Camped now on the western edge of town, she couldn’t see the military base, but she knew it to be only ten minutes past the empty school over the road, and the golf course behind it. The golf links had grown wild in the years since the Wave and were surrounded by a high chain-link fence, from which signs hung promising that the course would reopen by the end of 2010. That was years away yet and Sofia was grateful for the lack of progress towards the goal. The wild grass and thick stands of trees would provide her with ample cover for when she needed to approach the fort.
She turned off the radio and returned the little unit to her main backpack. It was late now, and she had rested through part of today already, but she knew from having stood the midnight watch so many times on the trail that it was best to take whatever rest one could when the chance came along.
After readying the smaller backpack and checking her weapons, Sofia retired to the main bedroom, where she had already drawn the heavy curtains. There was no linen for the bed, but she had her sleeping bag and the blanket she’d salvaged from the motel back in Temple. Crawling into the bag and tenting the blanket above her head, she used a small torch to take a few minutes to study her map of the town and army base yet again. Once confident of the route, she flicked off the torch and laid her head down, saying a prayer for the souls of her family and of all those friends she had lost.
*
‘So, I’m just asking Governor Blackstone to put aside any personal ill feeling he might have towards me, and to ask himself whether he thinks that constantly butting heads is what’s best for the country. We have our differences. Very serious differences. But I hope that in the end we can put them aside. There’s just too much work to do.’
Kipper turned off the radio with the remote. His appealing glance towards Barbara and Jed brought forth two very different responses. His wife smiled, almost apologetically. The White House Chief of Staff struggled to rein in his frustration.
‘Too soft, Jed?’
Culver placed his empty brandy balloon on the mantelpiece. He folded his arms, chewed his lip and invested a few moments staring at the rug in front of the hearth.
‘Well, you know my view, sir. We should be muscling up to Mad Jack, knocking him off balance. Not giving him a chance to set his defences.’
‘Spoken like an old college wrestler,’ said Barb, smiling a little.
‘Maybe so,’ he conceded. ‘But you know, Mr President, that we have to do something about this guy, and sometime soon. Do you really want to be cosying up to a guy you’re about to punch in the back of the head?’
Kip smiled. ‘That’d have to be the best place to be, wouldn’t it, Jed? Nice and close, so I can hit him even harder.’
Culver ignored the rhetorical fend and paced over to the drinks cabinet with exaggerated care to fix himself a bourbon. He was drinking a little heavily of late, thought Kip. Even during the worst days of the fighting in New York, Jed had restricted himself to two drinks of an evening, and only after clocking off. Not that any of them ever really went off duty.
‘You’re surely not going to fall for this bait and switch with Morales, are you?’ Culver asked.
Kipper stole a glance at his wife. The First Lady had been vetted for her own security clearance, but she knew nothing yet about the Federation’s special forces personnel they’d caught down in St Teresa, Florida. Or rather, that Blackstone had caught. As for Kip, he didn’t know which of those recent revelations from Tusk Musso angered him more. Roberto Morales’s pissant little colonisation scam, or the fact that yet again Blackstone had let his imperial ego get the better of him, this time by pushing his forces into parts of the country they had absolutely no right to be in.
Barbara tilted her head inquisitively. ‘Is this one of those conversations where I should discreetly leave the room?’
Jed answered for his boss. ‘Nah, Barb. You’re going to be hearing all about it soon enough anyway.’ He threw down the bourbon in one hit, before topping up the glass once more.
The President could see the gears in the other man’s mind clanking and grinding together as he forced himself to walk away from the drinks bar. Kip worried about him. His weight was getting out of hand, and he was normally much better than this at handling pressure. Since taking on the jihadi prisoners last week as a special project, however, his Chief of Staff seemed moodier and more irascible than ever. He even disappeared at times, absenting himself from the routine of Dearborn House for a whole day just recently, without explanation, beyond muttering ‘Fucking Vancouver’ when asked. Kip wondered if he was leaning on him too much.
‘Mad Jack had some long-range patrols scouting around in northern Florida,’ he explained to his wife.
‘That’s a long way from Texas,’ she replied, cocking one eyebrow.
‘Oh yeah,’ said Culver.
Kipper frowned at him before continuing. ‘Well, that’s par for the course, with the Governor. He’s got his fingers stuck into cookie jars he shouldn’t all over the place. This is just the latest. But for once, I’m not much fussed about it, because it might turn out to be helpful. TDF grabbed up a small squad of Federation special ops guys who were looking to become a giant pain in the ass somewhere down the line. Forewarned is forearmed, as Grandma used to say, and I think for once we might actually owe Blackstone a thank-you. It’s still early enough in the story for us to respond without having to start throwing around aircraft carriers and army groups. Neither of which, you might’ve noticed, we can spare.’
Jed left his bourbon on the mantelpiece, untouched, and dropped himself into an armchair with an audible grunt.
‘So you’re not going to be giving him what he wants then? We’re not gearing up for a war down there?’
‘I’m going to pay him the courtesy of taking his paranoia seriously,’ said Kipper. ‘Because, at least in this instance, it’s paid off for us. But no, I don’t see that we need to be pulling very limited resources out of the Pacific or the Atlantic, or even out of the heartland, for that matter. I agree with Tusk and this air force colonel - what’s her name, the one he’s got down there with him. We let Roberto know that we’re awake to him, and that if we catch them doing it again, we’ll send a cruise missile through his bedroom window one night. A gangster like him, he’ll understand that. Respect it too.’
Jed Culver appeared to be discomfited by the conversation, which Kip thought unusual. After all, he was actually agreeing with his Chief of Staff. Most days of the week, Jed had to be restrained from throwing cruise missiles through people’s bedroom windows. Maybe it was the drink. He hadn’t volunteered the name of Musso’s USAF analyst when Kipper couldn’t recall it, and it was staying across those little details that the former attorney prided himself on. The man was a supercomputer in a three-piece suit. It was how he’d caught the link between Blackstone and the Turkish businessman, Ozal, and from there to Baumer.
‘Better knock off the drinks, buddy. It’s slowing you down,’ said Kip, trying for a light tone.
‘Yeah, you’re right … I’m sorry, Kip. I don’t like to admit it, but sometimes it just all piles up on top of me.’
It was Barbara who stood up and fetched him his bourbon from the mantelpiece.
‘Oh Jed,’ she said. ‘Finish your drink, get yourself home to Marilyn and have a proper rest. You can start all over again tomorrow. Even Machiavelli took a break every now and then. I think Kip forgets sometimes how much you do for him.’ She levelled a severely disapproving look at her husband. ‘I think he forgets just how much work you put into protecting him from Jack Blackstone, for one.’
Kipper was about to protest, but Culver beat him to it.