“Life in the grand scheme is truly a dull, meaningless existence occasionally punctuated by catastrophe that’s quickly forgotten. I’m telling you, honey, that is the human condition. And we all know that eventually terror withers away.”
Chalk paused, saw he was still not getting through to her, but at least she was listening. “Need a more recent example? What about Ground Zero right there in New York City? Is that sacred ground now? Hell no! Within a few short years of September 11th, it’s back to being top-dollar real estate! Is that the kind of glory you’re after? Because that’s all you’re going to get.”
Tahereh remained quiet. Sensing she was becoming intrigued, Chalk continued. “I’d hate for you to throw away what we have. I like your style. Your guts. You’re hot as hell, and I’m digging your chili. You’re a chick running an Islamist terror cell for Christ’s sake! Who has bigger balls than you, except for me? I’m saying we could be good together.
“I’m also saying that device is not a one-shot deal. It’s perpetual leverage! Set it off, and it’s just a blip on the EKG of human history. Instead, let’s threaten to set it off over and over and over and over again! I know just the short-hairs we can yank to make this threat truly credible. Play it my way, and you’ve got the world eating out of your hand not once, but dozens of times.”
Tahereh inquired, “Exactly how crazy are you?”
“I am not crazy! Sure, I’ve been known to drop acid socially now and then, but the fact is I’m bored! I want to put the fun back in dysfunction. I’m not a kid anymore. Been in this biz for a long time. I’m ready for a change. For some real excitement. This device? Call it a starter bomb. Keep it for us. Screw your boss mullahs. They’d sooner stone you as thank you for everything you’ve done so far. So instead, be a little more enterprising on our behalf. Think of the money we could make, and what we could do with it!
“Use that stinker a little differently than you planned, and you won’t have knuckleheads in Spain strapping C-4 to their chests. Hell, you’ll have the resources to set up bomb production lines that would put Henry Ford to shame, but not for plain-Jane, hum-drum dirties. You can make nukes! Real whiz-bangs you can really set off. I’m talking about serious mega-tonnage, sweetie. Do like I say, and you can trade a dirty bomb’s puny Geiger counter Rice Krispies crackle for a real mushroom cloud, with a genuine shock wave roaring across the countryside roasting and flattening everything in its path.”
Chalk’s voice rose with passion. He realized the lack of his medication was making him rant like a 42nd Street zealot, but he didn’t care. “It’ll be like the 1950s all over again. Above-ground detonations! Air bursts! The nuclear winter of our discontent. Total Omega Man! Soylent Green! Planet of the Apes! ‘You maniacs! You blew it up!’”
Tahereh was speechless.
Chalk wound into a raving climax. “Baby! Think of it! And you and I running the whole damn show. Mark my words. If what we achieve is ever forgotten, it’s because we haven’t left a single human being alive to remember. Now that, my little chickadee, is what you call terror.”
The mad chief went on, hoping he was playing Tahereh’s song. “Or do it your way. Temporarily spike the local cancer rates someplace. Oh, and you will also create yet another opportunity for the next Winedark, Halliburton, or Bechtel to swing in and suck up some no-bid government contracts. Honey, you will have helped Western running-dog capitalism more than hurt it. But hey, you go ahead. I’ll see you off with a tear in my eye and a fervent hope that we might do business again someday in the future, inshallah. You stick with me, cupcake, and I swear there is nothing we can’t achieve. The world will bow down before us, even as it dies.”
Tahereh had one brief response. “What about him?” She nodded toward Slagget topside at the helm.
Chalk leaned in, dropped his voice, and let his lips tickle Tahereh’s ear. “A foot soldier. Nothing more. Expendable, I assure you.”
Whether she was buying time, or buying in, Chalk thought she was a vicious little bitch. He might, just might, be in love.
Tahereh nodded, and said, “Then tonight, you prove it. Expend him and you can count on me.”
All Chalk said was, “Done and done.” Not even a decent pause for the appearance of moral and ethical deliberation. Chalk knew what he wanted. And with that, a death warrant had been drawn up and signed.
Chalk should have been happy with his new ally, but an ancient enemy still had him surrounded. There was a change in the Chesapeake itself. The waves were not as big now. The wind was not as strong. Somehow, this dying storm was a more chilling harbinger of doom than a Fujita Force 5 tornado touching down in his back pocket. World dominion lay within his grasp, yet he still had to reckon with a gang of Islanders who simply did not understand fear.
CHAPTER 47
They cruised up the west side of Smith Island in Wade Joyce’s big fiberglass deadrise, which was christened the Varina Davis in honor of the First Lady of the Confederacy. The big market guns, sneakboats, and sinkboxes were left at home. It was not time for them yet.
Ben sensed that half the Councilmen politely concealed their surprise that he was the architect of their strategy. The other half believed it was too complicated to pull off. Everyone, Ben included, knew that even the best battle plans lasted only until first contact with the enemy. After that, anything could happen. Only educated guesses on Chalk’s next moves, coupled with the Islanders’ impressionistic sense of discipline, would make the outcome anything more than a crapshoot, especially if Chalk was telling the truth about Ben’s mother.
Dyze had thrown in solidly behind Ben’s plan. He said they could make a right good jag of it. Ben remained unsure whether Dyze’s support was based on respect, or because Ben and Ellis were still the only ones who knew precisely where the gold lay. Regardless, the Council doubters followed Dyze’s lead. The Monday-morning tacticians did likewise. Ben and Ellis would get the true answer as soon as the first shovel bit into Deep Banks Island.
With Dyze’s blessing upon Ben, everyone settled down for the moment. It was possible they’d meet the fonny boys that very afternoon. With raffish fun, hard work, and bloodshed ahead, they all relished the bracing chill of the spray-damped air.
As they neared Deep Banks Island, Tom Fox squinted into the dim stormlight. Fox said, “I do believe that’s Hiram’s deadrise. Abaft at ten o’clock.”
Dyze smiled. Patted Ben on the back. “Ye got them boys figured like they’s a Dick and Jane.”
Ben said, “Maybe, but we still have to see Spot run the right way.”
The others stared hard over the transom through the dark afternoon. Ben and Ellis, their snipers’ eyes as sharp as Tom Fox’s, quickly picked the gray boat out of the gray waves astern.
Ben said, “Least they haven’t sunk her yet.”
“Nor run her ashore,” said Ellis.
Ben asked Fox, “What’s the headcount? I make it three.”
Fox paused. “Looks to be two. No, I got three for sure. Might be somebody below we can’t see. And they got one boat in tow. An inflatable, by the look.”
Ben told Fox, “Keep them in sight. Might be a woman aboard. One of us.”