Tsunami Wake: Post Apocalyptic Thriller (Calm Act Book 4)

by Ginger Booth

  Carlos appeared to consider and discard a number of possible responses. He settled on, “In practice, I think it’s a leadership challenge, sir.”

  Sean looked perplexed at this answer as well. “How so?”

  “Just a question of how we pitch it to the public, sir,” Carlos returned. “Telling them the truth won’t work, why we’re doing it. But just a little spin should serve. Balancing populations, supporting Boston-Prov versus the larger Apple Zone. Trade patterns. Reducing distribution and travel distances. How big a change it amounts to, depends on how we implement. I think there’s some Constitution envy. Hudson got a Constitution and ours is still bogged down in committee. We can take advantage of that. On the way here this afternoon, I called Cam’s voter testing service to request advance workshops. For the Governor and Rescos, city councils, mayors and such.”

  Sean laid down his fork with great deliberation. “You’ve already told these people that Connecticut is transferring to Hudson?”

  “No, sir,” Carlos returned. “Except the Governor, of course. He called me after General Link called him. Governor Fallon looks forward to hearing from you.”

  Sean sat back in his chair and laughed softly. “Gentlemen, I thought we were talking about this. Yet you seem to be acting on this.” I suspect Sean was getting angry now, but he covered it smoothly.

  “John?” Carlos asked blandly, tossing the hot potato up rank. “Did you get that impression?”

  “Well, for me of course, there’s no difference at all,” John Niedermeyer qualified, with a smile. “My Coast Guard jurisdiction, if you will, includes New England and Hudson.” He smiled.

  “Dee, did you get that number I asked for?” Sean inquired.

  “Yes, Sean,” I agreed. “I forwarded it to your inbox. With Connecticut, Hudson’s coastline would be longer than New England’s. What’s left of New England.”

  Sean nodded, pursing his lips. “John, I have a slightly different take on command structure than you’re used to,” he shared. “I think that means your stretch of Coast Guard reports to me.”

  John nodded noncommittally. “Admiral Huyck might disagree with that statement, Sean. That’s who I report to now. Not Ivan Link.”

  I leaned toward Cam with a frown. He supplied softly, “Admiral of the Northeast. Includes Virginia.”

  “Uh-huh,” Emmett interjected, from the head of the table. “Gentlemen, perhaps this is getting a little deep for the supper table. Sean, I’m sure Carlos was just trying to be proactive. Take care of his people.”

  Carlos nodded. “Give them something to do besides worry. Take a simple voter test. They’ll pass easily. Then get busy arranging tests for other people. They’d enjoy that.”

  “And detaching the Coast Guard from the Navy is optional, surely,” Emmett continued.

  “Fuel might prove a challenge,” John Niedermeyer suggested. “For instance.”

  Emmett shut him down, plying his prerogative as host. “Sean, did you know that John’s reopened the Coast Guard Academy? John, we’ve started at the bottom in Hudson. We’re training our first wave of new boots now.”

  Both men assuredly did know that. But they capitulated to the change of subject.

  “I’d heard that, from Carlos,” John agreed cheerfully. “Carlos, you brought your daughter Maisie to visit Hudson’s new boot camp, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” Carlos agreed. “Emmett invited us. She enjoyed that immensely.”

  “Why did you invite Maisie?” Sean asked Emmett. Everyone here had met fifteen-year-old Maisie Mora during the vast Calm Park dedication ceremonies at Halloween.

  “The drill instructors had trouble relating to the apple boots – the recruits from here, North Jersey, Long Island,” Emmett supplied. “The feral kids we sent them. After my inspection, I talked to Cam and Carlos about it. We came up with the two followup visits. Maisie to act as translator and encourage the recruits and D.I.’s. Then Cam went last to kick butt and take names.”

  “Wasn’t that hard on Maisie?” Ash asked. “Being around the wild kids again?” I liked Ash, I really did. But he was a bit of a control freak. His own Shimon and Shira were the most urbane children I’d ever met.

  “Maisie’s on a camping trip with resettled apple kids right now,” Carlos replied. “‘Gavis,’ she calls them, from Long Island. Short for gaviotas, seagulls. Winter camping in New England. Blech. But it works for her. Too long trying to act all ‘officer’s kid’ again, and she gets kinda warped. ‘Daddy, I’m not a good little girl, I’m a whore,’ kinda talk. Probably humping like bunnies in the woods now. I trust condoms are supplied. Anyway, she comes back all cheerful and willing to play nice girl again. After hanging out with other gavis a while, people who know where she’s been. It works for her.”

  The Orthodox Jew Ash, and the devout Catholic Sean Cullen, looked politely appalled. Next to Sean, Pete Hoffman, who had two buoyant Jersey-girl daughters a few years older than Maisie, snarfed his wine in amusement. I personally sat in awe, as usual, at Carlos’ sheer range. He started out barefoot in Nicaragua, got U.S. citizenship with his brother, made army officer, specialized in media and public relations, married a British ambassador’s daughter, and somehow landed as lead Resco of Connecticut. I could never guess what he was about to say or do next, except that it would prove effective.

  “How did it work out?” I asked Cam. “With the apple boots.” I’m not entirely clueless as hostess when Emmett plays host. Emmett wanted us to talk about the street urchin recruits, not Carlos.

  “They’ve graduated to Basic Training now,” Cam replied. “I axed the master fitness trainer at Fat Camp. Uh, that’s what the Army calls it. Recruits who aren’t ready to pass the physical fitness test to begin Basic. Used to be losing weight. Now it’s gaining weight. And some behavioral issues, but same idea. The recruits need to be able to run a few miles and do enough push-ups. The apple boots need a lot of care and feeding to get there, especially the feral ones, the gavis. The MFT – the master fitness trainer – he just didn’t get it. Emmett and Carlos tried to adjust his worldview. He didn’t improve, so I got rid of him. The apple boots won’t all pass Basic. But they have a shot.”

  “Do you know if Ava Pawic is still with them?” Carlos asked. “Maisie liked her. ‘Tail Panic,’ I think, was her handle.”

  “I turned her application down!” Ash objected. “She was too small.”

  “I put her name in,” Emmett said. “Favor to Yafuel Guzman.” He added to me, “Darlin’? You remember him from last Thanksgiving?”

  “Sure.” I was impressed with police detective Guzman, the autocrat who held together Manhattan’s Soho neighborhood through the starving year. “Was this Panic girl from Soho? Or what he called the ‘war zone,’ where the feral gangs ran?”

  “She came in from the war zone. Wanted to go straight,” Emmett replied. “Sorry, Ash, couldn’t say no to Guzman. She is small. Got spirit, though. And army height and weight charts go down to four foot ten for females.”

  “Dang,” Ash said. “That’s just small. The boys will start growing again once they’re fed. Not the girls.”

  Emmett shrugged. “Guzman was afraid she’d fall back into the gangs. She’s a smart kid. I was willing to help.”

  Sean looked like he’d gradually worked himself around during this digression. He nodded. “The Army will make a good home for the orphans. If they can straighten out.”

  “They’ll get there, sir,” Emmett assured him. “It’s good to be able to save some of them. Give them a career.”

  “Amen,” said Carlos.

  Gladys fetched a beautiful apple tart and set it in the middle of the table. We didn’t clear dishes between meal courses anymore. In winter, we saved the hot water for ourselves rather than extraneous plates and cutlery.

  “Gorgeous,” Carlos told her, admiring the bearer as much as the tart. Gladys grinned.

  “What’s the agenda after dinner at these soirees?” Carlos asked Ash, as the tart was sliced and pla
tes passed.

  “Usually free-form,” Ash supplied. “A chance to work with whoever we have business with.”

  “Excellent,” Carlos said. “Dee, could we –”

  Sean interrupted. “Connecticut people. You’re with me after dessert. In the office. Pete, join us. Tony, Ash, I’m sure you’ll find something to do.”

  5

  Interesting fact: The Calm Act was secretly vetted at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, by a group of mid-level officers, mostly Army. Three men involved in this project became Rescos in Connecticut, and later Hudson. Coast Guard Captain John Niedermeyer refereed war games between super-states fighting for resources. Then-Major Emmett MacLaren focused on subsistence level agriculture, and techniques to pacify populations within the barricaded-off super-states. Then-Major Cam Cameron was not on the vetting team, nor privy to the more sensitive aspects of the Calm Act. But he coordinated the technology chapters of the Resco manual. The three men were room-mates at Leavenworth, and friends.

  “Gentlemen, Dee, let’s cut to the chase,” Sean invited, after we reconvened in the office. “What the hell? I feel like I’ve been shanghaied into taking Connecticut into Hudson. And I don’t know why. Emmett, were you involved in this?”

  “No, sir,” Emmett replied.

  “Then you’re excused,” Sean disinvited him. Emmett looked tempted to argue, but thought better of it. He left.

  “Dee, Cam,” Sean said, “I know you were in on this. So walk me through it. This morning I had two states. By two p.m., I had three. Unless I refuse to play along, which I very well might. How did this happen? And more important, why is this in the best interest of the citizens of Hudson and Connecticut? Cam. Begin.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Sean,” Cam said. “I calculated the carbon footprint metrics for New England, Penn, and Virginia, along with our own, given the guidelines and the latest numbers. Dee helped, because it’s tricky. We saw right off that New England was getting shafted on that metric, because of Maine leaving since last year. We thought if Connecticut swapped, both super-states might be golden, because Hudson comes in well under guidance. We care about Connecticut. We’re both from Connecticut.

  “Anyway, we straightened out my computations. Dee ran the numbers on Connecticut while I struggled with Penn and Virginia. And the numbers worked out. Shifting Connecticut, both super-states met the carbon milestone.”

  Sean nodded. “You got numbers. And you had this idea in your head. Then what?”

  “I emailed New England’s metrics to Ivan Link. General Link,” Cam amended himself. “I sent the whole worksheets to John and Carlos. For Hudson, New England, and Connecticut. They called immediately. Conference call. We chatted.”

  “Dee, you chatted, too?” Sean asked.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “We’re friends, Sean. And colleagues.”

  “Understood,” he acknowledged. “So in this chat, Cam and Dee recommended to John and Carlos that Connecticut transfer to Hudson?”

  “Not at all,” John Niedermeyer denied. “I mean, we joked around, it would be nice to be reunited. And the math worked out. No, mostly Carlos and I were calling to make sure we understood the numbers and the conclusions. I mean, we didn’t understand them. We’ve never understood them. That’s why Cam runs the metrics for us. But we tried to understand so we could answer questions when Ivan contacted us. I also asked whether they’d supplied the Hudson and Connecticut spreadsheets to Ivan, or just New England as a whole. And the answer was that Ivan didn’t get any worksheets, just the bald metrics.”

  “For all four super-states,” Cam added. “So, New England in comparison to Hudson, Penn, and Virginia. Is all I sent Ivan. General Link.”

  “So social chat ends, I still have two states,” Sean summarized. “Then what happened?”

  “Well, first, we’re not the only ones Cam reported those numbers to,” John said.

  Cam nodded. “Of course I sent the worksheets for Penn and VA to their top Rescos, and their metrics to General Taibbi and Admiral O’Hara. And I posted the metrics in the Resco forums. Plus, there’s a subgroup I belong to. Somebody there asked for the whole Hudson spreadsheet as a worked example. Um, he’s Ken–Tenn, I think. But everyone could see. The metrics are due in March, sir. And everyone struggles with them. In the course of that discussion, I posted the Connecticut worksheet. It’s smaller, easier to digest as an example. And Dee annotated it.”

  “Very helpful, Dee,” Sean said sadly. “What is this Resco subgroup, Cam?”

  “The Resco manual authors group,” Cam supplied. “We still talk tech and stuff, debate changes to the guide.”

  Oh, hell. I didn’t realize Cam had shared our computations with the SAMS who vetted the Calm Act at Fort Leavenworth. I bet all the death angels were in that private forum – the ones in charge of ‘culling’ the population. Cam was in on the manual writing at Leavenworth, but only partially apprised of Emmett and John’s secrets. So was I, but only as Emmett’s partner. I was fairly sure Cam still didn’t know about the death angels. Cam could be idealistic to a fault. Emmett dreaded the day Cam found out Emmett knew the death angels.

  “Jesus,” said Sean. “That’s a group with influence. I imagine discussion ensued. On the boards,” Sean concluded. “Did you add anything more in particular, Cam?”

  “I haven’t had time to chat on Amenac boards today, sir,” Cam said. “I posted the metrics because that’s where they’re officially reported. I posted our worksheet because a colleague asked. I posted the second worksheet because someone else complained the first one was too complicated.”

  “Ohio,” John murmured.

  “Excuse me?” Sean asked.

  “The person who inspired Cam to post Connecticut’s worksheet,” John explained. “Is a Resco in Ohio. Michigan, actually.” Greater Ohio was presently ‘occupying’ lower Michigan. No one expected them to give it back.

  “But all of these people could access our worksheets,” Sean said. “Alright. So then what happened?”

  Carlos and John traded reluctant glances. John decided it was still his turn. “Ivan blew a gasket and called Carlos. Carlos asked to patch me in on the call. Did Ivan ever agree to that?”

  “Too busy screaming,” Carlos murmured.

  “What did he tell you before I came on?”

  “I’m incompetent,” Carlos replied. “Death angels would loose anthrax in Boston, and it was all my fault. How dare I… I don’t remember what he thought I dared. You didn’t miss much.”

  Carlos managed to say this stone-faced. I wondered if he could really be that impervious to a general yelling at him, or just skilled at looking neutral. I bet on the latter.

  “Does General Link frequently speak to you this way, Carlos?” Sean asked.

  “Yes,” John answered, before Carlos could select a reply. “He doesn’t speak to me that way, though. The Rescos of New England are under standing orders from me. If Ivan gets abusive, duck out and let me handle it. General Link,” he corrected himself, as an afterthought.

  Cam nodded confirmation.

  “Emmett was pretty torn, Sean,” I offered. “He wanted to come home to Connecticut, after Project Reunion. But he loved working with you. And Link made him miserable. Especially the way he treated Carlos. Demoted Carlos under Emmett, right when Emmett was leaving for New York. Just didn’t make any sense.”

  Sean Cullen shared a long look with his own top Resco, Pete Hoffman. Pete nodded neutrally. Sean sighed.

  “So whatever happened, already happened before you got on the phone with General Link?” Sean asked John.

  “I didn’t make it better,” John admitted. “The conversation swayed to why Connecticut was so incompetently managed that we dragged down New England’s carbon footprint. I got pretty pissed off at that point.”

  Carlos shrugged. “Link demanded what I would do in two months to make Connecticut compliant. I told him the question didn’t make sense. Connecticut didn’t do anything wrong. We’re more densely populated than
Maine. He seemed to think me uncooperative. Possibly true.”

  Sean sat back and crossed his legs. “Gentlemen, I can’t help but feel that the two of you, Carlos, John, you would be far happier in Hudson.”

  “Governor Fallon, too,” Carlos suggested before Sean could reach the but.

  “Most of the mayors,” John added. “The universities, the schools…”

  “Link isn’t popular in Connecticut,” I said. “He’s too focused on Boston and the military. Seems to think Connecticut is spoiled and needs to be chastised. For being in better shape than Massachusetts and Narragansett. Narragansett isn’t sure why it had to turn into a new state, instead of staying Rhode Island and southeastern Mass. I think Vermont and New Hampshire try to ignore him. And Maine left, of course.”

  “Does Massachusetts like him?” Pete Hoffman asked, amused.

  “Not especially,” replied John, with a sad smile. “Especially not western Mass.”

  “Major Dooley in western Mass hates Link even more than I do,” said Carlos. “I think the troops are OK with him,” he posited, trying to be fair. “Civilians not so much. The Rescos are caught between.”

  “The Army troops like him, maybe,” John quibbled. “And Ivan won’t screw with me because the Navy’s behind me. He treats the National Guard like garbage, though.”

  Sean considered this, frowning faintly. “Gentlemen, I don’t understand this. Link was a bounder, sure. Aggressive, competitive, brusque. Not callous, though. A bit junior, I thought, to head a super-state. Not incompetent as a leader, though, by any means. And New England is soft, compared to the rest. Canada wouldn’t attack. Neither would I. Safe and snug, friendly neighbors, internal challenges only. Easy assignment, comparatively. I would have bet anything Link would rise to the challenge.”

  “He’s changed,” John suggested. “I used to be able to deal with him successfully. But with his own Rescos, Army, he went downhill. Today even I couldn’t handle him.”