Chapter One Hundred Five

J OSEPH STOOD AT the window , his clothes wet, his chest aching. Robert was on his left, Dulce on his right.

They watched the night sky lightening in the east, the black of night slowly yielding to the coming sun.

"You think we'll see it here?" Robert asked.

"I don't know," Joseph replied softly.

"Will we be safe here?" Robert asked.

"Reasonably," Joseph said. "The winds will push the fallout to the east. Into the Atlantic. Which probably won't be too horrific."

"But—"

"I think, once we see the sun, it would behoove us to retreat downstairs. For a while."

"What if—" Dulce began, but Joseph shook his head.

He didn't want hope. He wanted resignation. He wanted the two people around him to understand what was happening, not be wishful and ridiculous and—

His phone rang. The one in his office.

Joseph stared out the window.

The phone rang a second time.

"You think it's the president?" Robert asked. "Think maybe you should answer it?"

Joseph said nothing.

A third ring.

Robert ran for the phone.

"Smith," he answered, his voice muffled ever so slightly by the various walls in the office. "You're sure? … So it's over? … I'll tell him."

Joseph looked this time, curiosity finally overcoming his morbidity.

Robert was ebullient, grinning from ear to ear.

"They did it," Robert said.

"Are you sure?" Joseph asked.

Robert held out the phone. "Ask him."

"No time," Joseph said, already running. There was a satellite phone in Robert's desk, one that would always be working and always have a way to speak to the president. Joseph snatched it up, pushed the singular button marked PRES, and waited.

It rang once.

Twice.

"Please hold for the president," came a young man's voice on the other end.

"This had better be good," the president said on the other end.

"Goldman here," Joseph said, "we've had full success. Call off the bomb."

"Is this—"

"Unqualified, sir. We are victorious."

"You're not buying time?"

"No sir. The cult is down. We are victorious."

"Joseph Goldman, you are a son of a bitch. I had my god damn finger on the button."

"Please don't push it, sir."

"Goldman, when I get back to D.C., you and I are having a drink."

"Yes, Mr. President. I'd like that."

"Talk to you soon."

"Sure."

The president hung up, and Joseph collapsed into a chair.

"Uh," Robert called out, "Bo is on line one, if you, uh, want to talk to him."

Joseph punched a button, and picked up the handset.

"Bo?" Joseph asked.

"Here, sir," Bo replied.

"You sound tired."

"Am tired."

"Good job."

"Thank you."

"Brittany?"

"She's on the way to the hospital, but I think she'll be fine. I mean, I don't—"

"For this morning, let's pretend we're sure she'll be okay."

"Yessir."

Joesph took a deep breath. "All right."

"What now, sir?"

"What now? What do you mean?"

"What do I do now?"

"Now? It's Tuesday. There's work to be done."

"But, uh, didn't we, uh, save the—"

"We save the world all the time Bo. That's our job. This isn't special. This won't get you brownie points or a gold star outside of this office. You take the morning off. Call me once you wake up. I'll see where I need to send you. I think it'll be South Dakota. Ever wanted to go to South Dakota?"

"No—"

"Good work out there, agent."

Joseph hung up.

Robert leaned on the doorjamb. "There's an email here from the assistant secretary of the interior?"

Joseph shook his head.

"She's saying we've got a meeting this morning?" Robert asked. "In an hour and a half?"

"I'm thinking she's not expecting us to be up," Joseph said. "Willem."

Willem popped up from the chair he'd been pretending to sleep in. "Sir."

"Get a hold of Nate, and tell Nate I need some more of those pills. It's going to be a long Tuesday."