against the Soviet Union and alert Washington to join in or get retaliated against. Crazy.'
'Yeah— he was,' Rourke nodded, reaching out to the Harley, starting to ease it around as the tackle lowered it.
Gundersen helped him.
'What about you, John— Reed said he'd like you back. Gave me the coordinates for the new U.S. II headquarters and—'
'I'll memorize the coordinates— just in case I ever need them. But I've got my family to look for— what I was doing before Cole or Iversenn shot Natalia and started this whole thing.'
'I'll ask you a favor then— with the jet fighter you've got stashed—'
'An experimental fighter bomber.'
'Yeah— well, I know things on the water and under it— I leave airplanes to other people.' And Gundersen laughed.
'What's the favor?'
'You said you rigged the ammo dumps and everything at Filmore Air Force base to blow if anyone tampered with it.'
'Natalia and Paul did— good job, I understand.'
'This is direct from President Chambers. If the Russians should land forces out here, we don't want them having an airfield to use, or any U.S. materiel or planes. Could their people debug the stuff Major Tiemerovna and Mr. Rubenstein did?'
'Probably— if they were careful,' Rourke answered.
'Then I've got one order for you— order from President Chambers, a request from me.'
'I take requests— I don't take orders,' Rourke answered softly, easing his bike down and balancing it on the stand.
'Fire a missile into that ammo dump or whatever you need to do— destroy the base completely...'
Rourke looked at him, then back to the Harley, undoing the binding that held it to the tackle. 'All right— I'll make a run on it on the way East. Might not be perfect, but I'll tear up the main runways and hit the ammo dump and arsenal.'
'Agreed— I'll tell Reed that— we're talking again before I go under.'
Rourke extended his right hand, Gundersen taking it.
'Good luck to you, commander—'
'You, too, John— maybe we'll see each other again sometime.'
Thunder rumbled loudly in the clear morning sky. And Rourke didn't answer Gundersen.
Chapter Forty-Six
Pete Critchfleld seemed to explode. 'You what?'
'I didn't think— didn't catch the lady's last name—'
'Shithead!' Critchfield looked back at Sarah, saying, 'Excuse me, ma'am—' then looked at Curley. 'Didn't catch her name— moron! You get that submarine back and tell that Gundersen fella to tell Dr. John Rourke we got his wife and two children here all safe and sound and he can come and get 'em when he gets here.'
'But— I can't— the sub won't open a frequency with me for another hour—'
'Then you goddamned well tell 'em then!'
Critchfield turned away walking across the underground shelters s main room, Sarah hearing the hum of the electric generator as Critchfield walked, watching his face.
She looked up from the wounded man she was attending. 'My husband?'
'There was a radio communication from a U.S. nuclear submarine on the west coast— whatever the hell the west coast is— we made the link to U.S. II headquarters for this Commander Gundersen. Him and me— we talked a little— then I hadda go relieve Bill Mulliner on guard duty— left Curley there monitoring the link— you know how— well, maybe you don't— but radio communications like this is funny— change in the air currents or somethin'. And there was lots of static— maybe all that thunder in the skies all the time. Anyways— Curley there heard them talkin' about a Dr. John Rourke and two friends of his— some Russian woman who's on our side maybe a little or leastways helped them out and a fella named Paul—'
'A Russian woman and a man named Paul,'
Sarah nodded.
'Anyways— Curley there— the asshole— excuse me again, ma'am,' Critchfield shrugged, his face reddening, 'he didn't say nothin' about you and the children. But they'll be talkin' again in an hour— Curley says. Then maybe we can put you and your husband on the radio together and talk a bit— then he can come here and get ya.'
'John,' Sarah said— to talk to John Rourke. How long had it been.
She couldn't talk now— she just nodded her head and botched the bandage on the man she was helping.
'You relax there, ma'am,' Critchfield smiled suddenly as she looked up. 'I gotta send Bill Mulliner off with some guys down into Georgia a ways— there's a Resistance group down there I gotta contact. U.S. II wants us to get a headcount of still operating groups and warn 'em Balfry maybe talked.'
'Yes,' she nodded, the word all she could say.
'I'll have Bill run down and say good-bye.' She nodded, licking her lips— she tried the bandage again.
Chapter Forty-Seven
She sat with Bill Mulliner, on the steps leading into the underground shelter, the house above them in the light through the open hatchway burned, some timbers remaining that laced a shadow across Bill's face as he sat beside her, his eyes looking down.
'I'm glad for you, ma'am— you findin' your husband.'
'I don't know if I'll know what to say— all those times we fought over his preparing for—
well— his preoccupation with survivalism. He was right— I could have been with him in his Retreat if I'd ever let him tell me where it was— or take us there.'
'But I'm glad for knowin' ya, Mrs. Rourke— powerful glad.'
She hugged her left arm around the boy's shoulders. 'And I'm glad for knowing you, Bill—
without your strength— the children and I wouldn't have—'
'Seems like you do real good on your own, ma'am,' he laughed, but the laughter hollow sounding to her.
'Well— well, appearances are one thing— but to have a man to turn to— to know you were there these last days— I— I don't know what I would have done without you,' and she kissed him, hard on the lips like she would have kissed a man twice his age, closer her own age. She turned her face away, feeling embarrassed slightly, wringing her hands together over her knees, her feet spread wide apart on the steps below her, but her knees locked together tight.
She heard Bill Mulliner breathing. 'Ma'am— hope I meet a girl again— and she's— ahh— she's like you,' and she turned to look at him but he was standing up, running up the steps.
Sarah Rourke closed her eyes— tight, like her knees were tight and her throat was tight. Tight.
Chapter Forty-Eight
They used an old pickup truck that worked four-wheel drive— sometimes anyway, Bill Mulliner had determined. They were near the border with Georgia and he knew the area where they were going. It wasn't far from the little town he'd gone to once with the church group— Helen. It had been a Swiss village— right there in Georgia. He smiled, thinking about it— about the girl in the church group who had held his hand when they'd walked through the shops there.
His hands held the steering wheel now— too tightly.
The Resistance group— they had a name he couldn't remember— was hiding in the wild area in what had been the park around Anna Ruby Falls— he'd gone there once when he was really little, his mother had told him, kissing him good-bye as he'd boarded the truck.
He didn't remember it.
The truck jarred, bounced— the road was mudrutted and bad, the gravel and clay slippery as he tried to hold the steering to keep them on the road and out of the yawning ditches on each side.
There were better roads— modern highways. But there would be Russians on them.
Here there would only be Brigands— and there were usually fewer of them, fewer and less wellarmed these
