State of Emergency (32 page)

The Lincoln Continental swept through the gates of Base
Three, five miles from downtown Houston. An hour after
sunrise, the sky was a bruised orange, as though it had been
daubed by a young child with a dirty paintbrush. The road
was awash with water and the wipers were working hard.

The driver had the radio on. Every station was abuzz with
the latest news from the disaster site in Los Angeles. Reports
claimed that more than a thousand people had died at the
California Conference Center, and that hundreds more had
been injured. The emergency services expected the death
toll to rise, as many people were critical or still unaccounted
for. As for who was behind the horror, no one had claimed
responsibility. Fingers were being pointed at a spectrum
of possible culprits, from al-Qaeda to nebulous groups of
eco-terrorists.

Mai sighed and shook her head as she heard excited
reporters describing the amazing rescue vehicles of a
strange organisation called E-Force that no one had heard
of before. The biggest tease for the newsmen had been the
fact that any attempt to photograph or film the machines
used by the organisation produced only shapeless blurs.
E-Force, it seemed, had appeared out of nowhere. Nobody
had any clear idea who was involved, or even if E-Force
was a government body or the product of a mysterious
philanthropic group.

Mai sat in the back of the car, letting the babble from
the radio wash over her. She watched the buildings flash
past, shrouded in rain. As she focused on the sound of
water splashing against the undercarriage of the Lincoln, a
menagerie of emotions vied for her attention. She was utterly
exhausted, but more alive than she could ever remember
being. She felt exhilarated to be part of E-Force. Only time
would tell how the organisation would shape up.

What was to be their remit in the future? Although she
was pleased they had been able to help the rescue services
and had saved the lives of three good men, she knew they
could do so much more. But then a darker voice in her heard
told her that it wouldn't be her decision to make. It wouldn't
even be Mark Harrison's. E-Force might be non-military
and ostensibly apolitical, but that was an oxymoron. Could
anything as important as E-Force remain apolitical for
long?

The hospital reception area was quiet. A cleaner was
polishing the floor, and a couple of young doctors walked
by, studying their clipboard notes. Mai took the elevator to
the sixth floor and walked along the brightly lit corridor.
Reaching the door to her mother's room, she paused for a
moment and took a deep breath, then turned the handle.

The room was in semi-darkness, the curtains still closed.
Mai stood frozen in the doorway as two people came towards
her, their heads bowed. It was Greta with Howard, Mai's
ex-husband. He had his arm around Greta's shoulders.

They both looked up at the same moment. Howard's face
was pale. He shook his head slowly, his jaws clenched. Greta
glared at Mai, pulled away from her stepfather and pushed
past her mother and out into the corridor.

Howard paused. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, then he
walked on.

Mai took a step into the darkened room and the door
closed quietly behind her, blocking out the sounds of stirring
patients in neighbouring rooms. She looked down at her
mother. Eri Kato was tiny, a doll, her skin pale and shiny
like waxed paper. The doctors had removed the respirator
and the tubes.

Mai leaned over her mother's inert body and knew there
was nothing left. No vestige of Eri remained. Mai ran a hand
along the dead woman's cheek, feeling her skin. It was as
soft as a newborn baby's. A tear fell from her eye onto her
mother's lifeless face. Mai watched it slide onto the sheet
and soak into the fibres.

Mark stared in silence at the faces of the two men on the
screen. On the left was Senator Evan Mitchell. On the right,
Clayton Franberger, the Secretary of State.

'It's hardly an appropriate time to celebrate,' Franberger
said. 'But I think you and your team may congratulate
yourselves on a job very well done.' He smiled. To Mark the
man seemed like a rabid dog.

'Thank you, sir,' Mark replied dutifully. 'I'm proud of all
of them.'

'And I understand Senator Foreman has already spoken to
you to express his thanks.'

'He has, yes.'

The Secretary of State glanced at his watch surreptitiously.
'Well, once again, well done, Mark.'

'Sir, about our findings –'

'Findings?'

Mark glanced meaningfully at Senator Mitchell, who
looked down for a moment and coughed.

'The Four Horsemen.'

'Yes, yes, the Four Horsemen,' Franberger said, fixing Mark
with a hard look.

After a pause, Senator Mitchell spoke. 'We feel there is
insufficient evidence to proceed.' He looked into the middle
distance, unable to meet Mark's eyes.

Mark took a deep breath. 'I see. Insufficient evidence.
Even though we have records of the men dealing with an
assassin known as the Dragon. The man who planted the
bombs at the CCC.'

'A dead assassin, Mark,' Franberger intoned. 'I think many
would assume the man was operating alone.'

Mark looked directly at the Secretary of State and laboured
to quell his fury. He was about to speak when Mitchell's
voice cut in.

'Mark, I personally believe this Dragon was a solo operator
with his own agenda. Perhaps we'll never know what that
was. As Secretary Franberger has pointed out, the man is
dead.'

Mark made to speak, but Mitchell went on. 'E-Force, on
the other hand, is very much alive, is it not?' He paused
dramatically to emphasise his point. 'And this mission has
shown just how effective it is – how many lives will be saved
in the future because your organisation exists.'

Mark looked away. He gazed at the banks of flashing
lights and plastic control panels to one side of the screen.
A thousand dead faces swam before his eyes. And then a
steeliness gripped him. He swallowed hard and nodded.
'Very well,' he said.

Mark sat alone in the comms suite for several minutes. The
only light came from the control panels and the holoscreen
floating above one of the keyboards. Suddenly he felt very
small. For all he had achieved, for all the resources at his
fingertips, he realised – not for the first time – that he was
nothing more than a cog in a giant machine. No, less than
that – he was a worker ant, at the beck and call of truly
powerful individuals.

But then, Mark told himself, those men are only as
powerful as the people who elect them. It is the people who
make them powerful. Their time will pass, and others will
come along to replace them. Today he had been forced to do
the bidding of politicians, men who would never get their
hands dirty. He and the team had done their best and had
saved lives, but he knew that in the future E-Force had to be
better prepared and used properly.

E-Force was not simply a testing ground for CARPA's
technology. More than half a century had passed since a
group of congressmen, worried by the power handed to the
military with the establishment of DARPA, had established
the rival organisation. He knew that the idealistic days when
the remit of CARPA had been to feed innovation into the
everyday world of ordinary people had long passed. CARPA
now had ambitions to claw back the billions of dollars it had
spent over the years. And, of course, he knew that E-Force was
an amazing advert for technological innovations at least two
decades ahead of their time. But he and the other members
of E-Force were not merely field-testing that technology so
it could be sold on, and his team were not test dummies.
That, he knew, was what the politicians and the holders of
the purse strings would want. But he would fight them.

After today, Mark told himself, he would not kowtow
to politicians. He had created E-Force, and he would do
everything in his power to ensure not only that it survived
but also that it worked in the way he knew it should.

He sighed heavily and stood up.

The E-Force team was gathered in Cyber Control, along
with many of the crew from the hangars and the various
operational divisions at Base One.

Mark was standing on a chair, holding a glass of champagne.
A hush settled over the room. 'A few minutes ago,
the Secretary of State pointed out to me that this was not
a time for celebration,' he began. 'And he was absolutely
right. More than a thousand Americans died two days ago
at the California Conference Center, and many thousands
more are grieving the loss of their loved ones. But amidst
the pain and the heartache, there are things of which we
should be proud, and for which we should give ourselves a
collective pat on the back.

'We came through our first mission with flying colours. We
achieved our goals – saving lives – and we proved ourselves
very capable. This, then, is not a celebration but a time to
reflect upon the positive aspects of the past few days.' Mark
looked around the room at the faces of his team and allowed
himself a flicker of pride. He knew that he had picked the
perfect unit and that E-Force would achieve great things in
the future.

'To E-Force,' Mark announced, raising his glass.

'To E-Force,' the gathering responded as one.

Tom's voice cut through the momentary silence as everyone
downed their champagne. 'So does that mean these guys have
to go back to training?' he asked with a wicked grin.

Mark's features stayed rigid as he looked around at the
other field members of E-Force. 'No,' he said, slowly breaking
into a smile. 'I think you should all take yourselves off on
vacation . . . to a tropical island, perhaps!'