler said.
Mrs. Hackett was there, too. She'd gotten lunch ready for everyone. A single mother of two sons, she worked hard to support them. Ryan set his girl down, and she walked to the kitchen. Skip Tyler and her father watched her stiff legs negotiate the distance.
"God, it's amazing how kids heal," Tyler observed.
"What?" Jack was surprised.
"I broke a leg playing ball once—damned if I bounced back that fast. Come on," Tyler beckoned Jack out the door. First he checked out the stuffed animal in the car. "I heard it was some kind of bear. That one must have played in Chicago!"
Then they went into the trees north of Ryan's house. Here they found the surprise, tied to a tree. Jack loosed the chain and picked him up.
"Thanks for bringing him over."
"Hey, no big deal. It's good to see her home, pal."
The two men walked back into the house. Jack peeked around the corner and saw that Sally was already demolishing a peanut-butter sandwich.
"Sally…" he said. His wife was already looking at him with an open mouth. His daughter's head came around just as Jack set the puppy on the floor.
It was a black Labrador, just old enough to be separated from his mother. The puppy needed a single look to know to whom he belonged. He scampered across the floor, mostly sideways, with his tail gyrating wildly. Sally was on the floor, and grabbed him. A moment later, the dog was cleaning her face.
"She's too little for a puppy," Cathy said.
"Okay, you can take him back this afternoon," Jack replied quietly. The remark got him an angry look. His daughter squealed when the dog started chewing on the heel of one shoe. "She's not big enough for a pony yet, but I think this is just the right thing."
"You train it!"
"That'll be easy. He comes from good stock. Champion Chesapeake's Victor Hugo Black for a father, would you believe? The Lab's got a soft mouth, and they like kids," Jack went on. "I've already scheduled him for classes."
"Classes in what?" Cathy was really befuddled now.
"The breed is called the Labrador Retriever," Jack noted.
"How big does it get?"
"Oh, maybe seventy pounds."
"That's bigger than she is!"
"Yeah, they love to swim, too. He can look after her in the pool."
"We don't have a pool."
"They start in three weeks." Jack smiled again. "Doctor Schenk also said that swimming is good therapy for this kind of injury."
"You've been busy," his wife observed. She was smiling now.
"I was going to get a Newfoundland, but they're just too big—one-fifty." Jack didn't say that his first wish had been to get a dog big and tough enough to tear the head off anyone who came close to his daughter, but that his common sense had prevented it.
"Well, there's your first job," Cathy pointed. Jack got a paper towel to clean up the puddle on the tile. Before he could do it, his daughter nearly strangled him with a ferocious hug. It was all he could do to control himself, but he had to. Sally would not have understood why her daddy was crying. The world was back in its proper shape. Now if we can just keep it that way.
"I'll have the pictures tomorrow. I wanted to get them done before the trees fill in. When they do, you won't be able to see the house from the road very well." Alex summarized the results of his reconnaissance.
"What about the alarm?"
Alex read off the data from his notes.
"How the bloody hell did you get that?"
Dobbens chuckled as he popped open the beer. "It's easy. If you want the data for any kind of burglar alarm, you call the company that did it and say you work for an insurance company. You give them a policy number—you make that up, of course—and they give you all the information you want. Ryan has a perimeter system, and a backup intruder system 'with keys, which means that the alarm company has keys to the house. Somewhere on the property they have infrared beams. Probably on the driveway in the trees. This guy isn't dumb, Sean."
"It doesn't matter."
"Okay, I'm just telling you. One more thing."
"Yes?"
"The kid doesn't get hurt this time, not the wife either if we can help it."
"That is not part of the plan," Miller assured him. You bloody wimp. Sean had learned a new word in America. What sort of revolutionary do you think you are? he didn't say.
"That's from my people," Alex continued, telling only part of the truth. "You gotta understand, Sean, child abuse looks bad over here. It's not the kind of image we want to have, you dig?"
"And you want to come out with us?"
Dobbens nodded. "It might be necessary."
"I think we can avoid that. It just means eliminating all the people who see your faces."
You're a cold little cocksucker, Dobbens thought, though his words made perfect sense. Dead men told no tales.
"Very well. All we have to do now is find a way to make the security people relax a bit," the Irishman said. "I'd prefer to avoid brute force."
"I've been thinking about that." Alex took a moment before going on. "How do armies succeed?"
"What do you mean?" Miller asked.
"I mean, the great plans, the ones that really work. They all work because you show the other guy something he expects to see, right? You make him go for the fake, but it's gotta be a really good fake. We have to make them look for the wrong thing in the wrong place, and they have to put the word out."
"And how do we do that?" After two minutes: "Ah."
Alex retired to his bedroom a few minutes later, leaving Miller in front of the television to go over his material. On the whole, it had been a very useful trip. The plan was already beginning to take shape. It would require a lot of people, but that came as no surprise.
Curiously, his respect for Alex was now diminished. The man was competent, certainly, even brilliant in his plan for a diversion—but that absurd sentimentality! It was not that Miller reveled in the idea of hurting children, but if that was what the revolution took, then it
was a necessary price to pay. Besides, it got people's attention. It told them that he and his organization were serious. Until Alex got over that, he'd never be successful. But that wasn't Miller's problem. Part One of the operation was now outlined in his mind. Part Two was already drawn up, already had been aborted once. But not this time. Miller promised himself.
By noon the following day, Alex had handed him the photos and driven him to an outlying station of the D.C. Metro. Miller took the subway train to National Airport to catch the first of four flights that would take him home.
Jack walked into Sally's bedroom just before eleven. The dog—his daughter had named him Ernie—was an invisible shape in the corner. This was one of the smartest things he had ever done. Sally was too much in love with Ernie to dwell on her injuries, and she chased after him as fast as her weakened legs would allow. That was enough to make her father overlook the chewed shoes and occasional mistakes with which the dog was littering the house. In a few weeks she'd be back to normal. Jack adjusted the covers slightly before leaving. Cathy was already in bed when he got there.
"Is she okay?"
"Sleeping like an angel," Jack replied as he slid in beside her.
"And Ernie?"
"He's in there somewhere. I could hear his tail hitting the wall." He wrapped his arms around her. It was hard getting close to her now. He ran one hand down to her abdomen, feeling the shape of his unborn child. "How's the next one?"
"Quiet, finally. God, he's an active one. Don't wake him up."
It struck Jack as an absurd idea that babies were awake before they were born, but you couldn't argue with a doctor. "He?"
"That's what Madge says."
"What's she say about you?" He felt her ribs next. They were too prominent. His wife had always been slender, but this was too much.
"I'm gaining the weight back," Cathy answered. "You don't have to worry. Everything's fine."
