John Birmingham - Without warning

But then, as someone who’d perpetrated all manner of villainy in his professional life, Culver was well aware of how easy it was to use cut-outs and puppets to do your dirty work while you fronted the media, the investigators or some nitpicking Congressional committee with your halo shining and hands washed free of blood.

Somebody, somewhere was driving this madness, attempting to hijack his Constitutional Convention, and he’d be damned if they were going to get away with it.

He threaded through the hallway loiterers, smiling, waving and gladhanding everyone as he went. A part of Jed seemed to float outside of himself, marvelling that a fixer from the backwoods of Louisiana could find himself at the centre of a storm that had destroyed so much already. He spotted a few Alaskan delegates he would need to corral later in the day, and a couple of Canadian diplomats, who caught him by surprise. The lawyer made a mental note to investigate their presence, but hurried on around the corner and into the fire escape. Two floors up, he finally had some privacy.

The numbers were preloaded as arranged and he found the one he was looking for without trouble. He was a bit of a gadget freak, if truth be known, and the chance to play with a new toy was reward enough in itself. But the phone call he had to make was important. The connection went through on the third ring.

‘Hey Bill, it’s me, Jed Culver. I got your package. Thanks for that.’

The strangely youthful voice at the other end came through with great clarity, in spite of all the filters, washers and heavy encryption he knew had been packed into the phone. ‘Oh hey, Jed. Good, that’s great. I’m glad that got through to you.’

‘So, I don’t want to come on as a nattering nabob of negativism, but you’re sure this is secure?’ Culver asked.

The man on the other end laughed. ‘My guys are sure, Jed. As sure as they can be, anyway. I’m confident, if that helps, and I am talking to you, after all. Some people in this town would consider that treason.’

‘Okay. Good enough,’ said Culver. ‘So, you can get more of these units out where they’re needed?’

‘Already on their way. Six hundred of them, give or take a few. They’ll be distributed by nightfall. The network will light up when you want it.’

‘You sure, Bill? I understood the net was terribly patchy now. Not at all reliable. Do we want it sitting there as a weak link?’

‘It’s fine. At least here, it’s fine. There are massive holes everywhere else, but the local nodes in the Northwest are good – we made sure of that. You can rely on them. Especially for this. We’ve taken precautions.’

‘Okay,’ replied Culver, almost convinced. ‘If you say so, we’ll proceed. I can’t tell you how important this is, what a difference it could make.’

‘I’m happy to help. It’s important to do what you can. I’ve been here all along, remember – could have flown out, but I stayed. All my people stayed. We’re not ready to give up yet.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ said Jed.

‘Okay. Well, anything you need, you have my number.’

‘Thanks, I will be in touch.’

‘I hope so,’ said Bill Gates, before hanging up.

Culver studied the small piece of technology, wondering how long it would be before the appearance of such things, and the progress they spoke of, became commonplace again. Possibly never, if he didn’t win the confrontation he knew was coming. He could feel it down in his meat.

He was confident of the alliance he was building up here in the city. In his quiet moments, he was even proud of what he’d achieved since arriving. But he knew it wasn’t enough.

Jed Culver understood humans. He understood their baser, uglier nature, the way that fear could rob them of reason and send them rushing over the cliff like lemmings. Look around the world and you had proof enough of that. But he also knew that if led well, if led with some wisdom and just a modicum of courage, a frightened horde could rise above itself and act with outward calm and considered grace that completely belied any inward turmoil. But they had to be led, and he was not a leader. He had come here knowing he would need to find one, and fast.

He opened up the contacts file on the smart phone again and, yes, the name and number he had asked for were there. He did not dial, however. It was time to make contact, but he would have to do so personally.

Everything he had heard about this man, everything he’d learned since flying into Seattle, had only confirmed Jed’s suspicion that he was the one. But because of that, he was not the sort of man to be played like Henry Cesky.

This one would have to be given the opportunity to make a choice. A real choice for good or ill. Culver was certain he’d choose wisely.

The lawyer put the phone away and headed downstairs.

MV AUSSIE RULES, ROBINSON CRUSOE ISLAND,

‘I think we’re probably okay to go,’ said Jules.

Fifi agreed, and triggered a burst from the PKM. ‘Yeah. I think you’re probably right.’

Tracer rounds zipped away over the heads of the islanders, forcing them all to duck below the gunwales of the small fleet of lobster boats heading towards the Rules. Jules hit the press-to-talk button on her headset.

‘Mr Lee, are those contacts still closing?’

The old pirate’s voice came crackling back to her. ‘They are still on a course to intercept us, Miss Julianne. In forty-two minutes, if we do not leave now.’

‘Okay, Lee. Everyone’s aboard. Let’s get the hell out of here.’

Jules felt the deck thrum under her feet as the engines growled into life and she reached out for the handrail to steady herself against the inertia. The bow lifted appreciably as they thrust forward, adding their speed to the bluster of a freshening nor’-wester. Jules and Fifi crouched instinctively as a few puffs of white smoke from the decks of the lobster boats told of a couple of ancient shotguns being fired in their direction. Fifi responded with another snarling burst from the heavy Russian machine-gun. Again, she aimed well over the mast of the lead boat, and again their pursuers all ducked. It would’ve been a ridiculous pantomime were it not so serious. The islanders meant to delay them long enough for those radar contacts to close with them.

Jules was now certain they were being chased by one of the Peruvian syndicates.

She pressed the talk button on her headset again. ‘Sergeant Shah. Have your men stand ready please. I don’t think they’ll be needed, but best we don’t try our luck.’

‘They are in position, Miss Julianne. The passengers have been secured below by Pieraro. He will join us on the boat deck.’

Jules thanked him. She didn’t bother looking for the small squad of mercenaries. The super-yacht was too large and they were mostly arrayed on the lower decks towards the stern, giving them a clear field of fire over the heads of the lobster boats as the Rules came around.

Fifi safed her weapon when she could no longer draw a bead on the little wooden tubs. ‘You want me to head on down there, Julesy?’ she asked, referring to the Gurkhas’ position below-deck. ‘Be a shame to waste the ammo, though, if we’re not trying to hit them. This 7.62 Eastern Bloc standard doesn’t grow on trees, you know.’

Julianne shook her head, trailing a regretful look back over the retreating vista of the Juan Fernandez Archipelago, the trio of islands located some four hundred miles west of the Chilean city of Valparaiso. ‘No, save your fire, Fifi. We’ll need it soon. And those guys are no real threat.’