The ads for private businesses tended to be hyper local. One shaky camcorder spot featured a large man in bib overalls rocking back and forth on his feet, trying to convince folks that they needed his lawn-tending services. Kip’s favourite place in Pike Place Market, Frellman’s Brats and Sausage Hut, was a little slicker. Home of the Thrown Brats, they gave you a fishing net to snare the bangers out of the air.
He was surprised to see a lengthy, much more professional-looking ad for Cesky Enterprises’ new prestige apartment project in the renovated Smith Tower. It reminded him of the days when television advertising wasn’t a cottage industry.
‘What did Jed want to talk about, honey?’ Barbara asked when they had finished eating.
‘Oh, I’ve had him and Sarah working on what we might do with all those people in the camps back east,’ Kipper declared, around licking his fingers. He knew he couldn’t tell her the real reason Culver had called in, to try to bully him into sending Agent Monroe to Fort Hood.
‘They’re mostly women and children, aren’t they?’ said his wife.
‘Mostly. There’s a couple of old geezers in there. And we’ve got another camp full of fighters who survived New York. They’re more of a problem. But most of them have ties to the women and children.’
Barb finished her wine and thought about pouring another one, before deciding against it. She placed the empty glass carefully on the coffee table, next to her plate.
‘Can’t send them home, then?’
‘Not all of them, no,’ Kip sighed. ‘A lot of places in Europe, if that’s where they hailed from, won’t have them back. And a lot of their original homelands still glow in the dark.’
The show was returning from another ad break, but Barb used the remote to mute it.
‘And I’ll bet Jed is worried about how you sell the idea of letting them stay,’ she ventured.
‘Hell, I’m worried about that myself. Honestly, they don’t deserve to stay. If he had his way, he’d stick them on a garbage barge, tow them out past the twelve-mile line and sink them if they tried to come back.’
‘Most people would.’
‘I know. And I totally get that. But these guys were just servants, followers. After every war we’ve ever fought, we’ve eventually forgiven the enemy. It’s what makes us better than them. Stronger, I believe, in the end.’
He wondered if there could ever be forgiveness between Blackstone and himself. Probably not, if the FBI turned the case Jed Culver had made into a real indictment. Hell, it could even lead to the mad bastard trying to secede. But Kipper didn’t see that he had any choice. If there was some link between the Governor of Texas and the Emir’s forces in Manhattan, the President had to maintain as much distance from the investigation as possible. When they finally went public, there could be no suggestion of political interference. Jed, however, wanted to handle the whole thing in as Machiavellian a fashion as possible.
‘Why?’ asked Barb. She turned around to face him on the couch.
‘Huh?’ She’d surprised him. Was she talking about Jed - about Monroe even? Had he mumbled something in a beer haze? ‘Er, why what, Barb?’
‘Why does it make us stronger than them?’ she said, dragging him back on topic.
Kip’s heart sank. He really didn’t want to get into this, not on pork chop night. On the other hand, at least he hadn’t inadvertently blown the Blackstone investigation …
‘A couple of things,’ he began. ‘The strong forgive, because they can, and because holding on to their hatred makes no sense past a certain point. You beat your enemy, and then you move on. If you can’t do that, you become as obsessed with your never-ending war as he probably was to begin with. You start to see everything as part of the war. In the end, you’ll lose your life to it, as surely as you would getting killed on the battlefield.’
He finished his own drink, but unlike his wife he decided to have another one. He stood up to go to the kitchen, picking up her glass too as he did so. Barb shook her head.
‘I thought we might go to bed early,’ she said. ‘We could snuggle a bit.’
‘I’m all up for snuggling,’ he replied, heading for the door while at the same time finding he was warming to his little dissertation. ‘But, you know, the other thing is, we can use these people. We can use everyone who’s willing to put up their hands and declare for us at the moment. Those fighters, if they want to live here, if they want to see their families again, they can damn well earn the privilege fighting for us. I’m more than happy to watch them get chewed up seeing off pirates on the East Coast. Plus, the intelligence guys tell me we can turn them and send them out pretty much anytime we want. As long as they’ve made the commitment to us. They become our weapons.’
‘And Texas?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Kip unconvincingly. ‘Jed’s forever scheming against Blackstone. He leaves me out of it, thank God. In some ways they’re made for each other. But I’m not sure exactly what he’s up to at the moment. Guess I’ll find out tomorrow. Gotta say, though, my gut feeling is that I should just go down there and have it all out with Mad Jack myself.’
His wife looked sceptical. ‘Kip, he’s such an asshole.’
‘Yeah, but maybe he’s a well-intentioned asshole. I really think he only wants what’s best for the country. It’s just that, you know, he’s an asshole about it.’
‘Well, I’m sure if you fly down and tell him that, man to man,’ she said, cocking one eyebrow at him, ‘he’ll totally come around to your way of seeing things.’
He could tell that she’d be just as hard to convince as his Chief of Staff. The more he thought about what Jed had told him, however, the more likely it seemed that he was going to have to go down and confront Blackstone, even if it was all behind closed doors. Because if the FBI did confirm a link to Baumer and New York, there was no way Mad Jack would go quietly. He’d scream and kick back and fight this thing every inch of the way.
It made the option of sending somebody like Special Agent Caitlin Monroe down there even more tempting. Not to whack the guy, but perhaps to ease him out of power quietly, informally. Kipper was adamant, however: Monroe was going nowhere near Fort Hood.
38
TEMPLE, TEXAS ADMINISTRATIVE DIVISION
Forget about coming up with a plan to sneak into Blackstone’s lair at Fort Hood. She might not live that long. There were five dogs in the pack. Not wolves or coyotes, but vicious and hungry-looking ferals, with none of the light of kindness of man’s best friend in their eyes. They had been born to the wild and had the rank stench of it about them. They circled in front of her, growling. She was almost backed up against the brick wall in a laneway behind the supermarket. The pack could not get behind her to rush in and snap at her heels, but nor did she have anywhere to fall back to.
Sofia tracked the largest of the beasts with her handgun. She could shoot it down and drive away the other dogs, but to do so would bring the soldiers running. There were two patrols out on the streets of Temple that she knew of this evening. They were proper American soldiers, and as much as she held no fears that harm would come her way from them, the Mexican teenager had no intention of being taken into custody, protective or otherwise. Shooting the dogs, while not out of the question, would not be ideal. She hefted the machete in her other hand, waiting for the right moment to make that choice.
She knew it was coming. The growls were getting lower and more intense, turning into short, aggressive barks. Her flesh crawled, an ancient reflex she was powerless to control. She had learned this when she was last in Texas. A brave woman was not fearless. She simply refused to become a prisoner of her fears, to let them rule her. The feelings that coursed through her body, the racing heartbeat, tensed muscles, the way all of her senses seemed to open wide and let the world flood in, were all symptomatic of the fear that wanted to cripple and kill her. But she’d survived on the trail because she had learned from her father, from Maive and Trudi and the others, that the very same feelings could be channelled into a killing rage.