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by Robert L. Wise

  “I expect each of you to fulfill your tasks with exquisite skill,” Bridges said. Wearing maroon suspenders clipped to his khaki pants, the dark-haired mayor had on his usual polo shirt and was maintaining a laid-back appearance, which meant he wasn’t expecting any television appearances today. “You must perform at the highest possible level.”

  “We always do,” Meachem said casually. His long, narrow face and deep-set eyes gave him a hardened appearance. “What’s the problem?”

  Bridges didn’t like Meachem’s predictably glib responses. “You’ve got to become more uptown, more sophisticated,” he said forcefully. “Quit sounding like you stepped out of some side-street bar, Al.”

  Meachem didn’t say anything but frowned. The other two men stared straight ahead.

  “I’ll be having another holographic conversation with Carson shortly, and I need each of you to both look and sound like you’re capable of exceptional responsibility. Am I clear?”

  “Certainly,” Meachem’s voice had shifted into a professional journalistic sound. “We’ll give you nothing but the best, boss.”

  “Good!” Bridges said. “And don’t call me boss. Make it ‘Your Honor.’ Let’s keep comments on a high level.” He put his hands behind his back while he paced. “I want to know what each of you has discovered about this recent so-called reactionary movement. I understand we have a resurrection of neo-patriots running around with guns and attacking like criminals, while claiming they are on a mission from God. What’s going on?”

  “I think the reports are vastly overstated,” Meachem said. “I don’t see any movements forming. A few people have gotten up on the strange side of the bed, but no real problems have followed.”

  “I’d second what Al just said,” Jack Stratton added. “Certainly we’ve got some terrified citizens because crime and violence are so frequent, and no small number of folks are starting to believe the loss of religion created the mayhem.” He shrugged. “You’ve got to expect some form of a backlash. The real problem is confusion in the streets.”

  Bill Marks said nothing.

  Bridges rubbed his chin. “How big a backlash are we talking here?”

  “Citizens always had guns stashed under their mattresses,” Bill Marks said. “They’re getting more obvious these days. Too many thugs are roaming the streets. So many attacks make them nervous.”

  Bridges listened and didn’t like what he was hearing. “You realize a bunch of wild-eyed reactionaries could upset my apple cart? I can’t afford to have arbitrary shooters taking potshots at public officials.”

  “I don’t see these losers shooting at people like us,” Meachem said. “They’re more likely to be pluggin’ some drug-crazed punk roaming the alleys. That ain’t all bad.”

  “How organized is this movement?” Bridges persisted.

  “I wouldn’t even call it a movement,” Meachem repeated. “We’re talking about the fact that today we’ve got more crooks than we do cops. It’s a police problem. Up the ante on the number of armed cops we keep on the street, and the vigilantes will disappear. It’s that simple.”

  “I see,” Bridges said thoughtfully. He didn’t like their cavalier attitude and knew these men were telling him what they thought he wanted to hear. Peck never did that, and his challenges often saved the day. This circle of advisers was second-rate, and he needed to keep them away from the holographic transmissions from Carter when possible. “Anyone got anything to add?”

  Most shook their heads, but Bill Marks held up his hand.

  “We should underscore that there are strong reasons for people to be upset. When the curfew is enforced, and the criminals remain on the streets, people have good reason to complain. Don’t forget that fear is a powerful motivator.”

  “Okay, let’s move on to another subject,” Bridges said. “I have some concern over the budget. Income and spending are down, and we need to review the numbers.”

  The door abruptly opened and the mayor’s secretary rushed in. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir, but I just received an emergency phone call from Max Andrews, your supervisor of police,” Connie Reeves said. “I think you should take it now.”

  Frank Bridges studied the woman’s face. Knowing her as intimately as he did, it was easy to read when she was serious and the situation demanded immediate attention. Connie’s eyes said, Now!

  “Excuse me, gentlemen.” The mayor walked quickly out of the room. “What’s happened?” he snapped.

  “Talk to him.” Connie shoved the telephone into his hand.

  “Bridges here.”

  “You need to get down to the station house on Fifth Street as quick as you can,” Max Andrews said. “We’ve had a terrible shoot-out with six policemen killed. A bunch of local apartment dwellers hit them at the station house. Shot ’em dead!”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. The only report I have was these neighborhood creeps came in blasting away and screaming ‘conspirators.’ They all got away except for one man shot going out the front door.”

  “An attack?” Bridges’ voice elevated. “An attack by regular citizens?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  CHAPTER 10

  HAVING CHANGED his casual clothing, Mayor Frank Bridges’ expensive navy blue suit now carefully concealed his bulging paunch. Because his conversations on the holographic transmitter with Borden Camber Carson were three-dimensional and in color, he always attempted to present an impeccable appearance. Inevitably, Bridges looked as elegant as anyone working in Chicago’s Magnificent Mile.

  “Sit down in the chair behind me,” Bridges told Meachem. “I want you to look like a tower of security, but keep your mouth shut. Say nothing unless Carson speaks to you. Understand?”

  Meachem nodded his head solemnly.

  “Bill, you stand against the door,” the mayor told Bill Marks. “Keep beyond the range of observation and watch quietly.”

  Bill Marks walked to the closed door and silently stood, watching the holographic process unfold.

  “I have no idea what we’ll be talking about today, but you need to be seen and not heard. I want Carson to think of you as primarily providing my security.”

  Meachem said nothing, but nodded.

  Bridges reached to the control box on the corner of his desk and pushed several buttons. Immediately a wall panel slid open, revealing a large black unit that looked like the giant base of a blender. The machine made a low whirring sound and began to project a powerful beam of light upward. After a few moments, the light took on a greenish glow, and a form slowly began to take shape in the center of the light beam.

  Bridges stiffened to appear more erect and cast a glance at Meachem, who was staring hypnotically at the beam of light forming into the shape of a man. Bridges looked back at the green light that was now taking the form of Borden Camber Carson.

  Carson appeared to be sitting in a large leather chair in his usual white Nehru jacket. On top of his head seemed to be a turban, but as it took on a more defined form, his face became clearly lined with thick black hair. Frozen in place, Carson’s eyes began to move, and the diamond ring he wore on his pinky finger started to sparkle. While coming from the other side of the world, the prime minister of Turkey appeared to be sitting in the mayor’s office as if he had just walked in the front door.

  “Your Honor.” Frank Bridges stood up.

  “Good afternoon, Frank.” Carson extended his hand with the palm turned up. “I trust you have Chicago under control today.”

  “Our pressing problems seem to be receding, and we haven’t had any terrorist attacks in some time.”

  Carson raised an eyebrow and smiled knowingly. “And why are we not surprised?”

  “We are moving into a quieter period,” Bridges continued. “It’s been six months since the election, and nothing catastrophic has shaken the economy. I’m hopeful we won’t be faced with any monumental decisions.”

  “You will be,” Carson quipped. “Matters will be mov
ing quickly in the near future.”

  “I see.”

  “I want you to be prepared for some important information that will be coming your way shortly. We have now linked the data coming through your country into the international computer system I am operating in Rome. Of course, the security devices on people’s foreheads feed into this matrix. My agents tell me we have access to any possibilities for terrorist or subversive activities. Implementing key words, we have made this system highly sensitive to words like bombs, guns, espionage, attacks, that sort of thing. We can run down coded remarks in a matter of seconds. You can see where this is going.”

  Bridges nodded. “Yes, your intentions are clear.”

  “Good.” Carson turned his attention to Meachem. “I see you have a new assistant sitting with us.”

  “Al Meachem has been providing security. He is one of my advisers.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Meachem.” Carter’s eyes narrowed. “You are an expert in security?”

  Meachem nodded his head but said nothing.

  “Security is one of the issues I want to talk about,” Carson continued, not taking his eyes off Meachem’s face. “I will be coming to your country soon to speak at the United Nations. Security has become an increasing concern.”

  “Your face is everywhere,” the mayor said. “Where you were once a mystery man, today this entire city and state recognizes you. It’s the same in the East and the West.”

  “I am told your country has been producing a bumper crop of terrorists who might be interested in shooting me.” Carson barely paused, looking at Bridges with the casualness of having just asked him for the room temperature.

  Bridges blinked several times. It wasn’t the question he was expecting or wanted. “I know of no one who would want to shoot you, sir. Since you enacted oil agreements favorable to our area, you’re more of a hero.”

  “I’ve been misinformed about vigilantes shooting people. My advisers tell me citizens are angry over the lawless condition in the country.”

  Carson’s question was too specific. Bridges couldn’t afford to be evasive, especially with Meachem and Marks listening. “We’ve had some of that activity, yes, but I’m not concerned for a man of your stature. You should feel safe.”

  Carson started drumming the desk with his fingertips. “Safe is a peculiar word, my friend. Easy to attribute to someone else. Would you use that word to cover your political situation?”

  Bridges relaxed. He could safely and enthusiastically answer that question. He didn’t worry about his personal security and felt safe when walking down the streets.

  “How would you answer me, Frank?”

  “I can honestly tell you that I don’t give those concerns even a thought. I’d walk down any street in Chicago in a second. Sure, we’ve had a few shooting incidents and riots on the streets, but I don’t take them personally. Nothing new about crime in Chicago. My associates tell me they are aimed at knocking out criminals and thugs lurking in the backstreets. You and I could walk down the street arm in arm, and you’d feel completely secure.”

  Carson said nothing but studied Bridges’ face with the same intensity he had focused on Meachem. “I appreciate your candor.”

  “Ah . . . I . . . do have a slightly different question, sir. Earlier we talked about the possibility of my running for the presidency. Isn’t that an issue we should address at this time?”

  “I have recently made new plans,” Carson said with no hesitation, “and I have a more important position for you to fill.”

  Bridges felt his jaw drop slightly. He tried to catch his breath without being obvious, but Carson’s words stung. More important?

  “Matters are unfolding even faster than someone in your strategic position could be aware of.” Carson kept talking with a smile on his face. “Before long, the American president will be even less of a factor than he is today, Frank. We will shortly begin a campaign to discredit your central government. America is currently struggling with chaos. I want to increase the national sense of confusion, and we will do this by making the president appear incompetent. I will need your assistance in this effort.”

  Bridges tried not to frown. “I—I don’t know how I could make an impact in such an effort.”

  “We do! I will be unfolding these details in the next few days. In the meantime, I want to appoint you as my top American assistant. You will be in charge of the intelligence efforts we have in this country. Sitting in that secret service chair is the equivalent of sheer power.”

  “Head of intelligence?” Bridges squinted.

  “Exactly! For the moment we will not release this to the press, but in a short while the news will be a worldwide headline story.”

  Bridges gritted his teeth. He wasn’t sure how to respond. The idea sounded good, but the position was certainly far less powerful than he considered the president of the United States to be. “I see,” he concluded.

  “We have one detail we must get out of the way,” Carson said. “Have you captured Graham Peck?” he asked bluntly.

  Bridges swallowed hard. He felt like a prizefighter knocked into the corner, only to discover the opponent was using a baseball bat instead of padded gloves. “No.”

  Carson kept smiling. “I am concerned about this man because he has seen so much of our operation. He could still hit the papers with a story of long-range consequence.” Carson leaned forward and stared intensely at Bridges. “I want him found immediately.”

  “We haven’t been slack in looking for him,” the mayor answered. “No one has written Graham Peck off.”

  “You have surveillance around his house?” Carson pushed.

  “We did up until a month ago, but there’s been no one touching the place in months and—”

  “Get the police out there!” Carson abruptly shouted. “Don’t leave any rock unturned. Find him!” The smile vanished as he hit the table with a clenched fist. “Now!”

  “Yes sir,” Bridges mumbled. His halting affirmation was all the mayor could say. Bridges felt a strange combination of humiliation and exaltation that left him completely in Carson’s hands.

  CHAPTER 11

  MUCH LARGER THAN a simple house in the forest, the Pecks’ summer home had extra bedrooms that turned out to be more than adequate for Adah Honi and Eldad Rafaeli. Remoteness remained beyond the top of their list of outstanding attributes of the sanctuary in the woods. On a pleasant Friday evening, the Peck family sat around their long wooden table adjacent to the kitchen, eating supper.

  “I’ve been thinking about our talk the other day,” Graham said. “Matt made the suggestion that we ought to think about going into Rhinelander. I believe it would be good for us to widen our circle of contacts.”

  “But what about the noises I heard outside?” Jackie objected.

  “Ah, we haven’t heard a thing,” Mary taunted. “I think the sounds were all in your head.”

  “I beg your pardon!” Jackie leaned forward to speak directly into her daughter’s face. Mary stared down at her plate and didn’t say any more.

  “Not to discount your mother’s experience,” Graham said, “I think it would be emotionally stabilizing for all of us to see some new faces. It would be for me.”

  “What makes you think Jackie didn’t hear thugs sent from Bridges’ office?” Adah Honi asked.

  “I couldn’t say for certain she didn’t,” Graham said. “But if his vigilantes found us, they would have attacked by now, and I don’t think that sort of hoodlum would have run away.”

  “Indeed!” Eldad said. “But extra eyes would help! I will make it my job to be for us a special watchdog. I can roam around through the trees and watch while you are gone. You will find me a skilled soldier.”

  “Eldad will be our new police dog!” Jeff said. “He’ll catch the bad guys.”

  The family chuckled and returned to eating supper. In twenty minutes they were finished.

  Eldad pushed back from the table. “There once was a rabbi in Pr
ague,” he began, “who was asked if he should protect himself.” He scratched his head. “The rabbi said—”

  Adah cut him off. “Thank you, Eldad. I don’t think we need any more rabbi stories today.” She patted his hand. “What do you think the news is tonight?” Adah asked. “Maybe we should listen?”

  “George!” Jackie called to her eight-year-old son. “Turn on the television.”

  George flipped on the remote control, and the Wisconsin evening news report appeared, followed by the weather forecast.

  “I wonder what is happening in the rest of the world?” Adah said.

  “Hang on,” Graham answered. “The national news will be on in a few moments.” He returned to clearing the table. “George, turn up the volume.”

  “Another round of terrorist activity has shaken Israel,” the announcer began. “Recent negotiations sponsored by Borden Camber Carson, or Hassan Jawhar Rashid as he is known in the Middle East, promise to guarantee Israel’s security, but these attackers seem to have come out of nowhere. No one is certain of the source, but ten Israelis were killed and fifty more wounded in the latest suicide attack aboard a bus in downtown Jerusalem.”

  Adah gasped. “The Holy One, blessed be His name, please help us! Look, Eldad!”

  The older man shook his head. “The Evil One never ceases to chase us.” Eldad’s voice filled with sadness. “The world always sees the Jews as its target.”

  “I had hoped Israel was more secure,” Graham said. “This attack is serious business.”

  Jackie finished wiping her hands and laid down the towel. “A new round of attacks in Israel certainly won’t help peace in the world.”

  The announcer interviewed the president of the United States for his response as well as the American ambassador in Israel. Each man condemned the strike.

  “What can any of them say?” Adah asked. “Of course, they deplore the violence!”

  “And back in this country,” the announcer continued, “an unexpected harsh response came from the mayor of Chicago. Frank Bridges issued a statement just moments ago.”