Calley of Maine in with a loud bark that he was damned if it would be any way but by population, and prompted humor from Vermont’s George Crothers who declared the only fair apportionment was by ocean frontage. In the end, reality prevailed. There would be no payment, lest every grifter who could form whole sentences be at their doors.
Language of a joint press release to be issued that afternoon was agreed to after opposition from Les Petrocelli, who felt there was a chance they could get away with saying nothing for a day, and maybe the FBI could turn something up. One more day the threat was kept secret was one day less of public panic. The majority view was more cynical -“realistic” was the word employed. If one person knew something it might stay a secret; since twelve knew, it would be common knowledge tomorrow, and better the story get out in a form causing least panic. The release would be distributed at five PM, in time to catch the evening television news, Internet blogs and morning papers, but after state offices would be closed for the day and unavailable to supply further comment. Each governor would have a memo on the desks of his staff when they arrived the next morning that all questions were to be referred to him or her personally. Tomorrow will be a free-for-all, thought Ducharme; the National Guard put on standby. The FBI had been notified by Nate Whalen at the end of the conference call. After strongly regretting the decision of the governors to go public, the Bureau stated it would take full charge of the investigation and promised to put every available agent on it, though there was unspoken understanding on both sides that if they hadn’t solved the Stewart case in five months, there was little likelihood they could do anything with this one in four days. However, for the first time the FBI had confirmation of human causation and six letters and envelopes to “play with in their lab”, as Jean Tentas rather unkindly put it.
Governor Ducharme closed the door of his house behind him and stood leaning on it. After a minute his wife poked her head into the hallway.
“Well hi. What are you doing standing there?”
“Come into the study, Grace. We have to talk.”
“That sounds serious. What’s up?”
He said nothing until he’d hung up his coat and they were both seated in his favorite room. If either drank, this is the time to pull out a bottle of old something, he thought.
“It’s come, Grace. The unthinkable.” He told her about the letter and the joint actions being planned.
She sat quietly, listening. “Is it just New England?”
“As far as we know. Nate talked to Carol Sorrentino in New Jersey, not mentioning the letter of course. He’s convinced she’s gotten nothing.”
“Do you think everyone will pick up and head south?”
“Anyone who can probably will. There aren’t that many who can just walk away from their lives, for something that may be an empty threat.”
“Do you think it is?”
“No.”
“The business in Stewart, that only lasted a few weeks?”
“The deaths all occurred over four days.”
“Perhaps businesses will just shut down until after the 22nd. Maybe you should even encourage it.”
“Maybe. We don’t know how soon after that they’ll strike. It might take them awhile to make arrangements, whatever they are.”
“Do you suppose they’ll drop something from an airplane? Is that how they’ll do it?”
“No. That will be covered. The skies over New England will be kept clear. Any plane without proper identification will be forced to land. Or be shot down.”
“Then how will they distribute whatever it is?”
“We’re going to make it just as difficult as possible for them. Starting tomorrow, we’ll have roadblocks on all the major highways, with state police searching each vehicle. Just a gesture. We don’t know what we’re looking for, and it could be very easy to conceal. I’ve read about poisons and germs so concentrated that just a few drops can wipe out a city.”
“In the water supply?”
“Yes. The guess is that’s what happened in Stewart, though when they tested it they found nothing. We’ll have armed guards around city reservoirs. The smaller towns will also be protected, but we’ll have to ask for volunteers from them to help.”
“Won’t they up the timetable if they know you aren’t going to pay?”
“We’re not going to come right out and say that. Over the next three days we’ll have our state budgets analyzed by the press. They’ll draw their own conclusions.”
“You’re not going to respond directly? Is that wise?”
“The only direct contact is with an account number in a Swiss bank. That doesn’t allow for much dialogue.”
“But you’ll have to tell the press what you plan to do.”
He nodded. “Better a slow realization than an abrupt shock.”
Far from Bedford, New Hampshire, a white ambulance with side lettering imperfectly painted out slowly cruised a broad expanse of Arizona desert. The driver was looking for something. Later he appeared to find it, for he stopped and got out to walk a distance from the vehicle, wiping the sweat off the band of his wide-brimmed hat. Then he returned for his passenger who got out slowly, revealing hands bound in front of him. The two walked a few hundred feet to a clump of burroweed and cactus framing a small declivity, the passenger in the lead, the driver prodding from behind with a pistol. They disappeared behind the sparse vegetation. Presently there was a shot. After a long silence, the wide hat could be seen emerging, the pistol at the man’s side. He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. With a last look around, he drove off, leaving the desert to its late afternoon heat.
Wally rubbed sleep from his eyes on his way to the telephone. How many times had it rung before he was awakened? He picked up the receiver.
“Yes.”
“Wallace Carver?” A woman’s voice.
“Yes.”
“Hold for Mr. Krestinski, please.”
It was over a minute before the agent was on the line.
“Wally. John Krestinski. Cilla called yesterday, but I haven’t been able to get back to her until now. What’s happening?”
“You’re on that six billion letter?”
“Yes, so I haven’t much time. Have you found Loni?”
“Yes, but not Hudson.”
“I thought they were together.”
“They were taken to Sedona, Arizona where we both are. By the time we were able to rescue Loni, a member of the gang had taken Hudson into the desert, with the probable intention of leaving him there. He himself was to come back here to the villa they were using. He never showed. Cilla and I went after him, but had to give up after nightfall.”
“Wally, were any of the gang captured?”
“Two, a husband and wife, Harv - presumably for Harvey - and Dora Fender. They’re at the Sedona Police Station.”
“Good! Hold on a minute.” The line went silent for over two minutes. Then, “Okay, I’ll be out there this afternoon. How’s Cilla taking it?”
