said what she was supposed to—and to let her know that the surviving members of her family could be locked up indefinitely without charges if that was what it took to keep her in line.
Emilee doubted that much would get done in any case. Most countries had a percentage of blacks and dark skinned citizens and were busy at home, just like the United States was. She could look out over the chamber and see that almost every seat was filled—but she knew that some of those ambassadors no longer served effective governments. In some of their countries, there was no government left at all.
Phrases from the speech she had just given were still running through her mind.…
There was more, but it all went into a summation of how the United States was making every effort to restrain Israel, find a cure for the Harcourt virus, render aid to Africa and other afflicted nations, help Russia and the European powers to secure nuclear power plants that were at risk of being abandoned, and in general tell the world how benevolent and helpful her country’s efforts during the crisis were. Parts of the speech were true, but other facts had been shaded and she knew she had uttered some outright lies. Modern diplomacy, she thought with bitter self loathing.
Her answers to the questions were little more than a recap of the text of her speech. As quickly as she decently could, she declined to provide any more answers and took her seat. She did her best to ignore the derogatory remarks coming to her translator earphone during the debate that followed. Fortunately it didn’t last but another hour, then was suspended until the next day. After that, she had a short break before meeting with the Permanent Security Council members, where the real decisions would be made.
Not that she thought much would be accomplished there, either.
Doug’s platoon was on the three to eleven shift. He was tired but not impossibly so when he arrived back at the apartment that he and June were already beginning to call home. During the day he would have been amused at the sight of men and women in white coats carrying their own trash out to the dumpsters had it not been a portent of how many vacancies there were for workers who performed the mundane but necessary housekeeping tasks all over the country. The cafeteria food was suffering from the same shortage. The potatoes at dinner had been lumpy and undercooked and the meatloaf had an odd taste to it that he didn’t care for, as if it had been diluted with too many crackers or bread to make it go further.
June was awake and watching the news when he came in, wearing a thin yellow silk robe, a souvenir from a mission to Thailand a few years ago. It shimmered as she stood up to greet him, some of the fabric clinging to the curves of her body as if attached to her, while others parts of the material flowed with her movements, presenting as pretty a picture of a new bride as he could ever wish for.
“I thought you would be in bed by now,” he said, leaning his rifle carefully against the wall and taking her into his arms.
“I was, but I set the alarm so I’d be awake when you came home. Have you eaten?”
“I had a bite at work. Don’t worry about it. How was the rest of your day?”
She pointed to the wall screen. “About like that. I didn’t feel like reading, so I watched how the world is going to hell until I couldn’t stand it any more, then turned it off. Are you ready for your drink?”
“If you don’t mind. I need something to perk me up; it’s been a long, long day.”
“Go ahead and get your shower; I’ll make it for you.”
“You’re a doll. Also a dutiful wife. And a beautiful one. Make it a double because I’m only going to have one.” He winked, kissed her in a manner that promised much more later and headed for the bedroom, unbuckling his holster belt as he went.
When Doug returned a few minutes later, feeling clean and somewhat refreshed, June had turned off the news and was sitting in quiet silence.
Doug sat down and took a big sip of his bourbon and water, savoring the bite and the warmth it started in his middle. “Anything good on the news?” He slid his free hand in under the hem of her robe and caressed her thigh with gentle motions.
“Not on the news, but Amelia got something good in the feed from Washington. It’s not being made public yet, though. Remember that scientist who created the virus for those Nazi skinhead nutcases we executed?”
“Johannsen? Sure. Did someone finally pop him?”
“Even better. He’s been captured.”
“Why is that better? We’ll just execute him, same as those other Aryan supremacist bastards. For my money, he ought to be hung up by his balls and beat to death with rusty barbed wire.”
“Amelia thinks he might be able to help find a cure, or a treatment. Possibly a vaccine. She’s requested that he be brought here and put to work under armed guard.”
Doug wasn’t a scientist but he tried to keep up with developments, particularly since taking his present job. He couldn’t follow the reasoning. “What can he do that the scientists here can’t?”
“I don’t know the details, but Amelia said he might be able to help by re-creating the steps he took to alter the virus in the first place. I haven’t got the knowledge to judge, but if she says so, I’ll trust her.”
“Well, yeah. Still it’s too bad that madman is going to be allowed to live longer than he should just because of what he knows.”
“I agree but he’ll certainly have our scientists right beside him, hurrying him up. And when we’re finished with him, the army gets him and he can join his companions in hell.”
Doug grinned humorlessly. “If there’s any blacks left in the army, I sure wouldn’t let any of them be on his guard detail.” He thought a moment. “For that matter, I wouldn’t let any of the blacks still left in the lab get close to him. He might wind up being injected with a lethal dose of bubonic plague or something similar.”
“I think I’d inject him myself if I knew we were through with him. I just can’t understand how anyone could do what he did.”
Doug finished the last of his drink. “Don’t try to understand psychopaths like that. You can’t.” He stood up and reached down a hand to help her up. When she was standing he stroked her back with one hand and fondled her breasts through the thin silk material of her robe with the other. “This robe makes you look even more beautiful than you already were. Too bad you’re going to have to discard it so soon.”
June’s hands were already clasped together behind his neck. She smiled. “I’ll just have to suffer. It’s not like you can’t see me in it again. The itinerary for any new bride includes lots of dressing and undressing.
And fun in between, so let’s go try the in-between part.”
“Spoken like a true bride. And the groom won’t put up a bit of resistance. Shucks, he may even help a bit.”
“He’d better!” June laughed. They almost bumped into the bedroom door from not being able to take their eyes off each other while heading toward the bedroom.
Qualluf Taylor was well satisfied with the results so far. He had taken over the reins of Mustafa Jones’
large sect when its founder died in Shreveport; from the Harcourt virus as the church biography had it, but in reality from a simple heart attack. Qualluf did nothing to discourage the church version of his demise. With its followers and his own Church of Blacks, he now headed the largest and most militant black organization in America. He was an accomplished preacher, an activist, and had both a degree in theology and a PhD in psychology from Yale. He used his knowledge of the factors which motivated human behavior to good effect with the church. In this case, he knew that thinking the death of Mustafa Jones came from the Harcourt virus impelled his followers to heights of rage that dying of a simple heart attack could ever have done.
Qualluf Taylor was an educated man but he had little problem convincing himself that the virus had been developed by the CDC, not after his son had contacted it in Africa then disappeared into the chaos there, nor in believing they possessed a cure they weren’t sharing with the world. Even if he hadn’t thought the rumors were
