charters out of Acapulco, which I've done. To drive an RV around the country having adventures with my dog, Sidney, and our mentor, a ninja master, which, I'll admit, I'm still working toward. And to work for the covert ops section of the CIA and save an ungrateful world on a regular basis, which I can now cross off my list.'
Julianne stood up and walked over to the edge of the skyscraper.
'Almost,' she corrected him. 'The CIA is now the NIA. And you don't actually work for them. Those crooked fucking spec-ops guys just requisitioned a helicopter by claiming you did. The actual agency is probably hunting you down as we speak. And you're not saving the world; you're chasing a fucking quid.'
'Close enough!' he said. 'Now let's get inside and have a look at that map.'
'In a minute,' she shot back.
Julianne simply wanted to savor the moment. They had passed through, or over, the worst of the fighting thanks to the intervention of the rangers, although mostly thanks to the quick-thinking avarice of that sneaky Pole. The flight had been a short hop but a useful one, carrying them over the heads of any number of villainous types who might have otherwise interfered with their passage. It would have been nice to have been dropped right at the doorstep of Rubin's apartment, but the Pole had explained he was already pushing things by getting them the lift on false pretenses. He had done as she had asked and gotten them that much closer. She had no doubt that if he survived the next few days, he would come looking for her, assuming she, too, survived and managed to retrieve the Rubin documents. And he was right. Once she had those papers, there would be no problem renegotiating the package with the businessman. Cutting in the rangers as silent partners was simply a cost of doing business in a market as chaotic and challenging as New York. She would see to it that they got their due reward.
But for now, she simply wanted to take a moment before leaping back into the fray.
The air on top of the skyscraper tasted remarkably clean. She had expected to smell the petrochemical reek of burning buildings and military ordnance, but a northerly wind had pushed the ash clouds and general stink of war down toward the bay and the Statue of Liberty, which was just visible beyond the western edge of the towering smoke column. From here, Jules felt as though she stood atop the whole world. The impossibly fast jet planes shrieking down from the heavens, the dark insectile shapes of the helicopters, they were all so far removed and so tiny as to be nearly abstract. Not real things of steel and fire, flown by men, but almost mythical enchantments, tiny airborne fascinators, toys. Gray warships as small as bathtub toys lobbed shells into the ruins, attempting to root out the hard cases. She shook her head.
'Sound, sound the clarion,' she said to herself as deadly orange petals of fire blossomed from the top floors of the Flatiron Building. 'Fill the fife! To all the sensual world proclaim…'
'What's that, Miss Julianne?' the Rhino asked as he drew up beside her, removing his helmet and rubbing his scalp.
'One crowded hour of glorious life,' she said softly, 'is worth an age without a name.'
'Huh,' grunted the Rhino. 'Well, shit, yeah. Can we go now?'
'You really don't have the soul of a poet, do you, Rhino?'
'No, ma'am,' he answered. 'Just the horn of an irascible, endangered pachyderm. And two spares on this excellent fucking helmet.'
34
New York Yusuf Mohammed had taken his first woman a few years after joining the Lord's Resistance Army. Before then he had been only a child and incapable of being with a woman in the way some of the older fighters so often were. But one day, not long after the Wave had swept over North America and brought chaos and murder to the rest of the world, Yusuf had taken his first living prize after Captain Kono's men had ambushed a small convoy carrying medical aid workers back from the wastelands of Egypt. He did not remember the experience fondly. The woman, a young French nurse, was not broken in spirit and fought him bitterly. Indeed, he still carried a few faint scars from her fingernails on his left cheek.
This young infidel woman, however, was much more pleasing. She submitted willingly to his advances, and although he suspected her enthusiasm was feigned, he did not much care. After the horrors of Ellis Island and his trip down the river and then through eastern Manhattan, it was a comfort to have a woman give herself to him, even though they both knew she had no choice.
Afterward, he felt sorry for her and even, to his surprise, a little ashamed of himself. He'd had good reason of late to recall his capture by Captain Kono and his unhappiness at being pressed into service by the LRA, and as the girl lay next to him in the hotel suite that formed part of the emir's personal harem, Yusuf could not help but wonder what ill fortune had delivered her to him.
She was a young American woman, almost perfectly fitting every preconception he had of young American women: blond and fair-skinned and sweet-smelling. But though Yusuf was unfamiliar with American women, he had the better part of a lifetime's experience of fear, and this woman, for all her pretense of arousal and excitement, was very obviously afraid.
Yusuf had enjoyed having his way with her, but as he lay in bed watching the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders as she pretended to sleep, he realized he had no great wish to be around her much longer. He was unsure what to do. It was a great honor and privilege the emir had given him, and he was profoundly grateful not just for the rest, the food, and the attentions of the slave girl but also for the forgiveness it signaled. Now, though, he found himself eager to return to battle and prove himself. There would be no flinching from the enemy next time. If he was fated to die, it was Allah's will that he should die and he would give up his life willingly.
It was unworthy and probably sinful, but he envied many of the fedayeen who had brought their families with them. When they were not fighting, they probably enjoyed this sort of ease and pleasure back at the settlements. Yusuf couldn't help but dream about a future in which he lived in a nice house tended by his boys. Maybe his wife would even be a young blond like the one in bed with him. After all, though they were fighting the Americans now, it was only because they resisted the message of peace brought by the Prophet. One day, when this was done, Yusuf hoped all the peoples of the world would live together peacefully. A girl like this, he thought, gazing at the sinuous curve of her spine, might even love him for bringing that message, which, Allah willing, would be almost as good as dying in battle.
They were fighting for more than just revenge, he knew. They were fighting for a new home, a place untouched by the atomic evil of the Jews. They were fighting for the future.
He shook it off. If he was to have a family of his own, then Allah would provide.
The question on his mind now was how to get back to the front. Was he to simply walk out and request transport to the front? Did they intend him to join a new saif? Yusuf had no idea.
He rolled out of bed and padded across to a window. The deep, rumbling growl of war reached him even up here, miles from the front. The room overlooked the great park in the center of the city, which appeared to have exploded in a riot of plant growth that spilled out into the surrounding streets. Many of the larger, older trees had died some time ago, probably from the great chemical storms that had drifted over the city when the rest of the continent burned. Their stark skeletal forms stood out like witches' claws against the gray clouds that hovered low over the city, obscuring the upper floors of some of the higher towers. Thousands of saplings had sprung up in the deep grass between them, and a dense understory of vines and bushes had crawled over the wall around the park and appeared to be advancing on the hotel in which he was staying.
The emir, in his benevolence and wisdom, had not merely armed and trained his followers for war. On the long voyage here, besides lessons in the art of city fighting and lectures on the tactics and weapons of the Americans and the bandit gangs of the city, there had been some time set aside for more civilized learning. A teacher, a refugee from the Balkan wars, had told Yusuf how the faithful had first come here many hundreds of years ago, how they had settled near this park and set up gardens, markets, and even a mosque. Why had Allah chosen to let his message wither in this place? Yusuf wondered. Why had so much bloodshed been allowed to come of it?
He could see the ragged edges of human habitation on the western side of the park, on the undeclared border with the areas controlled by the Slavs. They would be swept into the firestorm for certain soon enough. A savage people, all but barbaric from what he had been taught of them. They seemed to revel in cruelty.
The Americans, in contrast, killed with the flip of a switch. If they gave a thought to murder, it was before or after the act, not during. And they flipped that switch as far away from their victims as possible, as if they thought
