Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Okay. Sure thing.”

Connor took another deep sip of wine. A moment later, McLeod interceded. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Mac.”

Turning, he stared at McLeod and took a deep breath. “I want the entire team to convene after dinner to discuss our planned mission objectives as we head east. I want a clear execution plan to address our approach to Cleveland and this… new problem.”

“Okay.”

“My review of our current position puts us about 110 miles from Cleveland. Today’s August twenty-eighth and the letter suggests a deadline of September eight. How the hell did this President Starkes peg our potential arrival so tightly?”

“What do you mean?” asked McLeod.

“We found this letter only twelve days before our ‘expected’ arrival. The weathering effect on the actual letters can’t be but five, maybe ten days old at most. This morning, I found thirty-two more copies within a mile of Cody’s discovery in a fairly consistent north-south dispersal pattern. Not perfect mind you, but suggestive of a low-altitude drop, perhaps from a ’copter to canvas the area. And, if you can believe it, I think each one’s an original signature. Both sides.”

“A ’copter in the air? You think?”

“Yeah, that’s the only way I can make any sense of the dispersal. And, I do believe this President Starkes signed each one of ’em.”

“Oh.”

“I’m real tempted to find out how far south this canvassing goes. It would make a difference if it continued for ten miles, or a hundred. What about five hundred?”

“Yeah, I see your point; the length of the drop would determine the scope and accuracy of their search pattern.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, and one might assume this leaflet drop was launched before a forward trajectory toward Cleveland and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Follow me?”

“Yeah,” said McLeod.

“Which means they were backtracking me from west to east, my actual direction of travel.”

“Uh, huh.”

“But, I’m still thinking… it strikes me as damn near impossible that this new president, or whoever’s working with her, could pinpoint my position that accurately. Though, I admit, it damn sure indicates she’s had some pertinent knowledge on my whereabouts.”

“Maybe she’s been searching for years.”

“I considered that, but it makes no sense. Especially based on the fresh paper and Amanda’s ‘baby bullet’ theory everybody’s so fond of.”

“Why?”

“Well, ’cause I only returned to the States last year.”

“So?”

“Why would she be looking for me prior to that? Before last year, I was traveling in the Pacific Ocean, stuck in Japan, some other piss-ass islands, or fighting my way back from Australia before that.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“To make sense of it, I’m thinking Nicole’s the one they found. It’s got to be…”

“She’s the one you mentioned was in San Francisco, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Why her… wait… because the president would need to know about a baby and the gestation period takes nine months. Yes! That’s an excellent point,” said McLeod. He smiled at the implications, thinking furiously.

“To me, that means… I have a kid in California.”

“Oh. Yeah. I understand, Mac. But stay with your thinking—”

“That’s where I keep getting hung up… that puts the kid at… what maybe two, maybe three months old.”

“Okay, but—”

“I keep thinking… shit, Nicole’s stuck out there with a kid trying to survive and I just left her.”

“From what you told me, the trust factor was gone. And, you certainly didn’t know she was pregnant when you left.”

“Yeah, I know, but—”

“C’mon, Mac, you know as well as I do that you made the right decision. She couldn’t be trusted, right? I think the idea of a new baby’s making you forget the world we live in. It’s a hard world, there’s no second chances.”

“Yeah—”

“But go on. Continue. What else are you thinking?”

“Finding Nicole would help the president’s predicament, John. I’ve gone back on all the conversations I had with Nicole. She probably has enough intel about me to help refine any search.”

“She knows where you’re going?”

“Well, not specifics, but if the president and her men had any access to my military record to go with it, and, had Nicole shared my habits and tendencies—”

“Such as?”

“I dunno. Like I keep a very low profile. I travel light. Avoid possible nuclear fallout. No horses like you and your men. No use of motorized equipment. No playing around in the larger population centers, general purpose and direction, you know shit like that—”

“Still, Mac, that’s an impressive logistical feat to have narrowed you to this general area.”

“I know! Tell me about it.”

“They woulda had to talk to someone else besides this Nicole.”

“Probably. But, I’ve had maybe less than twenty direct interactions with people during the past year. Granted, most were short duration, maybe a day or two. Most of ’em didn’t even know who I was let alone where I was going. And, I can’t begin to figure out who that might be. But, any of the other women I’d spent time with wouldn’t have produced any baby. I’m sure on that… Hell, like I said, before Amanda and after Nicole, there were only three other woman and…”

“Let’s just forget how Starkes did it and focus on what we plan to do about it once we’re there,” suggested McLeod.

“You mean at the Hall of Fame?”

“Yeah.”

Connor slugged back the last dregs of the second glass of wine, standing. It was obvious from his demeanor that the current conversation was coming to a close.

“If we’re going to do this, McLeod, it’s gonna have to be a team decision from the start.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not gonna drag this new crew into this kinda shit.”

“Makes sense. It’s a good way to test the cohesion, integrity and stress-tolerance of the new crew.”

“Mr. Psychology of War talking.”

John McLeod smiled. “Another back handed compliment?”

Connor walked around the table, handing his glass to McLeod. “I’m thinking you and I’ll make a damn good team, McLeod.”

“So do I, Mac.”

Nodding, Connor turned toward the barn. “Thanks for the wine. Good call on your approach. Be sure to do it again… and, thanks.”

“Welcome.”

Connor slowly started his walk toward the barn. After a few steps, he stopped. “We’ll need to cover twenty miles per day, minimum, to reach the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame before September eighth. We’re going have to be real careful and consistent now to assess the impact of radiation fallout as we near Cleveland. There’s several nuke plants nearby and we don’t want to be walking into a hot zone. Plus, we’ll be able to conduct a preemptive assessment.”

“Okay.”

“This is some crazy bat-shit,” said Connor, nearly out of range.

“That’s for sure,” mumbled John McLeod.

“I need to talk with you, Phoenix.”

“Come back in ’bout an hour, would ya, uncle? I’m almost through with breakfast.”

“Best not.”

Phoenix relaxed his grip on the slender hips of the scared young teen sitting on his lap. The serious expression of Larry Reed gave him pause in his fondling.

“Go on, then. Talk.”

“Private.”

Sighing audibly, Phoenix slipped the leather recliner footrest closed and slid the thirteen-year-old brunette from his lap. Raven hair disheveled and white blouse in disarray, the barefoot teenager stood and shook slightly in front of him, waiting for his next instruction. With a dismissive nod, Phoenix sent her away and she adjusted her short skirt as she bolted passed Larry in bare feet.