Eastern oil, and so are our allies.”
The vice president nodded, face impassive, and Tomlin continued.
“All right, now to South America. The Harcourt virus is loose on that continent too, of course, but it’s spreading a bit slower due to the remoteness of some areas and transportation difficulties. Our intelligence from there indicates that it would take a major effort on our part to secure the nuclear power plants because of so much antagonism against North Americans and so much of the population still alive.
The virus isn’t killing as high a proportion of Hispanics as it is blacks, but it does get all the dark skinned ones—and there’s plenty of them in South America. Or were, but the ones left are so angry that we don’t dare show our faces. Our recommendation is to ask the United Nations to send troops.”
“You’re living in a dream world, Edgar,” General Newman said abruptly. “Don’t you realize how many of the peacekeeping troops used by the U.N. have always come from countries with a high proportion of dark skinned people? Besides, even the countries that are still functional are having problems of their own, just like we are. You won’t get much help there.”
“Then what do we do?”
The general shrugged. “If any of the South American nuclear plants go, the fallout will stay below the equator, according to our meteorologists. They’ll either have to take care of the plants themselves or suffer the consequences.”
Vice President Santes winced, a visible expression. She knew the general was right, but she failed to see how anyone could be so blase about human life and the ecology of a whole continent. She started to say something, then realized the others were looking to her for a comment, simply because she was Hispanic.
As if where her great grandparents were from gave her some special knowledge of a whole continent, she thought. A typical stereotyping so common to politicians. And to humanity in general. Skin color and national heritage were ever present in American affairs these days and there was no way to avoid it, distasteful as it was. “Isn’t Brazil a Portuguese culture? Doesn’t it have a high proportion of whites?”
“Not enough to sway the rest of them far enough to allow our troops into the country. And I haven’t got them to spare anyway.”
Santes eyed the general. He was the type of person who took the hard realities of military affairs and applied them to every single aspect of life, whether they were a good fit or not. He cared nothing about people, only how they affected the military. But it was useless to say anything. Perhaps when Marshall left office she would run for the presidency. In the meantime, she had little influence on the direction of government and it was senseless to pretend otherwise.
President Marshall tapped his fingertips on the table. “Let’s move on, it’s getting late. What else do you have, Edgar?”
“Just Russia. I think they’ll hold together, but I can’t say as much for some of her neighbors. I think we may have to ask them to keep some sort of order there, much as I hate the thought.”
“All right. Do as you think best, but don’t let them get the idea they’re going to become a world power again. Do you agree, Cantrell?”
The new Secretary of State nominee still felt out of place at the seat of power and was reluctant to voice his opinion, particularly since he thought both the president and General Newman were making decisions the vast majority of the electorate would disagree with, and the rest of the world would be aghast at.
Some of what they said he considered little short of criminal. There was one point he agreed with, though. “Sir, I concur with the decision to let the Russian government handle any unrest or destructive situations on their immediate borders. But can’t the Europeans help?”
“If they’ll spend the money and supply the troops, certainly. I doubt seriously they will, though. They’re as broke as us.”
“And don’t have much in the way of armed forces anyway. Too much spending on welfare.” General Newman commented, thinking to himself they were getting what they deserved now.
“Suppose I try and see what I can come up with?”
“Fine, you do that. What else?”
Cantrell Willingham had the impression that the president was catering to him, but he pressed on, furrowing his high patrician forehead with the kind of wrinkles women thought attractive on older men.
“Sir, I’d like to at least try to improve relations with the South American states. I’ve already ordered our ambassadors to approach the appropriate governments to inquire about the attitudes and feelings of their citizens. If we can…” He was interrupted by the vibration of his personal phone, the one he carried so that he could be notified immediately of emergencies in real time. “Excuse me, sir. This must be another bad crisis.” He listened for a moment and hurriedly hung up when he saw the irritated look on the president’s face. Apparently he had violated protocol by taking a call in the Oval Office.
“That was our embassy in Brazil. Their army just took it over.”
“What! Damn it, that’s an act of war!” General Newman roared. “Edgar, damn you, why weren’t we warned?”
Tomlin shrank from the General’s wrath. He didn’t have a clue. Almost all of his field agents were busy in the Middle East or Africa, trying to keep abreast of problems there. “I don’t know General, but I’ll find out.”
President Marshall got to his feet. “Gentlemen, Marlene. It’s late. Let’s break this up and reconvene in the morning. General, keep me abreast of any decisions you make about our armed forces.”
It was a dismissal.
The vice president was thinking furiously as she hurried back to her own office. It sounded to her as if the president and his Chairman of the Joint Chiefs were in collusion, making decisions and taking actions that in calmer times would only have occurred with congressional consultation and approval. She reviewed the articles of martial law as she understood them. Most people might think it gave the president unlimited powers, and it did to a certain extent—but only within the country’s own borders. It had nothing to do with the rest of the world. When Santes arrived at her office, she began looking over her own intelligence reports to see if they were in agreement with the presidential briefing.
General Newman hadn’t mentioned what was going on in Atlanta during the briefing. He hoped to get the situation under control again now that the army brigade, less one battalion, had parachuted into the suburbs and the Marine battalion was rolling down the interstate in that direction as rapidly as possible.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
By nine o’clock in the morning Doug began receiving both casualties and stragglers from the company of soldiers guarding the approaches to the CDC complex. Seeing the exhausted white faces above the collars of their army fatigues, streaked with dirt and rivulets of sweat, along with the blood and agonized sounds of pain, revived flashes of memory from combat he had seen in the past. He shook off the images and tried to help as best he could.
He sent the casualties into the ward where patients with the Harcourt virus were receiving experimental treatment. Those not too seriously hurt were bandaged and thrown back into the fight with his own men.
He allowed no objections. Usually all it took was mention of the fate they would suffer should the complex be overrun—and that there was no place to retreat to.
The able bodied soldiers were hustled to the barricades, thrown up as far from the complex as possible.
He hoped they could stop the onslaught before the mob invaded the CDC buildings, but he was beginning to suspect they weren’t dealing with a disorganized mob, as first thought. The soldiers reported the attacks on their positions bore a resemblance to standard infantry tactics rather than attempts to overcome them with sheer numbers and madness. He reported that observation to Gene, who was making rounds of all the posts, using his presence to encourage the troops to hold fast.
All morning the gunfire had been growing in volume, becoming louder as it got closer. An hour ago, the single transport chopper attempting to bring in reinforcements to the company of soldiers went down in flames from a direct hit by a missile. He watched the whole thing, seeing his rising hope of relief vanish quickly as the streaking
