Project Reunion (27 page)

“Uh-huh,” he sighed. “Good to meet you all. Really look forward to your contributions.” And he dragged me away to get washed. A medic claimed the programmers to move into quarantine holding on the island. Between this, that, and the other, the fleet of dinner ships had picked up nearly a thousand new evacuees today.

I lost my blue velvet dress after all, going through decontamination. My pink-and-green plaid deck shoes, too. At least I got a full Navy camouflage suit in my size in return. And my winter outerwear had been secured, so I got that back without boiling. Emmett claimed I had a better than average chance of seeing my clothes again. There were only so many Army officers in the New York Harbor fleet, and my clothes were with his.

-o-

“You knew about this?” I cried to Emmett in delight. We finally broke free of the Staten Island Terminal building, into a full-scale party.

“Uh-huh,” he agreed with a grin. “Adam sent out the invites. Coast Guard and Merchant Marine cordially invite you to a Thanksgiving after party. What a zoo.”

“How’s that going? With Adam,” I asked in concern.

Emmett hugged me closer. “Outstanding. We couldn’t have done without him. That man is a wizard of scrounge. Damn fine officer. Speaking of which...” He got directions from scurrying Marines and Navy ratings, to guide our way to the officers’ pavilion.

Captain Flores, the Thanksgiving master controller, was still hard at work there. Emmett and I stopped to greet him at his table, and congratulate him. But he only had a minute for well-wishers before his subordinates swallowed him up again with ongoing minutiae.

I traded hugs and a kiss with Adam at the presiding party table. He spun me around to check me out in my blueberry Navy cammies. Fortunately, Emmett didn’t take it amiss. The two of them seemed to have authentically bonded in the past month. They traded handshakes and hugs as well, along with the head Merchant Marine ferry engine wrangler.

Aside from Flores’ logistics champions, most of the officers under our tent had hosted leaders for dinner the same way we had, or commanded ground forces defending the buffets. Stewards kept us supplied with food plates and drinks, including beer and wine today. Everyone shared stories from their leader dinner tables, what they’d learned. Adam regretfully reported that he’d inquired, but found no trace of Dwayne Perard-Cameron’s family in Hoboken. My meshnet acquisition was a major win, and got cheers. Emmett’s new ambition of setting up a trade route between northwest Jersey and Manhattan earned almost as many jeers. He took them with good grace and a broad grin – and threatened to give Captain Flores another job as a reward for Thanksgiving well done. That got cheers all around.

I was having a blast. I finally felt comfortable, an insider among these officers and their work in New York. We grazed the food, and worked our way between the tables, Emmett trying to give personal attention and a handshake – usually with a hug – to everyone.

But before we’d been there an hour, Emmett’s phone summoned him back to reality. “So it begins,” he murmured, his grin fading. “Love you, darlin’,” he whispered in my ear. “Not sure I’ll be back tonight. Happy Thanksgiving.” He gave me a huge kiss and a smile, and let go.

He pushed his way over to Adam and whispered in his ear. Adam rose promptly and called out, “Speech! Speech!” to renewed cheers. Adam dragged Emmett and Flores along to a podium, and pointed to several other people to warn them they’d be up soon.

Taking the microphone first, Adam welcomed the crowd and congratulated them all on a job well done. He took a couple minutes to expound on the glorious and crucial contributions of the Coast Guard and Merchant Marine engineers, and got the crowd warmed up cheering themselves silly. Then he introduced Emmett, who likewise gave a very short and cheer-inducing speech. And then Emmett’s aides enveloped him and carried him away.

The speeches lasted half an hour, and I was cheering as much as anyone. The only solemn part was when the commanding Marine colonel reported the casualty count for the day, military and civilian. He said the tallies were below projections – he didn’t say by how much – and ended on a cheer for all the Marines anyway, for keeping us safe. The next speaker had me laughing out loud, as he celebrated exactly how much laundry the Navy stewards had processed that day. Another provided a run-down of potatoes mashed. Hey, I wanted to know.

Following the speeches, there were fireworks, some of them Fourth of July grade aesthetic bursts of color, others naval flares fired from the ships in the harbor. The continuing windy drizzle subdued the display a little. But the harbor was velvety black, with only a sprinkling of fairy-like ship running lights and dim glows from fires on land. The rockets’ red flares and echoing booms drummed patriotism to well up in every heart, as always. The Star Spangled Banner, then America the Beautiful, played over the loudspeakers.

I didn’t know the war had begun.

Chapter 21

Interesting fact: Probably the largest ongoing meshnet before Project Reunion was guifi.net in Spain, with about 30,000 nodes. The rural meshnet’s popularity was driven by low Internet availability and high broadband prices.

“Adam!” I cried, latching onto his arm when I finally found him again in the throng. The fireworks signaled the end of the party. Thousands were moving toward freshly-cleaned tenders and ferries, to bear them back to their assorted ships in the harbor and their well-earned beds.

“How do I get back to Emmett’s ship?” I begged him.

He put an arm around me to draw me close to talk. That was a rowdy crowd. “What ship?” he asked.

“Um,” I reported.

Adam laughed. “Which captain?”

“Er,” I suggested.

Adam laughed even harder. He was the most drunk I’d ever seen him, and he was sky-high from the rousing success of his after-party and the whole Thanksgiving operation. “Just tag along with me, Dee. We’ll figure something out.”

“I heard somebody say destroyers are moving up the Hudson,” I told him worriedly.

“None of our business,” Adam admonished me, briefly solemn. “Me Coast Guard. Dee civilian.” He tapped a finger to his nose, then mine as he said it. His grin popped back up like a cork when he saw another officer over my shoulder. “I need to talk to that guy!” I held onto his hand like a lifeline, toddling along behind him through the crowd.

Eventually Adam learned that indeed Emmett’s destroyer was no longer in New York Harbor. Whether it had sailed up the Hudson River, with or without Emmett, he refused to ask. In any event, I couldn’t go back to my ship, so Adam brought me along to his.

We eddied out of the throng in the ferry terminal, and ducked into a back stairwell of the authorized-personnel-only variety. Adam was probably the most authorized person in the city these days when it came to the ferry terminal. We took the stairs down from the public levels. He needed a flashlight to wend our way through some echoing empties and creepy chock-fulls, then out along a dark lesser dock. There we found an over-sized houseboat-tug. Powerful enough to budge a tanker, and all kitted out as a home for its owner. Leave it to Adam.

“I had a Coast Guard boat,” he confided in excuse. “That’s still around here somewhere. But they keep getting called. Go back to Greenwich. Go down to Jersey. Just never
here
when I needed to sleep, you know? This boat is sweet! I’m taking it with me back to Connecticut.”

“It moves, too?” I asked, enchanted.

“Sure! Hey, aboard! We waiting for anybody?” He gave me a hand up the ladder.

The merchant marine commander I’d met earlier stepped out of the wheelhouse above, mug in hand, to call down, “Nope, you’re the last.”

“Let’s head to mooring to sleep,” Adam directed. “All ashore that’s going ashore.”

“Spoilsport,” the man returned.

Soon two Navy women emerged from the house. They scurried onto the dock, still adjusting their clothing, so Adam could cast off. “Evening, ladies!” he called cheerily in farewell. The boat thrummed to life as though I was standing atop a Moon rocket. It took those massive engines a matter of minutes to gently move several hundred feet and tie off to a mooring pole. Adam let someone else deal with that, and drew me inside.

The six beds in the living room slightly marred the charm of the large combo living-dining room, with galley along the side, all over a beautiful wooden floor. No one was sleeping – the onshore party had simply moved on board. Even without the girlfriends, there appeared to be twice as many people as beds, all rowdy, music blaring.

“Half hour to lights out,” Adam yelled over the music.

Variations on ‘Aw, c’mon, Skip!’ assailed him, as he drew me across to the galley. “We’ll see,” he yelled back. “Meet Dee Baker, Colonel MacLaren’s girlfriend. She got stranded here.”

“Well, finder’s keepers!” called out one guy with enthusiasm, leaning back on his chair to ogle me upside-down.

Adam mock-hit him. “Not like that.”

“No, you idiot,” another guy said. “MacLaren’s gone up to fight Pennsylvania at West Point, I heard.”

Someone clicked off the music. All eyes turned to Adam. “That true, Skip?”

Adam pointed at the man who’d mentioned Pennsylvania. “Dog-house,” he informed him. “Way to go on operational security, bonehead. And did his girlfriend need to hear that? No.” Unsurprisingly, this did little to distract the intent eyes focused on Adam, including mine.

“Hell,” said Adam. “Dee, want a drink? I’m having coffee. We’ve got scotch and brandy.”

“Coffee’s good,” I said softly. “Adam? Did Emmett go into battle?”

Adam shook his head. “Hope not. Doubt it.” Fortified with coffee mugs, he turned back to the room full of engineers, their eyes still hovering on him. Actually, three more had climbed down the stairs to wait on his answer, one a woman.

“OK, listen up,” Adam said. “Here’s what I know. Just before the speeches outside, Pennsylvania attacked what they thought was Camp Upstate, at West Point. The real Camp Upstate quarantine is safe. West Point is a decoy infantry garrison. Armed to the gills. Their second surprise, I hope, is naval support. Four destroyers headed up the river to provide backup. The enemy came in with air drops and attack helicopters. I don’t know how many. This is all inside the Apple Skin. A clear violation of the Calm Act, in every way. I don’t know how the fight is going. The attack was entirely airborne, no troop columns spotted on land. Yet. That’s all I know.”

Inevitably, his ‘that’s all I know’ invited a babble of questions. I got mine in first. “Adam – Commander – is Emmett – Colonel MacLaren – is he in the fighting at West Point?”

Adam re-introduced me, for anyone he’d missed. Then, “The answer is no. I’m sure Colonel MacLaren is following events closely. But General Cullen is in command of the New York borders.” He raised a finger. “And General Cullen does not update the Coast Guard and Merchant Marine on his actions.” A measure of how keyed up we all were, this got a big laugh.

“While we’re on Project Reunion,” Adam reminded them, “we report to Colonel MacLaren. I spoke to the Colonel before he left. We have no orders. So for now, we sleep off our Thanksgiving turkey.”

There were more questions, and Adam answered them. But he also told them to turn the music back on. He sat down with me at the table to drink our coffee and visit before bed. Not that I knew where he’d shoe-horn me in. There were now 16 people partying in the admittedly generous living room, most of them sitting on the beds.

“Skip,” the merchant marine commander interrupted us, “Kate.” He tossed Adam the phone. “Hey, still at Governor’s Island?... You’re safe there, we’re safe here. Just fix the boat.... Keep me informed, where you are, just in case.... Yup, bye.” Adam tossed the phone back.

I grinned at him. “Is your home always this much of a zoo?”

“I put my foot down at light’s out,” he assured me. “Kind of a full house tonight, though, with the party.”

“Skip, Niedermeyer,” the same guy held up his phone. “What, do you have your phone turned off?”

Adam sighed. “I’ll call him.”

“He says he wants us to pull out,” the guy said uneasily.

“So get off the phone and I’ll call him now.” He did so. “Hi, John... That’s a negative... That’s quite possible. Emmett might want to speed up the evacuation... I report to Emmett... I still report to Emmett... With respect, sir – no sir.” He ended the call. “Always wanted to say that,” he admitted.

I winced in sympathy. “Are you in trouble with Niedermeyer?”

Adam nodded his head yes-and-no. “Gang, listen up!” he called. “The Coast Guard wants us to bug out. I said no. We report to Colonel MacLaren. We stand by Project Reunion.” Cheers. “We could be the last ones out of here,” he warned, “if we’re driving overloaded ferry buckets of refugees.” Cheers and whistles. “All in favor?” Standing ovation. “Any opposed?” No one. “All right then.” He grinned at them, truly and deeply pleased.

“Think you could sleep?” he asked me gently.

I glanced at the time. Nearly 11, and I’d been up since 4 a.m. “I might just pass out on the table here soon.”