Strike a Match 2

by Frank Tayell

  “Throughout the American Midwest, the towns that survived the Blackout were run by gangs. When the government came back, some of the gang-lords ran for political office. The rest were forced into exile. They formed The Syndicate. That’s what they call themselves. It started as a protection and extortion racket. They graduated to blackmail, targeting former members who’d become politicians. That’s how they came to run those towns again. They control the trade in them, and through them. Their influence now extends from Alaska to Maine.”

  “Corrupt politicians and ageing gangsters. It sounds like a matter for the local police,” Mitchell said.

  “No, because they have very international goals.”

  “Like what?”

  “No, I won’t tell you that, not until I’m somewhere safe.”

  “Unless you do,” Mitchell said, “I can’t see how we can agree to your terms.”

  Fairmont shrugged.

  “How did you come to work for them?” Ruth asked.

  “Originally? I was looking for employment. A guy said he’d get me a job as assistant to the mayor.”

  “Out of the kindness of his heart?” Mitchell asked.

  “That’s what I thought. It’s not a sin to be naive. The mayor wasn’t one of theirs, you see. After a few months they came asking for information on him. I couldn’t refuse. I stole some documents, listened in on a few conversations, and a month after that, they owned the mayor.”

  “What mayor and which town?” Mitchell asked.

  “I’ll tell you when I’m safe.”

  Mitchell gave a frustrated sigh. “Fine. So they owned you. Did they get you the job in the embassy?”

  “No. I left the state and took a job with the Federal Registration Office in Maine. They found me again. That’s when I applied for the post with the embassy. I thought I’d be safe with the Atlantic between us. I wasn’t, and this time I’d nowhere left to run.”

  “Well, I’m sure the details would interest the ambassador and the governments he represents. I don’t see why Britain should care.”

  “I can give you the addresses of the places where I went to exchange information,” Fairmont said.

  “You already gave those to Agent Clarke,” Mitchell said.

  “I gave her some places that were outdoors, and others which were abandoned. There are six houses in Twynham, all within a few miles of here. They won’t be empty.”

  “What’s inside?” Ruth asked.

  “Between six and ten armed men and women.”

  “What are they doing there?” Mitchell asked.

  “Waiting. I don’t know what for. But that’s around fifty hired thugs right here in the city. That information has to be worth five years of safety. I’ll give you all six houses when I’m somewhere remote. No farmers, no towns, no fishers—”

  “No,” Mitchell said. “That’s too vague. I need some names. Some details.”

  “When I’ve got my deal.”

  “You won’t get it without giving me something here and now.”

  “I’ve already told you about Donal and Jameson,” Fairmont said.

  “Then tell me about someone else,” Mitchell replied.

  “There was a man called Carl and he—”

  “He’s already dead,” Mitchell said.

  “Oh. I didn’t know.”

  “A name, Fairmont, or I walk out of here, and you’ll have to take your chances in an American court.” Mitchell took a step toward the door.

  “Wait. Okay. There was this guy. I don’t know his name, and he wasn’t there to meet me, but he was in four of the houses when I went to give Jameson the information.”

  “And?” Mitchell prompted.

  “Like I said, I don’t have a name, but you can’t miss him. He’s got a scarred face, like someone carved lines into it.”

  Ruth’s heart skipped a beat. That had to be Emmitt.

  “And he was in charge?” Mitchell asked.

  “I don’t know. I was always meeting Donal or Jameson. But he was there in the room. Watching and listening. Look, I didn’t have a choice. The ambassador’s a good man. If I could do it over I’d—”

  “I’m sure,” Mitchell cut him off. “These houses, where are they?”

  “Near here. That’s all I’ll say without a deal.”

  “I’ll need more. Give me an address.”

  “Show me something in writing, then I’ll tell you.”

  “There’ll be no deal until we’ve searched at least one house and found something pertinent.”

  “Agreed,” Fairmont said, “but you can put that it writing, too.”

  “Deering?”

  Ruth followed Mitchell out into the corridor where the ambassador and Agent Clarke were waiting. Mitchell gestured they should move out of earshot of the cell.

  “You heard what he said?” Mitchell asked.

  “Yes,” Clarke said. “The Syndicate is real, but it’s not nearly as influential as he claims. It consists of the remnants of four gangs we pushed out of Boone. They’ve taken root around the Des Moines River in the old Brushy Creek State Park, but they’re more of a biker gang without the wheels than an organised crime outfit.”

  “They’re not into blackmail and extortion?” Mitchell asked.

  “Bushwhacking travellers on the I-20 is about as complicated as they get,” Clarke said.

  “Then he’s lying?” Ruth asked.

  “Probably,” Clarke said.

  “You’ve got some doubts?” Mitchell asked.

  “It’s possible that he’s been fed a story that he wants to believe,” Clarke said, “but there could be someone, or some group, working behind the scenes, blackmailing politicians, and using gangs like this one to control the trade routes. In which case we need to crush them as soon as we can.”

  “Then we need to ask a different question. Do you think he believes he’s telling the truth?” Mitchell asked.

  “If he was genuinely contrite,” Perez said, “he’d offer up everything he knows before asking for something in return. Not keep it back until he’s threatened with deportation.”

  “Unless he’s scared,” Ruth said. “And he seems to be. I think he’s more scared of someone else than he is of us.”

  “Does the fifth mean anything to you?” Mitchell asked.

  “As in a date?” Perez asked. “Why?”

  “We have reason to believe that the telegraph will be cut twice more, with the third time being on the fifth of November.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, I’ll have to check my diary, but I can’t think of anything,” Perez said.

  “What worries me is that it will happen once between now and then,” Mitchell said. “Fairmont’s our best lead.”

  “It was the threat of deportation that got him to talk,” Perez said. “If that’s what he’s afraid of, then we have to make it work for us. However real this Syndicate is, our world is a fragile place now. Britain, America, those are just geographical distinctions. The reality is that we’re talking about civilisation itself. We have to protect it. If that means I forego justice, so be it.”

  “Then I better have a word with my superiors,” Mitchell said. “Deering, you might as well stay here.”

  “I’m sure we can entertain her,” the ambassador said. “Do you play chess, cadet?”

  Ruth stared at the board. She did know how to play chess, in theory. She moved a pawn. Perez tutted. Ruth didn’t know if that was a good sign or not.

  “Sir, are those clocks showing the time in America?” she asked, hoping to distract him.

  “They are,” the ambassador said. “Puerto Rico, Maine, Iowa, Washington, and Alaska. The five great population centres.”

  “But there are only three presidents?”

  “The governors of Puerto Rico and Alaska never claimed their states were the natural successors to the old federal government. The others did. They weren’t the only ones. Your move.”

  Ruth moved another pawn. “There were more presidents?” she asked.


  “On finding themselves the sole occupants of a dung heap, some people will call themselves king. About half of the rulers of small towns called themselves president. Some tried to fight, or to seal themselves off, but most stood down when the troops came marching in. A few even arranged formal ceremonies that will make for an interesting footnote in history. Your move.”

  “So how come there are still three presidents?”

  “Because a lot of officials in the chain of succession survived the nuclear holocaust, but lacked the ability to communicate the fact with the world. It was years before anyone in Fort Dodge knew that there was a president in Gray’s Harbor. Your move. But the old vice president was in Fort Dodge. That’s in Iowa. His plane crash-landed there after the EMP knocked out the electronics. That’s how the town became the centre of government, and why the state of Iowa, rather than Nebraska or Missouri, became the hub for that part of our country. The President Pro Tempore and the five other senators were in Washington State, on their way back to DC from a Trans-Pacific conference. The Speaker of the House escaped to Maine along with myself and a few other members of the House of Representatives. Thus, on either side of our nation, and in its centre, there were three groups who knew nothing of the others’ existence, but in each was someone who thought they were the legal and just successor to the dead president. Not only that, but they had the lawyers to back them up. You should understand that taking that oath wasn’t about power. It was done in the hope that maintaining the familiar structures and institutions would offer comfort at a time when uncertainty was as rampant as disease. Checkmate.”

  Ruth stared at the board.

  “You need to practice,” Perez said. “It’s a useful game to play.”

  “Useful? You mean you don’t play for fun?”

  “Ah, the perspicacious police officer. Yes, useful. It’s a game played across the world, and as such it cuts across barriers that language often creates. You start.”

  Ruth moved a pawn. “But the vice president should have been the rightful president, right? So why didn’t the others resign?”

  “Because he died in the second year, before communication had been re-established. When it was, it was a matter of a few scouts travelling across the country seeing if anyone else was alive. The news they returned with was little better than rumour. In those days, a person’s world consisted of where they could reach in a day’s hike, or perhaps a day’s ride. Who they called the president didn’t matter. What mattered was that the president was elected. They were. The elections went ahead. Three presidents took their oaths, all on the same day, but thousands of miles apart. Your move.”

  “So it’s taken this long to sort it all out?”

  “Pretty much. It’s been one long legal battle, but having seen the other kind, I’m more than happy that we’ve been fighting one of those. Take California. After the Blackout, but before the earthquake – do you know about the earthquake?”

  Ruth shook her head.

  “Some say it was long overdue, but it’s a terrible tragedy nonetheless. But before it hit, the governor sent emergency delegates to find the capital. Now, the governor, being a woman who understood the perils of our new world, had ensured that, even if half the delegation succumbed to disease or worse, there would still be enough representatives to arrive in the capital.”

  “If they could find one.”

  “Precisely, but they found two. The group became lost. Half ended up in Gray’s Harbor, the other half in Fort Dodge. Thus we now have senators for California in the United States Congresses of Washington and Iowa. There were dozens of cases like that.”

  “Gray’s Harbor is in Washington?”

  “Washington State. Fort Dodge is in Iowa. Pinebreak Ferry is the capital of Maine.”

  “What about the other two clocks? Puerto Rico and Alaska?”

  “They’re still run by governors. Juneau’s one of the largest cities to have survived the Blackout. I couldn’t say why it wasn’t destroyed. Perhaps it was luck. Somewhere on this planet had to be blessed with that. It wasn’t connected to the rest of America by road so wasn’t swamped with refugees. Puerto Rico is an island. With no oil for ships or planes, it was in much the same situation as those in Alaska. No matter how hard things got, there was no escape. There’s was a binary choice: survive or die.”

  “But why didn’t they call themselves president? Or declare themselves a new country?”

  “What does it matter what you call your home when the roof is on fire? Names are only important when you need to establish that you are different from someone else. It’s hard to explain it now, but during those first years, we all felt the same, that we were all that was left. But when contact was re-established it was with steam ships from Britain that had come via Maine. There were other people out there, and they were trying to rebuild. If anything, that made worrying about sovereignty even less important. Ah.” He smiled and moved his king. “You almost had me. Check.”

  Ruth stared at the board. She moved her bishop.

  “Are you sure?” Perez asked.

  Ruth hesitated, and moved the rook instead. “Are all those presidents running in this election?”

  “None of them are. That was part of the deal, the final concession that enabled re-unification to take place. No current president, vice president, or governor can stand. Your move. In politics the trick is to avoid making too many concessions. You have to keep one eye on the present with another on the future. If President Peterson had been asked to stand down at the beginning of his term, he would have wanted some great concession for Iowa, perhaps that the new District of Columbia be built there. President Delaney of Washington wanted senators-at-large to be elected to represent those states that are still mostly ungoverned wasteland. By waiting until now, we’ve reached a time where both Peterson and Delaney have come to the end of their second terms. Be thankful for term limits as it means they gain nothing by trying to cling on to power, but instead have their eyes fixed on how they will be portrayed by the history books. President Brooker of Maine has only served one term. She is willing to step aside in the hope that her lawyers can find a way for her to serve a full eight years as president of the re-united nation.”

  Ruth looked over the flag secured behind a glass frame on the wall. “Fifty stars, yet only five states remain.”

  “There are seventeen who’ll send delegates to the new capital. In four years it will be thirty. Four years after that, who knows? Puerto Rico never had a star on that flag. It will on the new one though I don’t think we’ll redesign the flag. It represents an idea, and though that idea may have been poorly executed at times, it is still better than any other than has ever existed on this planet.”

  “Even better than here?” Ruth asked.

  “Of course.”

  “But then you’d have to say that, wouldn’t you?” Ruth asked. “Because you’re going to run for president.”

  “Checkmate.”

  Ruth flicked over her king. “You are, aren’t you?”

  “Only if it is in the best interests of my constituents.”

  “That’s a politician’s reply.”

  “It’s your move,” he said. “Now, tell me about the assassination. I am rather curious as to how you came to save my life.”

  Wistfully remembering the time when her life was so simple that she had no stories to recount, she began the now familiar tale.

  “Those are the terms,” Mitchell said. “Do you agree?”

  Fairmont picked up the document, started to read, and then gave up. “What’s the point? It’s not like I have a choice.”

  “No, you don’t,” Mitchell said. “This is the only deal you’ll get.”

  “Fine. One address now, the rest when I’m somewhere remote and safe, surrounded by mountains or fields. Is that what it says?”

  “More or less. The rest is legalese, stating that the deal is off if you fail to share everything you know.”

  Fairmont took the p
en from Mitchell and scrawled his name at the bottom.

  “Now give us an address,” Mitchell said.

  “Windward Square,” Fairmont said. “I don’t know the number, but it’s the house with the red door and iron railings on a low stone wall at the front. The railings have a shield worked into the design. There are columns either side of the door, and the ground-floor window on the right-hand side is cracked.”

  “And what did you see there?” Mitchell asked.

  “Jameson was there. So was the man with the scarred face. They looked like they were only visiting.”

  “Visiting whom?”

  “Two women and six men. I wasn’t there long, and I didn’t see much. I was ushered through a living room and into a… I’d say it was a library, except there weren’t that many books, just lots of shelves.”

  “And what were these people doing?” Mitchell asked.

  “Talking. Lounging around. A couple were lifting weights. Three of them were cleaning weapons. Basically, I think they were waiting.”

  “What kind of weapons?” Mitchell asked.

  “Shotguns. There were some handguns as well.”

  “What about upstairs?” Mitchell asked.

  “I don’t know. I came in, handed over the papers, and left.”

  “Who let you in?”

  “Jameson.”

  “There was no sentry on the door, anything like that?”

  “No.”

  “When was this?”

  “The beginning of September.”

  Mitchell picked up the agreement Fairmont had signed. “I’ll go and have a look at this house, then I’ll come back, and then we’ll talk some more.” He walked to the door, paused, and turned back to Fairmont. “This is your last chance,” he said. “If this is a trap, you won’t like what happens next.”

  “It’s not a trap,” Fairmont said. “It’s the truth.”

  Chapter 4

  Arrests

  “Atten-SHUN!” Lieutenant Lewis of the Marines barked. Ruth’s feet reflexively clicked together.

  “Thank you,” Assistant Commissioner Weaver said. “We’ve received information that a group of six men and two women, and possibly more, are hiding in a house in Windward Square. They are armed with shotguns and pistols, but we must assume they have more powerful weapons. We believe these people are connected with the sabotage of the telegraph wires. Captain Mitchell?”