Worlds in Chaos (82 page)

Now it was Cade’s turn to talk to the camera and answer questions. Len stayed, while Rebecca left with Marie. There were no surprises. Cade told his story as it had happened, omitting details of precisely who had initiated the contact into CounterAction for him, because he wasn’t asked. The question that caused him the most difficulty was regarding his motivation: Why had he done it? Why had he gotten involved? He couldn’t say it was to help with their cause—truth was, he had never given much thought to it. His own life was pretty comfortable, thanks to no one else, because
he
had made it that way. It was up to others to worry about what he considered to be their problems. He didn’t feel that whoever he was talking to would appreciate a discourse on personal philosophies of that nature, however.

“Julia—the person I’m with now. It seemed important to her,” he said. “Apparently, they were close friends back in college. . . . I guess I just wanted to do what I could. I didn’t have any thought then of getting involved.” He gestured to indicate the room he was in. “Not like this.” Which was true; but somehow not enough. Cade didn’t find it satisfying.

“There was nothing of a more . . . ‘personal’ nature, maybe?” the voice from the phone speaker queried.

Cade sat back, jolted by the question. “No. . . .” But he wasn’t sure. He realized how impossible this would have been had Marie remained present.

There was a pause. Then the voice on the phone said, “Very well.” Evidently, Cade had passed muster; the subject was closed. So was that what he had been brought all this way for? It needled him.

“Well, I’m glad that you’re satisfied,” he said. It was one of those rare times when he was unable to keep an edge of sarcasm out of his voice. “My plane back to LA will have left already. I’m going to have to get some kind of a regular connection instead from here, wherever this is—unless you’ve got rules that say we have to go on another mystery tour first. You realize that you’ve cost me my whole evening.”

The person who the voice belonged to seemed unimpressed. “There are people out there right now for whom it’s costing their homes, their families, their lives,” he replied coolly.

The remark hit Cade as disconcertingly as it came unexpectedly. He sat back on the bed, finding himself too troubled and confused to respond. He had never thought of it that way. Somehow, the thought of putting in an expense claim didn’t feel like such a good idea.

Marie and Rebecca came back. Len held a muted conversation over the phone. It seemed that business was concluded for the moment. He would need to go back to confer, he announced. Rebecca would probably be moved to another location later that night and arrangements made to send Cade home. In the meantime they were to remain here. Marie would keep them company. Len collected his coat off the bed. When he opened the door, the van had magically reappeared. As he was leaving, Marie caught Cade’s sleeve, and drew close to keep her words private. “We have to take care of business first,” she murmured. “Maybe we’ll be able to talk a little later. There must be lots. It’s been a long time.” Cade nodded.

While Marie rinsed out the coffee pot and prepared another brew, Rebecca lay back along the bed they had been using and stared at the ceiling. Cade paced disconsolately to the door and back several times, then settled down on the other and picked up one of the magazines still lying there. An ad at the bottom of the page it was opened at was for a restaurant called the Chattanooga Chew Chew. Its phone number had the area code 423. Well, that answered one question, anyway, he told himself.

The miniature locator that ISS operative “Ruby,” currently operating under the field name Rebecca, had attached beneath the collar of Len’s jacket while it lay on the bed updated its position from satellite fixes every five seconds and had connected with the national security network via booster relays covering the area. The computers at ISS Regional Command in Atlanta had found voiceprint matches with two samples from previously tapped recordings, both established from interrogation leads as belonging to members of the Scorpion cell. The male was the operative known as “Len”; the female went as “Kestrel.”

For ten minutes, the plot from the locator traced a route northwest of Chattanooga to coordinates shown on a large-scale map as pinpointing one of a number of mobile homes situated in a wooded area just over the Tennessee River. Conversation picked up later inside the house identified the Scorpion member, believed to be cell leader, known as “Olsen,” and a female voice not on file. Then, after a further fifteen minutes, another male voice was detected. Within seconds, the analyzer monitor in Atlanta started beeping and flashing a box with the caption priority. An operator transferred spectra samples to an auxiliary screen and ran a full Fourier and time series comparison. He picked up a red phone that connected directly to the section supervisor.

“Bingo!” he reported. “It’s him, Reyvek. We’ve found the defector.”

A Status Report, Operations Plan, and Request for Action Approval were flashed to Washington within eighteen minutes. Before a half-hour was up, the response came back:
GO
.

Choppers from a base in the mountains between Chattanooga and Nashville, experimentally fitted with quiet-running Hyadean ducted fans in place of conventional rotors, landed strike teams a mile from the target in opposite directions along the north bank of the river. Their orders were to identify and take out the designated Subject, along with all other opposition on sight. When that objective was confirmed, a second unit would go in to relieve operative Ruby in the motel on the south side of the city, and eliminate the two remaining hostiles there.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Cade lay propped against the headboard and watched as Marie poured two coffees. She added some creamer and a sachet of sugar to his, left hers black, and brought them over. Rebecca was in the bathroom, and from the time that had passed, could conceivably have fallen asleep there. Cade took the cup that Marie offered. She sat down with her own at the foot of the bed and regarded him over the rim as she took a sip. He returned the look evenly for a moment, saw that she was simply being open, inviting things to take any turn from here, and let his face soften.

“ ‘Mole Woman’! What ever made you remember that? I thought you’d be a million years past any sentimental stuff by now—whatever used to be there, anyway.”

“They wanted something personal. You see, you never could get it into your head that I had a side like that. You only saw this cold intellectual . . . and you invented most of that yourself.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You still can’t see it?”

Cade gestured at her. “Look at you, for Christ’s sake.”

“So there’s a side that wants to do something about things I take seriously, too. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. It’s just as well some people do. . . . Besides, why just talk about me. What’s this ‘red coal’ thing I’m hearing about all of a sudden?” Her eyes flickered over him. “Trying to tell me something, Roland?”

Cade made an exaggerated show of sighing at the ceiling, missing the impish twist of her mouth. “Oh, we’re not about to go off into some Freudian excursion are we? The guy I was talking to threw the question across a table, and that was what I came up with. It’s not as if there’s a huge list of alternatives.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You could have picked . . .” Marie thought for a few seconds. “Let’s see, there’s ‘red cola,’ ‘real cod.’ Then you’ve got ‘old acre’ or ‘old care.’ Does ‘earl doc’ work?” She frowned. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”

“Okay, okay.” Cade cocked a complimentary eyebrow. “You’re still as quick, I see.” Marie showed an empty palm and made a face that said “if you say so.” But she wasn’t about to drop it. “So why did you come here?” she said.

Cade let his head fall back against the headboard. “Why is everyone around here trying to psychoanalyze me? Look, it wasn’t
me
that wanted to come here. I just planned on coming as far as Atlanta to make sure she was collected okay. The rest was your people’s idea. I didn’t get a lot of say in it. They went through all this while you were out of the room. Why not ask them when you get back, eh?”

Marie stared at him for a moment or two longer, then nodded. She took another sip from her cup. “So is life still being kind to you?” she asked.

Now Cade felt on familiar ground. He answered automatically. “It is, because I let it.” Despite the qualms that had assailed him earlier, he couldn’t resist being provocative. “You know how I am. I mind my own business. If other people want to make problems for themselves, that’s their right, I guess.”

“Oh, how can you blame people for what’s happening to them? Ordinary, decent people, I mean. They work hard, believe what they’re told. They’re being sold out.”

Cade raised his chin. They were at it again, already. It seemed that the amnesty had been short-lived. “So who are you blaming, the Hyadeans? Well, some of them happen to be friends of mine, and they can be pretty ordinary and decent, too, believe it or not.”

“But that’s the whole
point
! It’s not a simplistic ‘them’ or ‘us’ situation. The power on both sides is in collusion. It’s like, oh . . . when the Romans used to provide palaces and protection to the local chiefs for keeping the natives in line and the taxes coming in. This whole regime that they’ve set up in Washington is getting to be just like one of those puppet—” The room’s phone units sounded an incoming call. Cade picked up the handset from the bedside stand, pressed the “2” button to select audio only, and offered the phone to Marie. “Dictatorships you used to hear about,” she completed as she took it. The latch of the bathroom door clicked barely audibly.

A look of alarm seized Marie’s face suddenly. As Cade started to mouth a question, she touched “3” to activate the screen and speaker phone. Sounds poured forth of voices shouting indistinctly, some seeming to be barking commands, others yelling warnings; confused scuffling and banging; then a torrent of what could only be gunfire.

“
What in hell
—” Cade began, swinging his legs down off the bed.

Len’s face filled the screen, twisted by fear and desperation. “
Kes, get out! It’s a bust! They’re already coming in here! We’ve got—
” Half his head erupted in an explosion of flesh and gore. He vanished to be replaced by a brief image of a black-hooded figure holding a gun in one hand and gesturing to somebody with the other, then disappearing off-screen.

“
Jesus Christ!
” Cade cried.

“
State Security. Freeze right there!
” Cade looked around at where the voice had come from. Rebecca had come out of the bathroom, clasping an automatic in a two-handed grip. He gaped, paralyzed. But she made the mistake of swinging the weapon from him to Marie and back again to cover both of them. As the muzzle moved away, Marie swept her arm up, throwing the contents of her coffee cup into Rebecca’s face, then almost in the same movement bunched herself to go in low under it, crashing her shoulder into Rebecca’s midriff with her full weight and momentum behind it. The action was instant, reflexive—before Cade had even tuned in to what was happening. The sound of an explosion followed by more shooting came from the phone’s speaker.

The bullet went into the wall a foot away from Cade. Rebecca was hurled backward, going down and cracking her head on the drawer unit by the wall, which had the snack leftovers on top. Marie pulled Rebecca’s head up by the hair, thudded it back against the floor, then used her knee to pin the arm holding the gun and twisted it from Rebecca’s grasp. Rebecca made a V with the fingers of one hand and jabbed upward viciously, aiming at Marie’s eyes, but Marie deflected it, then struck sideways at Rebecca’s head with the gun, left then right, and then again—pure survival instinct reacting to lethal danger. Cade looked on, horrified, as blood welled from a gash on Rebecca’s temple and ran down her face, mingling with the coffee that Marie had thrown. Marie stood up, breathing shakily. But Rebecca was still not out, nor was she finished. She sat up and lunged for the gun, but was too groggy to judge the distance. Marie shot her twice in the center of the forehead.