Worlds in Chaos

by James P. Hogan

  Dee sat in her kitchen area drinking a coffee and blinked disbelievingly as she checked through the rest of the mail after skimming the morning’s paper. These things didn’t happen in the U.S.A. They happened to other people in other places that had never been quite real anyway. . . . Then she remembered that there no longer was a U.S.A. No, even though she had heard the air-raid warning sirens tested yesterday and seen the damage on last night’s news, she couldn’t believe it. Older folk talked about the erosion of freedoms her generation had never known, such as being able to drive coast-to-coast without having to give a reason, or not being profiled in the federal records system, and said that things had been heading this way for a long time. But all the same, Dee had grown up feeling a fond familiarity for the country she’d learned about at school with its flag and list of presidents, Fourth of July tradition, and national institutions that ranged from the Football League to the Postal Service. It couldn’t be over. When her father died, she had taken weeks to accept it and continued seeing figures on the street that for a moment she would believe were him, telling herself there had been some huge mistake. She felt something similar now, as if suddenly she would wake up and everything would be back again the way it was supposed to be.

  The door chime sounded from the hall. Dee got up, went out, and peered through the spy hole in the door. It was Mike Blair from the Hyadean mission.

  “Hi,” he greeted as she let him in and led the way back to the kitchen. “I probably should have called first. Have you got a minute?”

  “Sure.” Dee gestured toward the newspaper and mail scattered over the table. “I can’t believe all this, Mike. Tell me it isn’t real.”

  “I know. I’ve got the same problem. We don’t do this to each other because someone tells us to. That’s what people in other countries do.” He spread his hands. “But what else do you do when the other guys are coming over here with bombs? And the crazy part about it all is that they probably think exactly the same about us.”

  “Can I fix you a coffee or something?”

  “Thanks, no. I’m in a rush.”

  “So what gives?”

  “I talked to Wyvex earlier today. And guess what. He got a call from Vrel. Vrel’s okay!”

  “What?!” Dee stared disbelievingly. “Really?!”

  Blair grinned and nodded. “I just told you—really.”

  Dee threw her arms around Blair’s neck, and kissed him on the side of his face. “So what happened? Where is he? What’s going on? Did Wyvex say when he’s coming back?”

  “South America someplace. It sounds as if he’s with some kind of Hyadean news outfit. They’re making sure they’ve got clearance into the Federation. It could be in the next day or two.”

  “Terrific!” Dee sat down and looked around ecstatically. She was still having trouble absorbing it. “News team? You mean the ones who made that documentary? So are Roland and his ex coming too?” Blair became solemn and shook his head. “What’s up?” Dee asked.

  “Marie’s there, but Roland isn’t. It seems they were in a chopper that got shot down. It’s . . . bad news, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh.” Dee’s jubilation died abruptly.

  “Someone needs to break it to Julia before they get here. I told Wyvex I’d take care of it. I’m on my way over to the house now.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Dee said.

  Blair arrived with Dee at Newport Beach a little under an hour later. En route he had received a further call from Wyvex, saying that Vrel and the others hoped to arrive the following day. Julia and Luke were both at home, and Blair broke the news to both of them together. Julia received it stoically. “I see,” was her rejoinder. “How certain are they of this?”

  Blair could only shake his head. “I don’t know if Wyvex knew any more than he said. I didn’t press him for details. As far as he knew, Marie and the Hyadean girl were the only two survivors.”

  “So there weren’t any actual witnesses.”

  “Not as far as I could gather, no.”

  “I’m so sorry,” was all Dee could say, again.

  Luke had been watching Julia’s face long and thoughtfully throughout. He said nothing.

  A half hour after Blair and Dee left, Julia told Luke that she had some errands to run and left in her cream-colored Cadillac. Two miles from the house, she pulled into a parking area and used the phone that she carried in her purse to call the ISS unit that she reported to under the field name Arcadia. The phone was a special-issue model and connected directly on an encrypted channel. The duty controller took down the details and advised Arcadia to expect further instructions later. He then relayed the information immediately to Kurt Drisson, as per standing orders. Within minutes, Drisson was through to Casper Toddrel, still in Washington, at that moment in an office of the Senate Building, sorting through notes he had made during meetings that morning. Toddrel found a more private room, and Drisson related what he had just learned. For once, it seemed that the intelligence services had better information than Cade’s friends did.

  “Obviously, these people in Los Angeles don’t know about Cade and the Hyadean defector,” Toddrel said.

  “Check.”

  They had been tracked to La Paz following a lead from an informer, and then missed by a matter of minutes. An agent at El Alto Airport had picked up something about two illegals being smuggled out somewhere but hadn’t been able to fix the destination. Now it seemed clear.

  “What’s your assessment?” Toddrel asked.

  “If the bunch who skipped in Brazil are heading for Quito, that’s where Cade and the Hyadean were heading,” Drisson replied. “They’re all going to meet up there, then fly up to LA together.”

  “That’s the way I’d be inclined to see it too,” Toddrel agreed. “But why wouldn’t they mention Cade and the Hyadean to the people in Los Angeles?”

  “If they’re not all in Quito yet, it would be premature to presume it. . . . Or maybe they just didn’t want to talk too much about their movements.”

  It sounded probable. “And then we’ll have all our problems together—in one place,” Toddrel said. The implication was clear.

  “Mmm . . . It would be difficult to arrange an incident there, in Quito, with the time scale we’ve got,” Drisson said. “We don’t have readily available operatives there.”

  “I’m not sure I’d want that in any case,” Toddrel told him. “Ecuador is trying to stay out of things politically. We don’t want to risk any embarrassments there. Wait until they get to California. With the current situation, anyone could be suspected. You could use Arcadia. She’s right there, on the spot. Then pull her out immediately afterward.” Toddrel quite liked that idea. It seemed poetic. Keeping her there had been a risky decision. Maybe it could pay a dividend now.

  “I’ll get on it right away,” Drisson promised.

  Late that night, a message appeared in Julia’s phone via its special channel, giving a number and instructions to ask for “Laredo.” She called the number, and shortly afterward drove out through roads busy with military traffic to a rendezvous not far from LAX, Los Angeles International Airport. Laredo gave her a heavy black suitcase, which she stowed in the trunk of the Cadillac.

  Next morning, in the residential quarters of the Hyadean mission in Lakewood, Wyvex took a call from Julia on his personal number. “Mike Blair and Dee gave me the news,” she told him.

  “I’m sorry it couldn’t have been better about Roland,” Wyvex replied.

  “It’s one of these things we have to learn to live with. They’re due in today, right?”

  “Yes. At five this afternoon.”

  “What’s the plan? Were you planning on collecting them?”

  “Yes.” Wyvex hesitated, unsure of the correct Terran etiquette in view of Marie’s presence. “Why? Did you want to be there?”

  “I’d rather see them later. But look, I know that with the way things are, Hyadeans are trying to keep a low profile and stay out of sight. I could a
rrange for Luke to pick them up instead.”

  “Well . . . that would probably be a good idea. You’re sure it’s no trouble?” Wyvex said.

  “Of course not,” Julia told him. “No trouble at all.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Between quitting the Navy and running into Cade, Luke had been a professional bodyguard and security consultant. That meant he was suspicious of anything that didn’t quite feel right. The seeming matter-of-factness with which Julia had accepted Cade’s disappearance, and the little inclination she had shown to try locating or contacting him since had seemed unusual even before Cade’s call warning that Julia might not be what she appeared to be.

  What did it mean?

  Because she’d been installed into Cade’s life around a year ago after a romance that had bloomed too smoothly and easily, a clear possibility was that she had been planted. With Cade commanding a growing social circle of influential Hyadeans and Terrans who did business with them, and then having a former wife connected with CounterAction, it was the kind of thing they should have expected. And then the broadcast had told of his almost being killed after going off with Rebecca, who had been introduced by Julia. It reeked of “setup.”

  Midway through the day that the flight bringing Vrel and the others from Quito was due to arrive, Julia asked Luke to have the limo ready to collect Wyvex and Dee from the mission and then go on to LAX to meet them. She explained that it would avoid the Hyadeans having to venture out in public at a time when hostility was being shown from some quarters.

  Luke would normally not have thought twice about it, but the present circumstances caused him to question everything. Why was Julia showing such concern, when nobody from the household would be among the expected arrivals? It felt odd. Had the Hyadeans asked her to arrange for the party to be collected? Luke called Wyvex to check. No, Wyvex said. Julia had called him to suggest it. Even odder. If it were merely to keep the Hyadeans out of the way, why not use any of the commercial limo or shuttle companies at the airport? Why did it have to be this limo? His suspicions fully aroused, Luke went out to the garage and checked over it from end to end. And concealed in a cardboard carton in the trunk, he found a heavy black suitcase that shouldn’t have been there. He took it out and stood it out of view between the wall and the rear of Julia’s Cadillac. By now it was almost three in the afternoon. Luke went out the back of the garage, across the rear yard to the dock, and boarded the yacht. Warren Edmonds, the Sassy Lady’s skipper, was in the main cabin, taking in a movie with Charles, the boat’s cook. “Warren, I need to talk to you,” Luke said. They went out onto the foredeck, Luke closing the door behind them.

  “What’s up?” Warren asked.

  “I’ll explain it all later—I have to leave for the airport in a few minutes. But there’s a black suitcase by the wall in the garage. I think it might be a bomb.”

  “Jesus, you’re joking! Where—”

  “I said, later. What I want you to do is pick it up after I’m gone, take it out over the water in one of the dinghies, and drop it down on the end of a line. It’s just a precaution.” Luke looked around and lowered his voice. “Look, I haven’t told anyone this, but Roland is okay.”

  “What?!”

  “He called me a couple of days ago. I’m not sure, but I think he might be arriving this afternoon with the others. If so, then we’ll be able to straighten everything out after he gets here. You mustn’t mention anything to Julia about this. But in the meantime, just to be safe, I want that thing out of the way.”

  Warren nodded. “Okay, Luke. If you say so.”

  Julia finished packing the black leather pilot bag and set it alongside the garment bag, red suitcase, cosmetic bag, and shoulder purse on the bed. She made a final check through the drawers of the vanity and added a few final items to the blue carryall containing her jewelry boxes, personal papers, and some casual clothes and shoes. Then she moved to the window, which overlooked the rear of the house, and peered past the drapes. Luke was just coming down the steps from the yacht. He crossed the rear yard and disappeared from sight into the door at the back of the garage. Julia went from the bedroom to the far side of the suite, where the window commanded a view of the front. A minute or two later, the limo backed out of the garage, turned in the circle at the top of the driveway, and left. Julia went back to the bedroom, picked up two of the bags, and carried them down through the house. “Henry,” she called out as she approached the door into the garage. “Are you anywhere around, Henry?” He appeared as Julia put the bags down behind the Cadillac.

  “Yes, ma’am?” His face registered surprise.

  “Something has come up suddenly. I have to make a trip. There are some more bags on the bed upstairs. Fetch them for me and load them, would you, while I collect some other things?”

  “Er . . .” Henry waved a hand undecidedly and looked perplexed. He seemed far from happy, as if some explanation were called for, yet at the same time conscious of his station.

  “It doesn’t matter why, Henry,” Julia said sharply. “I do not have to justify myself to you. Just kindly do as I ask, please.”

  “Yes. . . . Yes, of course.” Henry turned and went back into the house.

  Julia followed, going to the den, where she retrieved the briefcase and book bag that she had previously filled with documents and files from her own drawers. She took them through to the garage along with her laptop, placing them by the bags that she had left previously just as Henry came back with three from upstairs. He was agitated and unsure, depositing the bags with the others and departing, as if to spend as little time around her as possible. As Henry was about to leave, Warren Edmonds came in through the door from the rear yard. He stopped, seemingly confused.

  “Ah . . . has anyone seen Luke?” he asked. It sounded like an excuse. Evidently, he hadn’t expected to find Julia and Henry here.

  “He’s just gone,” Henry said from the doorway. “Picking up Vrel and the rest at the airport, remember?”

  “Oh . . . right.” Warren gazed around the garage as if reluctant to leave.

  “He’ll be back in a few hours. Was there something else?” Julia said impatiently.

  “Er, no. . . . No, I guess not. Okay.” Warren turned and went back the way he had come. Henry exited into the house. Julia went through to the front hall to sort coats and jackets from the closet. By the time she returned to the garage, Henry was back and had just lifted the last of the bags into the trunk. Julia opened the driver’s door, threw the coats onto the back seat, prepared to get in, then saw that Henry was watching her strangely. Something needed to be said. It didn’t matter what. Five minutes more and she would be out of this place permanently. “I told you, something unexpected has come up,” Julia told him. “I”ll be back in a day or two.” Henry nodded but didn’t look as if he believed her. She climbed in, started the motor, and backed the car out.

  As she came onto the freeway, Julia called her ISS control unit and left a message that said, “Arcadia checking in. Rooster is on schedule. Gamecock. Surfing.” The code words meant that Luke had left on time, the device was planted, and she was on her way out.

  A couple of miles farther south, she pulled into a service area to fill up with gas. She decided it would be a good time to eat too, rather than stop again later. On her way into the coffee shop by the gas station, she threw her regular domestic phone into the trash bin by the door. That part of her life was over now.

  Warren found Henry in the kitchen, doing something with the program of the autochef. Henry was looking worried, but Warren was too flustered to notice. “Henry, drop that and come this way. I’ve got a problem.” Warren led the way back through to the garage, then waved a hand around. “There’s supposed to be a black suitcase here somewhere. I’ve looked all over. You were in here a few minutes ago. Have you seen it?”

  “I loaded all the bags into the Cadillac,” Henry said. “Julia’s orders.”

  Warren looked around, as if noticing for the firs
t time that it was gone. “Where’d she go?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t say. But she was acting strange. Packed. Gone. I don’t know what it’s all about.”

  Impossible thoughts raced through Warren’s mind. “All the bags?” he repeated.

  “That’s what she said. The mood she was in, I wasn’t asking questions. Why? Is something wrong?”

  Warren thought frantically, then went out into the yard and called Luke’s number from his pocket phone. “Hello?” Luke’s voice answered.

  “Luke, it’s Warren. We may have trouble. There isn’t any black suitcase in the garage. Henry says he put it in the Cadillac with a bunch of other stuff of Julia’s that he just loaded. She’s gone.”

  “Gone? Where to?”

  “We don’t know. She’s blown. Taken off. She was set to go right after you left. Henry says she was acting strange.” Warren paused, but there was no immediate response. “What does it mean?” he asked finally. The silence persisted for a long time, as if Luke were wrestling with all manner of imponderables. “Luke?” Warren prompted.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Luke’s voice said at last. “Just leave everything to me.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  It was different from the last time he had looked down over Los Angeles from an incoming flight, Vrel reflected. Then, he had been traveling on official business for the Hyadean authorities, returning to their West Coast office of the United States. This time he was a renegade seeking asylum at an unofficial enterprise in a new, rebellious Federation gearing up for war. He really had no comprehension of the political and economic tangles that had led up to it, he realized. Perhaps he was still only at the beginnings of understanding anything about Earth and its squabbling, disorganized, variously colored natives.

  In the window seat next to Vrel in the First Class section, Luodine stared out, looking for signs of the war. After her experiences in Brazil, she hadn’t been sure what to expect, but Los Angeles still looked very much the way it had when she last visited. They had been fortunate in getting a flight into the Federation at all. Many airlines had suspended operations because of the military risks. The morning had seen a major attack by air-launched missiles on the naval installations in San Diego, farther south, which the Federation had taken over. Also, Union aircraft had been allowed across Mexican air space to lay mines and other underwater devices at points along the West Coast. The Federation was reinforcing its southern border. Luodine looked to the future with a mixture of excitement that the big story she had been working toward was about to break here, and trepidation as to what it might entail.