“Everyone calls me Chappie.”
“You’re a general in the United States Army. I would feel more comfortable addressing you as—”
“If you want my attention, you’ll call me Chappie,” he said, ducking into the hangar. “As for my being a general, the only reason that’s true is because the rest of em’s dead.”
She felt herself growing frustrated.
“General!”
He kept walking.
“Chappie!”
He stopped and glanced back at her. “You coming?”
“Excuse me?”
He nodded toward a small office in the corner of the metal hanger.
“To the meeting. We’re late.”
“I know we’re late,” she said, hurrying up to him. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”
“Well, I’m here now.”
He walked over to the office door and pushed it open. The only furnishings were a plain gray desk, an old swivel chair, a coat rack, which he immediately tossed his hat onto, a garbage can, and a large brass spittoon that looked like it belonged in a bull-riding saloon.
“Sir, I was hoping—”
“Chappie.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Chappie, I was hoping we could discuss an important matter.”
“You know what you get if you hope in one hand, piss in the other, and then rub the two together?”
Dr. Green crossed her arms. “I surely do not.”
“Wet hands.” He gave the desk a quick ba-dum-bump with his palms. “What is it that brought you out to my airfield?”
“Your airfield?”
“I command the entire Army Special Operations aviation regiment. Every rotor, cockpit, and wheel on that airfield belongs to me.”
Dr. Green was at a loss for words. Never in her life had she met a man so difficult to have a simple conversation with.
“You had something you came here to say. Kindly get on with it.”
She raised her eyebrows.
His only reaction was to wink.
She sighed, feeling completely off balance.
“General,” she snapped, “I don’t have time for games. Are you interested in hearing me out or not?”
“Of course, I am,” he said, sitting back as if surprised by her tone. “If I weren’t, why would I have agreed to meet with you?”
“I was asking myself the same question.”
General Reed opened his desk drawer and pulled out a pouch of chewing tobacco. He offered it to her, and when she made a disgusted face, he pinched out a wad and stuffed it between his lip and gum.
“I suppose I don’t have to tell you that that stuff will kill you.”
“No, ma’am, you do not.” He folded the pouch and tucked it away. “Now, how might I help you?”
She took a moment to collect herself.
“You may have heard that I’ve been asked to head the investigation into the allegations against President Pike and General Hood.”
“I did, and you have my heartfelt congratulations.” He spat a few shreds of tobacco into the spittoon. “I’m sure you’ll do a fine job.”
“I came to see whether you might want to be part of that team.”
“I’m a soldier, ma’am, not an investigator. Hell, I wouldn’t know how to spell investigator.”
“I believe that. I truly do.”
He grinned, and she couldn’t help but do the same.
“Ma’am, that’s something you’ll learn about me. You can believe everything that comes out of my mouth.” He offered a big toothy smile. “That’s one reason I’m so popular with the ladies.”
“General—”
“Chappie.”
She growled, but it was more playful this time.
“The team is going to be made up of people from every part of the administration, and that includes the military. Admiral Roger Bivy is—”
“A complete pussy.”
Her eyes widened. “What did you just say?”
“I once saw that old fart turn tail when a few of his rowboats caught fire. I’ve always said that Navy officers have marshmallows in their sacks.”
She took a step away from his desk.
“I can see that I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“Thinking your brake oil is root beer would be a terrible mistake. This,” he motioned between them, “this is what we call a miscalculation.”
“Either way, I can see that you’re not interested.”
“I never said any such thing.”
“But you—”
Chappie spat into the spittoon.
“I only said I wasn’t an investigator.”
“Are you saying that you want to be on the team?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not we get to fly out to Greenbrier to see who’s lying.”
She studied him. It was perhaps the most interesting thing he could have said.
“We do.”
He nodded. “All right, then. I’m in.”
She tipped her nose up. “To be honest, General, I haven’t yet made up my mind as to whether or not you’d be a good fit.”
He smiled. “Course I’m a good fit.”
“Oh? And why would you think that?”
He leaned forward and stared into her eyes.
“Because, Dr. Green, I’m the only one on your team who could give a shit, one way or the other.”
Shortly after Dr. Green left, Chappie called in his executive officer, Major Brent Waller. Waller was a career army officer, slick, well polished, and the opposite of everything Chappie exemplified. Despite their overt differences, the two men had developed an immediate friendship, and now, nearly twenty years later, each counted the other as a brother.
The two men stood at the door to the hangar, watching Dr. Green as she traversed the long airfield.
“Have the boys keep an eye on her,” said Chappie.
“Anything in particular?”
“I need to know who she’s talking to and what kind of questions she’s asking.”
“You’re worried that she’s working for Pike?”
“No, I’m worried that she’s going to uncover something that she shouldn’t.”
“And if she does?”
“If she does, we may have to read her in.”
“Is that your brain or your balls talking?”
Chappie pulled the wad of tobacco from his mouth and flicked it away.
“A little of both, I guess.”
Waller nodded. “We’ll watch her. Anything else?”
“How long until the Shadow goes up?”
“The RQ-7 team is moving into place now. They should have the unmanned aerial vehicle in the air by nightfall.”
“Good,” he said, catching one final glimpse of Dr. Green before she disappeared around the corner. “I want eyes on that bunker.”
President Pike was facing a dilemma, one brought to light by his ghostly lover, Yumi Tanaka. Despite her corporeal limitations, Yumi was still able to offer valuable insights, and he trusted her counsel above all others. She was, after all, an extension of himself and therefore, beyond reproach or second-guessing.
At Yumi’s insistence, he had called a meeting with his vice president. Stinson was to be the fall guy. The dupe. The chump. The patsy who proudly wore the banner of shame when things went south. And things would almost certainly go south. Not in more than two hundred years had anyone engaged in the kind of fundamental nation building that they were undertaking with the construction of the New Colonies. It promised to be a painful process that brought about as much suffering as it did security.
Despite the challenges, Pike was certain that the effort would eventually succeed. And when it did, he would be exalted as the current generation’s George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, all rolled into one. Stinson, on the other hand, would be the Dan Quayle, a man remembered for his lack of experience, not to mention his inability to spe
ll the word “potato.”
But there was also another reason for meeting with Stinson. Pike needed to get him out of the way for a while. The situation with General Hood’s cleanup was still very tenuous, and having a successor ready in the wings was not conducive to garnering unfettered support. If Hood succeeded, Pike would be exonerated, and Stinson could reappear as little more than the annoyance he was today.
Even if General Hood failed, there was still a chance to salvage the presidency. All that really needed to happen was for Rosalyn Glass and her co-conspirators to be properly dispatched. If their bodies were to be discovered or a witness were to step forward, the entire sordid affair would be pinned on Hood. The killing of the marshals at Glynco, the bombing of Lexington, and now the attack on Greenbrier would all be tied to a rogue general. Pike’s fingerprints were faint at best, and key military officers had already indicated their willingness to look the other way, should it come to that. They recognized, and rightly so in Pike’s opinion, that the nation’s survival was more important than a little political infighting.
Hood would need to be killed, of course. But that was going to take place regardless of his success or failure. He was the only person left alive who knew where the skeletons were buried, and thus by necessity, had to join them. It was fitting that his demise would be at the hands of his own men. That fortuitous arrangement had been brokered when Pike learned of the displeasure the Black Dogs felt over their recent loss of ten men, a loss they blamed on poor intelligence provided by General Hood. Once the mission was complete, it was agreed that the general would be burned and buried alongside any bodies recovered from the bunker. With Hood and Glass both removed, Pike could finally get on with fulfilling his true legacy. Not only would he be celebrated as the greatest president to have ever lived, he would ultimately ascend to a level reserved for gods and despots.
A knock on the door jarred him from his thoughts. He glanced over at Yumi, and she offered an all-knowing smile. Pike felt no shame around her. His dreams were her dreams, and wherever he went, she would follow.
“Come in.”
Vice President Stinson entered and settled into the chair across from Pike’s desk. He pulled a notepad and pen from his soft-sided leather briefcase, like a psychiatrist preparing to administer an inkblot test. Yumi sat cross-legged in a chair that Pike had pulled close to his own. Her presence helped him to feel stronger and more confident, and he was finding it harder to have her outside of arms’ reach.
“Andrew, I trust that you were paying attention to my speech earlier.”
“Of course, sir. Marvelously done.”
Yumi pursed her lips and made a small puckering sound.
“Then you heard how much importance I’m placing on getting the three colonies up and running.”
“Yes, sir. I’m doing everything I can to work the issues. I should tell you, however, that numerous challenges remain, including establishing basic utilities, implementing a civilian government, and introducing the new gold-backed currency.”
Pike nodded. “Yes, yes, I understand. And it is the establishment of local governments that concerns me the most. If we fail to provide a credible governor, the colonies will quickly elect feudalistic leaders who believe they don’t have to answer to anyone. That kind of decentralization would prove to be the downfall of our national government. Perhaps even our very identity as a sovereign unified nation would be threatened. We’re watching it happen all over the world…” He started counting on his fingers. “China, Russia, Japan.”
“It’s understandable, sir. All three of their governments have proven unable to maintain security or provide basic infrastructures. Out of necessity, survivors are turning to local leaders to meet those needs.”
“Precisely. And we are at risk of the same thing happening here. If we falter this first year, the United States will be no more. We will be a landmass governed by local councils, tribal warlords, and violent cartels. There will be no national government, no centralized control over anyone or anything. Our military will divide and be absorbed by those who can pay the most, and once that happens, we will have nothing.”
Stinson swallowed. “Tell me what you’d like me to do, sir.”
“Oh, please, let me answer that,” snickered Yumi.
Pike cleared his throat. “I need for you to go to each of the New Colonies. Pick local leaders who are both trustworthy and capable, and name them as interim governors operating under our authority.”
“You want me to appoint them directly, without elections?”
“For now, yes. Let’s stand these colonies up and get through the first year before we worry about proper representation.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Work closely with the governors to ensure that all of the necessary infrastructures will be in place before winter arrives. That includes food, water, basic housing, security, medical services, and everything else people are going to need to survive.”
“I can try, but each of those has its own challenges. Food distribution, for example—”
Pike held up a hand. “I know, and frankly, I don’t care.” When he saw Stinson’s face start to turn red, he quickly added, “What I should have said is that I can’t care. I have to delegate some of this to you, and you in turn have to delegate it to others. There are too many moving pieces for the two of us to handle alone. We have to be the leaders that this nation needs.”
Stinson’s confidence seemed to return.
“Yes, sir.”
“Use the next few weeks to travel to the three colonies, appointing local governors and helping them to pull together readiness plans. Then come back and report to me.”
“Yes, sir. When would you like me to leave?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Stinson looked startled. “So soon?”
“Unless you have something more pressing underway.”
Stinson had been around long enough to recognize that there was really only one right answer.
“No, sir.”
“Good. Once you get back, we’ll figure out what resources must be brought in to help. Each and every one of the colonies has to succeed.” He paused for a moment. “Andrew, I shouldn’t have to tell you that this is a huge responsibility, one that might well define your legacy as vice president.”
The word legacy seemed to catch Stinson by surprise, and he instinctively straightened up in his chair.
“Uh-oh,” Yumi said with a giggle. “I think you gave him a woody.”
“I’ll do my best,” Stinson said in the deepest voice he could muster.
Pike smiled and reached across to shake his hand.
“I know you will, and I look forward to your report.”
Once Stinson had left the room, Yumi quietly came over and settled onto Pike’s lap.
“You do know that that man is an absolute fool.”
“Perhaps, but a fool is what we need right now.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Got any assignments for me, lover?”
He felt the heat of her ghostly body, something that he knew to be physically impossible but had learned not to question.
“I’m sure I can think of something,” he said, letting his hands run along her silky thighs.
She leaned down and nibbled on his ear.
“Your wish is my command, Mr. President.”
Chapter 18
Mason was breathing hard. He and Bowie had been playing a game of cat and mouse with the infected for the better part of an hour, hiding in thickets of trees, darting around buildings, and now racing along the river’s edge. Unlike the infected he had encountered previously, those residing in the depot seemed more willing to suffer the bright sunlight in order to hunt their prey.
To make matters worse, it had started to rain. Not a blinding, pelting affair, but enough to seep through his clothes. The rain was also making it more difficult to move about undetected, as everywhere they went, muddy boot and paw prints follow
ed.
The plan was simple enough. He would have Bowie track the Commandant using the jacket they had found in the storeroom. But that meant returning to the igloo to pick up his scent, something that wasn’t going to happen until the hunt quieted down a bit. Whether or not the rain would throw Bowie off the scent remained to be seen.
Mason bent over, hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. Bowie stood a few feet away, studying him.
“What are you?” he breathed. “Some kind of marathon dog?”
Bowie edged a little closer, perhaps hoping that a good lick of his master’s face would help to rejuvenate him.
Mason straightened and looked out across the river. The flow of water was steady, and he had no desire to cross it with the weight of his rifle and gear. He also didn’t know whether Bowie could make it across. Like other animals, dogs could instinctively swim from a very young age, but that didn’t mean that they could forge a river that was two football fields across.
Bowie offered a quick reassuring bark.
“Yeah, you say that now, but I’m the one who would have to give you mouth-to-mouth.”
The dog licked the fur around his mouth.
“I think our only choice is to find a place to hole up until this rain stops. Hopefully, by then, our pursuers will have given up the chase, and we can return to get the Commandant’s jacket.”
Mason scrambled up the muddy ravine lining the riverbank, dropping to all fours as he neared the top. There were two buildings within view, set about a hundred yards apart. Both looked identical to the blast igloos that he and the cadets had explored. There was movement near the building to the right, but the one to the left looked clear.
He rose to a crouch and shuffled toward the empty building. Between the muddy ground and rye grass that had grown to nearly eighteen inches, it felt as if he were slogging through a rice paddy in the South Pacific. Bowie, however, didn’t seem to mind splashing through the slop. If anything, the rain and mud only improved his spirits, as he stopped to occasionally roll in the tall wet grass. By the time they arrived at the building, both were soaked from head to tail.
Like the other igloos, it was surrounded by a white reinforced concrete blast wall. In this case, however, the wall had been omitted at the rear of the building, instead relying on an adjacent hill to contain any explosion. A large water tower had been built on top of the hill, and its tank hovered a hundred feet in the air, offering a brief reprieve from the rain. While the tower would have been a solid defensive position, Mason decided that getting Bowie up the narrow ladder was a job best left to professionals.
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