“Mighty Mouse.”
Deepak laughed, then realized she wasn’t joking. “Wait. You’re serious? What sort of man picks that as his password?”
“It wasn’t his first choice, sir. Mr. Carpenter said his first choice was too silly and asked that he change it.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense, Ms. Levy.”
“It was Daffy Duck.”
The dial tone hummed in Deepak’s ear. He shook his head and slowly set down the phone. “I’ve signed on with lunatics.”
The image on the screen had shifted. It showed a satellite view of the eastern Mediterranean Sea. A circular cloud with a long stalk was rising to the stratosphere, glowing like the phosphorescent mushroom it resembled.
Deepak turned up the volume.
“We repeat, the carrier force dispatched to aid Israel has been obliterated. Congress is in special session and any minute now the president will address the nation. Speculation is running rampant that war will be declared.”
The newscaster became even more grim.
“No one can predict whether the Chinese will carry through with their threat to attack any country thatthreatens their Mideast allies. There are reports of Chinese troops massing along the Russian border. There is also a report that a fleet of North Korean submarines is bound for the West Coast of the United States, but that hasn’t been confirmed.”
“It’s the end of all things,” Deepak said softly.
“Some of us don’t die so easy.”
Startled, Deepak spun so fast he nearly fell out of his chair. A man stood just inside the door. He wore a dark blue trench coat over a black Rudolpho suit, white shirt and silk tie. His shoes, Kleins from Germany, were polished to a mirror finish. His hair was black, cut short with long sideburns. He had the most piercing blue eyes.
“I beg your pardon. Are you with corporate?”
“Mighty Mouse,” the man said.
Deepak blinked. “Mr. Slayne? I just got off the phone with the compound. They told me you would be fifteen to twenty minutes yet.”
“I ran all the red lights.” Slayne stopped and seemed to be waiting. “And yours?”
“My what?”
“Mighty Mouse.”
“Oh. Yama. Mine is Yama.” Deepak grinned self-consciously. “Aren’t those code words silly?”
“I was the one who suggested Carpenter use them.”
“Really?”
Slayne offered his hand.
Bracing himself for the inevitable, Deepak shook it. He had small, delicate hands, and it upset him to no end that many men felt compelled to crush his fingers in grips of iron, as if by doing so they somehow proved how masculine they were. But to his surprise, Slayne’s grip was powerful yet controlled. Only a hint of pressure and a suggestion of strength, and then the man in the blue trench coat stepped back and motioned toward the door.
“After you.”
“I’m not ready yet. There are some discs I want to back up. Then we need to swing by my apartment so I can—”
Slayne held up a hand, cutting him short. “Have you looked out your window recently?”
“No. Why?”
“Maybe you should.”
Deepak stood. He smoothed his Argoni jacket and went around his desk. The first thing that caught his eye, before he even reached the window, was the smoke. Columns of it, rising from several points throughout the city. He heard sirens, so many it was impossible to tell one from another. He gazed down from the vantage of the eighty-fifth floor, and even from that height, the word that leaped to his mind was “chaos.” “Is it as bad as it looks?”
“Worse. There’s a rumor going around that New York will be the first city nuked. Panic has set in. Every bridge, every street out is clogged. Looting has started. The police are trying their best, but there aren’t enough officers to control the people in the streets. The mayor has appealed to the governor for the National Guard, but it will be tomorrow morning before the Guard can show up in any force.”
“How is it you know all this? I didn’t see anything about the traffic jams or the riots on the news.”
“You will soon. I have other sources. In case no one has told you, I’m with Tekco. Maybe you’ve heard of us?”
Indeed, Deepak had. Tekco Security was global, with offices in dozens of countries. “You’re in charge of protecting Carpenter’s retreat? That makes sense. Tell me, what specific challenges do you foresee?”
Slayne consulted his watch. “We can talk about that later. Right now I need to get you out of New York before all hell breaks loose.”
“Give me a minute.” Deepak went to turn from the window when there was a loud krump in the distance, and the entire window shook. He was appalled to see a roiling fireball rise over the ware house district. “Was that an explosion?”
“Yes. Hurry, please.”
“What in the world is happening out there?”
“People have begun to realize this isn’t a short-term crisis. Most are trying to flee before the missiles start coming our way. Those who can’t flee are helping themselves to what they’ll need in order to survive.”
Deepak gazed down again. “Thousands of years of culture and civilization are unraveling before our eyes.”
“Civilization is only skin-deep.”
“I don’t believe that. Deep down all people are basically good.”
“Crisis tends to bring out either the best in everyone or the worst. We’ll just have to see which side prevails.” Slayne motioned again. “But we need to hurry.”
It took a minute for Deepak to gather up his backpack and a few personal items. He followed Slayne out the door and down the long hall to the elevators. Other workers hurried out of cubicles and offices, headed in the same direction.
A portly man, sweating profusely, bustled up. “Can you believe this, Deepak? Can you fricking believe this?”
“Hey, Alf. To be honest, I’ve expected something like this would happen for a long time now.” Deepak almost revealed more. He almost told his friend about the compound, but a sharp glance from Slayne smothered the impulse.
“You and everybody else, buddy. I thought it might, but I never actually thought it would. I mean, how crazy do you have to be to start World War Three?” Alf Richardson shook his head in disbelief.
Deepak noticed that two of the elevators were in use and the third was almost full.
“Think about it,” Alf went on. “Nuclear bombs, nuclear missiles, neutron bombs, military satellites, biological weapons, chemical weapons. Does anyone seriously think the human race will survive?”
“I know one man who does,” Deepak said, but his reply was lost in a sudden uproar.
A few more people were trying to squeeze into the elevator and those already in, packed shoulder to shoulder, were pushing them back out. “Take the next one,” one man said each time he pushed.
“There’s room for one more!” a tall man in a brown suit snapped. He had a nose like a beak and an Adam’s apple as big as a golf ball. “I’m Adam Pierpoint, Vice President of Earthfind. I insist you make room for me.”
Deepak knew Pierpoint fairly well and didn’t like him. Earthfind was the company Deepak worked for as a programmer and systems analyst.
“There isn’t any room!” the man who was doing most of the pushing insisted. “Take the next one.”
The doors started to close. Adam Pierpoint stepped between them and thrust both of his spindly arms out, stopping them. “Let me in or you’re not going anywhere.”
“Is that so?”
The man in the elevator punched Pierpoint in the mouth. The V.P. tottered back, more shocked than hurt, although blood trickled from his bottom lip. Then the door hissed shut and pinged, and the indicator light in the wall panel showed that the elevator was descending.
Pierpoint touched a hand to his mouth and stared aghast at the blood on his finger. “Did you see what he did?” he asked no one in particular.
Another elevator was rising. It was two f
loors below and would be there any moment. Those waiting surged forward. One man bellowed for another to get off of his toes.
That was when Patrick Slayne faced them and held out his arms. “The next car is spoken for. All of you will have to wait a little longer.”
“Says you!”
“Who do you think you are?”
Deepak was dumfounded. He realized Slayne was doing this for his benefit. “I’m not going to hog one to myself.”
If Slayne heard, he didn’t respond. He turned to confront Adam Pierpoint, who reared angrily over him.
Blood flecked Pierpoint’s chin. He balled his bony fists and shook one at Slayne. “I’ve had enough of this. No one has the right to deny anyone else. You will step aside and let us enter, or else.”
Deepak wondered what the “or else” meant. He tried to push past two men but they wouldn’t let him by. “Excuse me, please.”
“Go to hell.”
Then Patrick Slayne did the last thing anyone expected. Certainly, Deepak didn’t expect it.
Slayne drew a gun.
Seattle
Ben Thomas stood with his hands on his hips and stared at the vehicle being loaded into his trailer. “What is that thing? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
McDermott didn’t look up from his clipboard. “It’s a special order. A custom job for some nutcase movie director. I guess for one of his movies. He calls it a SEAL.”
“A what?”
“You know. Those animals with flippers that balance balls on their noses.”
McDermott scribbled something and regarded the vehicle with amusement. “SEAL is a—what do you call it when each letter stands for a word?”
“An acronym.”
“How the hell did you know that?”
Ben took slight offense. “What? I must be dumb because I’m black?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. Damn. How long have we known each other and you say a thing like that?” McDermott shook his head. “Anyway, SEAL is a—whatever you called it—for Solar-Energized Amphibious or Land recreational vehicle.”
“It doesn’t look recreational to me,” Ben observed. “It looks like something the army would use.”
McDermott glanced around as if to make sure no one was close enough to overhear, then leaned toward Ben and whispered, “You didn’t get this from me, but there’s a rumor the thing is fitted out like a tank. With real weapons and all.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s just what I was told. I’ve love to take a peek inside, but the doors are locked and I’m under orders not to. You’ll notice we’re not driving it into the trailer. We’re winching it.”
“I wondered about that.” Ben was wondering about a few other things, as well. “Movie director, you say?”
“Yep. Some guy who’s made a lot of scary movies and action flicks.” McDermott tapped the clipboard. “I’ve got his name right here. Carpenter. Kurt Carpenter.”
“I’ve seen most of his movies.” Ben rattled a few titles off. “Is that the guy we’re talking about?”
“I wouldn’t know the titles. But I bet the weapons this thing is supposed to have are fake.”
“I bet you’re right.” Ben’s phone beeped and he answered it, but couldn’t hear for all the noise. Covering his other ear, he said loudly, “Hold on!” Then he moved toward the opposite corner of the ware house, where nothing was going on. “Who is this again?”
“Becca Levy, Mr. Thomas. Are you on your way yet?”
“Not yet, no. Your package is being loaded right now.” Ben paused. “Why didn’t you tell me you work for Kurt Carpenter? When you called, you said you were with some outfit called Home Enterprises.”
“Mr. Carpenter has many business interests. H.E. is one of them.” Her tone became concerned. “How soon can you leave Seattle?”
“I won’t get out of here for half an hour yet.”
“I’ll be candid, Mr. Thomas. We’re worried. Very worried. The SEAL is crucial to Mr. Carpenter’s plans. It was supposed to have been delivered six months ago, but a few design flaws had to be worked out. It’s a prototype, you see. That means there’s no other like it anywhere in the world.”
“I know what prototype means.”
“It’s almost seventeen hundred miles from Seattle to Lake Bronson State Park. Yet you honestly believe you can make it here in forty-eight hours?”
“Less if I don’t have any problems.”
“I would expect problems, Mr. Thomas. We’re on the verge of World War Three. Much of the Middle East and north Africa are in flames. Beirut is gone. Tel Aviv has been vaporized. In the United States, all contact has been lost with San Diego. There are reports of foreign troops in Canada, pushing south. Riots and looting have broken out. Martial law is to be imposed nationwide at ten am tomorrow.”
“Forty-eight hours or less,” Ben insisted.
“You’re very sure of yourself.”
“I was a U.S. Marine, lady. The few. The proud. The kickass. You’re paying me three times the going rate to get your fancy rig to you and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“I hope so. Be careful, Mr. Thomas.” Becca Levy hung up.
Ben shoved the phone into his pocket. He considered her last words. On an impulse, he went to a metal ladder and climbed to the catwalk. Wire mesh covered the window, but he could see out. And what he saw sent a shiver down his spine.
The Space Needle and the rest of Seattle’s skyline were as they always were: futuristic, imposing, impressive. But sirens blared and police and ambulance lights flashed everywhere. Smoke curled skyward from a score of locations. The crackle of what sounded like firecrackers wasn’t firecrackers at all; it was gunfire.
Ben hurried down and over to his truck. He climbed into the cab of the truck he’d named Semper Fi and did another run-through. Earlier he’d topped off his fuel tank and had the engine serviced. Diesel, oil, coolant, tires, all had been checked and rechecked. Once he cranked over the engine, he could be on his way.
A fist pounded on the door.
“I need your John Hancock,” McDermott said, and held up the clipboard with forms for him to sign. “We’re about done. Five minutes and you’re good to go.”
Ben unclipped a pen from his shirt pocket. “Can you believe what is going down out there?” he asked with a nod at the high windows.
“It’s crazy, is what it is. One of the guys was just telling me that an enemy sub had been sighted in Puget Sound.”
“Which enemy?”
“Damned if I know. I doubt he did, either. Probably just another rumor. Reminds me of World War Two, when people were seeing Japanese subs all over the place and blowing fish out of the water.” McDermott shook his head. “It’s a mad world out there and getting madder by the moment.”
Ben handed back the clipboard and slid the pen into his pocket. Turning in the driver’s seat, he made sure his duffel bag was there. He patted it, saying, “I can’t leave without my babies.”
“Did you hear something?”
Suddenly the building shook to a concussive blast. The windows rattled so hard, several cracked.
“What the hell?” McDermott blurted. “That was an explosion.”
“I need to go.”
McDermott nodded. “I’ll hurry things along.” He ran toward the rear of the trailer.
Ben switched on the radio to an all-news station.
“Citizens are being advised to remain indoors. The streets aren’t safe. Unruly mobs are on the loose. Gun stores have been broken into. People are taking food and water from stores without paying. The police report that outside agitators are at work, but they haven’t explained exactly what they mean by that.”
The announcer took a breath.
“Incredible as it sounds, our social structure is breaking down. It has become every man, every woman, for him or herself.”
He paused.
“In other news, Turkey, Italy, and Greece are now embroiled in the spr
eading conflict, which the secretary-general of the United Nations has described as the beginning of the end for Western civilization unless world leaders can agree on an immediate ceasefire. England and France are mobilizing troops, while in. . .”
Ben turned off the radio. He nearly jumped at another pounding on his door. “What?”
“Geez. Bite my head off, why don’t you?” McDermott smiled. “You’re good to go, buddy.”
The warehouse reverberated to Semper Fi’s roar.
Rollers squeaking, the bay doors rattled open.
Ben Thomas shifted into gear, put the pedal to the metal, and rumbled out into madness.
Tangled Webs
Minnesota
The drawbridge was down. Kurt Carpenter had called ahead and they were ready for him. As Holland drove the long black limousine along the dirt track that was their only link to civilization, Carpenter peered ahead and nodded in satisfaction.
His brainchild was a thirty-acre compound surrounded by twenty-foot-high brick walls. Aqueducts at the northwest and southeast corners diverted a stream into an inner moat, a secondary line of defense should the brick walls ever be breached.
The limo didn’t stop once it was across the moat. Holland made for the closest of six concrete bunkers. C Block, Carpenter had designated it, where the Communications Center was housed.
Becca Levy was waiting. As always, she was smartly dressed. She spoke into a wafer-thin mouthpiece attached to an ear jack in her left ear. She stopped talking as he emerged from the backseat of the limo, and she held out her hand for him to shake. “Good to see you made it, boss.”
“Give me a breakdown.”
“Twenty-seven are here already. We expect another forty-one to show up in the next eight hours.”
“And the rest?”
“They’re aware of the deadline. They know what it means if they don’t make it.”
Carpenter strode toward the entrance to C Block, Becca keeping up with his brisk pace. “Any word on the SEAL?”
“The transporter was just leaving Seattle the last time I spoke to him.”
“I’m counting on him. The SEAL is my gift to those who come after us. Provided we survive, that is.” Carpenter stopped and scanned the compound. Two men with rifles were on the west wall near the drawbridge. To the east were trees and a row of cabins. Beyond that were fields he planned to devote to tilling. “God. I hope I’ve covered every contingency. One mistake, and we’ll be no better off than those pour souls caught in the cities.”
Doomsday Page 2