CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
I want that Johannsen character brought to Washington so we can try him and execute him publicly, like we did those others,” President Marshall said.
Edgar Tomlin couldn’t agree more; he wanted him dead in the worst way. He had begun feeling relatively safe after the white supremacist gang that helped Johannsen had been executed in such a hurry that there had been little time to question them. Even so, it had been a near thing, with Rafe Smith yelling out an accusation at the last moment. Fortunately, he hadn’t been understood and the firing squad ended any further chance of him talking.
There’s such a thing as being too damned efficient, Tomlin muttered to himself, thinking of how the president had insisted on Johannsen being taken to the CDC immediately after capture. It had been nothing more than wild political reasoning, thinking that if he were in custody, and working under guard to reverse the effects of the virus he had created, then the government would be absolved of blame. Tomlin thought he had Johannsen taken care of when the porch monkeys in Atlanta responded to the rumor that the CDC was harboring a cure—with his personal agents helping to spread it—but that hadn’t worked either. The blacks reacted like he thought they would, but the army had gotten there too fast, and the thin CDC security force had put up an admittedly heroic resistance. After that failure, he had sent the last two agents he could personally call on in Atlanta to finish off Johannsen for good.
He looked at his watch. By now, that matter should finally be taken care of. “I’ll see to it, Mr. President.
And I think executing him is a good idea.”
“I’m not so sure,” Lurline said. “Wouldn’t he be more valuable alive, so he could be forced to help find a cure or a vaccine? After all, he created it; he should know more about it than anyone else.”
“If the nation gets out of this with a whole skin, the sonofabitch did the world a favor,” General Newman said, forgetting momentarily that Lurline was in the room with them. Goddamn broads. They got no more business in government than they do in the army, he thought, waiting for the outraged response his remark was sure to evoke.
Lurline felt more like crying than arguing. How did a man like that get to be Chairman of the Joint Chiefs?
And the president wasn’t rebuking him, either. “You can’t mean, that, General,” she said. Beneath the conference table her fist clenched the hem of her skirt to prevent her nails from digging into the palm of her hand.
“No, of course not. I was just thinking in military terms, our oil supplies and so forth.”
Marshall nodded approval, but he had more important things on his mind. Like China, Korea and the Middle East. Which reminded him. “Have you talked to Willingham again?” The president had decided that their meetings could do without his physical presence unless he had something urgent to say. He didn’t like the man’s patronizing air of superiority, as if anyone who hadn’t graduated from Harvard was automatically incapable of understanding how the establishment worked. Of course he had been taken down a peg when the U.N. headquarters was demolished by a mob of blacks, but that wouldn’t last. His kind thought they should be running the world and that everyone else was incompetent.
“Yes, sir, I spoke to him shortly before arriving here. He’s been in contact with the Russians. They’ll try to restrain China. However, the military advisor to the premier wants to talk to General Newman about aid if China’s invasion of Taiwan keeps going badly for the Chinese and they turn on Russia. Frankly, I think you should talk to Willingham. He seems to be taking hold and I’m not well versed in international affairs.”
“I’ll see to it. Now let’s talk politics. What about the End-Timers? Are they going to cause us as much trouble as that damned Church of Blacks?”
Politics was something Lurline did understand. “The End Timers are marginally beneficial to the party so long as they don’t get too much wilder. I can’t say they do much good for the nation as a whole. Many of them have quit work, anticipating the arrival of the Rapture before they run out of money.”
“Crap!” The president exclaimed. They
Lurline considered. The End-Timers were a rapidly expanding faction of Fundamentalist Christianity, taking Biblical predictions to heart. Or rather interpreting Biblical pronouncements, mostly from the book of Revelations, in a way that indicated the End Times were at hand. Personally, she thought many of them were simply combining the Bible and current events into a convenient excuse to quit work. She had seen many people like that, men and women caught in hateful, minimum wage jobs that barely kept food on the table or their kids fed; or husbands and wives making themselves believe the End Times would terminate relationships that had grown unbearably oppressing. But most of them were sincere believers.
They could be reasoned with.
“Sir, I think you should go on a nationwide hookup during prime time and explain that while the Rapture may be coming, they’ll miss it if they starve to death or get killed by mobs of hungry people. Urge them to stay with their jobs. Urge them to help keep the cities running. They’ll listen to you; just give them the type of speech you’re famous for, then take questions for fifteen minutes or so.” Lurline knew she was giving good advice. President Marshall, whatever his faults, was a superbly convincing orator.
“All right, set it up, but make it day after tomorrow. I’ll be tied up with the U.N. tomorrow. Which reminds me—I need to see Emilee Bailey beforehand. Get her over here first thing in the morning.”
Lurline made a note. “Yes, sir. How about the Arab ambassadors. Several of them are demanding to see you.”
“Stall them. The Arabs are no longer a problem, or won’t be shortly. Isn’t that right, General?”
“Yes, sir. Another couple of months and we can move in, assuming we can release some of our troops from street duty. It’s funny,” he mused. “Whatever bug the Jews used, it’s infecting Arab and non-Arab alike. Iran is suffering almost as much as Egypt and Syria, and the farther away from the Middle East, the fewer people are infected.”
“Good. The more of those goddamned fanatics that die, the better I like it. I’ll have some more morbidity figures from the CDC once it’s completely back in our hands, but I was told the last ones I saw aren’t likely to change much. Listen, let’s break this up for now. I’ve got to see the speech writers and get them going, then some of the governors. Damn it, there’s just not enough hours in the day to cover everything.”
“Perhaps Vice President Santes could assume some more duties, sir?” Lurline suggested hopefully.
Anything to bring more rationality into the government.
“I’ll manage,” Marshall said shortly. “Besides, she’s busy with the CDC negotiations right now.”
“Damn it, there’s no help for it. I
There was a weary nurse standing by the gurney. “Mr. Craddock, you’re in no shape to go anywhere.
Your upper arm is broken and your leg has a bullet hole in it on top of your previous wound.”
“I’m sorry. I’m responsible for every one of our people being held captive. I don’t care how you do it, but get me over there. Send someone with me if you think I’m that bad. And give me a phone number where I can reach Amelia immediately.” He needed to talk to Amelia in more detail as soon as she was out of surgery and able to
