Charles Sheffield - Aftermath

Saul asked, “Are we able to use hidden personnel tracers yet?”

“No, sir. Security says it may take months. We first need to build a factory to make the microchips.”

“I was afraid of that. Is General Mackay here today?”

“I think so, sir. Would you like to see her?”

“No, I want you to make sure that she receives a piece of information, through as indirect a route as possible. I want her to be told that she is under surveillance.”

“Yes, sir.” Travis hesitated. “Do you want me to try to arrange for surveillance?”

“No. I’m not planning that at the moment.”

“Very well, sir.” Auden Travis, quite reasonably in Saul’s opinion, looked baffled. When it was clear that Saul was going to say no more, Travis proffered the folder. “This is the list of calls, sir, reorganized in a suggested order of priority for action. Cases where the staff could not make a decision are marked with a star.”

“Fine.” Saul took the yellow folder, but still Auden Travis hesitated. “Is there something else I need to know?”

“I think so, sir. Thirty-four of the calls were from the same person.”

“I suppose that’s good. That many less to answer.”

“Yes, sir. All those calls are from Mrs. Patricia Goldsmith. She said you know her as Tricia.”

His face asked the question. Auden was a relative newcomer to his White House job, and it proved he knew less about Saul than he imagined. He must have looked for Patricia Goldsmith in Saul’s contact file, and found her identified as a wealthy local resident and prominent socialite.

Saul opened the folder. “Did you speak with her yourself?”

“Yes, sir. On her thirty-fourth call. I thought I ought to find out what she wanted. But she refused to tell me any more than she told anyone else.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That you have been terribly busy with numerous crises. That you are flooded with calls.”

“What did she say?”

Auden Travis’s face flushed a bright pink. “Something I prefer not to repeat.”

“It’s all right. I know how Tricia can be. Remember, quoting someone isn’t the same thing as saying it yourself.”

“I told her that I would pass on her message, but you were in an important meeting and could not be interrupted. She asked my name, and I gave it to her. She asked me how old I was. I said I didn’t think that was relevant. Then she said that she had heard of me, but if I wanted to go anywhere in this job I must not block access to the President by his old friends. Sir, I don’t do that.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Auden. Think of it as the habits of the very rich. They are not used to being frustrated.”

“Yes, sir. I try to treat this sort of thing as part of my job.”

“It is, but it ought not to be. Don’t worry, I’ll take it from here.”

As Travis left, Saul examined the ranked list of callers. Eight foreign heads of state, thirty-three congressional representatives, nine state governors, fourteen heads of government departments, eighteen heads of industry and major party contributors. They all needed to speak with him “urgently and immediately.” And that was just the first page.

He flipped through the list, sheet after sheet. Everyone was looking to Washington. Judging from the message summaries, every caller had outstretched hands. Nick Lopez and Sarah Mander were right. A country with food and weapons and a working infrastructure had never been so powerful.

He came to the final page. There they were, Tricia’s calls, right at the end, with her number and his staff’s priority assignment. She had been assigned the lowest level. No one knew why she was calling. Nor, for that matter, did he.

Automatic call routing had died with Supernova Alpha’s gamma-ray pulse. Saul went to his private line, one that could not be monitored by Auden Travis or anyone else, and entered the sequence by hand. He was half hoping there would be no reply, but it was answered immediately.

“Hello?” Tricia’s voice was clear and high-pitched, a little faint over the noisy line but easily recognized.

“Hi.” He felt breathless. “This is Saul.”

“Saul! Mr. President! It’s been ages.”

Strictly speaking, that was not true. She and Saul had been at the same reception, just before Christmas. They had eyed each other from across the room. Very slim and taller than Saul even without heels, she stood out above the crowd. Her black hair was as sleek and stylish as ever, setting off a pale, flawless complexion and fine cheekbones. She was not with her new husband, Joseph Goldsmith, but even so she and Saul had kept their distance.

He said nothing now, and after a few moments she added, “Saul, are you there? How are things?”

“It’s a mess — a mess all over the country. All over the world. We’ve been hit hard, but we are better off than most.”

He had interpreted her question impersonally. With Tricia he should have known better. She laughed, the insider’s laugh he knew so well.

“Now you stop that. You know what I mean. How are you}”

“I’m fine, Tricia. One thing about being President, people do coddle you. A better question is, how are you managing out at Highgates?”

As he spoke he glanced at an expanded metsat view of the local area. Highgates lay fifty miles to the west and slightly south, in Virginia horse country. Like the rest of the region, the four square miles of estate surrounding the forty-room mansion of Highgates was blanketed with snow.

“Well, it’s hard to go anywhere.” Tricia’s voice was resolutely upbeat. “So for the past week I haven’t tried. We have our own generators and our own wells and plenty of food. I’m learning to enjoy solitude. I can’t complain. And you know me, I never do.”

She was right. Tricia took misfortune in her stride, chin up and head held high. It was one of her best points. She complained about nothing — or about only one thing, which Saul was not going to mention.

“You are wise to stay home,” he said. “I’m trying to bring services and systems back, but it’s slow going. Staying at Highgates makes good sense.”

“Oh, don’t say that.” There was a joking pout in her voice. He could visualize her dark-eyed face, as clearly as if they had a videophone connection.

“I’m planning a trip into Washington tomorrow or the day after,” she went on. “I was really hoping I could stop by and say hello. You tell me you’re fine, but I’d like to see for myself and make sure. You drive yourself too hard, you know. You’re too busy with others to take care of your own health.”

Getting from Highgates to Washington would be difficult, but Saul knew better than to suggest that to Tricia as an obstacle to their meeting. She would find a way.

“Tomorrow would be good. How about dinner? Here?” The words seemed to emerge from his mouth without the involvement of his forebrain.

“That will be perfect.”

He regained some self-control. “It won’t be just the two of us, I’m afraid. There have to be some other people present, and we’ll be talking business.”

Saul could do what he liked with his calendar. Tomorrow had nothing that could not be moved. He was testing, searching for information.

“That’s all right,” she said at once. “So long as we can both be there. About six? I know you like to eat early.”

“That will be good.”

“Wonderful. You know, I’m really looking forward to seeing you. Bye, Saul.”

Before he could add anything, the line went dead. Saul leaned back in the padded chair, specially designed for his predecessor, and breathed deep. It had been two years and more since they had spoken to each other, but his heart was racing. He had not known what Tricia wanted when he placed the call to her, and he had no better idea now.