by Hannah Ross
"What are the trailers for?"
Ricardo looked at him and shook his head.
"What?"
"Once we cross the border, where is the next gas station?"
Barry didn't embarrass easily, but this time was an exception. "Oh. Right. Gas. But why two trailers?"
This time, he didn't get a look. Just the head shake. "If all the gas is in one trailer and something happens to it, what will we do?"
Some hours passed before Barry spoke again.
* * *
The sun was taxing the air conditioners just before noon when they left the border behind and began crossing the arid plains of the abandoned lands that long ago used be Texas.
25
________________________
Friday, April 18
"Mr. President?" Frederick Pearson's anxious voice sounded outside Dahl's office. "McFarlane has an appointment with you at two o'clock. He's supposed to go over his report. Will you see him?"
David McFarlane was head of the PR department hired for the election campaign.
Dahl let out his breath in an annoyed manner. "What for? I've seen the report. I know too damn well what it says." He threw his arms up in exasperation. "Oh, alright. Yes, I'll see McFarlane. Take him to the small conference room."
McFarlane appeared in the company of two assistants who kept their heads down and were busy taking notes while he went ahead with the presentation. "As you can see, Mr. President, we have reasons for cautious optimism. It's true Connor's popularity has risen between two and a half and three percent, but…"
Dahl exploded. "Cautious optimism! What is this claptrap? Not long ago, Connor was a joke and the elections were supposed to be in our pocket from the start. So what the hell went wrong?"
He didn't wait for an answer, which was written in the uncomfortable expression of McFarlane's face. He knew perfectly well what it was about. Priscilla. It all comes down to Priscilla. And to Connor being a clever bastard who knows how to play his cards well.
He went on in a calmer tone. "Alright, McFarlane. What do you suggest?"
McFarlane was obviously relieved to be asked a question to which he had a ready answer. "I think it's time for heavy artillery, Mr. President. Our investigators have dug up some pretty stinky dirt on Connor. For example, you may be surprised to hear that when he was seventeen he spent a few months in a juvenile delinquent facility for attacking one of the teachers in his school."
"Indeed!" This greatly improved Dahl's mood. "And is this proven information?"
"Absolutely, Mr. President. We have thoroughly researched this. If Connor had been of age when it happened, he couldn't have run for President at all. As it is, he managed to hush it up, but we plan to bring it to the surface. The public has the right to know the entire background of this upstart."
"What are you waiting for, then? It's not like we have all that much time left!"
"We have your sanction to go ahead with this, then, Mr. President?"
"Yes, yes. Publish every bit of trash you can find on Connor, and make sure you do justice to it."
"Connor will be sorry he ever encroached upon your territory, Mr. President." McFarlane's assurance was accompanied by an unpleasant smile. "He won't find himself in the White Tower."
Dahl spared him an approving nod. "Very well. You can go."
McFarlane and his assistants rose and left. Pearson remained, looking uncomfortable as he shuffled his notes.
"What else do we have?" Dahl asked.
"A report from the private investigator sent to Resurrection Town. Jake Robertson."
"I don't give a damn what the man's name is. Did he find anything?"
"There was a very promising lead, Mr. President. A teenage girl was seen in Resurrection Town, greatly resembling your daughter in personal appearance and behaving in a very suspicious manner. She was looking for a place on a farm, apparently, but didn't look remotely suited for that kind of work."
"Is that man a complete idiot? My daughter wouldn't look for farm work. Or any kind of work, for that matter. So what happened next?"
"He made inquiries at some of the farms in the area of Resurrection Town, but didn't find anything definite. He also spoke with a young man who acknowledged talking to Miss Dahl, though he did not know who she was at the time. The youth said she was in a hurry to get out of town and may have joined an expedition to Salt Lake City but—"
"What?!"
"Sir, he also said he spoke to an organizer of the expedition who insisted there were no women on the team and certainly no young girls. The bottom line is…"
"The bottom line is that this man is useless. We're no closer to finding Priscilla than we were at the beginning of the investigation, and we're running out of time. Don't bother me with these reports unless they uncover something useful, Pearson. And if there is need, fire this Roberts man or whatever his name is, and hire someone who can do his job. I want my daughter back, and I want her back before Election Day. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Mr. President," Pearson said, his voice subdued. The last thing he wanted at the moment was to argue with Alexander Dahl.
"Alright, then. And what about…" Dahl hesitated, choosing his words. "The other matter? Was the man found?"
"The Source, Mr. President? As a matter of fact, there was a much closer lead on this score. He was most definitely seen. Stayed for a while on one of the farms in the same area. We very nearly caught him, but then he vanished. I don't think you have reason to be concerned, though, Mr. President. It's only a matter of time before he's caught. He has no friends to assist him beyond the Boundary, and all his money would be useless in the wild country. If he attempts to cross the border to Mexico or Canada, he'll be stopped there sure as day. The TIO are bound to lay their hands on him soon."
A sudden thought struck Dahl. "You don't think there might be any kind of connection between this man and my daughter?"
"Between The Source and Miss Priscilla?" Pearson looked dumbstruck. "Why on earth would there be any connection?"
"They were both allegedly seen in the same area, isn't that so?"
"Well, yes. But I'm sure it was just a coincidence, Mr. President. Resurrection Town is a natural stopping point for those leaving the Boundary."
* * *
As soon as Dahl was back in his office, his direct line rang. It was Eleanor.
"Hello, dear," he said, inwardly seething. Pearson should have known better than to pass calls to me right now. "Is everything alright?"
"I just wanted to remind you that we have a dinner engagement this evening with the Thorntons. Eight o'clock. Do you want me to tell Georgiana to press your new grey suit?"
Damn. I completely forgot. I can't believe she's dealing with such trifles at the moment. "I don't see why this is necessary, Eleanor. It's not like Stephanie is getting married to Ned Thornton anytime soon. She's too young."
"No, not anytime soon, but we're all hoping it might happen eventually. Ned Thornton is such a nice young man with a promising future. There can be no better match for Stephanie. And the Thorntons are very pleasant people. Surely a little diversion will do us all good, don't you think?"
Alexander let out a sigh of pent-up frustration. There was not much he could do. He carelessly committed to this dinner, and now he would have to suffer the consequences. Besides, the Thorntons could be useful sometime. Giving them some attention wouldn't hurt.
"Alright, then. Tell the girl to get my grey suit ready. And choose a tie for me, will you?"
* * *
Eleanor hung up, feeling slightly guilty. She knew her husband didn't feel like making visits and fulfilling social engagements at the moment, but she was convinced it was for their good. The Thorntons were firm allies, and in the future they might all be very intimately related. Stephanie can't do better than young Ned. Among their circle, there were no more than a scanty handful of young men who could aspire to the President's lovely daughter.
She chose a new, impeccably elegant kn
ee-length dress of pearl-grey silk and matching boat shoes. After a brief hesitation, she put on her pearls. Her hair looked perfect following the afternoon visit of her hairdresser. Eleanor touched it lightly with her hand and tilted her head in front of the mirror, observing her new highlights. I must look like a First Lady secure in her position for the next term of the President's office. Not like a mother who is eaten up by anxiety about the unknown fate of her daughter.
There was a knock on her door. "Mom?" Stephanie sounded a little harassed. "Can I come in?"
"Of course, dear. My, you do look lovely!"
"You really think so?" Stephanie smoothed down the skirt of her dress. She wore purple satin, beautifully accentuated by a set of amethysts she received from Aunt Daphne for her Sweet Sixteen. Her hair was pulled up in a style that looked somewhat oriental.
"You look stunning. I'm glad you aren't wearing much makeup. You are so beautiful just as you are. Maybe just a little more lip gloss. Here, take mine, it's a good one."
"Have you called Dad?" Stephanie took the tube of lip gloss but did not bother to open it.
"I just did. He said he's going to make it."
"Good. That's good." She looked relieved, but there was something else on her mind. She sat down in one of the chairs in front of her mother's dressing table. "Mom. Do you think Mrs. Thornton will talk about… about Prissy?"
Eleanor regarded her with a wary expression. "Mrs. Thornton is a tactful woman, Stephy. She knows of our… predicament. I'm sure she won't say anything that would make us uncomfortable."
* * *
Eight o'clock found the Dahls entering the spacious, shiny elevator that would take them to the Thorntons' apartment. The Thorntons were not as wealthy as the Dahls or the Van Wullens – not rich enough to own a country residence – but they had a luxurious penthouse on top of one of the most expensive towers in the Central Urban Area. As the elevator glided up, the glass window revealed an expanding panorama of the city's twinkling lights below.
"Magnificent view," remarked Eleanor. "Don't you think so, Alexander?"
Her husband muttered something noncommittal.
"You should see it during the day, Mom," Stephanie said with more enthusiasm. "It's gorgeous. You can see all the way to the Boundary and a little beyond when the weather is clear."
Mrs. Thornton met them at the door, all gushy enthusiasm. "Mr. President! And Eleanor! What a pleasure to have you here! Stephanie, dear, you look simply delightful. Come on inside. Dale and Ned are just having a drink in the lounge. Lindy, what are you waiting for, girl? Take our guests' coats."
A slender, timid-looking servant in a snowy-white apron came forward and collected Alexander's wool coat, Eleanor's tweed jacket, and Stephanie's wrap and glittery scarf. Ned left his father in the lounge and, sparing little attention to anyone else, went to Stephanie and drew her aside to one of the window-seats.
The evening was too drafty to sit in the roof garden Mrs. Thornton tended so devotedly, so dinner was served in the big dining room, the walls of which were lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, doing justice to the splendid view.
"It's magnificent, Gwyneth," Eleanor said as they sat down to their first course. Gwyneth Thornton waved a negligent hand at the compliment.
"Nothing compared to Silver Oaks, I know. But I'm afraid this is where we remain for now. I've been badgering Dale to bid for a plot of land for some time now. Nothing too expansive, of course. But he keeps saying we can't afford that, don't you, dear?"
Dale nodded, making the bald patch on his head shine in the overhanging electric lights. "A chap must be realistic. If Gwyn had her way, she'd sell us stock and sum to get more space for her precious plants."
With a resigned sigh, Gwyneth said, "Well, one makes do with what one has," as she spooned up some soup. "I'll show you my little greenhouse later, Eleanor. I made some space for it on the rooftop, and it really is rather like a tropical garden. I'm very fond of it."
"Mom can disappear in there for hours on end," Ned told Stephanie with a smile.
The first course was cleared, followed by salads, pleasant chat, and orange-glazed young chicken. They were just getting to the lemon meringue pie when Dale brought up the dangerous subject of the elections.
"Connor doesn't stand a chance," he said. "The popularity charts are bollocks. When push comes to shove, people will vote for the man they know and trust." He raised his glass slightly, toasting Dahl.
It was a comforting sentiment, but Eleanor saw her husband's jaw tighten. The people know him, but do they still trust him? Do I still trust him? The last thought was so unnerving, she picked up her dessert fork and proceeded to give Gwyneth her compliments on her servant's cooking.
After dinner, coffee and liqueurs were served in the sitting room, where Ned and Stephanie sat comfortably together, laughing and chatting on the soft leather couch while Dale and Alexander sipped brandy. Eleanor, realizing nobody else was inclined to do so, felt obliged to accept Gwyneth's invitation to see the greenhouse. They mounted the stairs up to the rooftop level, and Gwyneth opened the door leading to the geodesic dome covering her little tropical domain.
The atmosphere was hot and steamy, and Eleanor instantly felt a trickle of sweat sliding down her back. The place was lit with white spotlights illuminating the palm trees, vines, creepers, orchids and multicolored flowers peeping from every angle. A large fish tank stood at one corner, its colorful inhabitants contributing to the exotic atmosphere.
"This is lovely, Gwyneth. I mean that sincerely. You must put so much work into it."
"Oh, I don't mind," her hostess said with a modest shrug. "It's my creative outlet, and one can't trust household help with such sensitive plants. Lindy is a good girl, but a bit dim. No, I like doing everything myself around here." There was a pause, and Eleanor felt the other woman's hand, soft and sympathetic, on her arm. "I do want to thank you for coming, Eleanor. You're going through a hard time right now, I know. But it will all pass. You'll find Priscilla, and Alexander will win these elections, and it will all be forgotten like a bad dream."
Eleanor nodded, wishing she could feel the confidence she heard in Gwyneth Thornton's voice. But a deep sense of foreboding crept over her and wouldn't go away.
26
________________________
Monday, April 21
Jordan passed through the sliding glass doors of the fashionable-looking office building housing the Environmental Restoration Department offices. A politely smiling receptionist at the front desk in the freshly carpeted lobby sent him upstairs, and five seconds after he stepped out of the shiny elevator, Glenn's massive arm clasped him around his shoulders as he was introduced to the department's receptionist.
"Celia, this is our new EIQ assessor, Jordan Timothy Hurst. But you can call him JT." He looked at Jordan. "You still go by that old college nickname?"
"Not so much the past few years. But it's okay."
"Great! I'm so glad you decided to accept the offer, JT. Not that I doubted you would. I mean, no offense, but you were wasting your talents in that pitiful little department. If a man wants to make something of himself, he works for people who've done the same."
While he spoke, Glenn steered Jordan down a large, airy hall, toward a door made of two layers of matte, soundproof glass. He punched in a code and, after an approving beep, pulled on the handle. "Your office," he said.
Jordan was speechless. The office, though not very large, was neat and respectably furnished with a polished chocolate-colored desk and a comfortable leather chair that looked more expensive than whatever he might have dreamed of. The Venetian blinds on the window were open, letting natural light flood the room. Rays of sunlight gleamed on the desktop and closed laptop. A shelf with new, empty binders adorned the farthest wall and a shiny, brass–on-wood plaque on the table said, "Jordan Hurst, Environmental Impact Quality Assessor".
"Sounds like a mouthful," Jordan noted, nodding towards the plaque.
"Yes, but don't worry.
For the time being, the job is really straightforward. You'll be responsible for the lab. Sign permits on soil and water sample analyses, approve work sites for permanent usage, and so forth."
"And you really need someone to do this job full-time?"
Glenn did not look remotely bothered by his skepticism. "Well, you see, right now we're working on clearing up some fringe areas for the M.C. Textile and Sandstone Steel factories. They need to be moved from Industry Island A5 to the northern border of the Boundary. There'll be some little shacks for the Class B workers in addition to the factory itself."
Jordan knew both conglomerates were owned by the Van Wullens. "And the northern border is fit for full-time human habitation?"
"Of course it is. I read over the lab reports, and the pollution levels appear to be nothing at all." He strode over to the office door, opened it, and poked his head out. "Norma," he told the elegant secretary sitting behind a corner-desk in the hall. "Fix some coffee for me and Mr. Hurst, will you."
"Of course, Mr. Marshall." The secretary got up and strode toward an elaborate-looking silvery coffeemaker in the corner. Her heels were so spiky Jordan wondered they hadn't poked holes in the carpet. "Would you like frothy milk?"
"Yes, please."
"Just a dash of cold milk for me," Jordan said.
"Some of the Industry Islands are becoming a pain in the neck," Glenn said when they were both seated again. "There are plans to convert them to residential zones and move the industry up north where it won't bother anyone. Land is getting scarce, you know."
"Yes, it is. Inside the Boundary."
Glenn nodded. "Well, of course. I don't mean outside the Boundary. Nobody but the dregs of society live there."
Jordan flushed. He thought about his parents, his sister, and the little brother, the secret of whose birth was like a gaping wound he was forced to conceal for so many years; a black cloud that hovered over the entire family. "That might change one day."