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to stay or go?"
"I can stay for awhile. Perhaps Mr. Taylor and Greene and I can talk further while you're gone."
"I ain't say you can go yet, Qualluf said, half rising from his chair.
"Well, I'm going. Fridge, I need to speak to you for a moment."
"No! Qualluf shouted.
Doug stared daggers at the man. Mr. Taylor, Fridge lost his wife and children to the Harcourt virus. I
lost my wife to the Mall Terrorists. I promise, this is personal and has nothing to do with our
negotiations."
"No."
"I'll talk to him, Preacher, Fridge said mildly. Can't hurt nothing. And maybe we better let him go see
what's so important back there. Without waiting on an answer, he took Doug's arm and escorted him
out of the room.
As quickly as they found a boundary of privacy in the hall, Fridge said I didn't know about that, Doug.
I'm sorry."
"Thanks, Fridge. Listen, as badly as Amelia was hurt, she wouldn't send for me if it weren't something
important. In the meantime, would you do me a personal favor?"
"If I can."
"I just remarried. My wife's name is June. She was on the admin staff. Would you see if she's among the
captives and if so, find out if she's okay? And I'd appreciate it if you would keep it quiet."
"I can do that much. June you say? Describe her for me."
Doug did so. Fridge nodded, then said Doug, try to get us out of this. I believe you, but that preacher
got more power here than me and he's convinced the government is behind the whole thing. He looked
down at his feet for a moment, then back up at Doug. I was too, until I talked to you. I never knew you
to lie."
"Thanks, Fridge. I'll do my damnedest to get it done. And trust me, if I thought the government was
behind this, I'd be on your side."
That drew a thin smile from the big man. He escorted Doug on down the hall and outside, then
designated two guards to go with him back to the science building under a white flag. After that he went
looking for June Craddock. He wondered if she were as nice a woman as Doug's previous wife had
been.
On the way back, Doug mentally reviewed everything he knew about the preacher. He recalled reading
that Qualluf had a PhD. in psychology. Was that why he was using black vernacular, to make him think
he was dealing with a dumb black man? Probably he thought. Too bad the preacher didn't know that
Doug had managed to remove most of the negative cultural attitudes toward blacks he had grown up
with. Being in the military and fighting alongside men and women of all races was one quick way to make
both sides see how vulnerable they were and how in a crunch, skin color was the last thing anyone
thought of.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
President Marshall rubbed his hand over his face, feeling unshaven whiskers. It was late at night and his
day hadn't ended yet. Every time he tried leaving the Oval Office, something else came up to capture his
attention and prevent him from getting some badly needed sleep.
The latest crisis was in North Korea, where they were threatening nuclear retaliation for deaths caused
by the Harcourt virus. Damned crazy Koreans, getting upset over casualties from the disease that were
minuscule compared to some nations. Why hadn't Clinton, or even Bush, taken out their nuclear
capability when they had a chance? Goddamn wimps. Now look. He shoved the briefing paper toward
the pile destined for the shredder. What did they expect him to do? Personally, he thought they were
going off the deep end because the world economy had crashed, and without exports they couldn't feed
their people. They ought to be glad the Harcourt virus was thinning them out a little. Fewer mouths to
feed.
General Newman wanted to act now, take out their nukes, but he had refused. It might come to that, but
he wasn't going to start it. The little bastards had been digging into their mountains for damn near a
quarter century. Deep probing satellite imagery showed so many tunnels and caverns that there was no
way to get them all, despite the general's confidence. That man was beginning to grate on his nerves. But
what to do?
Finally he pressed the button that called in an aide.
"Get me Willingham. Tell him to get his ass up here as soon as possible."
It's worth a try, he thought. Get China to do the job. They had the manpower and the nukes, if it came to
that. Anything to keep them away from America. The nation was holding together but he didn't think it
could survive the panic that would be caused by an atomic explosion on North American soil. China's
war with Taiwan wasn't going well. If he offered to stop all replacement munitions shipments to Taiwan
and withdraw the few naval units near the island, maybe they would come around if their government
survived long enough. So many factories on the mainland had shut down that the peasants and workers
were going hungry.
Australia. Now that was one of the few nations in the world almost unaffected by the Harcourt virus.
Damn smart of them, keeping blacks and Asians out of their country, and their indigenous blacks were no
problem. Besides they would be dead soon. Australia had a fairly decent navy, according to General
Newman. Suppose he offered some inducements, additional weapons perhaps, for them to send some
troops to Africa and the Middle East? Maybe even South America, at selected ports that could be easily
defended. Best to keep a toehold there if they could. At least the Aussies weren't big enough to turn on
the United States and had never developed nuclear weapons. He made another note for Willingham.
He looked at his next brief and scribbled an okay with his distinctive flourish. Defaulting on some of the
bonds held by foreigners and releasing the gold in Fort Knox to the citizenry would help stimulate the
economy. Of course the default wouldn't be couched in those terms. It would be worded as a
postponement in payment", but he knew the debts would never be paid.
Marshall sighed. Where was Willingham?
A half hour later the man appeared, tie askew and hair uncombed, as if he had been running his fingers
through it. The president frowned. He had never seen the man in such a state.
"I'm sorry I was delayed, Mr. President, but a suicide squad just crashed a jetliner into a skyscraper in
Chicago, and Turkey and the Kurds are fighting again. What are we going to do?"
Marshall groaned. Would this madness never end? Goddamn it, the Arabs were finished. Why didn't
they just go quietly to their heaven and virgins and so forth and quit this martyr bullshit?
* * * *
June did the best she could to keep the captives calm and under control and to give what little aid she
could to some of the older workers who were prostrate with heat exhaustion. All she could really do was
keep pushing liquids and bathing them with cool water. Fortunately, there was plenty of water and the
guards allowed them to go to and from the fountains. She avoided the area where the smirking guard
lolled in one of the padded lobby chairs, knowing he had turned her into a focal point; a visible object of
the misery the blacks were suffering. She was scared of him. She had just finished tending to an older
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