Having the answer was small consolation.
Chapter Fifty-four
Hillwood
4155 Linnean Avenue
Washington, D.C.
0801 EDT
Them cars was no presidential caravan; Shirlee could see that. Two District police cars 'n, a black SUV with blue lights behind the grille. 'Bout the time Shirlee made that determination, the mens in the suits was listenin' to their earpieces. She couldn't hear them, of course, but their hands went up to the little devices like touchin' the things would make them louder.
"Say again?" one of the mens said, his forehead wrinkled like he was hearing some sorta foreign language.
At the same time, the cars sqealed to a stop and men both in uniforms and suits came pourin' out like they was on fire. Shirlee was pretty sure she had enough doughnuts an' pastries, but these mans weren' interested in breakfast. Instead, two or three of 'em were carryin' guns an' the rest of 'em shovels.
Shovels?
Like they gonna garden?
Now?
Sho' 'nuff, while the mens with th' guns were lookin' 'round like they 'spected some kinda trouble, the others were digging at them ugly little plants jus' outside the dinin' room.
Then things got crazy.
One of them men who'd watched the plantings all week come screamin' outta the house, waiving this long, curved knife. He not be too smart, tryin' to cut the man with the gun, who shot him right there.
'Bout that time two more Russians-or whoever they was, ones been in and out the kitchen all mornin'-they pulled guns outta the drawers of the sideboard where Shirlee guessed they done hid 'em sometime in the las' few days. The two mens with the things in they ears, they got no guns, 'cause nobody 'sposed to have weapons on 'em for this conference. Still, they rush the mens with guns. There be two, three shots, so loud in the room Shirlee's ears ringin' and she stone-deaf. An' one o' the mens in suits, lyin' on the floor bleedin' bad.
The other Russian, he swing his gun around at Shirlee and shot. First she just feel a burn in her shoulder. Mutha-fucker done put a hole in her clean, starched uniform, one she done spent half the night ironin'!
Then it hurt. Oh, shit, did it hurt!
That same dude, he turn toward the other man in the suit, gonna shoot him, too.
Even months later, Shirlee was unclear exactly what happened next. She thought she remembered reaching with her good arm for the big coffee urn, the one she couldn't hardly lift with both hands. She definitely remembered the clunking sound of that big pot hitting the Russian's head. She remembered thinking that she was in the shit now, coffee an' blood all over the rug along with one very unconscious Russian.
Then it all went black.
Next thing Shirlee knew, she was still in the dining room but she was strapped to a stretcher. A woman in a pale blue uniform with ems stitched on the pocket was standing over her, holding some kind of bottle attached to Shirlee's arm. Two men in their light blue uniforms were lifting the stretcher.
Shirlee tried to sit up but couldn't, either 'cause of the straps or because she jus' didn' have the strength.
"Lemme outta here," she croaked, surprised she could manage no more than a whisper. "Who gonna take care my kids tonight, I ain't home?"
"I will," said someone behind her. She thought she recognized the man's voice from somewhere but couldn't quite place where.
"Who that?" she asked.
A man in a suit stepped into view. The light from outside was in her eyes, so she saw no more than a silhouette. "Your children will be my personal guests until you're up and around."
He moved and Shirlee thought she was seein' things, sure. She was lookin' into the smilin' face of the president hisse'f.
"You're a very brave woman, Ms. Atkins. Without you, there'd be some children without their fathers tonight."
It was then that Shirlee realized it hadn't been the sun bliridin' her; it was lights around a man holdin' a camera. Shit! Her one time on TV an' she gotta look like hell.
The president leaned over, taking one of her hands in both of his. "Your children will be well cared for. It's been since when, Jimmy Carter, that there was a small child in the White House? When you get out of the hospital, You'll come for dinner?"
At first Shirlee thought he wanted her to serve dinner. Then she realized he meant as a guest.
She'd be goin' to eat with th' Man hisse'f! Weren't that sumthin'? He wasn't foolin' her none. She knew he'd have his pitcher taken with her, meybbe get a few more black votes, but she didn' much care. Her babies were gonna have somethin' they'd talk 'bout rest of they lives.
And Shirlee?
Well, the folks down to the projects where she used to live would see she really had gone a long way, wouldn't they?
Chapter Fifty-five
Silanus, Sardinia
1521 hours
Stripped of their weapons, Jason and Adrian had been shoved into chairs, where they were watched by two of the men standing just out of reach. Maria was allowed slightly more freedom, although confined to the room. Jason had the impression they were waiting for something. His only guess was nightfall, when Eglov would kill them and leave in the dark, unseen by any passing neighbors.
"I am hungry," Maria announced. "Anyone besides me want something to eat?"
If food wasn't the last thing on Jason's mind, it was close to it.
Eglov nodded for one of the rifle-carrying men to accompany her to the kitchen. "Enjoy your meal; eat well." He smiled cruelly. "It will be your last opportunity."
"Tell me," Jason asked, "how did you get out of the tunnel at Baia?"
"Do you think there was but one entrance, Mr. Peters?" Eglov pointed to the still-unfinished condensed version of Eno's book, faceup on the couch where Jason had tossed it minutes ago. "Even your magazine there recounts a final exit out of the Netherworld before the descent into Hades."
More to start a conversation than out of curiosity, Jason asked, "Why go to the trouble of taking that ethylene rock all the way to the United States to be set off by the self- igniting bushes? Wouldn't it have been easier just to carry a bomb into the conference?"
The Russian frowned. "This was special. Think of the reaction of your countrymen when your president and his fellow despoilers of the Earth have their throats cut while the true friends of the Earth live. The knives for the job will be dropped into the special hiding places my men have created in the last few weeks, the same places in which they will rest until needed. No one other than a designated pair will even know what happened. No weapons, no one enters or leaves the room. Only the Breath of the Earth. It will be seen to the true lovers of our world as a miracle, the poor Earth striking back on its own."
It would be a display of insanity, Jason thought, but he said, "Why kill the president, anyway? He was willing to grant you and your radical environmentalist pals some sort of a pardon for the crimes they committed."
Eglov spit. "Forgiveness is not his to give; it is the Earth's alone! Pardon by the great rapist of the resources that belong to all?" He spit again. "As long as your country and the other greedy industrialist democracies exist, there will be no peace, no peace until their sins are paid for and the planet allowed to rest without being ravaged."
A second Dark Ages. Comforting thought.
It was difficult to carry on a conversation with someone who spoke in slogans. Still, it was important to conduct a discourse, anything to take the fanatic's mind off killing them, if even for a moment. Jason wondered what would happen if Eglov found out the details of the gas plot had already been given to Washington.
"Exactly how will you prevent your own people at the conference from falling asleep?"
Eglov smiled, proud of his ingenuity. "Two will have medicinal oxygen tanks for lung disease. They will do the Earth's work while the others are unconscious."