Chapter 16

“But what about when I’m dead?”

“Then you’re dead.”

“But I can’t stand to be dead.”

“Then don’t let it happen till it happens. . . .”

—Ernest Hemingway, The Garden of Eden

 

Trenton Solaris, the albino Chief of Operations, prepared to board his private flight to Mexico City when the connection came through from the Secretary of State. He was well covered with his usual long sleeves, white gloves and floppy hat, so he turned his back on the Lancer jump jet and took the call in the sun.

Solaris found the Secretary a personally repulsive and uncivilized man who thought of nothing but his edge on power. The situation was made more uncomfortable because nearly anything Solaris had to tell him would be negative, and disappointing the Secretary always meant personal trouble for Solaris and money trouble for the DIA.

“It’s his granddaughter, after all,” Major Hodge whispered as he offered Solaris the Sidekick.

As if Solaris needed Hodge to tell him that.

The Secretary didn’t waste any time.

“Who authorized you to start a goddamn revolution?”

“Revolutions just start,” Solaris said.

“Bullshit,” the Secretary said. “This project was your baby, and your ass is on the line. Not only have you been fucking with me, you’ve been fucking with my family, and you’ve been fucking with the American people. Now, I want some goddamn answers and I want them now!”

Solaris hesitated, and was very uncomfortable to be receiving this dressing-down in the presence of Major Ezra Hodge, the geek of the DIA. He watched heat waves wash the tarmac and wished himself into the lush foothills of the Jaguar Mountains beyond.

“What are your questions, Mr. Secretary?”

“Don’t be cute with me, son,” Mandell growled. “When I was a senator, I voted against your pet project down there and you know it. Now, you tell me straight. Did they give her some new virus down there? Is my granddaughter going to die?”

In an uncharacteristic moment of hysteria, Solaris wanted to shout, Mr. Secretary, everybody dies. But he knew what the Secretary wanted, and he knew what he meant, so he answered the best he could.

“Absolutely not, Mr. Secretary. She’s in the best of health and in good hands. So is the boy who was with her.”

“What about Costa Brava?”

“There’s some activity, yes. But that’s not unusual, as you well know, and things are moving in our favor.”

“But you’re holding my granddaughter in isolation. Why is that?”

Solaris knew that the Secretary was setting him up for a fall over this mess. He just hoped he could stave it off long enough to redeem himself. He moved into the shade of the Lancer’s wing.

“A precaution,” Solaris said. “They were kidnapped by a madman at ViraVax, a man acting completely on his own, and we took the prescribed precautions. You, yourself on the Intelligence Committee . . .”

“I know what we said about that,” Mandell said. “Don’t snow me with legalese. You say there’s nothing to worry about, so they’re clean. The President says let them out, but keep them together for observation.”

Hodge made a dramatic gesture of supplication to the sun.

“Right,” Solaris said. Then he delivered the proper political lie: “I gave the order just minutes ago. . . .”

“Fine. Now. Mexico City?”

“It’s under control.”

“It’s not under control,” the Secretary snapped. “You’re getting your butt kicked there, my friend. I don’t have time here to dick with you. Now, how hot is this cargo?”

“Very hot, sir.”

“Would you like the area cleared without a lot of folderol?”

Solaris felt some relief. The Secretary of State was not an admirable man, but neither was he stupid.

“Yes, sir, I would like that very much.”

“Fine. Earthquake Watch got a three-point-oh prediction for that area; we’ll upgrade it to an eight-point-oh with warning and get as many people out of there as we can.”

“Thank you, sir. That will be most helpful.”

“And, Solaris?”

“Yes, sir?”

“There’s a biplane for sale in Punta Gorda. Buy it with some of that contingency fund of yours that I voted against in the Senate and give it to my granddaughter.”

“I don’t think there’s any way we can . . .”

“That Mongoose that forced her down and wrecked her plane was on lease out of your command, was it not? In flagrant violation of several international policies and at least one U.S. law?”

“I’ll locate the plane right away, sir.”

“No need, son. It’s already loaded on a Fat Boy and headed your way. It’ll land at La Libertad in about fifteen minutes. You take care of the funds transfer, and arrange an appropriate place to keep these people together. Your presence is required at Camp David. Instructions to follow. End.”

Solaris’s hand trembled when he gave the Sidekick back to a smug-looking Major Hodge. The albino had to admit that the earthquake warning was a good idea. The guerrilla team was supposed to be crack at entries, but something had gone wrong; there was much more of a fight than they’d anticipated. He prayed that none of the deadly concoction was hit in the battle.

Solaris felt safer here in Costa Brava, in spite of the infighting, but he needed firsthand information on the siege in Mexico City. Plus, he needed to placate Mexican officials, several of whom were Gardeners, as well. He sighed, and presented Hodge with the updated plan.

“Release them,” he said. “Remand Colonel Toledo to Merced Hospital, the Catholic hospital. Get the Chang woman and the kids out to Casa Canada. Give Chang whatever she needs but keep her there. Set up a security and communications post at Casa Canada. Once those kids are out there, lock up their plane and don’t let them leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

Small-arms fire crackled in the distance. Solaris lowered his sunglasses for a moment and noted the smoke of several large fires from the city.

“If this gets bad, relocate your people to their farm,” he said. “It’s got an airstrip and a defensible perimeter. As soon as this plane shows up, I’ll hand it over to the girl and head back to Mexico City. I’ll return tomorrow to put the lid on ViraVax. You’ve ordered the concrete and equipment?”

“Yes, sir,” Hodge said. “It’ll take every cement truck in the five provinces, and more than double-time to get them to work on Easter. . . .”

“Fine. Just so it’s done.”

The albino squinted up at the whine of engines overhead and saw the wide-bodied Fat Boy transport lining up on its approach.

“Good,” he mumbled. “We can get this done and get out of here.” He turned to see Hodge watching the transport, too.

“Major Hodge,” he said. “Don’t you have duties to carry out?”

“Yes, sir,” Hodge said, and snapped a salute. “Right away, sir.”

Hodge turned on his heel and hurried to the unmarked warehouse beside the taxiway, where the isolettes had been installed.

Maggot, Solaris thought, and wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. His hand trembled and he jammed it back into his pocket. He rapped the fuselage of the Lancer to get the pilot’s attention. “Stand down,” he said. “We’ll be here awhile.”