Dark Alignment

by David Haskell

  “Of course,” said Webster, reaching out to shake hands. There were few allies with which a handshake would do, but the Japanese were as good as their word, once committed.

  Now for the Canucks.

  The issue for Canada was simple expedience. They would wring concessions out of Webster because they could. And he knew it. He would give them what they wanted, and they would fall in line. He fantasized about reaching across the worlds friendliest border to exact a price—and someday he just might—but for now he would do what he must.

  * * *

  The anteroom off the main hallway was a well-guarded secret, reserved for the highest level talks. Both parties’ technicians were present to ensure the utmost in transparency and bug-free conversation, so it took a while　to prepare the room. Outside the doors, sitting opposite each other, the president and his Soviet counterpart sat sizing each other up. They were both avoiding eye contact, though, and giving each other breathing room. It was more a professional courtesy than anything else, and the sort of tense formality that enemies observed when readying to get something from the other.

  When the room was ready, Webster did the gentlemanly thing, sweeping an arm in out of deference for the lady. He followed her in, making sure to get a conformational nod from his tech before closing the door.

  The table was bare, save for two blank legal pads, two pens, two glasses, and a pitcher of water. There wasn’t even so much as a napkin, so Webster lifted and poured two glasses with care. Picking hers up and walking it around to her side, he presented it, smiled, then made his way back around to his place. This was all done very mechanically, as much an attempt at stalling as anything else. For her part, there was a slight nod of thanks when he set the glass down, but that was all. She was all business. Time to get down to it.

  “I must tell you, Mr. President, that your attempt at manipulating this conference will not succeed.”

  So much for subtle beginnings.

  * * *

  Sokolov hated showing her hand like this, but the American President was proving difficult to manipulate, and she was running out of time. If they were to gain any measure of support, she would have to reveal her intentions. But she couldn’t do so as a representative of the Soviet Socialist Territories. That would paint too large a target, and even in chaos America represented a formidable threat. Moscow would be vulnerable—even more so after America dealt with the threats within her own hemisphere.

  Militant encampments, however, were more difficult to repel. And she had allies. Allies with plenty of cannon fodder to spare. She would place the responsibility in their hands, and leave them to their own devices. Swift and brutal, they would wreak their own brand of havoc, inflicting maximum shock and damage. For the right price.

  There were complications to this plan. Not the least of them being a lack of direct control. She didn’t like leaving details to others, but in this case she couldn’t very well coordinate rebel attacks and still maintain an air of neutrality. Not with the American President breathing down her neck. She would be forced to delegate.

  There was also the issue of plausibility. Rebels required state backing; particularly those sophisticated enough to execute decapitation strikes and coordinated campaigns deep in enemy territory. She needed a fictional entity with motive and means, to throw off the inevitable suspicion.

  33.

  After eliminating Shane’s attacker, and watching him take out the other without help, Jo Osborne ducked out of sight and headed straight for the rendezvous. There was nothing more she could do to help, and it wouldn’t do for her to arrive late. If Shane didn’t make it soon, assuming she wasn’t intercepted, she would backtrack along his route until she found him. Or the Professor, she reminded herself, though she knew clearly which of them she’d rather bump into first.

  Approaching the meeting spot, she had to give up the high ground advantage and make for the flats. She no longer enjoyed an overview, but Shane’s last position was seared into her battle-hardened memory. She kept one eye on it while scouting ahead, though she didn’t expect to catch sight of him now. He’d have moved off from the location of the fight, in case reinforcements were coming. As she closed in on the rendezvous, it was obvious that nobody was there yet, friend or foe. She’d probably have to backtrack.

  With neither of her allies where they were supposed to be, the likelihood that they’d hit more trouble was strong, but she wasn’t sure what to do about it yet. Odds were that Eckert hadn’t strayed from his assigned route, but Shane might have, particularly if the scientist had gotten into trouble. So the logical course was to follow the tree line, and if nothing came of it she could double back, look for Shane where she’d seen him last.

  Staying behind trees and outgrowth as much as she could, she peered through the openings, looking for movement. She saw plenty, all unknowns. This place was turning into a damned convention center. Heavy equipment too. But she had yet to see her companions. Jo wasn’t in the habit of missing clues, but her focus on searching was so intense, she missed an obvious one right under her nose.

  Without a chance to call out, or even throw a punch, she sensed the rush of air on the back of her neck, a millisecond before the assaulting force slammed into her. Three men at least, maybe more. She was face-down in seconds. No sense in trying to fight, so she relaxed, allowing herself to be bound. She would wait for a logical opening before attempting an escape. In the meantime, she’d mentally kick herself from here till Tuesday for being so damned stupid as to let a pack of grunts get the jump on her.

  * * *

  Jo wasn’t sure where they were taking her. She had a fair idea of how far they’d travelled, and she was reasonably confident on orientation as well, but such bits of information only went so far. Hooded, cuffed, and ignored, she strained to pick up any signals. But these were true professionals. They didn’t give much away. Once more she lamented her role in the easy abduction, but pushed the regret aside as she focused on identifying weaknesses.

  Despite their efforts to double back a few times to throw her off, she knew they were, and had been, heading in an almost perfect northwesterly direction. She also knew the speed at which they were traveling, doublings and all, so she estimated they were no more than a hundred miles from her friends.

  She smiled inwardly. Oddly enough she really was beginning to think of them as friends. Even hapless Doctor Eckert. Given her current embarrassment, she knew she could hardly resent him for getting caught, not after she’d fallen into the same damned trap. It hadn’t taken a team of men to bring him down, but neither was he as well trained as she.

  He had braved the elements and the brutality without much complaint. For someone with zero training, thrust into an impossible situation, he hadn’t handled himself all that badly if she were being honest. So there it was—her past annoyance was fast turning into a grudging respect.

  A hundred miles northwest of the mountain range. This put them easily over the border, which had certain advantages, but one big drawback in that she wouldn’t be able to get back so easily. Assuming she could acquire a suitable vehicle, she should be able to get back to the mountains within ninety minutes, give or take, but the border crossing would be difficult to pull off. She might have to find a ride, ditch it, cross on foot and then find another. She figured it to be two hours from escape to reunion, and started her mental planning from there. But first, the escape had to happen.

  The opportunity presented itself ten minutes later, as the vehicle ground to a halt. Sensing the road without the aid of her eyes, she knew they hadn’t pulled too far off the shoulder, and from the sounds of footfalls three of the four captors had gotten out. No way to know their positions, but she knew the fourth guard was directly across from her. Mistake.

  She kicked hard, catching the man in the chin, or at least she thought it was a chin, now nicely smashed to hamburger beneath the heel of her boot. He made a liquidy scream-gurgle that she silenced by catching the back of his head with the oth
er leg, then a quick twist to finish the job. Flicking her head back to fling off the hood, she took stock. The interior was windowless, which hid her actions from her captors, and it was dusk now so the darkness should help.

  * * *

  The checkpoint should have posed no problem. Local police rarely engaged an obvious band of mercenaries, and this was no exception. The worn looking officer manning the checkpoint was about to move the barrier aside when the sound of a metallic crash assaulted their ears. Immediately their tactical error became obvious, as one of their men hit the ground, unconscious from the impact his face connecting with the kicked-out door. The remaining two split up and ran to opposite sides of the van. There was no sign of their hostage.

  They circled until they met back up behind the vehicle. Two bodies on the ground, no captive. One of the remaining men dropped to one knee and peered under. At that point the driver had come around to help, and that’s when the woman leapt from the top of the vehicle onto both of them at once, fists and boots flying. Within half a minute she’d taken them out. Shoving them over to the side of the road with forceful movements, she slammed the rear doors shut and walked to the front. She reached in and grabbed something that glinted in the setting sun, a computer device perhaps, and slipped it into a pocket. Then she approached the policeman.

  “You’ve already called this in, have you?” she asked in perfect Polish.

  The officer, not knowing quite what to do with the casual inquiry, nodded a hasty ‘yes’. She was obviously dangerous enough to overpower one old man if she’d had a mind to. With a quick wink to ease his worry, she hopped behind the wheel, made a quick one-eighty, and peeled out.

  * * *

  It took Jo all of a hundred minutes to get back to where she was taken. In that time she’d seen no sign of pursuit, nor of her friends coming up the other way. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen any movement at all, not even at the border. Weird. It was as though everyone’d fled the scene in anticipation of her arrival.

  When she saw the American patrol standing dead center at the rendezvous spot, she had her answer. When the cat moves in, the scavengers flee. She patted her jacket to make sure the solution was safe and sound, and sufficiently concealed. Then she sped up and approached the soldiers.

  Nobody moved to stop her as she plowed through their ranks and straight up to where she was supposed to be. Right there, flanked by a number of soldiers, stood her lost companions. She was so relieved to see Shane, and even Dean for that matter, she flashed them an unconsciously warm, wide smile. It only lasted a second, then she was back to business, scanning the faces to make sure nobody’d noticed it, especially the scientist. All clear. Except Shane. He was giving her a quizzical look. Must have seen it. She frowned back at him, remembering herself, and that seemed to quash his curiosity. The scientist, as usual, wore an oblivious expression. No danger of misunderstanding there.

  She got out of the van, leaving the keys behind for someone else to deal with. “So we’re all caught up now?” she said to her companions, ignoring the military men. A moment later the crowd opened up to allow more people through, at which point Jo’s jaw dropped. Through the battered, bruised features, she recognized the mercenaries who’d captured her. The ones she’d just escaped from.

  “What the hell?” Jo exclaimed, tensing up at the sight of them.

  Shane put up a hand to reassure her. “It’s a long story, Jo. Turns out our boys were just one step behind us the whole time.”

  The man who’s face she’d smashed open with the van door glowered at her, recoiling at the same time. Apparently the memory of his beating was still fresh.

  “Second Lieutenant Peter Harris, ma’am,” a soldier beside Shane said, “army special intelligence. Sorry we couldn’t get to you earlier.”

  In truth, Jo was relieved they hadn’t caught up to her, and not just for the satisfaction of beating up some thugs. Zee would be pleased to know the solution was back in friendly hands.

  34.

  When the cyclone hit, most of the walls were up, and mostly unattended. No preparations had been made. Nobody had expected a hurricane, not this far north, nor did they have the means of dealing with it. With all the concern about the quakes, never mind the gravimetrics, there were no contingencies in place. Not that any pre-planning would prepare the town for an event where unequal gravity waged war against a high pressure front.

  When the walls fell, no property was spared. The gravimetric shear roared back through town with the force of a tsunami. Not only was the devastation all but complete, the event was captured on camera by practically every news organization in the world, gathered to partake in the feel-good story of the year.

  As the proud townspeople looked on, their homes tumbled like dominos. Beyond the property damage, the human toll was catastrophic. The splinching was back in full effect. Grotesque triage scenes peppered every block. Beyond the effect itself, many were killed and injured by falling debris, as brick structures collapsed, they were in turn blasted outward by the surge. Optimism was shattered in a torrent of re-energized, hell-driven chaos.

  As the twin devastations battered the town, the flood of gravimetrics swept up tons of debris, slammed it together, and and hurled it for miles in all directions. The storm affected neighboring regions as well, and all the afflicted areas began to see their efforts crumble. Gravimetric tributaries and rivers carved out new geographic features, held back only by what remained of the natural rivers and lakes. With the waterways acting as guideways rather than barriers, gravimetric rivers began to flow beside them, forming a sickening mirror, through the battered towns and cities and all the way to the gulf.

  When the effect hit the shoreline, it oozed it’s way east and west in ever expanding waves. Major cities along the southern coast began to experience the full brunt, as inexplicable increases in seismic activity tore apart the ravaged corridors of humanity.

  * * *

  The command center was in ruins. Those left behind worked to keep those remaining, reinforced brick structures shored up. The walls were the only things keeping the center of town relatively unscathed. As more of the eddies flooded through the neighborhoods and filled in all remaining holes, the center became an island. But even as those few structures kept the destruction at bay, the hurricane continued to lash out, threatening the remaining buildings.

  The Chief had long since sent Mayor Quaid away, along with the town hall workers and most of his deputies. It was too dangerous, and there wasn’t much more they could’ve done anyway. Only a skeleton staff of volunteers remained, along with Masters himself, to see it through to the end. Somebody has to. Noble imagery aside, there were still thousands to protect, and he was determined to get as many out as he could.

  Masters turned to his last deputy. “Tim, drive the perimeter once ‘round, would you? See if there aren’t any others coming in from…well, from wherever. Don’t try and be a hero, and don’t risk your own neck. If you find anyone, see to ‘em and get ‘em back here.” He avoided adding ‘if you can’ to the grim directive.

  “Alright, John,” the deputy said, donning his hat.

  “Better take this,” Masters said, handing him a heavy-duty flashlight. “It’ll be dark soon, especially the way it’s clouding over.”

  It wasn’t actually cloudy. The hurricane had moved south. They weren’t expecting another round for at least a day, assuming no major changes. But changes were happening all the time. The gravimetric shear was beginning to overwhelm the local atmospherics, and arcing dangerously into areas previously unscathed. Nobody acknowledged the looming threat, taking comfort in the art of ignoring the obvious, but everybody knew what was happening. They just preferred to call it ‘cloudy’.

  “Thanks, John. Back in a jiff.”

  Deputy Tim left the building. Masters occupied himself with the map for a few minutes, enjoying the uncharacteristic, quiet calm.

  * * *

  The perimeter was filled with twisted, broke
n bodies. Some had managed to get into the safe zones before falling, many were splinched halfway over the line. Their struggle to break free was painfully clear, but there was little anyone could do once the shear took hold.