Mortimer frowned, tried to hide it by sticking the cigar in his mouth.
“You don’t seem convinced.”
“It’s just hard to believe the best way to help people is not to help people.”
“What political persuasion were you?” Armageddon asked. “Back when such things mattered, I mean.”
“I was a registered independent. My wife was a Democrat.”
“Ah, one of the independents.” Armageddon grinned. “The luxury of blaming everyone but taking no responsibility. Forgive my little jibe. The point is that none of that matters now. Nobody’s pandering for anyone’s vote anymore. There is only what works and what doesn’t work, and the difference is life and death.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Mortimer said. “This is all still new to me.”
“Well, it’s a beautiful day,” Armageddon said. “Let’s drink our drinks and smoke our cigars and I promise not to bore you with any more of my amateur babble on politics and economics.”
“It’s not boring,” Mortimer said. “But you are keeping me in suspense. You said we might be useful to each other.”
“You’ve heard of this Red Czar, I’m sure,” Armageddon said.
“Leader of the Red Stripes. I saw some of his handiwork in Cleveland.”
“That’s the man,” Armageddon said. “Little is known about him. What we’d like you to do is infiltrate his organization, find out what he’s planning.” Armageddon took a long, slow drink of his iced Jack, smacked his lips. “And if you can get close enough, we’d like you to kill him.”
XXXVII
Mortimer sat in stunned silence for nearly a full minute before saying, “Is that all? Anything else? Would you like the moon a little bit to the left?”
“I’m serious,” Armageddon said. “You’re uniquely qualified for the task.”
“First, no way,” Mortimer said flatly. “Second, how the hell do you figure I’m uniquely qualified? And third, no fucking way.”
“Don’t be hasty. Let’s consider this from all angles.”
“Don’t you have people for this?” Mortimer asked.
“We’ve already lost six good men,” came a deep voice from behind them.
Mortimer started, turned his head to look at the newcomer. A tall, broad-shouldered black man in his middle forties, fit, but with patches of gray in his close-cropped hair, hard features and piercing alert eyes of light brown. He wore an olive-green dress army uniform, but of what army Mortimer could only guess. He wore a star on each shoulder, but the pink Joey’s mushroom cloud on each lapel.
“We’ve sent spies and assassins,” the black man said. “None have returned. One was a navy SEAL and another a former FBI agent.”
“Ah. Malcolm, just in time,” Armageddon said. “Please join us.”
Malcolm approached the table, bent suddenly and kissed Armageddon on the lips. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Don’t give it a second thought.” Armageddon gave Malcolm’s arm a gentle squeeze. “We’re having a drink if you want something.”
Malcolm shook his head and pulled up a chair. “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”
“Don’t start.”
Malcolm turned his attention back to Mortimer. “I briefed those men myself and sent them into enemy territory. I feel responsible for them. We only found out later that there are spies among us, men sending the details of our every move back to the Czar.”
Mortimer sat up, cleared his throat and tried to look apologetic. “Look, I’m flattered you thought of me, but if trained men couldn’t-”
Armageddon held up a placating hand. “Let General Malcolm explain. Then you’ll understand.”
“For months now, we’ve had reason to believe the Czar is brewing something pretty big,” Malcolm said. “And we’ve been brewing our own little rebuttal. We received word that a refinery has begun production again just outside the malaria zone of New Orleans. Think about what I’m saying.”
“Gasoline.” Mortimer remembered all the dead cars along the interstate, the uncomfortable ride in the mule wagon. A plentiful supply of gasoline would change the world. Again.
“With a steady supply of gasoline, the sky’s the limit for what the Czar can throw at us.”
“And it’s not just what he can do to us in a military way,” put in Armageddon. “Shipping will change, the flow of goods and services.”
Mortimer said, “That would be good, wouldn’t it?”
“If he would play along, it would be very good,” Armageddon said. “I would gladly pay Armageddon dollars for gasoline. Others would trade too. If he were smart that’s what he’d do. But tyrants never think like that. No, his Red Stripes have already shown they’d rather take what they need than trade for it. Fueled with unlimited gasoline, they’ll plow through here like locusts and leave nothing, destroying everything we’ve worked so hard to build.”
“Why would he do that? It doesn’t make sense.”
