“That’s where it all comes together. The Caliph wants Turkey; Iran and Iraq both have old scores to settle there. Russia has a chip on its shoulder from losing the old Soviet empire, and the generals covet the Dard-enelles.” Martell sighed loudly, and shook his head. “They’re going to have a special grudge against the Islamic Federation, soon. We project 85 percent confidence that Kazakhstan will join the IF within three weeks.”
“Kazakhstan!” Siemens blood felt as if it was curdling in his veins. “They’ve still got SS-10s, with megaton MIRVs. Hell, they could hit the US with those buggers.”
“Sir!” The signals officer was waving. “General Siemens, you better listen to this.”
Siemens leaped around the sofa, slapping a headphone to his ear. The gravely voice sounded like Pete deSilva, Pryor s campaign manager. “…All night, damn it. We gave you the numbers; fill in the ballots and count ’em up.”
“But, Pete, a lot of boxes are still out. Specially out west, where Siemens is pulling heavy margins.”
“It’s damn late to be improvising, Williams. I’ll talk to the Senator. Give me your number, I’ll call right back.”
Siemens waved urgently at Martell, who nodded, his hands again on the keyboard. It was a stroke of luck, getting the phone number; they could cross-check the location in moments.
DeSilva hung up after that, and Siemens handed the headset to the Guardsman. He could feel the victory slipping away, votes leaking out like blood from a shrapnel wound. He turned to Martell. “We’ve got a problem, Stan.”
“No shit. There’s no margin to spare.” Martell had stopped keying, but his fingernails tapped an impatient tattoo on the table as he stared at the little screen. “Damn! He was calling from a church in Lake Jackson, 150 miles from here. Williams—that d be Dave Williams, a county commissioner.”
“The other Osprey’s still out back; get your butt over there.”
“Huh?” Martell jerked back in his chair. “We need an election judge, somebody with authority. They wouldn’t know me from Adam.”
“The problem is they would know me—wouldn’t let me in the door. Nobody else here could talk politics convincingly, and fetching someone from Austin or Dallas will take an hour we can’t spare. I’ll have a taxi meet you at the county airport.”
“Hell, you’re the hero, I’m just a thinker.”
“You’re too goddamned hard on yourself. Sure, you fight with ideas and numbers, you sit back and pull strings; that doesn’t mean you can’t act on your own. This time, you have to.”
“How? What do I do?”
“Get the hell over there: lie, bluff, threaten, anything to slow them down, buy us some time. Do it; I’ll back you up quick as I can.” And if you can’t get over your stage fright about finally having to do something, thought Siemens, you’re never going to survive the real challenges after the election. “Take the SAR beacon from the Osprey, trigger it when you find the church. If I can dig up an election judge at this hour, I’ll fly him in.”
Martell shoved the old ID card in Dave Williams’s face. “This is identification. You expect an election judge to carry testimonials?” He’d been too cold and miserable to bluster well at first, but he was plenty mad now. “You’ve wasted enough of my time; let me in to do my job.”
“Big deal.” Williams batted his hand aside. “A picture ID, says ‘State of Texas.’ I got a driver’s license more official than that. I thought you were maybe a reporter, but looks like you’re just a pest. Get out of here, or I’ll call the cops.”
“You do that, Mr. Williams.” This arrogant SOB had the local law solidly in his pocket, but Martell was past worrying about jail. “The police will verify my credentials quickly, as you could have thirty minutes ago if you’d let me use your phone.”
Frustration and anger battled fatigue in his veins, and the icy wind clawed at his lightweight jacket. At least Martell could hope that Williams had stopped the forging until the intruder was dealt with. Williams was acting cocky, now. He’d be back stuffing the ballot box before long, even if Martell stayed out here on the church steps freezing his butt. Maybe it would be worthwhile slugging this bastard; the commotion might buy a little more delay. Where the hell was Siemens’s cavalry?
“You want to make a call, there’s a pay phone down the road,” Williams said. “Better yet, keep on driving. That might keep you out of the hoosegow.” A distant rumble followed his words. Thunder? No, the sky was clear, sparkling with stars.
“Mr. Williams, you’re making a serious mistake.” The rumble got louder; Williams glanced around, scowling.
“The only mistake I’m making is wasting my time with you. I’m sure one of the boys has got a deer rifle in his truck—you better move along before we get aggravated.”
“You really should deal with me.” Yes! A cluster of red lights moved against the stars. Siemens must have dug up a real election judge, sent the Osprey after him. “Higher authorities may take offense at your chasing me off.”
“Get moving! Or you’ll be dealing with ‘higher authorities’—What the hell is that?”
The sound swelled, receded for a moment, then rose to a throaty roar. A shrill turbine whine overlay the deep growl of the blades. The shifting constellation of lights confused Martell; it was huge, much too big for an Osprey.
A powerful searchlight snapped on, groped around the parking lot. The beam licked at the cars, danced, followed the sidewalk to pin them in its brilliance. The sound grew to bone rattling intensity. Another beam stabbed down, and the image suddenly made sense. It wasn’t one large aircraft up there, it was four or five Ospreys; hell, maybe eight or ten.
The lead ship descended toward the parking lot. Another Osprey kept close behind, above and to the side in a covering position. Both turned on service lights as well, highlighting their evil, insectoid shape, as well as the miniguns and rockets prominently aimed at the church.
“Jesus H. Christ,” cried Williams, his shrill voice hardly audible above the tumult. Martell wanted to duck under the hedge himself, and these guys were on his side. The Ospreys were troop carriers, not gunships, but their weapons could shred the wood-frame church into kindling. Emotions churned in his stomach, knotting with pain. This was the rescue he’d hoped for… and these were the, ruthless warriors he was setting loose on the world.
The nearest Osprey landed and its props began to slow. The hatch opened and a figure stepped out. Hard to see against the glare of the spotlights still aimed at the church. Someone in a bathrobe? No, that was Siemens’s smoking jacket! But the mane of white hair—
Martell turned to Williams, forcing his expression to glee. “Looks like my boss. Have you met the Secretary of State?”
Williams was still struggling for words when Secretary Pauli reached the steps. “Dave Williams, as I live and breathe! I haven’t seen you in a hound’s age. Hello, Stan. Dave, I sure hate to bother you, I know you’d like nothing better than to get this over with and go home to bed. There’ve been some nasty things said, though. This is a close election, and we can’t let even the hint of impropriety taint the results.” He had his arm on Williams’s shoulder, herding him to the door of the church. “I know there’s nothing to these allegations, and I don’t want your reputation or Pryor’s sullied by such nonsense, so I felt I had to come down here myself, and serve as a witness. I’ll be right there with you, and I can look the world in the eye and damn such lies for the calumnies they are. Let’s get in there and count those ballots, shall we?”