“Who’s the senior person?” asked the President.
“General Gerald McAllister,” answered Milligan. “Everyone above him was killed in Austin.”
“He knows he’ll be arrested after he signs the terms of surrender, correct?” asked Layfield.
Milligan nodded. “He does.”
“They’re getting off easy. Everyone else getting a pardon?” said Layfield.
Mason grunted. “After a public oath of loyalty to the United States. We have other things to worry about besides punishing the Texans.”
“Like Alaska,” said George Hood.
“And Mexico,” replied Layfield.
“Mexico?” asked the President.
Layfield looked at them quizzically. “Are we supposed to simply forget what happened with our forces getting butchered along the Rio Grande? They refused to help, even with sixteen divisions just sitting a few miles away! If they had answered our calls to join the invasion, then other, more drastic measures might not have been necessary.”
At the oblique mention of nuclear weapons, the atmosphere turned awkward once more. Only the hour before, they had received a briefing on the damage to Austin and Amarillo. Not only was the direct damage devastating, but the fallout would cause health problems for years to come.
“Besides,” continued Layfield, sipping her coffee, “we’ve gotten reports that the Mexicans also assisted the Free Communities. At the very least, they turned a blind eye to some of their actions. We can’t ignore that.”
“What do you propose?” asked Hood.
“We look at options. Political, economic, even military. Decide what objectives are critical for this nation, and then take action.”
“That sounds...reasonable,” said the President. “As long as we aren’t talking about anything drastic.”
“Sir,” said Layfield, “I know you feel uncomfortable with your decision to use nuclear weapons against the rebels, but it was the right call. It saved countless lives and helped preserve our union. I’m not sure any of us would have had the courage to do what you did, and we’re grateful for your resolve, but that was an extreme case.”
The President waved a vague hand. “That’s what my advisers said about Los Angeles and West Virginia. That we’d never have to do anything like that again.”
“Circumstances change. We can only do our best.” Layfield intentionally kept her tone reasonable. This wasn’t the time to crush these men’s egos with her political power. It was a time to be magnanimous in victory. This lame-duck President was a weak man who could be manipulated. Two more years and he would be gone, with a Unionist in power. Until then, they were right in their own way. Stability, rebuilding and replenishment was the order of the day.
“We’ll need a loyal and stable Texas for any operations against Mexico,” said Mason, looking at Layfield. “There can’t be harsh punishments or we won’t be able to bring them back into the fold.”
She forced her lips to smile. “Of course. As much as I would like to use these traitors as an example to deter any others, I recognize the need to focus on the bigger picture.”
“Even with the Edens?” asked Milligan.
Layfield stiffened slightly. “Even with the Edens. Perhaps we will be better off without them. Our detainment camps are overflowing anyway, and are a constant drain on resources…but we’re only talking about Texas Edens, right?”
“Correct,” said Hood. “Over a million of them. They’ll renounce their U.S. citizenship and settle elsewhere. Let someone else deal with them. Mexico, perhaps. Serves them right.”
Layfield shrugged melodramatically. “Good riddance to them.”
The sound of approaching helicopter blades caused them to look out the window.
“Looks like time, Mister President,” said Milligan.
They rose and walked down the narrow wood-paneled hallway toward the garden near the east wing. In the center stood a table with folders containing the surrender decree and other documents, along with ceremonial pens. A host of reporter with their camera personnel crowded around to document the historic occasion.
Several military police stood off to the side, awaiting their own special task.
After the surrender ceremony, the media would photograph and film the arrest of General McAllister. His subsequent speedy trial and execution for treason was a foregone conclusion. Layfield had already seen to it.
All the rest was mere formality and ceremony.
Just like the true position of power within the United States of America now, Layfield thought. A faint smile stole over her face as a vision came to mind, of a different ceremony and a different oath, one that she would take as the next President of the United States.
Chapter 35
Skull sat and fidgeted while he waited for the designated time to speak to Cassandra on the secure video feed. Evidently she doesn’t sit around waiting for me to call, he thought.
It had taken him forty-eight harrowing hours to get out of the United States, with no idea what happened to his nieces and no way to find out. All he knew for sure was that psycho Lisa was dead. The rest was a matter of tissue-thin hope.
He now sat in a five-star hotel room in Santiago, Chile. The price was exorbitant, but he could afford it, even though he hadn’t collected the second half of his payment from Texas. That was one reason he always asked for half up front.
His laptop beeped and the video chat screen showed a pretty blonde face with a serious expression. “Hello, Alan,” Cassandra said.
“Was that you?” he asked. “Do you have them?”
She didn’t need to ask what he meant. “Yes, that was my people. The girls are safe.”
Skull let out a breath. He hadn’t realized how much he’d feared the worst until now. An unwelcome feeling of gratitude, of owing Cassandra something, washed over him, and it morphed into anger. “Why the hell did you get into my business? You could have gotten them killed. Hell, you could have gotten me killed. You should have told me you were involved.”
“Like you told me you were a double agent with the FBI?”
“That wasn’t by choice.”
“I know that, but you still should have told me. I could have helped.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Same old Skull. The lone wolf. God forbid you ever admit you need anyone else.”
“I presume you have Herschel?”
Cassandra nodded. “He’s safe. Quite a character.”
“Keep an eye on him. I think he’s worried about his sons.”
Her face clouded. “They didn’t make it. Both were in Austin when the warheads fell. The Texans thought it would be the safest place.”
“Damn,” said Skull. The old man had grated on his nerves, but he didn’t deserve to lose his kids. Nobody did.
Bastards. Vergone now sat at the top of his shit list.
“Herschel will be looked after,” Cassandra finally said. “We’re giving him a large budget and a state-of-the-art laboratory.”
“Vengeance and grief are wonderful motivators.”
“You’re living proof of that, Alan.”
Skull showed his teeth. “You’d be fools not to use him. I should probably warn you, though; best set aside a significant portion of the FC budget for bourbon and Doritos.”
“We’ve noticed,” she said with a smile.
Skull looked away and took a breath. “I supposed I should thank you for saving my nieces.” He looked back to meet her gaze. “I sincerely appreciate it and know I owe you one.”
Cassandra’s face smoothed, never a good sign. It meant something bad was coming, Skull had come to realize. “Alan, there’s something I need to tell you and I’m afraid it’s not good.”
“I thought you said they were okay.”
Cassandra nodded. “All three girls are fine, but...they’re not your nieces.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean they are Eden orphans. Innocents Verg
one dredged up somewhere, but no relation to you. We did the DNA testing just to be sure.”
“So it was all a lie?” Skull felt his anger rise. He’d been manipulated, played for a fool!
“No,” she said softly. “It wasn’t all a lie.”
“Tell me.”
“Alan, I don’t want you to do anything rash. You know I care about you.”
“Enough bullshit, Cassie. Treat me like a goddamn adult and tell me, or I’m cutting the connection.”
Cassandra sighed heavily. “Those girls do look remarkably like your real nieces.”
“Real nieces?”
“Yes. The background story was true, but Vergone didn’t know for sure how well you knew your extended family. He’d been able to gather that it wasn’t close, but couldn’t gamble that you hadn’t seen photos.”
Skull clutched his chair’s armrests, fingers digging into the leather. “So where are my real nieces?”
“By the time Vergone saw an opportunity to use you to get inside the Texas rebellion, they were already in an experimentation camp.”
“Where are they now?”
“Their parents had already died and the girls were in bad shape. They tried to nurse them back to health, but there are limits even for the Plague. They were too far gone.”
“So, they were already dead before Vergone even brought me in?”
“It appears so.”
“How did they die?”
“No,” she said softly. “You don’t want that. It can’t possibly matter now.”
“Cassie,” said Skull firmly. “Tell me. I deserve to know how my nieces died.”
She sighed. “If you want the details you can read the reports. Experimentation camp says enough.”
“How do you know all this?”
“One of Spooky’s hit teams wiped out the facility about three months ago and brought back their hard drives. When I had a team of analysts run detailed searches later, that’s what they found.”
Skull’s vision had become blurry and the room felt like it was tilting. Cassandra said something about tragic losses and not taking vengeance personally, but the words didn’t penetrate his consciousness. “Thank you, Cassie,” Skull finally said.
“Alan, don’t you dare—“
He cut the connection and closed the laptop computer.
Skull sat still and silent for a very long time. Finally, he looked over at the hotel desk where Vergone’s laptop sat. Beside it was a phone that now contained the flash drive and sim card of Vergone’s damaged device, a product of a stack of money paid to a Chilean freelance electronics wizard. Both machines yielded a wealth of valuable information about the FBI “psycho squad,” as Skull had taken to calling them in his head.
“Miles Vergone,” he said softly, seeing the man’s face in his head. Skull realized it wasn’t just about that one man, though. A host of demons cloaked in human skin walked secretly among them.
Not merely people like himself, who didn’t wish to be Edens, limited by the virtue effect. No, now he’d encountered Edens that didn’t act like Edens…or at least, not like nearly all of them. Some of them were missing the gene for conscience, it seemed, and no amount of enhancement would make them into anything but psychopaths, like Lisa.
Like others he had met from time to time?
Like…Spooky?
Cassandra was right. It was not about payback...at least not totally.
Some people simply couldn’t be allowed to live.
Chapter 36
Stark photographs spread across Daniel Markis’ desk, some satellite images, others from near ground zero taken by rescuers in radiation suits. Still others showed hospital tents and overflowing medical facilities.
Scenes of horror. Nightmares. Piles of vaporized ash. People with their skin slowly falling off of them while their insides melted. Edens were not immune, either, often dying more horrible deaths than most as the Plague fought a losing battle to heal while their bodies so plainly knew that death was inevitable.
Overwhelming death. Destruction. Despair. And...guilt.
Blasted landscapes filled with nothing but memories and echoes.
The numbers were worse even than the death toll from a single warhead in Los Angeles a year ago. Six bombs and nearly one and a half million dead for Austin and Amarillo. Twice that number to die within the next month. Life expectancy in the fallout zones expected to drop by at least fifteen years for the next century.
And that was just the human cost.
Livestock had fallen in vast fields of death, rotting in the Texas winter, not cold enough to retard decomposition. Fertile fields became poisonous as the soil filled with heavy radioactive particles. Isotopes drained into rivers and streams, poisoning underground water supplies for hundreds of miles. A radioactive cloud that sickened millions throughout the Caribbean and even West Africa.
Horror upon horror.
All his fault. He felt too ashamed to even ask God to forgive him.
His office door opened, and then shut.
“Go away,” said Markis without even looking up.
“What are you doing?” asked Spooky.
“Not now, Tran.”
Spooky held up a piece of paper. “Resignation? This is not a solution. It solves nothing. Fortunately for all of us, I intercepted it.”
Markis turned on him angrily. “I told Bernice to distribute that throughout the FC!”
“I was able to…convince her to hold off until I spoke with you.”
Markis looked narrowly at Spooky and wondered what leverage he’d exerted on his secretary. Bernice was normally a bulldog when she had her orders. Probably Spooky’d used some of that roguish charm he seemed to be able to turn on and off like a light switch. Or maybe he’d simply snatched the hardcopy from her on the way in.
That raised the interesting question of how he knew about it in the first place.
“Tran, this is none of your concern. I would appreciate it if you would respect my wishes and stay out of this. It’s my decision and I need some time.”
“There are so many inaccuracies in that statement, I can’t even begin to help you.”
“I don’t need your help. I need to be left alone.”
Spooky shook his head. “Left alone? Perhaps. We all need a bit of time to grieve, but not now. As for the resignation, that’s not going to happen. I can’t let it happen. You’re too important for me to let you fall apart from guilt.”
“Don’t you see?” Markis snarled at him. “Don’t you get it? You were right. It was a lost cause. I should have stayed out of it and maybe things wouldn’t have gone far enough that this,” he slapped his hands down on the pictures, “would have happened. I just had to get involved. I just had to try and fix things. This is on me.”
Spooky was silent for a moment. “Yes. It is. And on me. And on Cassandra. And on the Unionists. And on a whole host of others.”
“Don’t do that,” said Markis. “Don’t devalue what I’m saying.”
“I’m not devaluing it, I’m agreeing with it. You’re responsible, but not on your own. You’re not that powerful or all knowing. You’re the Chairman, and a valuable symbol, but you’re not a god, Daniel Markis. Nor will I allow you to give up and be a martyr. We need a leader, not a quitter.”
Markis punched the top of his desk with his fist. “Get out of here. Leave me alone.”
“Responsibility isn’t the same thing as fault. People with malice in their hearts did this with eyes wide open. They knew what they were doing and now they look at these same photographs not with agony and shame, but with pride in their accomplishments. Are we going to quit and let them win?”
Markis breathed heavily, staring at Spooky, who continued to speak.
“We’re not done and this isn’t over. We have work to do. There are millions of Eden refugees coming our way via Texas. They’ll be looking to us to find them new homes. Many are infecting others before they leave, deliberately or voluntarily. If you don’t do y
our job, if you don’t find them homes, they will have fled from Texas for nothing. Worse yet, we will have failed them.”
Markis breathed deeply before screaming at the top of his lungs and sweeping the pictures from his desk, taking the landline and his monitor with them.
“I’ll take that as a good sign,” said Spooky.
Markis only glared.
“You’re a good man, Daniel,” Spooky said. “Perhaps the best man I’ve ever known, but you believe everything is within your power to fix and therefore that everything is your fault. Remember you felt this exact same way when they nuked Los Angeles.”
“Which means I should have seen it coming. That I was wrong then, and wrong now.”
“So? We should just surrender because we face an enemy who will not hesitate to murder millions of innocents?”
“No. No we can’t.”
Spooky bent down to begin sweeping the pictures into a pile. “This will be a long war that we have to win. It may take five years, or fifty. And trust me...there will be a reckoning for those responsible.”
Markis nodded.
“But that comes later,” said Spooky, standing and shoving the stack of photographs under one slim arm. “Right now, you’re going to get on that phone and do what you do best. Be the consummate statesman and negotiator. Call the leaders of Free Communities nations and find these people homes, the quicker the better.” Spooky turned to leave.
“Tran?” Markis said.
Spooky stopped. “Yes?”
“Thank you. For your strength. For your clarity.”
Nodding, Spooky left, pulling the door shut. As he walked by Markis’ secretary he tossed the pile of photographs on her desk. “Shred these.”
Spooky smiled and hummed a peppy tune. Everything was back on track, and this whole Texas affair hadn’t been a total loss. True, the rebellion had been crushed much faster than he’d hoped, but the Unionists had sown for themselves a thick crop of horror, a harvest that would harden the world’s resolve and slowly turn it against them.
He could work with that.
Epilogue
Apocalypse Austin Page 27
