Without warning

by John Birmingham

  Culver had seen it all before. Frightened people driven to mortal foolishness by the extreme situation in which they found themselves. Well, not on my watch, buddy, he thought to himself.

  He’d been blindsided by how bad things were politically, when he’d first arrived here in Seattle. But Jed Culver was nothing if not adaptable.

  The future of the country was being fought out in this city, and he was a large part of the battle. As Governor Lingle’s personal envoy to the surviving representatives of the civil authority in what was left of the mainland United States, he had driven the convention process harder and faster than anyone thought possible. And yes, he had to admit, to himself if nobody else, the whole push to institutionalise a role for the military in the new system of government had caught him unawares.

  It certainly wasn’t coming from any of the uniformed guys he’d dealt with back in Hawaii. That wasn’t their style, and they had their hands full anyway. And it wasn’t coming from the military power structure here in the Northwest, as best he could tell. Not publicly at least. That Blackstone asshole out at Fort Lewis – a real Captain Bligh character, thought Jed – even he was scrupulously careful not to be drawn into any political debate.

  But then, as someone who’d perpetrated all manner of villainy in his professional life, Culver was well aware of how easy it was to use cut-outs and puppets to do your dirty work while you fronted the media, the investigators or some nitpicking Congressional committee with your halo shining and hands washed free of blood.

  Somebody, somewhere was driving this madness, attempting to hijack his Constitutional Convention, and he’d be damned if they were going to get away with it.

  He threaded through the hallway loiterers, smiling, waving and gladhanding everyone as he went. A part of Jed seemed to float outside of himself, marvelling that a fixer from the backwoods of Louisiana could find himself at the centre of a storm that had destroyed so much already. He spotted a few Alaskan delegates he would need to corral later in the day, and a couple of Canadian diplomats, who caught him by surprise. The lawyer made a mental note to investigate their presence, but hurried on around the corner and into the fire escape. Two floors up, he finally had some privacy.

  The numbers were preloaded as arranged and he found the one he was looking for without trouble. He was a bit of a gadget freak, if truth be known, and the chance to play with a new toy was reward enough in itself. But the phone call he had to make was important. The connection went through on the third ring.

  ‘Hey Bill, it’s me, Jed Culver. I got your package. Thanks for that.’

  The strangely youthful voice at the other end came through with great clarity, in spite of all the filters, washers and heavy encryption he knew had been packed into the phone. ‘Oh hey, Jed. Good, that’s great. I’m glad that got through to you.’

  ‘So, I don’t want to come on as a nattering nabob of negativism, but you’re sure this is secure?’ Culver asked.

  The man on the other end laughed. ‘My guys are sure, Jed. As sure as they can be, anyway. I’m confident, if that helps, and I am talking to you, after all. Some people in this town would consider that treason.’

  ‘Okay. Good enough,’ said Culver. ‘So, you can get more of these units out where they’re needed?’

  ‘Already on their way. Six hundred of them, give or take a few. They’ll be distributed by nightfall. The network will light up when you want it.’

  ‘You sure, Bill? I understood the net was terribly patchy now. Not at all reliable. Do we want it sitting there as a weak link?’

  ‘It’s fine. At least here, it’s fine. There are massive holes everywhere else, but the local nodes in the Northwest are good – we made sure of that. You can rely on them. Especially for this. We’ve taken precautions.’

  ‘Okay,’ replied Culver, almost convinced. ‘If you say so, we’ll proceed. I can’t tell you how important this is, what a difference it could make.’

  ‘I’m happy to help. It’s important to do what you can. I’ve been here all along, remember – could have flown out, but I stayed. All my people stayed. We’re not ready to give up yet.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ said Jed.

  ‘Okay. Well, anything you need, you have my number.’

  ‘Thanks, I will be in touch.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Bill Gates, before hanging up.

  Culver studied the small piece of technology, wondering how long it would be before the appearance of such things, and the progress they spoke of, became commonplace again. Possibly never, if he didn’t win the confrontation he knew was coming. He could feel it down in his meat.

  He was confident of the alliance he was building up here in the city. In his quiet moments, he was even proud of what he’d achieved since arriving. But he knew it wasn’t enough.

  Jed Culver understood humans. He understood their baser, uglier nature, the way that fear could rob them of reason and send them rushing over the cliff like lemmings. Look around the world and you had proof enough of that. But he also knew that if led well, if led with some wisdom and just a modicum of courage, a frightened horde could rise above itself and act with outward calm and considered grace that completely belied any inward turmoil. But they had to be led, and he was not a leader. He had come here knowing he would need to find one, and fast.

  He opened up the contacts file on the smart phone again and, yes, the name and number he had asked for were there. He did not dial, however. It was time to make contact, but he would have to do so personally.

  Everything he had heard about this man, everything he’d learned since flying into Seattle, had only confirmed Jed’s suspicion that he was the one. But because of that, he was not the sort of man to be played like Henry Cesky.

  This one would have to be given the opportunity to make a choice. A real choice for good or ill. Culver was certain he’d choose wisely.

  The lawyer put the phone away and headed downstairs.

  * * * *

  38

  MV AUSSIE RULES, ROBINSON CRUSOE ISLAND,

  SOUTH PACIFIC OCEAN

  ‘I think we’re probably okay to go,’ said Jules.

  Fifi agreed, and triggered a burst from the PKM. ‘Yeah. I think you’re probably right.’

  Tracer rounds zipped away over the heads of the islanders, forcing them all to duck below the gunwales of the small fleet of lobster boats heading towards the Rules. Jules hit the press-to-talk button on her headset.

  ‘Mr Lee, are those contacts still closing?’

  The old pirate’s voice came crackling back to her. ‘They are still on a course to intercept us, Miss Julianne. In forty-two minutes, if we do not leave now.’

  ‘Okay, Lee. Everyone’s aboard. Let’s get the hell out of here.’

  Jules felt the deck thrum under her feet as the engines growled into life and she reached out for the handrail to steady herself against the inertia. The bow lifted appreciably as they thrust forward, adding their speed to the bluster of a freshening nor’-wester. Jules and Fifi crouched instinctively as a few puffs of white smoke from the decks of the lobster boats told of a couple of ancient shotguns being fired in their direction. Fifi responded with another snarling burst from the heavy Russian machine-gun. Again, she aimed well over the mast of the lead boat, and again their pursuers all ducked. It would’ve been a ridiculous pantomime were it not so serious. The islanders meant to delay them long enough for those radar contacts to close with them.

  Jules was now certain they were being chased by one of the Peruvian syndicates.

  She pressed the talk button on her headset again. ‘Sergeant Shah. Have your men stand ready please. I don’t think they’ll be needed, but best we don’t try our luck.’

  ‘They are in position, Miss Julianne. The passengers have been secured below by Pieraro. He will join us on the boat deck.’

  Jules thanked him. She didn’t bother looking for the small squad of mercenaries. The super-yacht was too large and they were mostly arrayed on t
he lower decks towards the stern, giving them a clear field of fire over the heads of the lobster boats as the Rules came around.

  Fifi safed her weapon when she could no longer draw a bead on the little wooden tubs. ‘You want me to head on down there, Julesy?’ she asked, referring to the Gurkhas’ position below-deck. ‘Be a shame to waste the ammo, though, if we’re not trying to hit them. This 7.62 Eastern Bloc standard doesn’t grow on trees, you know.’

  Julianne shook her head, trailing a regretful look back over the retreating vista of the Juan Fernandez Archipelago, the trio of islands located some four hundred miles west of the Chilean city of Valparaiso. ‘No, save your fire, Fifi. We’ll need it soon. And those guys are no real threat.’

  Behind the tiny, bobbing armada of trawlers, the soaring peaks of the main landmass, Robinson Crusoe Island, knifed into a slate-grey sky above the village of San Juan Bautista. The lonely settlement, the only one anywhere in the archipelago, clung to the water’s edge at the mouth of a steep valley that funnelled bitter winds down into Cumberland Bay. The uppermost reaches of the jagged volcanic mountains were lost inside a mass of scudding clouds. The gale roaring down on them had teeth and blew stinging salt spray into her face, but in spite of all that, it had been a great port in which to lay up and recover from the mad dash away from Acapulco and down the coast. Even more importantly, it had been about as far removed from the rest of the world as you could be, without pulling on your thermal knickers for a trip to the Antarctic. That had been the deal clincher after the Middle East went up. None of her passengers or crew had objected to the change in course. None of them wanted to be anywhere near a big city that might disappear inside a mushroom cloud.

  Robinson Crusoe Island, a solitary fleck of volcanic rock in the vastness of the southern oceans, seemed a perfect bolthole. Too bad it hadn’t worked out a little longer.

  As the boat built up to its maximum speed, the muted pop of gunfire from astern was lost in the roar of the wind. Jules and Fifi remained on the flying bridge for the moment, wrapped in oilskin coats, taking in the view as they hastily exited Cumberland Bay.

  ‘I can’t believe they narked us out,’ said Fifi sadly ‘After they gave us those lobsters and everything!’

  Jules shrugged. ‘Lobsters they have an abundance of, Fifi. But diesel, food, medicine – those they’re running out of fast. Shah said the boat from Valparaiso hasn’t been for two months. I don’t think it’ll be coming again.’

  ‘So what, dropping a dime on us to the fucking syndicates is their idea of self-help?’

  The Englishwoman lifted her hands in a gesture of resigned acceptance. ‘What are they gonna do, Fi? We weren’t part of the tribe. We’re just a big shiny boat full of stuff they need and can’t get anymore. These people are doomed and our time with them was up. Get over it, hon.’

  Fifi looked like she wanted to argue, but eventually just deflated.

  As much as San Juan Bautista had been an excellent place to sit out Armageddon, truth be told, it also creeped Jules out. It probably would’ve creeped her out even before the end of the world. It was a small, wind-ravaged speck of burnt rock out in the middle of a howling ocean. She found the villagers strange and remote, and San Juan itself was shrouded in a forgotten air that she was certain predated the recent catastrophe.

  As Mr Lee took them out into the exposed waters again, the yacht began to pitch and roll on the much rougher swell. The bow climbed larger and larger waves, each time smashing down into the dark trough on the other side with an enormous boom. Jules took another look off to starboard at the wreath of funereal clouds gathering around the highest of the island’s summits before motioning to Fifi to follow her inside.

  Lee was at the helm in the gleaming bridge, joyfully directing the other crew members present – Dietmar, the German navigator they’d picked up in Acapulco, along with Rhino Ross, who was chewing the stub of a much-abused cigar. Apart from a bag of clothes, his personal luggage consisted entirely of foul-smelling stogies, which he insisted on smoking at all times, right down to the nub. The smell reminded Jules of her father’s library, so she indulged the old Coast Guard chief, over the protests of her passengers who objected to his ‘second-hand carcinogens’. And after all, there was plenty of room on board to escape the smoke.

  ‘How’s it looking, Rhino?’ asked Jules, as she shook off the spray and slid the hatch closed behind her.

  ‘Excellent. Just excellent, if you’re in the market for an old-fashioned ass-kicking today. Two boats. The lead vessel is making about eleven knots, pulling away from the other one, which is topping out at about eight.’

  ‘Any idea how big or how many of these hoodlums we might be dealing with?’ she said, without any hope of a positive answer.

  The Rhino puffed on his cigar, firing up the embers right under his nose. He shook his head. He was about fifty years old, and his face was a bright-red relief map of broken blood vessels and sun-spots. ‘Sorry, Skip. They’re not in visual range. I wouldn’t have seen them until they were on us if we’d been anchored any further inside the bay. The mountains were blocking the return.’

  She sucked the salt from her lip and thought it over. The Rules had a comfortable cruising speed of fifteen knots, which they could push out to seventeen and a bit for a while, especially now she had some engineers she could trust. But if they had any trouble in the hugely complicated engineering plant, or if they hit foul weather, their pursuers were highly likely to catch up. Plus, of course, she’d burn through their fuel a lot quicker at top speed. Jules rubbed her temples, which were beginning to throb. This was not what she had planned when she’d agreed to soak a bunch of rich tourists for as much as she could get. She wondered what Pete would have done.

  ‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t see this ending well. Fifi, let’s get everyone together, shall we. Anyone who can hold a weapon, down in the main lounge. Mr Lee, you just keep as much distance between us and them as you can. I’ll be back soon.’

  She had one last look back towards the islands. A storm front was piling up to the south-east, smudging out the horizon. She was confident in the super-yacht’s ability to handle a big blow and could only hope that whoever was chasing them didn’t enjoy such a pimped-out ride. Perhaps they could lose them in bad weather.

  * * * *

  It really was an incongruous sight. She’d never been taken with the fabulously over-egged opulence of the main lounge area on the Aussie Rules - it was a bit too clubby and try-hard for her tastes. But she had to admit she liked the sight of the half-dozen little village urchins who’d come on board with Miguel bouncing and leaping from one deep blue lounge chair to the next. Or rather, she liked the look of utter dismay on the faces of some of her wealthier passengers.

  Fifi followed her in, toting the PKM. It brought a quick level of decorum to proceedings, with even the children stopping and pointing. They were experienced enough to know what it meant.

  ‘All right. Listen up, everyone,’ Jules cried out.

  With all of the passengers and some crew gathered in there, she guesstimated that nearly thirty people were in the room. It held them comfortably. Pieraro’s extended family, who’d proven themselves less trouble and much more help than her paying guests, were mostly clustered together quietly under the oil paintings of Greg Norman’s dogs, with just a few of the youngest children still roaming around unleashed. Julianne subtracted them from her plans; they would need to be hidden away somewhere with a minder. Perhaps Grandma Ana, who was the oldest of the Mexicans and spent most of her days shelling beans and peeling vegetables in the weak sun up on the pool deck. Jules had no doubt that she’d cut the throat of anyone who tried to harm the little ones, but she was virtually immobile. The rest of the clan, though, she’d come to appreciate. They worked hard. Ate little. Some of the men were good shots. They were reliable in a fight and would do whatever Miguel ordered, without demur. Plus, they’d proven themselves diabolically effective traders whenever the Rules had put into
shore for resupply. Jules was still adamant they would have to leave the boat at some point, but for the moment, she couldn’t see her way clear to dropping them anywhere. The mainland, which they had now left behind anyway, was too dangerous, especially near any of the larger cities.

  Her small crew, recruited in Acapulco and at a handful of trading stops at smaller, self-sufficient towns and villages on the way down to Crusoe, were all handy with weapons in one form or another, while Shah’s men, it went without saying, were utterly formidable. As she totted up the number of potential shooters in the lounge, Shah himself appeared at the main entrance and nodded silently to her. His men had the situation in hand for the moment.