The plan to protect the dogs in the shelter worked perfectly—for precisely thirty-three minutes. That was the amount of time it took for a black FBI sedan with bubble lights flashing to arrive on-site with an order signed by the governor.
McGreary approached the police barricade and signaled to the NYPD officers on the other side of his intention to cross. Kendall nodded his permission.
“I think this is specific enough,” McGreary said, and handed Kendall the order.
Kendall read it carefully, although he had already guessed the contents. The order authorized the National Guard to “take all steps necessary or appropriate to protect the lives and health of the citizens of the State of New York pursuant to the New York and federal Constitutions by immediately confiscating all dogs currently domiciled at Finally Home Animal Shelter. This supersedes any contrary order.”
When Kendall was finished, he studied McGreary’s face and, for the first time, saw fear there. Kendall understood why.
If Kendall refused the order, as absurd as it sounded, McGreary’s men would be forced to remove him, his heavily armed men, and the occupants of the shelter before a hostile crowd chanting for (depending on which voice you listened to) more information, the protection of the dogs, or the governor’s head. The street would soon devolve into a scene out of a third-world country, with the local police on one side and the army on the other. Kendall trusted his men to keep their weapons secured and locked, but what about these Guards? Would they be able to tell friend from foe? They had no contextual experience for this. And what about that nut Owens?
Kendall didn’t see an exit strategy that could accomplish everyone’s goals, and this left him profoundly frightened. How the hell had things gotten this far? He glanced at the NYPD tactical van as if that vehicle might be able to provide some answers.
After a few seconds, the side door of the van slid open. A diminutive silver-haired woman stepped out to surprised cheers from the crowd. Kendall met her.
“May I see that paper?” she asked.
“Of course, Madam Mayor,” Kendall said as he handed it to her. The mayor reviewed the document silently. McGreary joined them.
“I see the governor has left us no choice,” the mayor said.
“That’s the way I see it, ma’am,” McGreary said.
“Very well. But this is still my shelter,” she said. “I will advise them to open the doors.”
Kendall and three of his men began clearing a path for the mayor through the crowd. Kendall could feel the heat coming off some of the impromptu protestors. Somewhere along the way this had become bigger than some stray dogs in a shelter… bigger even than this virus of unknown origin, and certainly bigger than the politics of the convention. The street outside the shelter had become a microcosm for the city’s current emotional state—one of fear, distrust, powerlessness, and cynicism.
As the mayor, Kendall, and McGreary approached the barricades, some of the Guards stationed near the shelter began to push forward, clearing the path from the other direction. Although the crowd was unruly, it obeyed the line of brusque soldiers with automatic rifles.
All except one.
Andy.
Kendall didn’t know how or when Andy had gotten there, but he couldn’t miss the look of anguish and pain in his young face. In that instant Kendall knew this was someone beyond caring about soldiers’ orders and automatic rifles. He also knew that this was how innocent people got killed.
The Guards moved or pushed the crowd to the sidewalk in front of the church or onto the opposite side of the street. Andy stood alone in front of the barricade before the shelter.
A soldier walked over to deal with him.
“Oh, holy shit,” Kendall spit. He sprinted toward the shelter, leaving the mayor and McGreary openmouthed and staring at his back.
The soldier was Owens.