Charles Sheffield - Aftermath

The list of callers was still sitting in front of him, open to the last sheet. He didn’t even want to think about them, until he noticed Yasmin Silvers’s name at the top of the page. How had he overlooked that earlier?

He knew. He had been focused totally on Tricia. The initials next to Yasmin’s name showed that she had spoken with Auden Travis, but there was no message summary.

Saul touched the intercom. “Auden? I see Yasmin Silvers called. You spoke with her.”

“Yes, sir. Should I come in?”

“No need for that.” Saul detected a curiously cold tone to Travis’s voice. Had the two of them been arguing? “What did Yasmin want?”

“It was an information call only, sir, that’s why her message shows low priority. She had been heading south. She said that you had authorized her trip — to the Q-5 Syncope Facility at Maryland Point?”

“Quite right.” Saul ignored the implied question, why? “I did. She ought to be there by now.”

“She isn’t. She was not able to travel, yesterday or today. She says the roads to the south are closed because of high snowdrifts.”

“Where is she?”

“She is staying at a place called Indian Head. It’s about forty kilometers south of here.”

“What is it? The name is familiar.”

“It is an old Navy weapons center — very old, I gather.”

“Does she need help?”

“She did not ask for it, sir. It would also be difficult to provide it, because the roads from here are close to impassable.”

“Very good. Thank you, Auden.” Logically, that was the end of that subject. Yasmin Silvers was in a known location, and she was safe. Saul ought to get back to other matters, like the high-priority items on the list. But at some hidden level his brain was at work, linking Yasmin and Indian Head with the words and agenda of Nick Lopez. Whatever Mander and Lopez might be, they were not fools.

He walked over to the bureau in the corner of the office and pulled out a volume of large-scale maps of the local region. Finding a selected location in the atlas was harder work than the Query-and-Display system, with its instant map information for any point coded into the worldwide digital data base. But the Q-and-D was down, and would be until a version could be pipelined in from the intact Prospero-rated intelligence data center at Boiling Air Force Base. Maybe three more days, according to Grace Mackay. Meanwhile . . .

Saul found Indian Head. Naturally, the old Navy base was on the river. It stood at the point where the Potomac turned, broadened, and began a long sweep due south. It was easy to see how Yasmin had become stuck there. From Indian Head all the way to the deliberately isolated outpost of Maryland Point and the Facility for Extended Syncope, the only roads were second- or third-class highways.

And Auden Travis was right, too. With few plows available, the roads down to Indian Head would still be deep in drifts.

It would be difficult for Saul to drive there until the drifts were cleared. But other avenues lay open — if you were President.

He glanced over to the stately grandfather clock, imported a week and a half ago into the office. Three-thirty. There would be time enough.

He touched the intercom unit that sat on the bureau. “Auden? Please call Yasmin Silvers and tell her I would like to have dinner with her this evening at Indian Head. I have some matters that I need to discuss with her personally. And call General Mackay. I want a vessel ready and waiting to carry me downriver to Indian Head. I will leave here one and a half hours from now.”

He broke off the connection without waiting for a reply from Auden Travis. No matter how much the aide misread Saul’s motives and disapproved of them, he wouldn’t dare to say it. And it was just possible that he was not totally wrong.

An hour and a half. Saul walked back to his desk. The list of callers still sat there, staring at him accusingly. Eighteen hundred calls, an hour and a half to make them. Three seconds for each.

Saul closed the folder.

As one of his more easygoing predecessors was apt to say, before retiring for a couple of martinis and an evening of relaxation, “We have to be sure to leave some work for tomorrow.”

By six o’clock it was already dark. Outside, the snow fell steadily. President Steinmetz had been sent safely on his way, after a hectic hour and a half in which Auden Travis had tried to do two days’ work. Now Auden could take off his coat, roll up his shirtsleeves, and catch up on some of his other duties.

The emergency power system of the White House had not been designed for extended use. A week and a half was well beyond its intended lifetime, and now and again the lights flickered and dimmed. Each time Auden stopped, sat back, stretched, and allowed himself a moment of rest. If the power reduction lasted more than a few seconds, he would have to find out what was happening.

It was during one of those moments of power reduction that Nick Lopez quietly entered the little office.

Auden, flustered, sat up and took his hands from behind his head. “I’m sorry, Senator. I didn’t know you were still here.”

Lopez just grinned. “I wasn’t here. I left, and I came back. Any chance of a few more minutes with el Presidente ?”

“Not tonight. He’s on his way to Indian Head — by boat.”

“Is he, now?” Lopez gazed at Auden shrewdly. Without being asked, he pulled up a chair and settled onto it. He moved easily, and with unusual grace. “May I ask why?”

“He has a meeting there with one of the staff.” Auden was going to say no more, but Nick Lopez was staring at him with quiet sympathy. “With Yasmin Silvers.”

“Ah.” Lopez winked at Auden in a knowing way. His broad, good-natured face showed understanding and no hint of censure. “Well, I’m sure Saul has earned it. You know what they say, all work and no play . . .”

“It may be a business meeting.”

“It may.” Lopez smiled at Auden. “Then again, it may not. Your loyalty does you credit. Meanwhile, you are left here, to work and work and work. What time do you stop?”

“When I feel I’m not being productive anymore.” Auden gestured to his desk, piled high with notes and folders and clipboards. He knew Nick Lopez’s reputation, but it was flattering to have so important a man take a personal interest in what he was doing. “There’s always plenty of work — especially now, when the support systems don’t function.”

“Of course. Work is important. But you are young, it ought not to be all work. You should have some social life.”

“Is there any? I thought the city was at a standstill.”

“In some ways. But life goes on, even now. As a matter of fact, this very evening—” Lopez paused. “Look, a couple of my friends are having a little party. I told them I couldn’t make it, because I knew I would be coming here and I hoped to spend some time with the President. But now I can go. It’s not far from the White House, across Lafayette Park and a few blocks north. The streets are dangerous, but I’ll get a security escort. Why don’t you take a break and come along with me?”

It was tempting. Auden was tired to the point where he wasn’t sure he was getting anything useful done. On the other hand . . . “Senator Lopez, thank you for the invitation. But I don’t think I should. I don’t know your friends. They don’t know me.”

“It’s quite informal, and there will be a fair number of people there. I suspect you will know some of them already.” Lopez moved his chair closer. “I’ve been close to Jeremy and Raoul for years, you don’t need an invitation if you arrive with me. And they are nice people. I’m sure you would like them.”