Culver studied the small piece of technology, wondering how long it would be before the appearance of such things, and the progress they spoke of, became commonplace again. Possibly never, if he didn’t win the confrontation he knew was coming. He could feel it down in his meat.
He was confident of the alliance he was building up here in the city. In his quiet moments, he was even proud of what he’d achieved since arriving. But he knew it wasn’t enough.
Jed Culver understood humans. He understood their baser, uglier nature, the way that fear could rob them of reason and send them rushing over the cliff like lemmings. Look around the world and you had proof enough of that. But he also knew that if led well, if led with some wisdom and just a modicum of courage, a frightened horde could rise above itself and act with outward calm and considered grace that completely belied any inward turmoil. But they had to be led, and he was not a leader. He had come here knowing he would need to find one, and fast.
He opened up the contacts file on the smart phone again and, yes, the name and number he had asked for were there. He did not dial, however. It was time to make contact, but he would have to do so personally.
Everything he had heard about this man, everything he’d learned since flying into Seattle, had only confirmed Jed’s suspicion that he was the one. But because of that, he was not the sort of man to be played like Henry Cesky.
This one would have to be given the opportunity to make a choice. A real choice for good or ill. Culver was certain he’d choose wisely.
The lawyer put the phone away and headed downstairs.
38
MV AUSSIE RULES, ROBINSON CRUSOE ISLAND,
SOUTH PACIFIC OCEAN
‘I think we’re probably okay to go,’ said Jules.
Fifi agreed, and triggered a burst from the PKM. ‘Yeah. I think you’re probably right.’
Tracer rounds zipped away over the heads of the islanders, forcing them all to duck below the gunwales of the small fleet of lobster boats heading towards the Rules. Jules hit the press-to-talk button on her headset.
‘Mr Lee, are those contacts still closing?’
The old pirate’s voice came crackling back to her. ‘They are still on a course to intercept us, Miss Julianne. In forty-two minutes, if we do not leave now.’
‘Okay, Lee. Everyone’s aboard. Let’s get the hell out of here.’
Jules felt the deck thrum under her feet as the engines growled into life and she reached out for the handrail to steady herself against the inertia. The bow lifted appreciably as they thrust forward, adding their speed to the bluster of a freshening nor’-wester. Jules and Fifi crouched instinctively as a few puffs of white smoke from the decks of the lobster boats told of a couple of ancient shotguns being fired in their direction. Fifi responded with another snarling burst from the heavy Russian machine-gun. Again, she aimed well over the mast of the lead boat, and again their pursuers all ducked. It would’ve been a ridiculous pantomime were it not so serious. The islanders meant to delay them long enough for those radar contacts to close with them.
Jules was now certain they were being chased by one of the Peruvian syndicates.
She pressed the talk button on her headset again. ‘Sergeant Shah. Have your men stand ready please. I don’t think they’ll be needed, but best we don’t try our luck.’
‘They are in position, Miss Julianne. The passengers have been secured below by Pieraro. He will join us on the boat deck.’
Jules thanked him. She didn’t bother looking for the small squad of mercenaries. The super-yacht was too large and they were mostly arrayed on the lower decks towards the stern, giving them a clear field of fire over the heads of the lobster boats as the Rules came around.
Fifi safed her weapon when she could no longer draw a bead on the little wooden tubs. ‘You want me to head on down there, Julesy?’ she asked, referring to the Gurkhas’ position below-deck. ‘Be a shame to waste the ammo, though, if we’re not trying to hit them. This 7.62 Eastern Bloc standard doesn’t grow on trees, you know.’
Julianne shook her head, trailing a regretful look back over the retreating vista of the Juan Fernandez Archipelago, the trio of islands located some four hundred miles west of the Chilean city of Valparaiso. ‘No, save your fire, Fifi. We’ll need it soon. And those guys are no real threat.’
Behind the tiny, bobbing armada of trawlers, the soaring peaks of the main landmass, Robinson Crusoe Island, knifed into a slate-grey sky above the village of San Juan Bautista. The lonely settlement, the only one anywhere in the archipelago, clung to the water’s edge at the mouth of a steep valley that funnelled bitter winds down into Cumberland Bay. The uppermost reaches of the jagged volcanic mountains were lost inside a mass of scudding clouds. The gale roaring down on them had teeth and blew stinging salt spray into her face, but in spite of all that, it had been a great port in which to lay up and recover from the mad dash away from Acapulco and down the coast. Even more importantly, it had been about as far removed from the rest of the world as you could be, without pulling on your thermal knickers for a trip to the Antarctic. That had been the deal clincher after the Middle East went up. None of her passengers or crew had objected to the change in course. None of them wanted to be anywhere near a big city that might disappear inside a mushroom cloud.
Robinson Crusoe Island, a solitary fleck of volcanic rock in the vastness of the southern oceans, seemed a perfect bolthole. Too bad it hadn’t worked out a little longer.
As the boat built up to its maximum speed, the muted pop of gunfire from astern was lost in the roar of the wind. Jules and Fifi remained on the flying bridge for the moment, wrapped in oilskin coats, taking in the view as they hastily exited Cumberland Bay.
‘I can’t believe they narked us out,’ said Fifi sadly ‘After they gave us those lobsters and everything!’
Jules shrugged. ‘Lobsters they have an abundance of, Fifi. But diesel, food, medicine – those they’re running out of fast. Shah said the boat from Valparaiso hasn’t been for two months. I don’t think it’ll be coming again.’
‘So what, dropping a dime on us to the fucking syndicates is their idea of self-help?’
The Englishwoman lifted her hands in a gesture of resigned acceptance. ‘What are they gonna do, Fi? We weren’t part of the tribe. We’re just a big shiny boat full of stuff they need and can’t get anymore. These people are doomed and our time with them was up. Get over it, hon.’
Fifi looked like she wanted to argue, but eventually just deflated.
As much as San Juan Bautista had been an excellent place to sit out Armageddon, truth be told, it also creeped Jules out. It probably would’ve creeped her out even before the end of the world. It was a small, wind-ravaged speck of burnt rock out in the middle of a howling ocean. She found the villagers strange and remote, and San Juan itself was shrouded in a forgotten air that she was certain predated the recent catastrophe.