The chairman waited for his orders to be acknowledged. He watched them, screen by screen. The first to agree was the NSC; the second yes came from the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the third from the attorney general’s office. The chairman noticed that the head of Health and Human Services—Christine’s boss, the rogue behind the unauthorized investigation of Christine Salter—sat impassive.
“A complete curfew will be imposed,” the chairman continued. “No one will be allowed to leave their homes, offices, or other locations. That order will go into effect in two hours.
“The president has decided that it is in the nation’s best interest to shut down the power grid into and covering the northeast corridor. Energy, how long before you could pull the plug?”
“A shutdown?” the energy director asked, startled.
“Correct.”
“The jurisdiction—” someone from the attorney general’s staff interjected.
“Members of the board,” the chairman said, “perhaps I did not make myself clear. We are under attack. Under the provision of the Wartime Act, the president has exercised his power as commander in chief. These are your orders.”
He paused, and then barked, “Media.”
“Ready,” the press secretary answered.
That’s more like it, the chairman thought. “There will be a complete media blackout until further notice. Any violation of this blackout will be considered an act of treason under the provisions defined in the Wartime Act. Punishment will be substantial and severe to all concerned—the reporter, the news organization, and the parent company.”
The chairman checked his list. “Transportation.”
“Sir?” the director of transportation said.
“Leave all emergency generators and power in place during this time.”
“That would leave the third rail live during the blackout, Mr. Chairman. That could be a disaster.”
“Precisely,” the chairman said.
“What of the collateral damage to customers and employees?” the director asked.
“The price of freedom,” the chairman said.
“Health and Human Services,” the chairman barked, and he was glad that the director of the HHSC wasn’t able to see him. He watched her. “You will be out of service. No emergency services, no responses, no treatment for the wounded. We will let them fall over their dead,” the chairman said. “All Conglomerate workers are to be sent home, as we will shut down all federal facilities prior to the curfew.”
Then the chairman asked, “Any questions?”
There weren’t any.
“Good,” the chairman said. “In summary: we are under attack. We have our orders. Failure to follow these orders will be considered an act of complicity with the enemy, and will be treated accordingly.” The chairman paused for a moment. “It is understood that we will all abide by the provisions dictated by the Wartime Act.”
The head of the HHSC sat like a stone, staring into the camera. The chairman went screen to screen and made each member agree to the terms outlined. He started with the Health and Human Services Corporation. Christine’s boss nodded.
He watched as the board of directors, one by one, from screen to screen, reacted as the Conglomerate Rangers in their camouflage flak jackets, and with their automatic weapons, moved into their offices.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the chairman said, “you too are under house arrest until further notice.” Some of the board members rose as if to protest and were returned to their seats by the Rangers. “Please understand,” the chairman continued. “The president is thinking only of your safety. He has thoughtfully provided personal security for you until this conflict is resolved.” Then the chairman terminated the call and the screens went black.
After the chairman had informed the president and the Cabinet of the imminent threat and of “Operation Lockdown,” the chairman’s actions to counter the threat, he’d informed the president that things surely could get ugly, as it was going to take drastic measures to eradicate the insurgency problem. The president ordered his Cabinet to the bunker at Camp David and assumed his place on Air Force One.
There was nothing more the chairman had to do. He looked out across the city and envisioned the tunnels and stations that veined beneath the city’s streets. He smiled as he ran his bath. Once the tub was full, he removed his clothes and slipped into the steaming water, smiling as his skin turned pink.
CHRISTINE COULDN’T WAIT to get home and take a shower. She was elated at having found Gabriel, thrilled to have been with him again, and to be setting things in motion. Now she had to get on with the rest of the plan on her “to do” list.
She heard a siren, and then a second one. Gradually she realized she wasn’t able to go home. She couldn’t risk getting any closer to her apartment. She did a 180 and started walking back toward the subway. Then she realized she couldn’t go back there either; she didn’t have the time. There were police officers and police cars everywhere.
Before they had all parted, X’s friend John had taken them down to Canal Street, where Christine had used the cash the chairman had given her to deal with an herbalist who not only had the vitamins she needed but also a relaxation formula of kava roots and Saint-John’s-wort, all in liquid form. From there they had gone to a Dyscard druggist who specialized in appropriated pharmaceuticals and who recommended a blend of barbiturates, Demerol and Dramamine, which they mixed with the herbs in the druggist’s shop. They bought an IV bag, a drip tube, a needle, and a vial of morphine.
She checked the time on her cell and called the chairman.
“Where are you?” the chairman said, sounding, to her surprise, more worried than angry. “There’s a general curfew in effect. You have to get off the streets. I’ll pick you up.”
It took only a second or two for Christine to realize she didn’t have any choice.
“THINGS COULD BE worse,” John said. It took X a second to understand what her sister had been telling them, and then she was surprised that she could experience vertigo so far belowground. And as though it hadn’t been bad enough to run into her estranged sister after ten years and conspire in a scheme of the Dyscards, then she’d found out that the unexpected was about to happen again.
Ichabod sat in a wooden chair with the back resting against the wall, the chair’s two front legs sticking up in the air. It looked as if he were waiting for trouble when X and her companion arrived.
“There have been some developments,” John said, not knowing exactly where to start. “All hell’s about to break loose.” Together they filled him in on the meeting with Gabriel and X’s sister. “We’ve got to be ready to move.”
Ichabod said, “All I have to do is get the babies.”
“And you need a place to bring them,” X said. “Now that the place is under attack, I mean. But, then again, maybe you two already have a place.” They didn’t. It couldn’t be underground, as an underground battlefield is no place for babies.
“Okay,” John said. “Ward’s Island needs to know of the change in the operation. We need to brief A and Dee and decide to activate our plans or not. All at once, I might add.”
“Ward’s Island must know already,” Ichabod said. “Look, we know what we’ve got to do. Let’s do it.”
And that was all they needed.
CHRISTINE SAW THE chairman’s driver check her out in the rearview mirror. She sank a little lower in her seat. The sun was going down, but that was on the other side of town, and Christine wished she were there instead of heading down FDR Drive to meet the chairman. She took a slow breath and sank down even lower in the seat. She had to get ready for what she had to do next. She closed her eyes.
She had told Gabriel, her sister, and John what had happened, and that she was on their side. She couldn’t wait to see Gabriel again, but that would have to wait.
She looked into the rearview mirror; the driver was staring straight ahead.
She recalled her sister’s expression when Christin
e had finally gotten to what she knew of the chairman’s plans. It had been John who had come to her defense when X had begun to ask her questions. Christine thought they hadn’t believed her, especially her sister, who had listened to her with her arms folded and her eyebrows raised. But there was too much detail not to believe her.
Christine opened her eyes to the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. She figured the driver was a plant: What better bug than someone who makes believe he can’t hear or speak? Well, at least Christine knew, or thought she knew, that the only time this guy had observed her was in the presence of the chairman. In a few hours, one way or another, this entire episode would be resolved.
The driver turned the town car onto Front Street alongside the anchorage for the Brooklyn Bridge and approached the rear of the old Clock Tower Building. He walked around the black town car to open the door for Christine.
So it begins, Christine thought as she entered the building.
ALL ALONG THEIR trip through Manhattan, X and John saw the build-up of cops and security. It didn’t take long for them to decide that the underground might not be the safest place for them to be. They decided to use the Vanderbilt escape hatch into the lobby of the Knickerbocker Hotel, from which they made their exit into the streets. The change in direction meant that they would have to take the long way back to Ward’s Island.
They saw firsthand the lockdown of the subway, even Grand Central, as the cops stopped people at all the exits. They agreed they might be better off in Queens. When they got to Second Avenue, they saw that the Conglomerate Rangers were using the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge as a checkpoint, so they crossed over to the entrance to the Roosevelt Island tram, climbed the stairs, and kept going up a ladder that led to a platform. John hopped atop the cable car, took X’s hand, and pulled her up next to him, to rock on the roof as they crossed the East River.
By the time they dropped into Ward’s Island from the Triborough, A and others had assembled. Dee was there, and so were the Border Patrol, and Gabriel Cruz. The only person missing was the one who had brought them all together in the first place, Christine Salter, her sister whose unsettling speculation about the chairman had proven correct. The air crackled with tension and panic as everyone talked at once.
“Folks,” A finally said, bringing the meeting to order. “What was a suspicion is now an all-out attack.”
The Baby Brigade
At the chairman’s office, Christine patted her bag and said, “I was able to prepare for the procedure. I just need to wash up and get ready.”
In the bathroom Christine assumed that the room was on video camera and that the chairman had it on the monitor in his office.
She locked the door and looked around to determine just where the camera might be. She saw it in the ceiling set inside the smoke detector. Her eye measured the angles that would take in both the shower and the toilet, and she swallowed hard. She made sure it was only the hot water running, for the steam. She also turned on the faucet for the bathroom sink and started to undress and wash as fast as she could.
REPORTS WERE COMING in from the field that the Conglomerate plans were extreme. Sadism served as a bond for the Conglomerates, and their lust for Dyscard blood had become a common ground. A and Dee knew this also meant that they had to be on the move and direct Dyscard strategy, which, at this point, was to save as many children as possible.
THE MAIN MEETING tent was filling up with men and women all in black. Gabriel had gone to the nursery with Walters.
The Border Patrol was marching out of the nursery like a column of tanks, to deliver the babies to the I train, cradled in their muscled mass. The Dyscard babies were swaddled in black blankets. The babies were quiet.
The group went across Ward’s Island in a hurry. A lead patrol cleared the way, minutes ahead of the main patrol, hitting the cops before they could regroup. The plan was to meet the I train at the number six stop on One Hundred Third and Lexington. They had to get from FDR Drive to the Lexington Avenue station without getting killed, or caught.
When the troop of Dyscards came within range of their destination, they discerned there were only a handful of cops occupying the station. Some of them had their hands on their guns and some had their hands by their sides, but they all were looking down the station stairs expecting the action to come from below. The Border Patrol stormed the station from behind them, and cleared the way for the baby brigade.
CHRISTINE DRESSED QUICKLY. It felt good to be clean again. A conference room had been transformed into a hospital room, with a bed, an IV pole, special lighting, and monitors to track the chairman’s vital signs. There was no sign of the chairman, but she saw the blue computer light beneath a door and went into that room. The chairman’s face went white when he saw Christine. He reached toward his desk and Christine saw the foggy image of the bathroom on the screen.
“Shall we begin the procedure?” she asked.
“Good,” the chairman said.
“You’ll need to strip down,” Christine said, and she was glad when he left the room to change. She wanted to make sure it would be difficult for the chairman to leave quickly, should it come to that. While the chairman was out of the room, Christine emptied her equipment from her bag and set up her portable lab. He walked back into the room wearing a red velvet robe with gold embroidery on the collar and cuffs. Christine had never seen anything like it, but she was glad he had it on.
Along with the hospital equipment, the chairman had installed a generator in his Clock Tower office, and shades to cover the windows. The bed was beneath the clock, facing his power base, even though the shades were drawn. He sat down on the bed, lay back, and undid his robe. Christine busied herself unpacking her supplies from her gym bag. She set up the IV bag on the pole and put on latex gloves. She turned and said, “Your arm.” She inserted the IV needle, taped the needle to him, and then taped the heart monitor onto his chest. It would hurt to move—enough, she hoped, to keep him still. She opened the valve and started the drip.
“Now for the swab,” Christine said, and she came back with a cotton ball soaked in Novocain and clover extract. The chairman shut his eyes as Christine rubbed the inside of his mouth. She figured if his lips turned numb it would be a convincing effect. She scraped her scalpel along the inside of his mouth and placed the scalpel blade on a glass dish. She walked over to the conference table, where she had set up her lab. She looked at the sample through the handheld lens from her kit, zooming in and out on the piece of tissue. She took a vial of water from her bag and added several drops to the dish.
“Now we wait ten minutes to let it oxidize,” she said. He would surely be unconscious by then. “You should start feeling drowsy,” Christine said, and when he did not respond, she turned around. He was out.
She checked his pulse, poked his hand with the tip of her knife. No reaction. The chairman was out cold.
She went to his computer and placed the memory card from her own phone into it. She decided to operate it under the belief that if there was one secure computer in this world it would belong to the chairman of the Conglomerate party. She logged on to her old e-mail account.
A AND DEE were in the subway tunnel south of Spring Street and they had covered the IRT, the IND, and the BMT. It was all pretty much the same; carnage everywhere. The Dyscards were being decimated.
No one could locate the chairman, and that had increased the panic among the Conglomerates. Rumors were rampant. There was rioting at some sites where the citizens had been contained, and there were fights and fires and skirmishes all over town. Although the media was shut down, the word had spread and those sympathetic to the Dyscard cause, as well as those opposed to the Conglomerate regime, were fighting where they could.
The plan was to send the babies to Van Cortlandt Park, or further up the Metro-North line, to where the Dyscards had established a few facilities. But the Conglomerates were busting up those camps as well.
THE NEW YORK City skyline was a series o
f shadows in the foreground of the night. Pockets of flames flared up from the darkened streets on either side of the bridge. Helicopters hovered overhead, with spotlights on Battery Park and the PATH train entrance. They were chasing down the damned.
Dee sent a text message to Christine: “Please call this number,” and he gave a number. Dee entered a code that activated Christine’s phone and sent her the message. A moment later her call came in.
“Who is this?” Christine said.
“It is Dee, madam. How is the chairman?” Dee asked.
“He’s under sedation and responding to treatment.” She had heard about these two from her sister’s friend, but still.
“We may need you to keep him that way. We’re getting killed out here. We need to find a place for the babies. Everyone is under attack.”
Christine looked down at the chairman’s body. “I have an idea,” Christine said.
AFTER BEING UNDERGROUND for as long as she had, sleeping in stations and tunnels and moving through the dark, nothing had prepared X for the moment when she entered the station at One Hundred Third and Lexington. Nothing could have prepared her.
The I train was waiting for them. The third rail emergency generator was up and running. The I train idled in the station with a steady hum. There were countless voices and cries coming through the tunnels on either side of the subway station. To X it sounded like one lone wail.
John put his arm around her and said, “There is something we can do for those babies, and there’s something we can do for us.” The doors of the I train opened and light spilled out, providing a path to follow, and the crowd of people did.
John stood with one foot on the platform and the other foot holding open one of the doors. The Border Patrol carrying the babies were the first to enter, and Ichabod led them to the designated space. The babies weren’t so quiet now, as many were fussing and adding to the noise.
The Age of the Conglomerates: A Novel of the Future Page 20