“General Zappa’s father,” said a voice, “died of the wild card.”
Cyclone was startled. Modular Man, however, had seen von Herzenhagen’s quiet approach on his radar.
Cyclone nodded. “So he’s got a grudge, then?”
“That might be inferred,” said von Herzenhagen. “Though of course the general has not confided in me.” His face held an expression of polite attention.
“Modular Man? May I see you?”
The speaker was Zappa, calling from home plate. Modular Man excused himself and followed Zappa and Vidkunssen down a tunnel under the old grandstand and then into the owners’ offices. The elegant affect of the plush, tasteful furnishings, the soft carpet, and the rows of pennants and trophies was subverted by military accretions: maps and photographs, communications apparatus, metal shelves holding equipment. A short, powerfully built, red-faced man in the uniform of a lieutenant colonel was scowling at a young officer.
“I did not find that salute sufficient, soldier!” he said. His rural Deep South accent was thick as molasses. “I found it careless and negligent in the extreme! I will ask you to repeat it!”
“Knock it off, cracker,” Zappa said. “Come with me.”
“I’m still waiting for my salute.”
The young officer clenched his teeth and raised his hand in a picture-perfect salute. The red-faced man grinned and returned it.
I love this chicken-shit Army.” he said.
Zappa led the colonel and Modular Man into an inner office, then sat with relief behind the owner’s massive desk. There was a thin civilian already in the room. He wore black-rimmed glasses and a necklace of what seemed to be baby teeth. He carried a miniature poodle whose hair was dyed a pastel blue.
“Big Swede,” Zappa said, “get me some mineral water. Anybody else want anything?”
“Pepsi.” said the civilian.
“Bourbon on the rocks,” said the colonel.
Vidkunssen went to the wet bar and opened a commodious refrigerator. It seemed well stocked.
Zappa waved a hand. “Pepsi over there is Horace Katzenback,” he said. “I met him in the Nam, when he was with AID. He’s my adviser.”
“Token intellectual is what he means,” said Katzenback.
Modular Man shook his hand.
“Bourbon on the rocks over there is Sgt. Goode, my stepfather,” Zappa said.
Modular Man looked at the colonel’s uniform. “Sergeant?” he said.
“U.S.M.C.,” said Goode. “Retired.”
“I got him a light colonel’s commission,” Zappa said. “If I’m going to have to make a landing on an island, I want to have someone around who was in the first wave on Tarawa and Saipan.”
Goode grinned. “I get to make them all salute me. It’s quite a change.” He looked at Zappa. “Even if I am in the wrong fucking branch of service.”
Vidkunssen handed everyone their drinks. Zappa took a sip of mineral water, then said, “Let’s have some music.”
Vidkunssen punched a button on the boom box and
Arab music began to wail. Zappa grinned. “The opposition might be listening,' he said. “Or our own side. You never know.” He looked up at Katzenback. “You’ve had time to poke around. What do you make of Phillip Baron von Herzenhagen?”
The thin man twitched a smile. “Spook City. I was around enough of them in the Nam. I’ve got the smell of them by now.”
“Von Herzenhagen himself.”
“The people around him sure as hell are. The baron himself” He shrugged. “Hard to say.”
“We’re ordered to turn any prisoners over to his unit.”
“Well, he’s a bigwig with the Red Cross, right? So that sort of makes sense. But those guys around him sure as hell aren’t Clara Barton.”
Zappa gnawed his mustache. “I don’t like the vibe. I was with von Herzenhagen when he interrogated Tachyon, and he damn near tore the girl apart. He’s either a pro, or he’s crazy.”
“I don’t like the vibe either.”
“But the fewer jumpers my men have to handle themselves, the better.”
“My guess is that a whole lot of our prisoners are gonna end up working for the spooks.”
“If we take any prisoners, that is. If they don’t give up, I don’t hold out a lot of hope.” Zappa leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk. “Anybody here think they’re going to listen to Hartmann’s appeal?”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Katzenback finally spoke. “We’ll probably get a few of the more unmotivated types. The ones that wouldn’t give us much grief anyway.’
Zappa looked up at Modular Man. "I’ve assessed the previous assaults,” he said, “both in light of my own experience and that of” he nodded at Goode “the Georgia cracker here. I have no intention of repeating previous mistakes. In the past the goal of the military was to retrieve a national monument without damaging it in any significant way.”
“That led to a lot of restraint,” Goode said. “And a lot of dead marines.”
“But now.” Zappa continued, “the national monument simply doesn’t exist anymore, and nobody in their right mind wants to protect that freaky castle. I have the authority to use any means necessary to deal with this emergency.”
“The island’s too fucking small for a landing.” Goode added. “You can’t put enough soldiers in, and you can’t use heavy weapons for fear you’ll hit your own people. And that outer wall well, if we got people on it, we could use them as artillery spotters. But that’s about all.”
“Therefore,” Zappa said, “I’m not putting any more troops on that island until resistance is over. Not until I can get my men onto the Rox by walking there on a bridge of spent shell casings.
“They say that Bloat can change physical reality. My bet is that he’s not going to be able to change the five hundred artillery and mortar shells I can drop on the Rox every single minute. Or what the Air Force can do to him. Or Tomahawk missiles dropping cluster bombs. One lousy fuel-air bomb will suck the oxygen right out of the defenders’ lungs and pulverize their fortifications at the same time. So that means they surrender before sunset or get bombed until there’s no one left.”
There was another long moment of silence. This was the man, Modular Man thought, who Cyclone thought liked jokers too much.
Zappa looked up at Modular Man. “If I commit the forces available to me, there’s going to be a massacre that will make Wounded Knee look like a cotillion. I’d rather not be the man who goes down in history as giving that kind of order.”
“Shit.” said Katzenback. “A lot of them are just kids. Governor Bloat is just a kid.”
"He’s a kid who can change physical reality,” Goode said. “A kid who killed a lot of police and marines.”
“He’s dangerous. I fought alongside the Joker Brigade know how formidable jokers can be when they’re properly motivated, and when they’ve got a chance to come to grips. I’m not going to come to grips. I don’t want to hold back when the time comes — that’ll just get more of my own men killed. So my men are just going to sit someplace safe and bomb that place till it sinks into New York harbor.
“I want them to surrender before I have to give any kind of final order. There are still phone lines to and from the Rox. They haven’t been cut because our intelligence people figure they can learn things listening in. So the leaflets I’m going to ask you to drop over there will contain a toll-free number that Bloat and his buddies can call when they want to surrender. It’s 1-800-I-GIVE-UP.” Zappa smiled. “My little contribution to communications history. We’ve got leaflets printed up, but they don’t mention the deadline, so we’re having more printed off now. Once they’re finished, I’ll ask you to fly over there.”