by Stuart Slade
"More joint programs perhaps? Like Alliance Aviation?"
"I was thinking of something more fundamental than that. The blackpox plague has made me consider our future more deeply. The disease is burning out. It is not infectious enough to spread quickly and it is so lethal that its bearers die before they can infect too many others. Also, our doctors are telling us that it is suffering from regression, that it is becoming less lethal with every generation and is reverting to smallpox. Will we be so lucky next time a man-made plague strikes? Perhaps we need to think on ways of preserving ourselves from such attacks, a way of establishing refuges. Places where a core of our people can hide so that we can survive through them."
"That seems an overly dramatic response Madam?"
"JBG, have you seen film of the victims of blackpox dying? But, we do not need to establish the program as just a refuge. It can do scientific research as well, with a last refuge against disease as its ultimate purpose. I was thinking, under the sea. Undersea habitats that can be used to explore the ocean deeps and even to farm them. And then, if disease, if plague strikes again, the people who live in those habitats will be safe."
"That sounds a practical idea. One we can sell I think. And we must watch the Caliphate very carefully from now on."
The Ambassador stared out of the window and for a second, JBG thought he saw her eyes glow red. But, it had just been a trick of the evening light. "JBG, have you ever watched a forest fire? The main fire is bright and it races from treetop to treetop, with a great display of flame and much roaring. The firemen pay attention to that fire and fight it bravely. But there is a second fire, one that burns low and quietly, spreading slowly in the undergrowth. The firemen do not see it for they are watching the noisy roaring fire above them. Only when it is too late do they realize that the fire in the undergrowth has spread behind them and they have been trapped. JBG, let us not be so consumed with vigilance over the Caliphate that we lose sight of the other threats around us. The world's largest Moslem nations are not even part of the Caliphate. They are part of the Triple Alliance."
VC-144F Queen of Biloxi, Dillinger International Airport, Havana, Cuba.
"Lillith, what does our bottom line for FY72 look like?"
"For the Hudson River Institute? What do you want it to look like?"
"The real one, for our eyes only."
Lillith closed her eyes for a second. "We made a few millions, HRI lost money on running the NSC, of course. We have to eat the cost of the services we provide to people like us worldwide. On the other hand, we make money on the other Government administration contracts we have and there's a worthwhile overlap that more than covers the NSC losses. All in all, we're pretty healthy. Why do you ask?"
"I was just thinking, it would be nice to have a Superstream III of our own. Save us borrowing an Air Force VC-144 whenever we want to go places. Especially ones where we don't want too much publicity. The only other option is going on one of those." He gestured out the window at one of the big two-deck 747s unloading at the airport terminal.
"He wants a supersonic business jet." Tom Lynch grinned patiently. "Don't recommend it, Seer. It's much cheaper to get the Air Force to fly us and charge the cost against our administration contracts. Anyway, civilian Superstreams don't hold their value. They're expensive to buy, horribly costly to run and the resale market is tiny. Guys who bought Superstream Is and IIs have a job giving them away. They're ostentatious consumption and status symbols. Who wants a second-hand status symbol?"
"Doesn't that mean we could pick one up at bargain basement cost?"
"It does. Seer, but you don't want to." Lynch leaned back, enjoying the luxury seating. The VC-144 sure beat the 747 for comfort. "The running cost is even higher. Anyway, the whole RB-58 and Superstream line is running down now that Convair have delivered the last RB-58s. All they've got left on that program now is rebuilding the remaining C/D models to G standard and updating the Fs to Gs. They've been trying to sell the civilian Superstreams to make up the slack but they haven't had much luck. Looks like the F-116 is all they have at the moment."
"And North American are doing well with their airliner. The Machliners and Sonic Clippers will be in service in a couple of years, they'll give us the supersonic travel capability we want."
"That you want." Inanna spoke dryly and winked at Raven.
"And if we don't want to ride commercial, the XC-170 prototype is flying as well. VC-170s will be replacing the VC-144s by the middle of the decade. How you getting on honey? You like flying supersonic?" The Seer directed the remark at Raven who was still staring out the window at the airport rolling past the executive jet as it taxied to the VIP section of the airport.
"I've never flown anywhere before. Is it always like this?"
"Err, no." Lillith hid her amusement carefully. "Those big people haulers out there are flying cattle cars. Small, uncomfortable seats, not much room. The only food comes in plastic packages, its expensive and it doesn't taste any different from the wrapping. That's why we try not to use them. So, how do you get to Washington?"
"Greyhound bus." Sometimes we drive but mostly get the bus. It's not so bad, the People Haulers sound just like them."
"Raven, honey, tell Menewa and the rest, they're on the Government payroll now. Or on our payroll which comes to the same thing. The Government hires us and we hired you. That means you get perks, one of which is using Air Force or Navy aircraft, if they're available, which they mostly are. If you want a ride, see Lillith, she'll talk to Air Bridge Command headquarters at Andrews and see what's available. You'd be surprised how often a plane with spare capacity is going somewhere you want. You might get stuck on a C-141 or a C-150 but even a C-137 is better than the bus. And if you're thumbing a ride on a plane that's going that way anyway, it's probably cheaper. Anyway, none of you should be short of cash now. If you are, let us know, we've got funds set aside for that sort of problem."
"We don't want charity Seer, we've had enough of it." Raven's voice was sharper than she'd intended. She was still painfully aware she bought her clothes from KMart.
"It's not charity Raven, it's an investment. And a safety precaution." Lillith spoke matter-of-factly, just as she did when she was making financial reports. "When people run out of money is when they do stupid things, and get caught doing them. So, our reserve funds are an insurance policy. If one of our people is in financial difficulties, we tide them over and they refund the money later. So, if you or any of our friends have problems, let us know. It's what we're here for."
Raven shook her head. "It's not that. It's just there is so much to do. We've all got responsibilities back on the reservations. Old habits die hard as well. We've survived so long with minimal resources that it's hard to break away. What was that?" The VC-144 had lurched sharply.
"Just coming to a halt, we'll be out of here in a couple of minutes. Our bags are in the belly pod, I guess the boys down there will look after them. I guess, to them, a diplomatic party is almost as important as a private plane full of high rollers."
By the time the party had disembarked, the VC-144s belly pod had been opened and their bags unloaded into the two limousines that were parked under the wings. The ubiquitous "boys" were waiting to usher their guests in. As they passed, Lillith slipped them tips that they managed to make vanish without any obvious effort.
"We're taking youse guys to the Tropicana Hotel?" It was, just barely, a question. Normally a diplomatic party would stay in the national embassy but the US didn't have an Embassy in Cuba. Very few people did. The exact national status of the Cuban "Government" was nebulous to say the least. Privately, The Seer believed the real reason why so few governments recognized the gangsters running Cuba as a legitimate administration was that it would make comparisons between the conduct of gangsters and diplomats all too easy. So, diplomatic parties stayed in the Tropicana. It was, after all, where Meyer Lansky lived.
"The Tropicana, yes."
"Right. Youse guys'II have to
be patient. Shifts're changing at the casinos and the roads will be blocked. We'll take you round the back way, miss the worst of it, but it's still a bad time for the ride. The Boulevard's eight miles long now, growing each year. Two more Casinos due to open end of the year, The Steppes and The Riviera."
"Who owns them if it isn't an indelicate question?" In the back of the car, Lillith's ears pricked open. The question was in the casual voice The Seer used when he was onto something.
"Not those two. The Steppes is owned by MGM, film guys. The Riviera's a consortium, the Hilton group and one of the airlines. Think its TWA, might be wrong there. Guess the Families have an interest in both, wouldn't know that." The wiseguy finished the phrase with a definite hint of ‘and I wouldn't tell you if I did.'
"Sounds healthy." The Seer looked around the limousine. "What do you think of the new Packards?"
"Good for us, nice engine. Not too well put together though, but are any of them these days? Not my kind of wheels though. Whad'ya drive?"
"Chewy Camaro Super Sport. Convertible. It's in dock at the moment, it doesn't like Washington winters."
"Nice. I've ordered a new Cord. Reckon it'll give Chewy and Ford a run for their money?"
In the back, Lillith and Raven glanced at each other and raised their eyebrows as The Seer and their driver drifted off into a long and involved debate over automobiles. Privately, Lillith wondered if there was anywhere else in the world where a limo driver would be talking cars with the head of a diplomatic delegation. Probably not, she concluded. Cuba was unique.
The Tropicana reception staff was well-briefed. The luggage was already on its way up; the reception desk had their keys ready. "Sir, Ma'am. Room 1410." The receptionist gave their key to The Seer and Raven held her breath. This was a little surprise she and Lillith had set up and she wanted to see how The Seer would react. There was fear mixed with anticipation, she was afraid he would be shocked, reject her. Instead, he grinned broadly and took it. "We'd better have one each I think. We'll probably be on different schedules most of the day."
At that point Raven remembered Inanna's words. ‘He's always ahead of you and its really wearing being with somebody who knows what you'll do before you do.' She finally saw what Inanna had meant. It was disappointing to realize that her surprise had been anticipated. Then, she saw Lillith smiling and guessed that Lillith had known their little joke would be welcomed. Lillith wouldn't have let her go through with it if it wouldn't be.
"Ohhh, look Mom, she's from The Nations." They were crossing the reception area when the little boy's voice cut through the gentle background murmur.
"Johnny, don't point, its rude.....Johnny, come back here."
A split second later Raven felt a tug on her sleeve. "Ma'am, do you know Brave Eagle?"
She looked down at the face staring up at her, then settled a little on her heels to drop closer to his height. "I'm afraid not. Brave Eagle is Oneida and I'm Shoshone. But I know some men on our reservation who are just like him."
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but Johnny loves Warpath. Refused to miss an episode, even when he had measles." The boy's mother was embarrassed at the disturbance and was smiling apologetically at Raven and The Seer. Her embarrassment grew even more obvious when she suddenly realized who The Seer was. But, she seemed a genuinely nice woman and The Seer decided it was time to let her off the hook.
"No problem ma'am. No problem at all. Have a good holiday." Then, the Seer and Raven stepped into a lift and the doors slid shut behind them.
"Two years, not bad." The Seer was grinning broadly. Raven looked confused. "Two years ago he'd have called you a squaw or a redskin. And his mother would have been frightened of you. Now, you're from ‘The Nations' and she's embarrassed because inconveniencing you is impolite. All because of a successful television program. Attitudes are changing at last Raven, we're making headway."
The Presidential Suite, Tropicana Hotel, Havana, Cuba
"Do you want a drink, Seer?" Meyer Lansky opened the liquor cabinet and surveyed the array of bottles within. "What can I get you?"
"Whisky please, The McCallan if you've got it. Straight."
"25 year old McCallan coming up. And I'm glad you drink it like a civilized man. One of the boys tried to put ginger ale into it so we put him into the bay. Wearing cement boots."
The Seer wasn't sure whether Lansky was joking or not. He watched the President of Cuba pour a generous mixture of the whisky into a glass, then take an unopened bottle of Johnny Walker Swing, crack the seal and pour out a measure for himself. Into a glass that came out a sealed plastic bag.
"I guess that flame head of yours will tell me that nobody can stop a skilled poisoner?" Lansky grinned at his guest. "Yeah, we'd noticed how people who cause really serious trouble get sick when she's around. Don't worry, we noticed because we're all crooks, nobody else made that connection. She's right too, nobody can stop a poisoner.
"When we were kids, Charlie Luciano, Bennie Siegel and I had a run in with a guy called Johnnie. He was shorting us on deals and that wasn't done. If you wanna be a successful crook you gotta be honest with them you work for. Otherwise they get mad and turn you in. So we took him out to the swamps threw him out and used him for target practice as he made a run for it. Three of us hit him four times. Anyway, he made it out of sight and got to the emergency ward. He swore outta charge so we had to finish him. Arranged for his wife to get a juiced-up chicken. She never knew it came from us so she took it in for him. He ate some, got real, real sick and guessed he better keep his mouth shut. His wife never guessed, she sued the hospital for giving him food poisoning." Lansky sighed. "Life was simple back then."
"Running a country isn't what you thought is it?"
Lansky shook his head. "Sounds so easy. When we was on the mainland, we always said how come these guys in Washington act so crazy? We had all the answers. You know Bennie Siegel put a contract out on Adolf Hitler? And Himmler? Only Mussolini talked him out of it. Seemed so easy to do things our way. Only it ain't. Curious on something, Seer. How come you here? I was expecting State Department, some nobody telling us they're dropping the boom. How did NSC get into this?"
"Meyer, Cuba isn't a political problem. State deals with external relations, we've honestly no idea what Cuba is. You and your associates, you've broken every diplomatic rule in the book. If it's any consolation, anytime anybody writes a political science textbook in the future, each chapter is going to have to end ‘Cuba under Mob rule was, of course, the exception to the above.'
"So if State comes here, that's an admission that Cuba is an external entity. At the moment, nobody is sure of that. You're pretty much immune from external pressure now because nobody knows whether we think you're part of the US of A or not. Nobody is going to take the chance of messing with us directly.
"As for lowering the boom on you, that isn't going to happen. It's politically impossible, no way are we going to invade America's favorite playground unless everything hits the fan. Cuba isn't a political problem, it's a security problem, a national security problem and that's why we're here. Cuba's wide open, you've got no defenses, nothing. If somebody like the Caliphate tries a bioassault on you, there's nothing you can do to stop it and the volume of traffic from here to the mainland means we'd catch it as well. You've seen those people-haulers at Dillinger International? Any one of them could carry plague rats."
"Yet defenseless-us saved your asses, Seer. Would you have stopped the plague rats without us?"
"No, we lucked out. That's another reason why we're here. Just how do you plan to stop plague rats getting in here?"
"You said we got no defenses; well, that ain't true Seer. We talk to the mobs in Europe, the Corsicans, the Mafia in Italy, the Russian Obshina. We give them a skim from the take, they watch our back. Not a big skim, but Cuba produces so much money, a small percentage is a lot of hard cash. Risk free for them, and we're useful other ways. So we watch, we hear what goes on. It's not much, but it's better than nothing and mone
y's a powerful weapon. From now on, we hear anything that makes us worried, you get to hear it as well. And if your Navy wants to patrol our waters, what can we do to stop you?"
Lansky finished his drink and poured another, topping up his guest's glass in the process. "We can talk more about that later. Got another question for you. Your Shoshone girlfriend is hitting our casinos already, gambling a little, watching and learning a lot. For setting up their own we assume. Not that the prospect worries us, much. Cuba's an experience, more than just casinos. If anything, the Indian ones will give more people a taste for gambling.
"Anyway, so what's up with NSC and the Indians? How come you're helping them out? That ain't national security and don't tell me it's because of your comare back in 1410. What you playing at?"
"Pure national security, Meyer. The Indian reservations sit on the biggest reserves of strategic materials in the continental United States. It's in our national interest to have free access to them. Moving in on them the old-fashioned way, we catch all kinds of nausea. So, we set the Indians up so they can stand on their own feet, make them rich, de-emphasize the reservations and we end up getting our strategic materials without any fuss. And since we're righting a wrong in the process, one that should never have been committed and has been a stain on our national honor ever since, we even look good doing it. Sound common sense?"
Lansky nodded. It was his old maxim: never wave guns when you can negotiate a deal. "You seen this, Seer?" He walked to the huge bay windows overlooking the Golden Boulevard. Night had fallen and the glare of the neon and floodlights turned the darkness into a dazzling cascade of multi-colored jewels on black velvet.
"When we came here, Cuba was a cess pit, a nothing. Poor people living in a rich land and getting ground into the dirt by a bunch of foreign big shots who never came here and didn't give a damn about them. Now look at it. We may have broken every one of your rules, but we've brought more wealth here in fifteen years than anybody else has in a century. And we've shared it out too. Not because we're good guys but because it's the smart thing to do.
