Chapter Thirty-Two

“Plans are nothing; planning is everything.” Dwight D. Eisenhower

Kate stared at the screen as Auspex relayed the decoded files. She read the information quickly, then again, trying to force her brain to assimilate it. She had thought that Stella’s files were unrelated to the prediction of nuclear war. She could no longer believe that. The two were irrevocably connected.

Nausea crawled up her throat as she reached forward and typed in the question.

Auspex, does the data in this file affect the probability of a bomb detonation?

It was a stupid question, really. How could it not change things?

There is now a 98 percent chance that there will be a nuclear detonation on American soil.

98 percent? Her heart rate kicked up, panic gripping her tight, and she closed her eyes for a moment and breathed slowly. In and out until she could think again.

Clearly, Stella had been working with the rebels, presumably through Aaron. She scrolled back to the beginning and started again.

The file was beyond unbelievable; the actions of a mad man in an insane world. And yet, at the same time, it made some sort of horrible logical sense. Kate could actually see it all happening as it was laid out.

Surely there must be someone who would put a stop to this.

Aaron had told Stella to pass this information to Gideon.

Why?

A last hope? Desperation? What did Aaron expect his brother to do?

Her stomach churned. This was such an unbearable thing to carry alone. She wanted to run away and hide, as though that could stop it. She wished she could call Gideon, just to hear his voice. A brief glimpse of sanity in a world gone crazy. But she didn’t want to change anything. He’d told her to act normal. Besides, their call would be monitored, so she couldn’t say anything of what she was actually feeling.

There were another two hours until she was meeting him for lunch, and she couldn’t bear to be alone with her thoughts.

Oliver was the only other person she could talk to. Not the truth—she wouldn’t put that on him—but at least a real conversation without the usual Party bullshit. She couldn’t take the platitudes right now.

As she leaned forward to close down the systems, the TV screen on the wall opposite lit up.

America for Americans.

Oh.

She really didn’t want to listen to this right now. If she had to listen to that voice telling those lies…

Unfortunately, there was no way to turn the fucking thing off. Harry strolled out of the White House. He appeared so…innocuous. Bland and safe and sane. Everything he wasn’t.

“This is a historic year as we move towards democracy. I look forward to the…

As she sat back in her chair and let the lies wash through her mind, something occurred to her.

Auspex, can you infiltrate the information dissemination system?

She didn’t know where she was going with this. Maybe she could just find a way to get the truth out there. She was scrambling around for any ideas. She wasn’t even close to formulating a plan.

At this moment, I cannot. But there is a chance that I might find a way.

Probability?

48 percent.

Try.

The TV screen finally went blank. She got up, then cleared all the screens and shut Auspex down, just in case anyone came to her office.

She headed up the stairs. She hadn’t seen Oliver since their conversation about the catastrophe. He’d sent her a note after her sister’s death, but he hadn’t come to the funeral. She hadn’t thought much about it; her mind had been on other things. But Oliver was a family friend, he’d known Stella all her life—although he’d distanced himself over the last few years—so she would have expected him there. He must have had a good reason for staying away. At the very least, she would have expected him to pop down to her office. Give his condolences.

Teresa looked up as she tapped on the door. She was wearing a white shirt—Auspex was correct—and she smiled brightly, which was odd and made Kate want to glance behind her to see who she was smiling at. “Kate, I saw you met the president last night.”

“You did?”

“You were on the news flash. What was he like? I saw him once at a rally, but I’ve never spoken to him.”

“He was very…pleasant.” And that was a total lie. “Can I see Oliver?” she asked.

Teresa shook her head, a frown of annoyance between her eyes. “He’s not here.”

“Is he supposed to be?”

“Yes. He has a scheduled meeting with the deputy chief in ten minutes, and what am I supposed to say?”

“Has he called in?”

“No, he hasn’t, and yes, I’ve called his home and no, he isn’t picking up.”

“Was he okay yesterday?”

“He seemed to be. He doesn’t exactly confide in me.”

Kate glanced at her watch. She had time to stop by his house before she met Gideon. Oliver was never sick, and he was super reliable. She’d never known him to miss a day of work since she’d started here.

She had a really bad feeling about this.

Oliver’s house was a fifteen-minute drive away, and she picked up a cab outside the office. It dropped her off opposite the town house. She climbed the stone steps slowly, not knowing what she was afraid of, but unable to dispel the dark dread rising up inside her. She swallowed as she rang the bell, straining her ears for footsteps that never came.

What next?

She tried the whole you’re-getting-paranoid thing again, but she couldn’t quite pull it off. Finally, she shifted her hand to the door handle and turned it, all the time expecting the door to be locked. The handle turned, and the door swung open. Oliver lived alone; his wife had divorced him five years ago. She’d been a liberal who hadn’t liked him taking the job with Homeland Security. It wasn’t as though he’d been given much choice.

Kate stepped into the hallway. Inside, the house was quiet, and the door swung shut behind her, cutting out the noise from the street. She had to force herself to move forward. This house had been bought after Oliver had left the college, and he’d claimed that it would not be a good idea for them to see each other socially. So she’d never been here.

A polished wooden stairway climbed up to the next floor, and two doors led off the hallway. She tried the first, and it opened into a kitchen. Empty. She pulled the door closed behind her and moved to the next one. It stood slightly ajar, and she rested her fingertips against it and pressed. The door swung open.

She stood in the doorway, her mind a jumble of emotions. The place had been trashed. She kept her brain busy analyzing that; the cabinet pulled over, spilling its contents, broken bottles, and the sweet scent of alcohol mingled with something else. Something sharp and acrid that saturated her nostrils.

Oliver lay in the center of the room, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, a neat bullet hole in the center of his forehead. That was the only neat thing about him. He was tied to a chair that lay on its side. Kate forced herself not to look away. It was clear he’d been beaten up, tortured even, his face a mask of red over his dark skin. His right hand was strapped to the chair arm and was nothing more than bloody pulp.

Nausea churned in her stomach. She wanted to scream—some part of her knew she should be screaming—but her throat locked up tight. She acted on instinct, her brain refusing to get involved. The phone lay on the floor, and when she picked it up, she saw that the cord had been wrenched from the socket. She pulled her cell phone from her bag and pressed 9-1-1 with shaking fingers.

No signal.

She turned on her heels and left the house. She tried next door first, and when there was no answer, she went to the next house. This time a woman answered. Young, blonde, pretty, with a baby in her arms. “Yes?”

“Could you call 9-1-1,” Kate said. “There’s been a…murder at number 4.”

She’d been jiggling the baby on her hip, but now she went still. “Oliver?”

Kate gave a jerky nod. “Please, just call the police.”

She turned away and headed back to Oliver’s, but she couldn’t face going inside. Instead, she sat on the stone steps and stared into nothing, her mind numb. She was hardly aware of the young woman coming toward her. She took Kate’s hand and wrapped it around a steaming mug of coffee. Then patted her on the shoulder.

“I have to get back to the baby.”

Kate nodded, but didn’t speak. She was still sitting there, full mug of coffee in her hand, when the first police car drew up by the side of the curb.