“In all modesty, me. I ran his campaign here. You must have watched it. With his mustache shaved, some gray in his hair and his tie off he could have been a...selectman from Bartlett.”
“I doubt it, he looks too Indian. Call him. I’ll wait outside.”
It isn’t quite as easy as that to get the President of the United States on the telephone, even for the governor of a state who’s owed a big one, but the nation’s Chief Executive was being updated hourly on the New England crisis. So Norm Ducharme of Bedford, New Hampshire spoke privately for five minutes with Jack Montego of Roswell, New Mexico, was on hold for another ten and listened for five more. When the receiver was replaced in Concord it was by Governor Ducharme. He buzzed for his aide, who hurried into the office.
“Get Colonel Grafton of the National Guard,” he ordered. “Call my wife and cancel lunch. Have Cindy and Lois come in for emails. Call the Council for a four o’clock meeting and have Mark Phillips of the State Police here on the double.”
“Who first?” Stafford was scribbling furiously.
Ducharme stopped in the middle of dialing. “What?”
“You want me to get Colonel Grafton on the phone first or have Cindy and Lois come in?”
“Oh for Christ’s sake! Whichever! Never mind I’ll call Grafton, you get Phillips.”
Cilla, waiting in the Council Chambers that abutted the governor’s office, saw Stafford coming out on the dead run. She stood and made as if to go in. The aide grabbed her shoulders.
“You can’t go in there now,” he cried, not realizing how close he came to writhing on the floor in agony. “All hell must have broken loose! I’ve never seen him like this.”
Cilla, showing great restraint, merely knocked his hands aside and asked, “Did he reach the President?”
“Yes! That’s what set him off!” And off was the aide, running down the State House corridor.
Cilla opened the Governor’s door. He was on the telephone. He waved her to come in and sit.
“Far and away the most important. Then the Connecticut, though that will be a major part of Arthur’s job...Look, George, we better get it laid out on a map...I know, not near enough. Do your best and get back to me no later than three o’clock.”
He hung up and turned to Cilla. “It’s bad, Cilla. I’ve just two minutes to talk. And nothing I say can be repeated outside this room. You were right on rivers, but not for drinking. The Army came up with a bug that is deadly but leaves no trace in an autopsy. So, provided no one was caught during transmittal, the target country would have no one to blame, would probably be wiped out thinking it was a homegrown disease. Not wanting to create something that could injure its own troops or civilian population back home, the Army scientists engineered a bug that only lasts a few days when exposed to the open air. The problem was the delivery system: how to inject it without being caught. Winds were considered, and they were still studying this possibility when they came up with the idea of freezing it in tiny capsules or pods, that could be dropped into rivers upstream of population centers. Water above freezing would defrost the protective coating as they drifted downstream, releasing the bugs to the air, presumably just as they arrived at the city.”
“That’s what Frank stole?”
“They hadn’t finished researching the pods and weren’t sure how long they would take to defrost and release the bugs. If the temperature of the water wasn’t just right, the frozen bugs could be fifty miles downstream of a target zone before they opened.”
“How much of this stuff did Frank get?”
“If he actually has it, six tanks.”
“What does that mean? They aren’t sure he took them?”
Ducharme shook his head. “Oh, he took them. They felt the frozen pods could have melted on him, and what was left in the tanks had become benign. They’re man-size tanks that require cold storage rooms the Army had built specially for them. They say Frank likely wouldn’t have had access to a comparable facility for long-term holding. The Town of Stewart says he found a way.”
There was a knock at the door. When Ducharme responded, two women came in carrying notebooks.
“That’s it, Cilla. It’s my job from here in. My God, New Hampshire has hundreds of miles of rivers, and we’ve got to search every one! Go back to Bartlett. There aren’t enough people up there for them to be interested in it any more.” He turned to the women and began dictating instructions.
Cilla stood for a moment, watching. Then she went out, closing the door.
“You’re not giving up?” asked Wallace Carver.
“In the ashram we spent long hours every day meditating. It’s time I got back to it.”
“You’re going back to the ashram?” Wally’s voice was incredulous.
“There’s a cabin in the woods north of Bartlett that belonged to my father. My cousin, Kabir, and I called it Niagara cause it’s on a brook with a little waterfall. I’ll be there.”
“Call me tonight at eight.”
“It doesn’t have a telephone.”
Wally was momentarily speechless. “Cilla we have only two more days.”
“I know.”
“So we’ve got to stay in touch! At least take your cell phone!”
“Why? You’ve found nothing so far. If you do find him, my knowing it a few minutes sooner won’t make a difference.”
“But we...”
She hung up, oblivious to the change in their relationship that had just occurred.
“Do you realize how many people were guarding an empty house?” Frances Ingalls was about a six on a scale of ten between unhappy and furious. She and the others stationed around the Carver house felt foolish, she particularly, since she was the one assigned to protect Cilla. “First, Mr. Carver didn’t return from Boston. Then I found you weren’t even in Germany, you were both on the West Coast.”
Cilla liked the FBI woman. She knew Great Haystack was running like clockwork in her absence, mostly due to Kurt, but perhaps a little to Frances. “It wasn’t your fault, and I’ve told John Krestinski he isn’t to blame you. Short of tying me up, what could you or he have done differently?”
“I don’t think even he understands how I feel.”
“I know you aren’t married now, have you been?”
“Don’t change the subject.” Cilla waited, watching Ingalls’ chest rise and fall more rapidly. Finally, “For a short time.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. Hudson is just about everything to me. When he didn’t return from Boston I knew he was in trouble. He would have at least called Carver.”
“So you went after him. He must be quite a guy, to create that kind of love. But you made me look bad to my superiors, Cilla. Working for the FBI isn’t like working in a department store or a ski area. Anything you do goes into your record, and is re-examined when you’re up for promotion.”
“John knows, and after this is over...”
“If we’re still here.” Both were silent a moment. Frances wasn’t done. “But what John Krestinski may or may not know is unimportant. He has to report what happens.” She took a breath. “My Dad wanted to be an agent; didn’t have the right color. Or the degree. I was supposed to have an `i’ in my first name. Mom couldn’t have any more after me, so I had to live his dream. Everything in my life has been geared to making me the first woman to run the Bureau.”
“You can’t live someone else’s life for them. It’s not fair to ask it of you.”
“It started out that way...maybe Dad’s a good salesman, but it’s my dream now.”
“And I’ve screwed it up for you. Frances, I can’t go back in time. Even if I could, I wouldn’t change what I did.”
