When Carlisle, Reeves, and Donahue reached Carlisle's office, the two detectives faced their lieutenant, standing in front of his desk like men who wanted answers. For their own protection, he had told them nothing about Dreisler's plans. All they knew was that they were to assemble a clandestine force of trusted PD men and have them at Astor Place on that particular Sunday afternoon.
Before they could say anything, Carlisle held up a hand. "All in good time."
He had been carrying a brand-new, gray Samsonite briefcase. He placed it on the desk, keyed in the lock combination, and opened it. The case had an up-to-date and fully comprehensive set of bugblockers built into it. When Reeves and Donahue saw it, their eyebrows shot up. He touched all of a row of six red buttons. A galaxy of LEDs came on as all the blocking systems activated. If the deacons had his office bugged, as they undoubtedly did, they would no longer be able to hear a thing. They would know that he was using some kind of jamming device, but their only real option was to come down and bust into his office. He was counting on the fact that they would be too busy with Day of National Reconciliation business to bother.
Reeves and Donahue exchanged glances, as if each was waiting for the other to start. Finally Reeves took the initiative.
"So what's the story, Lieutenant?"
"You mean, if I ask you to put a small secret army together for me, you want to know why?" Carlisle asked, sitting down. The levity was a crock – but he did not want to communicate his fear to the others. He was scared enough for all three of them.
Reeves shrugged. "It's human nature."
"So, do I have my army?"
Donahue nodded. "They're coming, just like you said, one at a time and in small groups. They'll all be in the building and ready for orders by three."
The two detectives waited. Carlisle leaned forward.
"Okay, here's the story. We've received information that a group of disgruntled, middle-echelon deacons is going to use today's extravaganza as cover to stage a coup."
Carlisle did not like lying to his men, but it was the only way to protect them. If everything came unraveled and they were all arrested, or if Dreisler pulled something unexpected, they would at least be able to say that they were only following orders. There was one other consideration. He may have reluctantly thrown in his lot with Dreisler, but he was in no position to explain the complex conspiracy to anyone else. He did not know it all himself. He really was walking point.
"They are going to use the expected disturbances after today's telecast as an excuse to arrest Faithful and declare a deacon junta. Only the PD, a handful of deacons, and some sections of the military can stop the deacons from seizing power."
"Where do we figure in all this?"
"If the deacons have control of this complex, they essentially control the city. We have to stop that. Now, it's in our favor that there's hardly anyone on duty in the building. On a prearranged signal, we will seal the entrances, take over the communication center, and arrest any deacons who want to make trouble. We have one other advantage in this apart from the fact that almost everybody is on the street. You may have noticed that Dreisler's people have arrested a large number of senior deacons in the last few weeks. Their chain of command is screwed, and the ones who are left will be without too much high-level direction."
"Is Dreisler involved in all this?"
Carlisle shook his head. "We have to assume that Dreisler's on our side."
The two detectives looked dubious. "You're not telling us everything."
Carlisle looked down at his hands. "No, I'm not. I don't know everything. I couldn't tell you if I wanted to."
Donahue was thoughtful. "Where does the brass stand in all this?"
Carlisle paused before answering. "They'll be one hundred percent if everything comes up roses. If it doesn't, it'll almost certainly be every man for himself."
That was actually very close to the truth. Even before Dreisler had let him go, he had been permitted to talk to Parnell. During a very stilted conversation, Parnell had intimated that the higher-ups in the PD knew of Dreisler's plan and would do nothing to stop or hinder them. They would throw in with his Committee of National Reconstruction if he was successful, but if he failed, they would put so much distance between him and themselves that it would seem as if he had the plague.
Reeves and Donahue looked at each other.
"So it's all down to us?" Reeves said. "If we win, we're heroes, and if we lose, we're dogmeat."
Carlisle nodded. "Dogmeat would look good in comparison." He leaned back in his chair. "You can bail out now."
There was a long silence. In the end, it was Reeves who again spoke for both of them. "What the hell, we'll go for it. If something isn't done about the deacons, they'll get us all soon enough."
Carlisle placed four diskettes on the desk. "These are the detailed orders for the individual squad leaders. On a more general level there are three things to remember. Make sure that the roof helipad is kept open and is under our control. That's vital. You should ignore the computers. There will be all manner of weird stuff coming up. The whole system will be virused to hell by the end of today. Don't trust the computers, and don't trust anyone you don't know."
"What levels of force do we use?" Reeves asked.
Carlisle looked him straight in the eye. "Whatever it takes."
Both Reeves and Donahue nodded. "Is that all?"
"I wish I had some encouraging speech to make. I don't. All I can tell you is that, one way or the other, it will all be over in a matter of hours. I pray that things will be better."
The two men seemed to sense his doubts. "Don't worry, Lieutenant, we're with you."
After they left, he sat for a long time in silence. Somewhere over the last few days he had lost some kind of innocence – or maybe it was his integrity. The last of it had finally banished during the conversation with Reeves and Donahue. He had deceived his own men, and he could no longer shelter behind the spotless shield of the honest cop. He was a conspirator just like the rest of them. Maybe not as tainted as Dreisler, but it was only a matter of degree.
He sighed and picked up the phone.
"Code 8971A Dragonfly," he said.
It had started.
Winters
Winters had never felt so alone. All his life he had been part of a team – in school, at college, and now in the service. There had always been people around him, comradeship and shared ambition. Since he had survived the attack of the Lefthand Path, he had become an outcast. Nobody spoke to him except in the course of duty, and his duties had dwindled to routine data shuffling. There was no point in telling the others that it was not his fault that he had been knocked unconscious instead of killed outright. They already knew that it was only his vows to the Magicians that kept him from reporting the incident, and they suspected that Carlisle was associated with the terrorists, but none of that seemed to make any difference. He had returned neither victorious nor on his shield. That was enough to make him a pariah. His recent hopes, encouraged by his summons to the Magicians and the implication that he was going to be asked to join their numbers, had been cruelly dashed. He could not see how he would ever recover from the disgrace. He had thought about trying to redeem himself by killing Carlisle, but the lieutenant seemed to be constantly guarded, ever since his mysterious return.