“Are you arresting me, Detective Reed?” Mitchell asked.
“Only if you don’t wish to voluntarily come in for questioning, Mr. Mitchell.”
“Of course, I’d be happy to. But have you tested Alan Baxter, Miss Reed? Your father?”
“Excuse me?” Eileen said coldly.
“He was in the dunes that night too, you know. Scott and—and I have each other for alibis. We were here conducting earth resonance experiments. What was your father doing that night?”
“I was driving down from my home in Wyoming,” Alan said stiffly. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull. I never met Krista Lewis.”
“Or so he says,” Mitchell said. “Let’s both go in and get tested, shall we?”
Eileen made the mistake of looking at her father. As her eyes left Mitchell another man rose up from the sand. He was the other person in civilian clothes from the helicopter and he was holding a gun aimed directly at her.
“Don’t move, ma’am,” he said politely. He was gray-haired, black-eyed, as competent looking as a rattlesnake. He got to his feet slowly, giving her no chance to correct her aim.
Eileen didn’t move. Her pistol had wavered from Mitchell and she couldn’t aim it at the new man in time. She was caught by the simplest of traps, and she tried hard to keep her face from showing her dismay. She should have thought of the third man, jumping back into the helicopter. It was like that elementary school test, Which-object-does-not-belong? The third man, not in uniform, belonged to Mitchell and not in the helicopter. He’d been dropped over the dunes to make a sweep of the area. She’d flunked a test and she and Alan were going to die because of it.
“I’m not moving,” she said, keeping absolutely still. Her voice did not waver and for that she was very glad. “But I’m still a police officer, and you are under arrest.”
“Drop your gun, ma’am,” the gray-haired man said.
Eileen let her gun’s trigger guard drop through her index finger. Her gun fell against her wrist and was completely useless to her as a weapon. It was, however, safely out of the sand.
“One of you clowns should have a very sore chest,” she said. “Which one is it?”
“That would be me,” Scott said, with an expression of hungry satisfaction. “Broken ribs.” He stepped forward and, keeping clear of his companion’s line-of-sight, took the gun from Eileen’s hand. He looked at Eileen, close, and smiled into her face. Alan made a stirring movement, the first he’d made.
“Now, now,” the gray-haired one said. “Let’s not get everyone all riled up. We’re professionals here.”
“No you’re not,” Alan said. “You’re about to become the biggest mass murderers in American history. There’s nothing professional about that.”
Scott stepped away from Eileen and handed Mitchell her gun, her beloved Sig Sauer with the clean trigger pull and the sleek, elegant shape. It was the prettiest gun she owned, but it wasn’t the only one. Her Ladysmith was in her ankle holster, oiled and loaded. If she could distract the gray-haired one, if she could alter the situation slightly, she could turn everything around. She was perfectly willing to risk rape to do that. Being raped was much better than dying.
Mitchell took Eileen’s Sig Sauer from Scott and clicked the safety on. He stuck it casually in his pocket and Eileen realized that he was making no attempt to keep his fingerprints from marking it. He wasn’t planning on giving it back. She felt a chill at the small of her back.
“We’re not mass murderers, Alan,” Mitchell said with a pained expression. “I would never do something like that. The New Madrid is going to go sometime this century. Better now than later.”
“That’s crap,” Alan said. “You’re playing God with people’s lives, you’re—”
“Why are you doing this, Mr. Mitchell?” Eileen interrupted. “I can’t figure it out. This isn’t a bleeder earthquake, like the rest of them. This is a big one. Why?”
The sun caught Eileen in the eyes and then moved on. They were in full early morning daylight now and the sun felt good after the chill of dawn. Eileen wondered briefly if the dunes were the last thing she was ever going to smell, and she suppressed it hard.
Mitchell glanced at his watch. Eileen could see him in the Oval Office, behind the big desk, looking at his watch with the same expression of genial calculation. Sure, there’s enough time, he’d say. We’ll talk to the Boy Scouts from Rapid City, South Dakota, today. We’ll meet with the Akron, Ohio, Ladies Club today.
“Sure, there’s enough time,” he said. “The New Madrid is going to cause a lot of disruption, Eileen, Alan. Just as it would if it went off on nature’s timetable instead of my own. As FEMA director I’ve been preparing for this earthquake for the better part of two years. We have food, clothing, water, and tents, all ready to go. We have National Guard units in Colorado, Wyoming, the Dakotas, Idaho, Montana, and New Mexico fueled and ready to mobilize. Instead of panic and chaos, I’ll be directing relief efforts that will minimize loss of life and property. I’m actually saving lives by doing this.”
“The nation will be grateful to you, too, won’t it?” Eileen said. “You’ll have more airtime than the President. You’ll be the country’s biggest hero.”
“I’m no hero,” Mitchell said modestly. “I’m just a civil servant doing his job, that’s all.”
“But you want to be President, don’t you?” Eileen said.
“Yes, I do,” Mitchell said, his voice still civilized and calm. But underneath Eileen could hear the starving hunger, the lust. The overwhelming desire to be The Man, the President.
“You worthless shit,” Alan said. “You’re going to kill hundreds of thousands of people so you can get on television giving the survivors leftover clothing? You’re going to kill women and children so you can run for President? What kind of—”
“Alan,” Eileen said without turning her head. “Shut up.”
“Oh, there’s no need, really,” Mitchell said. “You’re almost out of time anyway.”
“This is crap,” Alan said. “This is too huge to risk just to get good PR. You ran for President before, remember? You couldn’t win. You couldn’t even hold on to your job as a congressman—”
“Shut your trap,” Bennett said viciously, taking a step towards Alan.
“Now, Bennett,” Mitchell said soothingly. He smiled at Eileen, ignoring Alan. “Who said anything about running for President?”
“Oh,” Eileen said.
“Oh my God,” Alan whispered.
“Exactly,” Mitchell said. “Scott, if you would take over for Bennett. Bennett, the program is ready to go.”
Scott drew a gun from a side holster and held it on Alan and Eileen with casual competence. Bennett let his own arms down with a sigh and rolled his shoulders. He holstered his gun and took a tiny white stick from his pocket. He put it in his mouth like a toothpick and chewed it as he walked to the Tesla machine.
“So who killed Krista?” Eileen said. “I’m curious.”
“I don’t know,” Mitchell said absently, joining Bennett at the Tesla machine. He was intent on the console, watching Bennett press buttons. Bennett wrote down numbers from the console and compared them to papers on a clipboard. The clipboard was attached to the battery crate. Bennett chomped on his stick until it broke with a wet little snap. He spit it into the sand and immediately produced another from his pocket. Eileen watched this with interest. There was something about the stir sticks that tugged at her mind.
“We have to stop this,” Alan whispered desperately to Eileen.
“We don’t have to do anything yet, Alan,” Eileen said. “Just stay still.” The freezing at her spine had invaded her stomach and her legs. She was afraid if she looked down her legs would be trembling. She’d never been so afraid in her life and she had to keep calm. If she lost it, her father would die trying to protect her. She knew this in every fiber of her being, without thought. He would not let her be hurt if he were still alive. She had to keep him aliv
e, then, by staying in control. And she had to stay alive herself.
“Almost ready,” Bennett said. Mitchell glanced at his watch and gave a merry smile to Eileen.
“Six-forty,” he said.
Great Sand Dunes, San Luis Valley, Colorado
Stalemate. Unless someone had something extra, Kansas City was going to disappear like a T. Rex into a tar pit. Joe could hardly keep still.
“Well,” Rosen said, shrugging his shoulders, “I can’t think of anything else to say. Anyone?”
The soldiers stood in the same places they had before. Everything Rosen had said had fallen on professionally deaf ears. For fifteen minutes they had tried, while the sun rose in the sky and heated the sand.
“What do we do now?” Marcia said.
“We drive on,” Rosen said calmly. The robot captain reacted to this. He blinked.
“What?” Daniel said.
“We drive on,” Rosen repeated, looking at the captain. “We’re driving in, captain. If you shoot an Alamosa deputy on public land you are going to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. You think your commander is going to stand up for you if you do?”
“And four civilians, too,” Joe said. He gave a little hop in the sand and turned to Babe. “Let’s get going, guys.”
“You can’t do this,” the captain said. His calm was broken but his face hadn’t changed. “I have authority to use deadly force.”
“Your authority will melt like yesterday’s snow if you kill a cop,” Daniel said. “He’s a cop. He’s not some sheepherder’s boy like El Paso or some religious nuts like Waco. You better think about it.”
Marcia said nothing but scrambled into the back of the Humvee. Her face was pale and frightened. Daniel joined her. Paris shrugged elaborately and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“What do I get into,” he murmured to himself, and started the engine. Rosen stepped up into the vehicle and closed the door.
“You think they’ll shoot us?” Paris said casually, as though he were asking about the weather.
“Don’t know,” Rosen said.
“Okay,” Paris said, and gunned his engine. “Let’s give it a try.”
The soldiers stood where they had before, all but the captain showing faces of anger and dismay. His face was still and silent, looking remarkably like Rosen’s. He raised his hand in the air and Joe swallowed and clenched his hands into fists.
Another hummer roared over the dune, nearly taking to the air. It skidded down the slope. It was covered in sand and painted Army green and a slender hand waved a badge out the window as it came to a sandy stop between Babe and the Blackhawk helicopter. The face behind the wheel was Sheriff Gonzalez. A huge grin split his face.
“Hold it, everybody,” a voice yelled. The voice belonged to an Asian-American man who jumped from the hummer. He waved his badge, trying to get it in everyone’s vision at once. Joe didn’t need the badge to know who this was and felt his heart leap in joy.
“Lucy came through!” he shouted, and opened the door. Fred Nguyen, FBI agent, saw Joe and gave a great sunny laugh.
“Hey, Joe!” he said. “I came as fast as I could. We have a warrant to arrest anybody we want to out here, military or not. Plus I get to confiscate materials stolen from the Defense Archives, if I find them. How’s them apples?”
“Like the freakin’ cavalry over the hill,” Daniel said reverently from behind Joe’s shoulder.
“You drove in here?” Paris asked the sheriff, who had rolled his window down. Gonzalez rested a meaty arm on the door and gave Paris a lazy grin.
“I was driving in here in Volkswagen dune buggies before you were born, son,” he said. “I just don’t have the time anymore.”
“We’ve got less than ten minutes,” Rosen said. “And we may have a hostage situation. Can you follow us in?”
Gonzalez nodded and looked at Fred Nguyen. Fred stood for a moment, eyes flashing, smile still on his face. Joe had met Nguyen several times, through Lucy Giometti. He was no slouch.
“We’ll follow, of course,” Fred said. “We’re going to need you there too, gentlemen.” This was said to the Army captain, who nodded politely.
“I’ll need to see the warrant, then I’m at your disposal,” he said. The other two soldiers heaved unprofessional sighs of relief.
“Go on,” Gonzalez said to Rosen and Joe. “We’ll catch up.” Nguyen leaned into the hummer to rummage for the warrant that Lucy, the angel, had gotten them. Joe didn’t see if Nguyen found the warrant because he was pressed back into his seat. Paris had hit the gas. Babe swarmed up the dune, spitting sand as she went.
“How much longer?” Paris asked.
“Three minutes,” Rosen said.
“We’ve got three minutes to come up with a battle plan, then,” Paris said. “One plan is that I just try and run the Tesla machine over. Any other ideas?”
There were several, and everyone shouted over the scream of Babe’s engine and the relentless ticking of the clock. Six-forty-two.
Great Sand Dunes, Latitude 37.47.50, Longitude 105.33.20, San Luis Valley, Colorado
“So who killed Jim Leetsdale? Did you, Mr. Mitchell?”
“Still trying to solve your murder cases? A little irrelevant now, isn’t it?” Mitchell asked in amusement. He stepped away from the Tesla machine and unrolled a sandwich bag he took from his pants pocket. He started rolling ear protectors in his fingers, the little yellow tubes that expanded to fit inside the ear and protected shooters from hearing loss.
“I killed Leetsdale,” Mitchell said. “At least, it was my orders. Bennett and Scott carried out the actual execution. Poorly, I might add. He was supposed to be identified as a suicide. You figured out he was a homicide immediately, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, it was a lousy faked suicide,” Eileen said, still searching her mind for a way to get to her gun. “Did you see Krista? Was she ever here?”
“She was here,” Mitchell said. He put the tubes in his ears. They were almost out of time.
“Ready, sir,” Bennett said. Scott had his gun steady on Eileen and hadn’t wavered.
“Let’s go, then,” Mitchell said. He looked at Eileen with sparkling eyes. “Then we’ll celebrate.”
Eileen knew what he meant. Alan’s lack of reaction meant that he didn’t. She breathed a prayer that if it came to rape, she’d have the courage to keep her wits about her. She’d met rape victims who did, and they usually survived their attack. Not without being raped, of course, she remembered with a freezing and distant coldness. Not without being raped. Well, if it came to that, it would come to that. She would feel about it later.
Mitchell pressed a button on the console of the Tesla device with a flourish and stepped away.
For a few moments there was nothing. Then the machine gave a kind of shiver, almost too slight to be seen. Eileen stared at it, fascinated and horrified. The lovely crystal globe within the machine began to spin slowly, then sped up. The etched colors blurred into a blue-green blur. A low sound started in her teeth and head and toes and then invaded every part of her. It was a sound but it was a vibration too, a vibration so quick and high that it felt like ants crawling over her body. Beside her, Alan made a sound of disgust and fear.
“It won’t hurt you,” Bennett said, stepping behind Scott and putting earmuffs on the other man’s ears. He never passed between Scott’s gun and Eileen. He moved away and put earmuffs on his own ears as the sound started to increase. “It gives you a hell of a headache without ear protection, though,” he shouted.
Eileen felt the insect sensation increase, invading the inside of her body as well as her skin. Then the hum began, the atonal pulsing hum that filled the sky and the sand and her bones. It was loathsome.
Mitchell raised his face to the sky and pumped his fists in the air, grinning and shouting something.
“I’m going to try,” Alan said calmly and softly. “We have to stop this.”
“No,” Eileen hissed. “You’ll get us b
oth killed.” It was hard to speak over the waves of sound. Her head ached fiercely and she knew that she had lost. Alan was going to take out Scott and he might just give her a chance to get to her gun. At the cost of his life. The life of her father. She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t let him die in front of her. Not when she had just found him. But if Alan gave her a chance to stop these men they could save millions of lives. Maybe even America itself. She felt like something had seized her by the throat as she understood, finally, that she didn’t have to be raised by him to love him. She loved him. And she wasn’t going to have a chance to tell him, because she was going to let him sacrifice himself. For her. She took a deep breath.
Alan started to move, and Scott shook his head tiredly and raised the gun. He was going to fire.
Mitchell turned, Bennett turned, and Scott turned as a growling snarl burst over the dunes to their right. An enormous Humvee soared over the dune crest and skidded down the sand and that was all Eileen saw before she crouched, drew, and fired at Scott.
His gun whirled like a Frisbee, switching ends back and forth, and he flew backwards into the sand. She hadn’t drawn a breath. She was vaguely aware of figures tumbling out of the Humvee. Bennett, next. His eyes were still widening and his arm was still moving toward his armpit when her second shot took him full in the chest. She drew her first breath. Easy shots, both of them, and as he thumped backward, she ran at him.
She landed with both knees on his chest and felt the reassuring solidity of the body armor. She drew her second breath. He was gasping underneath her, face pasty gray but alive. She reached under his jacket and removed his gun. She twisted on her knees and faced Mitchell, who had her gun in his khaki pocket. She drew her third breath.
The bodies piling out of the still-moving Humvee seemed endless, like clowns erupting from a circus car. Two of them were racing toward the Tesla machine and one of them looked like Joe Tanner. Someone else was running toward Jacob Mitchell and she saw with a surging sense of relief that it was Dave Rosen.
Earthquake Games Page 33