Hugo ran out of breath, and the room was silent.
“And you ate,” Senator Jellison said.
“I ate.”
“You didn’t really think you could stay here after that?” George Christopher spoke almost in kindness.
Harry was looking at the women. Eileen was composed, but Harry had not seen her eyes meet Hugo’s, not once. But the Soviet kosmonaut was staring at him in naked horror. Harry remembered the way his sister had stared at an enormous spider crawling in the bathtub she had been about to fill. The woman’s eyes were wide, and she seemed to be forcing herself back in her chair. She couldn’t turn away.
“Now, notice! The typical capitalist shows certain predictable tendencies under stress, of which murder and cannibalism—”
Harry hoped to God nobody looked his way. Nobody else was fighting an urge to laugh. And if it had been Harry up there in front of the table, Harry would have been under the table.
“No. Not really,” said Hugo, “not here, not anywhere. That’s their power. Once you’ve eaten human meat, where can you go? You’re one of them then, with the crazy preacher to tell you it’s all right. You’re an Angel of the Lord. You can do no wrong, except if you run, and then you’re an apostate.” His voice dropped and became toneless. “It’s their power, and it works. Cheryl wouldn’t leave with me. She was going to turn me in. She was, she really was. So I killed her. It was the only way I could get out, and I killed her, and… and I wish I hadn’t had to, but what could I do?”
“How long were you with them?” Al Hardy said.
“About three weeks. We had another war, and we got more prisoners. It went the same as before, only now I was outside the wire carrying a pistol and shouting hallelujah. We moved north again, toward Mr. Wilson’s place, and when I saw Harry I didn’t dare speak to him. But when they let him go—”
“They let you go?” Senator Jellison said.
“Yes, sir. But they took my truck,” Harry said. “I have a message for you, from the Angels of the Lord. That’s why they let me go. When they caught me I told them I was your mailman, that I was under your protection, and I showed them that letter you wrote. They laughed, but then Jerry Owen said—”
“Owen again,” Christopher said. “I knew we should have killed him.”
“No, sir, I don’t think you should have,” Harry said. “If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t be here.”
“So Owen is one of the leaders,” Al Hardy said.
Harry shrugged. “They listen to him. But he doesn’t give any orders, or at least I never saw him give any. But he said I’d be the perfect one to bring you a message, and I’ve got it here. I’d got a couple of miles along the road when Hugo caught up to me, and after he told me what it was like back there I thought you ought to hear that before you read the letter they sent.”
“Yes. You’ve done well, Harry,” Jellison said. “Well, George? It was on your orders that Beck was expelled.”
Christopher looked stunned by all that he’d heard. “Twenty-four hours? Let him stay overnight, and give him three meals fit for a man to eat.”
“I think we ought to read that message before we decide anything,” AI Hardy said. “And there’s a lot more information we need. Hugo, what’s their strength? You said a thousand. How good is that estimate?”
“It’s what Jerry Owen said Sergeant Hooker had told him. I think it’s about right. But they’ve got more. They’ve got Bakersfield. It isn’t organized yet, but they own it, and their people are sifting through what’s left of the city, looking for weapons. And recruits.”
“So there’s more than a thousand?”
“Yes, I think so, but maybe not all armed. And maybe not recruited all the way. They will be.”
“So they could possibly double that strength after they have an… initiation ceremony,” Hardy said. “We’re in trouble. You mentioned Sergeant Hooker. Who is he?”
Beck shrugged. “He’s as close to a leader as anyone they have. A big black Army man, Army uniform anyway. There are generals and like that, but Sergeant Hooker outranks them all. I didn’t see him much. He has his own tent, and when he goes anywhere they drive him in a car with plenty of bodyguards. And Armitage always talks polite to him, as polite as he ever is to anybody.”
“A black man,” George Christopher said. He looked around at Rick Delanty, who had sat silently during Beck’s story. Then he looked hurriedly away.
“There are other black leaders,” Beck said. “They spend a lot of time with Hooker. And you never say anything bad about blacks, or chicanos, or anybody else. First couple of days they just slap you for it, like if a black man says ‘honky’ or a white dude says ‘rigger,’ but if you don’t learn fast they figure you’re not really converted…”
“Don’t mind me,” Rick Delanty said. “I’ve got all the equality I ever wanted.”
Harvey Randall and Tim Hamner came into the room. They brought folding chairs from the library. Eileen went to Tim and whispered hurriedly, and everyone tried to ignore the growing horror on Hamner’s face. Alice Cox brought in lighted kerosene lamps. Their cheery yellow glow seemed out of place. “Shall I light a fire, Senator?” Alice asked.
“Please. Hugo, did you see their arsenal?”
“Yes, sir. There were a lot of guns. Machine guns, and some cannon, and mortars—”
“I need details,” Al Hardy said. “We all do, and things are getting busy around here. It might take more than one day to get all the useful information he has. Mr. Christopher, could you reconsider?”
Christopher looked as if he were going to be ill. “I don’t want him here. He can’t stay here.”
Hardy shrugged. “And the Governor? Hugo, what do you know about Lieutenant Governor Montross?”
“Nothing, except he’s there,” Hugo said. “He stays in officer country, and when he goes anywhere there’s a lot of bodyguards. Like Sergeant Hooker. The Governor never did talk to us, but we got messages in his name sometimes.”
“But who’s in control of this group?” Hardy demanded.
“I don’t know! I think it’s a committee. I never got to talk to the top bosses — mine was a black woman named Cassie, and she was big, and she was mean, and did she ever believe! The real bosses were Armitage, and Sergeant Hooker. The Governor, maybe. A black city man named Alim Nassor—”
“Alim Nassor? I know him,” Randall said. “We did an interview with him once. A natural leader. Very powerful in the Watts area.”
Eileen left Tim and went to kneel next to Randall. As she whispered, Harry watched with curiosity. Could a TV reporter be shocked? Yes. Definitely. And scared shitless, if Harry was any judge. He wasn’t the only one. Deke Wilson had been looking sicker and sicker. It wasn’t surprising that Deke’s territory had been smaller every time Harry went down there. And now the New Brotherhood was at Deke’s main area.
George looked disgusted. Finally he said, “I want to throw up every time I look at him. Senator, how much whiskey do you have left? I’ll trade you a pint of my cheap stuff for one stiff drink right now.”
“The trade isn’t needed,” Jellison said. “Eileen, would you bring a bottle, please? I think we could all use a drink. And I gather there’s more news. Harry, you mentioned a letter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Perhaps I should read it while we all have a drink.”
Harry got up and went to the Senator’s chair. He took an envelope from an inner pocket and gave it to Jellison. The Senator opened it carefully and took out several sheets of paper. They were handwritten by someone who’d used a broad-nib pen, someone with excellent handwriting. Harry wanted very badly to see what that letter said, but he went back to his seat.