John Schettler - Devil's Garden

“You think they mean to let all that fly, Mack?”

“If this war heats up any further that looks to be the next act in the play. But there’s more! The Chinese popped one off the US West coast-EMP burst at high altitude.”

“EMP?”

“It had the desired effect. Most of the west coast is dark, though parts of Seattle made it through alright.”

“Lord almighty, that was one hell of a stupid thing to do. Now the Americans will have to retaliate.”

“The Chinese say this was for those missile attacks the B-2s flew against their satellite launching sites.”

“And those raids were for the Chinese attack on the US satellite in space. Tick-tock, Mack. What happens next?”

“That’s why this information on the Russians is so hot. It looks like they think the US will have to let one fly, and they’re heating up the whole strategic triad. They’ve already got the boomers deployed, and the bombers are taking off tonight for fail-safe orbits. This thing is teetering on the edge of a razor now. One more provocation could set it all off like a powder keg.”

“A whole lot worse than that, Mack.”

“And there’s one other thing. Her majesty has received another telephone call.”

MacRae frowned, knowing just what Morgan meant now. “That damn red phone behind the bulkhead?”

“Right-O. I was in to brief her on the Bosporus transit, and we were interrupted. She dismissed me rather abruptly and retired to her office. You know what that means.”

“Well what does is mean, Mack? She won’t speak a word about that phone, and I’ve had the guff to question her directly on it. You’re the intelligence officer here. Hell, you’re standing here telling me what the Russians are doing with their ballistic missiles and we don’t even know half of what goes on right here under our feet!”

“Aye, it’s been a mystery, and she’s kept it close. If I had a mind I might try to trace those signals, but I doubt that her ladyship would be very happy about that if she ever found out what I was up to.”

“That I can understand. Alright, you’re off the hook. I expect she’ll be wanting the two of us in her office soon enough. Every time that damn phone rings we end up making a major course change. God only knows what it will be this time. We lost an X-3 the last time out.”

“Ryan made it back to Baku. He’ll be in with the last of the Argonauts from BP headquarters where they left the men before they went off on that cockamamie mission. He should land in half an hour.”

“Good enough. I’ll see that he gets a pint or two for that, and no blaming him for the loss of that helo. They ran into a Russian missile defense battery at the Kaspiysk Naval base-S-400s.”

“A nasty beast, that one. He was lucky to make it out of there in one piece. I certainly hope her ladyship doesn’t have any more pretensions about engaging the Russians. We’ll have our hands full seeing those two big ladies out there through the Straits. I hope to God the price of the oil made this whole odyssey worth it. We lost some good men.”

MacRae was silent for a moment, letting that settle between them. They always knew the day would come when they would lose men for oil. The world had been buying oil with blood for decades. National policy rotated about the rigs and platforms sucking the earth and squeezing the shale for every last drop they could find. Fairchild had made it safely to the eastern entrance of the Bosporus with two million barrels, and it would pay for many things with spot prices up near $300 a barrel now. It would buy them new ships and helicopters easily enough, but would it pay for the lives of those men?

“You’ve arranged the transit?” MacRae said quietly.

“Aye, we’ve priority access for a night move through the main channel, and with any luck we’ll be in the Aegean by tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t suppose it will matter much if this news about the missiles gets any worse.” MacRae folded his brawny arms, and there came a quiet knock on the door. Morgan opened it and Mister Dean was there, a message in his eyes.

“Excuse me, Captain. Miss Fairchild would like-”

“Just as I said, Mack. We’ve been summoned.”

“Yes, sir. But the message was only for the Captain.”

“Only for the Captain?” Mack Morgan screwed up his face, pretending to be offended. Then he smiled. “Something tells me you’ve got on the good side of that woman, Gordie.”

“Which side would that be, Mack? Are you telling me you’ve seen them both?”

The two men smiled and MacRae was through the narrow door and headed for the hatch. “You have the con, Mister Dean.”

“Aye, sir. Captain off the bridge.”

* * *

“Delphi?”MacRae scratched his head with that one. “Well, I’d have to look at a chart but it’s a little over 400 miles.”

“How soon can we get there?”

“The tankers have the lane tonight for a transit of the straits, so I’d say-”

“No Gordon. How soon can we get there. I’ll just need a small party.”

“Without the tankers?” He gave her a sidelong look, trying to discern what was going on here. “Suppose you tell me what you have in mind, Madame.”

“She smiled at him, knowing he had deliberately assumed his formal Captain’s role to cover the fact that her request was unwelcome. She knew the man all too well by now.

“You’re going to ask me about the red phone next, aren’t you.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Well, yes there was another call. Things are happening-more than I can fully explain right now, but we haven’t got the time I had hoped to buy with this mission. I suppose it was foolish to think we’d get through this in one piece.”

“You’re still brooding over Princess Royal and Princess Irene .”

“No, Gordon. It’s not that. The oil doesn’t matter now. I said that before.”

“It doesn’t matter? We’ve just spent the last 72 hours with our pretty behinds at considerable risk, not to mention the assets of the entire company. Now it doesn’t matter?”

How could she make him understand? When he last pressed her on the order to send the X-3s to attack the Russian operation in the Caspian she had only revealed what was necessary-the Russians were planning an operation that would have grave repercussions and they had to be stopped, if possible. She had said nothing to him of the Watch, the long vigil on time and history that it represented, the very notion of displacement in time itself-let alone the rest of it-the things she had come to learn in recent years that were so unsettling. How could she unravel the weave of a mystery so profound that she herself barely had a hold on one single strand of that loom? The Red phone…yes, another call had come in with a warning she had long feared. It was a brutally simple message that every member of the Watch had been told to expect in the most dire emergency, at the last extreme. The signal read “48 Hours.”

“Gordon,” she began, feeling her way across an impossibly narrow bridge. “Something has happened that we were told to expect in the event of an extreme emergency.”

“Did Mack Morgan spike your martini with his talk about the Russian ICBMs?”

“No, I haven’t heard that yet, but it doesn’t surprise me. It’s where all this nonsense has been heading for decades. Well now we’re here. It’s time. We have 48 hours.”

“48 hours? Alright, explain that one to me, Elena.”

She walked across the room, closer to him, and sat on the love seat near her desk. He stood there, waiting, until she slapped the side of the couch beckoning him to sit.

“Yes,” she said. “You better sit down for this one. But before you do, I’d recommend you pour us both a tote of gin.”