Webster City

by Peter Menadue

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Davidson put his Cadillac into gear and drove away from the derelict church. Prentice sat beside him and Watkins sat on the back seat. As Davidson carefully drove through Old East Chicago, he wondered how many of Commander Solon's 7,000 troops were watching their progress. Probably quite a few.

  Prentice said: "He's an impressive guy, don't you think?"

  Davidson said: "Yes. But his troops will be heavily outnumbered, and they do have to cross the wall and minefield."

  "True. But our generals are hopeless - most got their jobs because they're pals of the Chancellor - and our troops are suspect. The Palace Guards will definitely fight it out. They're fanatics. But I'm not sure about the rest. Fighting for their city might inspire them. Or they might run like rabbits. We'll see. Anyway, we've got to find three canisters of Agent Pandora by seven o'clock. Otherwise, the Chancellor and his gang will become the last survivors of the human race."

  "Got any clue where they are?"

  "No. They could be hidden anywhere in the City. But there are a couple of ways we can locate them."

  "What?"

  "One option is to break into the Chancellor's Palace and read the secret dossier that identifies their location."

  "You mean, we just waltz into the Palace, pull the Chancellor out of his bed, steal the key to his safe, smash into his office, open the safe and hope it contains some mythical dossier?"

  "I admit that plan has significant obstacles. And, even if we're successful, there's no guarantee the canisters are still located where the dossier says they're located. The Chancellor might have moved them while preparing to release the Agent Pandora. So I think we should, at least initially, try an easier option."

  "You mean kidnap Professor Fisher?"

  A laugh. "You always were my brightest officer. In better times, you'd have succeeded me. Yes, I think we should kidnap the dear Professor. The Chancellor doesn't have the expertise to release the plague himself. He must have delegated that task to the Professor. So let's call on the Professor's abode and ask, politely at first, where the canisters are located. You agree?"

  Davidson's thoughts had traveled in a similar direction. "Yes."

  Prentice politely looked over his shoulder at Helen Watkins. "And you?"

  "You two seem to know what you're doing."

  Prentice chuckled. "That's a bold assumption." He looked at Davidson. "Head for Sector A."

  "That's where he lives?"

  "Yes. He's a neighbor of mine."

  When they re-entered the City through the South Gate, a burly middle-aged soldier checked Prentice's ID. The soldier didn't look like he'd provide the Freedom Alliance with much opposition in the morning. The kid on duty when they left the City didn't seem to be around. Davidson hoped he still wasn't around at seven o'clock.

  As Davidson drove back along Jonas Salk Boulevard, his nerves made him talkative. He glanced at Prentice. "Out of curiosity, what did you wife wear to the fancy dress ball?"

  Prentice giggled. "She carried out her threat to go as Cleopatra. Can you believe that? She's forty-eight and looked ridiculous. She certainly didn't look like the woman who launched a thousand ships."

  "That was Helen of Troy."

  "Whatever."

  Davidson drove for another minute. "How did you know that my brother, Ted, went missing in the Badlands?"

  A thin smile. "I investigate the background of all my officers, looking for any secrets that will increase my control. I was very interested to learn he disappeared out there, presumed dead."

  "Did you find out the true story?"

  "Afraid not. But I wondered if he deserted. Has that ever crossed your mind?"

  "Often."

  "If he did, would he have told you?"

  "I'm not sure. He might have pretended he was dead to protect me."

  "Were you close?"

  "Yes, though we thought differently about the City: I was loyal, he was not."

  "And now you think like he did?"

  "Yes."

  "Will you search for him, when this is all over?"

  Davidson hadn't thought about that. "I guess so, if I survive."

  "Hah. I'm afraid our chances are pretty slim. But, you know, I've waited all my life to fight - and die - for something I truly believe in. So I'm relaxed about my fate - I'll take what's coming to me."

  Davidson wished he was as calm about Death. How would he react when he looked it in the eye? At least, he wouldn't have to wait long to find out.