A Mighty Fortress
Page 40
“One more time, people, do not shoot or beat the crap out of anybody unless they really break bad on you and have no choice,” added Barrow. “Anyone who’s up here without an escort is probably a reporter who snuck in. Once we make sure he or she isn’t an assassin we quietly but firmly put the cat back out.”
“Please be extra careful to knock politely before entering the room of any comrade, especially one of the opposite sex,” finished up Jane Chenault. “Knock, open the door a bit, and then call and identify yourselves, eh? We’re all going to be edgy, surrounded by enemies as we are, and we don’t want any gun accidents.” Quickly they sorted out a room assignment roster, with the three executive suites going to Barrow and McCausland, the second to Stepanov and Gair, and the third to Jane Chenault and Emily Pastras. John Corbett Morgan volunteered to take a room at the end of the corridor by the stairs and turn that into a kind of security command post for Lieutenants Cannon and Waters to operate out of.
“Hell, I ain’t no damned executive anyway,” said Morgan with a shrug. “I don’t even know what the hell I’m gone do for a job after the war.”
“I think the Republic can find something for you to do, John,” said McCausland with a chuckle. Captain Chenault assigned Cody a room right next to the suites.
“I’m going to need you on call, Cody,” Barrow told him. “When you’re not listening for Yiddish conversation in the hallways, I am going to need you as a gopher. Okay, group attention!” he spoke up, “Lieutenant Brock is my aide de camp, so you can take anything he says as coming from me. Right now, take your luggage and go to your assigned rooms. Search the whole room from top to bottom, as carefully and as quickly and as silently as possible. Report anything that is clearly wrong or just looks odd or out of place to Lieutenant Cannon. Lieutenant Waters will be by and do a preliminary sweep of each room with his beepy-thingy as soon as he does his own. It is now ten thirty.” He looked at his watch. “According to what I just learned from O’Connell, room service will be up here at twelve noon with lunch for us all, so we’ve got time to secure this floor. The kitchen staff has supposedly been vetted by the UN conference commission and is all white, but for all I know they all may be FBI agents and they may have pissed in the soup and poisoned the peas. Watch what you eat for any signs of tampering. These rooms have microwaves in them, and it may not be a bad idea to eat mostly sealed, prepared or frozen food that we have cooked up ourselves. I don’t think these people would try poisoning or drugging us, but every one of you here knows damned well that they’re capable of anything. Let’s go.”
Cody rare among Volunteers in that he had stayed in his share of luxury hotels across America and in Israel, when he had been with the Sapirsteins, but he had to admit that this room was probably the swankiest he had ever stayed in. The paneling on the wall was genuine oak, the curtains were real velvet, the carpet was soft and ankle-deep, and the fine picture of the Multnomah Falls on the wall seemed to be an original painting. The king-sized bed had auto-massage, the bathroom had a small jacuzzi as well as the most gleaming and inviting shower he’d ever seen, the small refrigerator was full of soft drinks and microwave snacks, and the mini-bar was well stocked with a selection of beers, liquor miniatures, and mixers.
Cody unpacked his suitcase, hung up his spare uniform, his business suit, and his tux, and carefully stashed his holdout gun and extra ammo. The equipment in the lining of his suitcase he left where it was. Doctor Doom would collect it as needed. There was a knock on his door. “Come in!” he called, his hand on the butt of his pistol. It was Lieutenant Lisa Napolitano, a poised and voluptuous Mediterranean beauty who definitely filled out the uniform well. She was carrying a plastic wastebasket from one of the suites.
“Booze patrol,” Napolitano told him. “General says all this liquor goes out of the rooms, not that he doesn’t trust his troops not to forget the regulations, but just to be on the safe side.” She quickly cleaned out the mini-bar of all its alcoholic content, the little bottles of whiskey, gin, and vodka going into the wastebasket, which she took outside and gently dumped onto a housekeeping card she’d found in a closet.
Cody helped her load the beer onto the bottom of the cart. “Gee, you mean we won’t be partying down like we were on spring break?” he asked in disappointment. “I was looking forward to getting you in the hot tub, Lis.”
“Not while Nightshade’s packing that blade of hers, you won’t,” replied Lisa primly.
“God, does everybody in the whole NVA think we’re getting it on?” cried Cody in exasperation. But she was already down the hall, knocking on the next door.
The next visitors were Doctor Doom and Jack Cannon. “Find any creepy-crawlies?” asked Doom.
“No, but I understand the Feds have little micro-cameras that they strap on the backs of mosquitos,” replied Cody.
“Damned near,” agreed Waters. “They actually created a prototype of a real ‘bug,’ a mechanical cockroach that was fiber optic. But whatever it is, if it’s live it’s going to give off energy of some kind. A magnetic field, a microwave, a laser stream, a subsonic, a sine wave, something.” Doc swept the room with a detector of his own design and found nothing. “Not surprising,” he said. “They’ve probably got all their gear switched off now, so it’s not giving off anything. I hope so, or else they’ll see what Jack and me are doing.”
“You saw the brackets for closed-circuit security cameras in the hall?” asked Cannon while he methodically opened Cody’s suitcase and took out a number of small circuit boards and metallic objects, which he placed in his own briefcase “They’ve taken out the cameras, to lull us into thinking we’re not being watched. But I’ll bet you dollars to donuts those circuits are still live, and they’ve just got fiber optics or a concealed microcamera on each wire.”
“My guess is the air vents, the light fixtures, and the television,” said Doc. “Let me check something.” He pulled a small folding tool, opened a screwdriver, bent down to the air conditioner, and opened a side panel. He looked in, drew a small penlight from his pocket and shined it in, and examined the interior of the machine. “Yeah, same as the others,” he said, screwing the panel back in place. “The electric motor that runs the air conditioner has been insulated in a non-factory standard casing of hard rubber instead of common cheapo Mexican steel, and it’s not just to keep the ventilation nice and whisper-soft for the wealthy guests who normally frequent this watering hole. Somebody doesn’t want even the negligible electromagnetic field that the motor generates to get out into the room. That should give me a hint as to what they’re using. Later on I’ll come back and give this room a complete going over.”
“What about phones and computers?” asked Cody.
“Don’t do anything via cell, land line, wireless internet or the hotel cable modem hookups that you don’t want Uncle Slime to know,” replied Doc with a shrug. “There’s so many places those could be tapped that there’s no point in even looking for them. We have our own encryption programs and scrambling gear, and we’ll see how good they are. But ZOG can probably analyze and break them all in time.” He pointed out the window of Cody’s room. “See up there on the roof? This hotel has its own cell site, which is convenient I’m sure for the regular guests, but it makes Federal monitoring of all the traffic a snap. They’re probably sitting off in Washington DC in some windowless corridor office monitoring the satellite feed off that tower. No way to know, no way to stop ‘em.” He grinned at Cody. “Bear in mind these are the best covert surveillance experts alive who are watching us now. They’ve finally done what they couldn’t do during the war. They’ve lured us onto ground of their own choosing, where they can bring all their fancy toys to bear if they want. We’re fish in a barrel here. Don’t worry. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, and I think I can rattle their cage.”
“I heard the General say that our best defense against all their bullshit of this kind is just to be who we are,” replied Cody. “Look, what are we going to be plotting or co
nspiring to do? To secure the existence of our people and a future for white children. Everybody already knows that’s why we’re here, so what if we are overheard?” The phone by the bed rang. Cody picked it up. “Room 224,” he said.
Barrow’s voice spoke. “Cody, come on down to my crib. I need you to do some aide-de-camping. It’s beginning.” He explained when Cody arrived at his suite. “I just got a call from the Secretary of State, Walter Stanhope. He wants me to come over to his suite for a little pre-discussion chat to break the ice, as he puts it, before the joint press conference this afternoon. Just me and him.” Cody noted that all the other negotiators and Captain Chenault were also in the room, so Barrow was keeping no secrets from his team. “I presume this will be their first attempt to bribe me, or split me away from the rest of the delegation. Or maybe rub me out in some kind of ‘regrettable incident.’ Either way, I can’t go completely alone. I don’t know whether you’ll be allowed to listen in, but in any case I need someone with me.”
“Okay, sir, where is the secret meeting to be held and how do we get past the lobby without getting mobbed by media?” asked Cody.
“There are service tunnels below this hotel that connect the various wings, and they’ve been declared off limits to the media,” Barrow told him. “Stanhope is sending one of his people over here to escort us to his suite in the West Wing. He will be accompanied by a UN peacekeeper, as per the rules. He’ll take us to Stanhope’s suite.” There was a knock on the door, and Jane opened it. One of the peacekeepers stepped in, saluted Frank, and said in perfect English, “Sir, Senator Galinksy’s personal assistant is here.”
“Galinsky?” asked Barrow in surprise. “I thought Galinsky wasn’t even acknowledging our existence?”
A lithe and elegant, twenty-something woman with jet black hair and a face seemingly chiseled in white marble stepped into the room. “I’m on Senator Galinsky’s staff, yes, but I’m running this particular errand for the Secretary,” she said. She was wearing a casual yet businesslike dress and jacket combination that seemed slightly informal in the surrounding uniforms and dark business suits overrunning the hotel. Cody took one look at her and froze. The floor seemed to suddenly heave beneath his feet. She ignored him. “Mr. Barrow?” she said, walking over and extending her hand. “I’m Susan Horowitz, Secretary Stanhope’s confidential assistant. If you could come with me, please? And the Secretary mentioned you were bringing one of your bodyguards?”
“That’s General Barrow to you,” said Cody coldly.
Barrow waved his hand gently. “Cody, we’re here and she’s here, and I’m sure Ms. Horowitz is capable of understanding the implications of that fact. No need to sweat the small stuff. If she feels she can’t acknowledge the legitimacy of our military rank, that’s fine.” He turned to the woman. “Well, let’s go, ma’am, and you can tell your grandchildren how you bravely walked alone into a hotel floor full of Nazis, like Daniel into the lion’s den.”
“You’re very perceptive,” she said with a small nod. “I asked to come over here. I wanted to prove I wasn’t afraid of you, not least to myself.” Without any further conversation they followed Horowitz and the peacekeeper out of the room and down the stairs. At the door to the underground passageway their blue beret was relieved by another, who escorted them the length of the cool, moist concrete passageway past several closed doors. Cody wondered what was behind them. When they reached the end of the tunnel the door opened and a third peacekeeper took over, and escorted them up the stairs to a suite which was somewhat larger but seemed to be a near duplicate of Barrow’s. Stanhope was sitting by a laptop computer on a desk in the main living room; as they entered he rose with a smile on his lips and this time extended his hand without being prompted.
“Glad you came, General,” he said easily. “Look, the fact is that for the next—well, however long it takes, we’re not going to get many chances to talk one on one. This is going to be one of the hardest damned jobs I’ve ever undertaken, and I’m sure you feel the same way. If you could step into the conference room here with me and give me an hour or so of your time, I’d appreciate it. I think we need to get a feel for one another. Lieutenant, ah…”
“Brock, Mr. Secretary,” said Cody.
“Brock, eh? Old New Hampshire name. Your people from New Hampshire? Well, Lieutenant Brock, if you could stay here in the living room? The walls are sound-proofed, so you can watch TV. You folks are all over it, I can assure you. I do ask that you keep the blinds closed and don’t go out on the balcony. It really wouldn’t be expedient for anyone to know you’re here in the West Wing.” He turned to the woman and said quietly, “Thank you, Susan. There’s no need for you to stay. If you’d like to go down to the cocktail lounge or the press room or somewhere, I’ll understand.”
“Oh, no, I’ll stay, Mr. Secretary,” she said with calm assurance. “You might need me for something. I’m not at all afraid.”
“Thank you, Susan,” said Stanhope, as he shepherded Barrow into the conference room, hand on his shoulder. The door closed.
Cody turned to her. “You should be afraid, you know. How do you know I won’t do the same thing to you I did to your father last time I saw him?”
“Oh, now, you know you won’t,” said Susan with a smile, and she walked over to the kitchenette and started running water into the electric kettle. “I’m going to have some tea. Do you want some, or some coffee? I’ve heard you people don’t drink, like Muslims. You’re probably just as boring as they are. All anti-Semites are boring. Jews aren’t. That’s one of the reasons you hate us so much. We’ve got Coke and Sprite and other stuff in the fridge.”
“I don’t want anything from you, or your boss,” said Cody. “I always knew your middle name was Susan, but where’d the Horowitz come from?”
“Oh, Cody, you remember Ron! We got engaged months before you left. We had a wonderful wedding, which I am glad to say Daddy got out of the hospital in time to attend, and which I wish you could have attended yourself. Horowitz is my married name. Since his father got us both our jobs, I figured it was diplomatic of me to use it. Also, Leah was a bit too…how shall I put it…?”
“Surely not too Jewish?” asked Cody sarcastically.
“No, just not really GS-17 grade,” she replied.
“You’re a GS-17?” asked Cody incredulously. “And you’re what? Twenty-four?”
“You don’t even remember my birthday, nebbich? Just turned twenty-five. And yes, it is a bit unusual for an internship at the Senate to start at GS-17 and put me right in the middle of a major event like this, but Ron’s dad is Connected with a capital C. Joe Horowitz and Jeanette go way back, to the first Clinton administration in fact. Ron got his law degree, and he’s now assistant counsel to Senator Galinsky’s office. He’s back in Washington D. C. This is turning out to be quite a family re-union. I wonder if I called Karen at Berkeley, would they let her come up here and join us? Once more for old times’ sake?”
“I don’t think I could touch either of you again without vomiting,” Cody told her honestly. “Does your husband know what you and Karen did to me?”
“Oh, yes, and he likes me to talk about it,” said Leah/Susan. “Describe each session. It really turns him on. He wants to do a threesome with Karen, but that kind of play shouldn’t be kept in the family. We’re not kids any more.”
“Well, I never was family, was I?”
“No, you weren’t. It wasn’t like you were our real brother, you know. Oy, do you think we’re depraved or something?” She made herself a cup of herbal tea and sat down on an armchair. She drew her legs up under her in the peculiarly predatory manner he remembered, she and her sister both. Lounging around the house, by the pool, in the rumpus room, in the TV den, they had been like dual snakes about to strike. “Oh, Cody, look at you in your big bad Nazi costume! Heavens, how silly you look! You’re still a little boy in his cowboy suit with his little toy six-guns. A little boy crying for his daddy who is never coming back.”
“Suppose I pull off my top and my bra right now, run to the balcony and start yelling rape?” she asked in a sultry voice. “There’s enough reporters around here to fill an ark.”