The City of Mirrors (43 page)

They passed through the wires and made their way down the causeway. He brought the truck to a halt behind the machine shed at the edge of the quay. From here, the
Bergensfjord
wasn’t visible. He wanted a grand unveiling.

“So why am I here?”

Michael opened Lore’s door and unlocked her wrists. As she climbed out of the Humvee, he withdrew his sidearm and held it out to her.

“What’s this?”

“A gun, obviously.”

“And you’re giving it to me?”

“You get to pick. Shoot me, take the truck, you’ll be back in Kerrville by nightfall. Stay, and you’ll know what this is all about. But there are rules.”

Lore said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow.

“Rule one is you can’t leave unless I allow it. You’re not a prisoner, you’re one of us. Once I tell you what’s happening, you’ll see the necessity. Rule two is I’m in charge. Speak your mind, but never question me in front of my men.”

She was looking at him as if he’d lost all sense. Still, the offer had to be made; the woman had to choose.

“Why in hell would I want to join you?”

“Because I’m going to show you something that will change everything you thought you knew about your life. And because, deep down, you trust me.”

She stared at him, then laughed. “The comedy never stops, does it?”

“I wasn’t fair to you, Lore. I’m not proud of what I did—you deserved better than that. But there
was
a reason. I said you haven’t changed, which is true. That’s why I brought you here. I need your help. I can see why you’d say no, but I hope you won’t.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Where exactly
is
Dunk?”

“This was never about the trade. I needed money and manpower. More than that, I needed secrecy. Five weeks ago, Dunk and all his lieutenants went into the channel. There is no trade anymore. Only me, and those loyal to me.” He nudged the gun toward her. “The mag is full, and there’s one in the pipe. What you do with it is up to you.”

Lore accepted the pistol. For a long moment she looked at it, until, with a heavy sigh, she slid it into the waistband of her jeans at the base of her spine.

“If it’s all right with you, I’m keeping this.”

“That’s fine. It’s yours now.”

“I must be out of my mind.”

“You made the right choice.”

“I regret it already. I’m only going to say this one time, but you really broke my heart, you know that?”

“I do. And I apologize.”

A brief silence. Then she nodded, just once: case closed. “So?”

“Brace yourself.”

He wanted Lore to see the
Bergensfjord
from below. That was the best way. Not just to see her but to
experience
her; only then could her meaning be grasped. They took the stairs to the floor of the dry dock. Michael waited as Lore approached the hull. The ship’s flanks were smooth and gracefully curved, every rivet tight. Beneath the
Bergensfjord
’s massive propellers, Lore came to a halt, gazing upward. Michael would let her speak first. Above them, the clang of footfalls, men calling to one another, the whine of a pneumatic drill, the ship’s vast square footage of metal amplifying every sound like a giant tuning fork.

“I knew there was a boat …”

Michael was standing beside her. She turned to face him. In her eyes a struggle was being waged.

“She’s called the
Bergensfjord,
” Michael said.

Lore spread her hands and looked around. “All this?”

“Yes. For her.”

Lore moved forward, extended her right hand over her head, and pressed it against the hull—just as Michael had done on the morning they’d drained the water from the dock, revealing the
Bergensfjord
in all her rusted, invincible glory. Lore held it there, then, as if startled, broke away.

“You’re scaring me,” she said.

“I know.”

“Please tell you were just keeping your hands busy. That I’m not seeing what I think I’m seeing.”

“What do you think you’re seeing?”

“A lifeboat.”

Some color had drained from her face; she seemed uncertain where to direct her eyes.

“I’m afraid it is,” Michael said.

“You’re lying. You’re making this up.”

“It’s not good news—I’m sorry.”

“How could you possibly
know
?”

“There’s a lot to explain. But it’s going to happen. The virals are coming back, Lore. They were never really gone.”

“This is crazy.” Her confusion turned to anger. “
You’re
crazy. Do you know what you’re saying?”

“I’m afraid I do.”

“I don’t want anything to do with this.” She was backing away. “This can’t be true. Why don’t people know? They would
know,
Michael.”

“That’s because we haven’t told them.”

“Who the hell is ‘we’?”

“Me and Greer. A handful of others. There’s no other way to say this, so I just will. Anybody who’s not on this boat is going to die, and we’re running out of time. There’s an island in the South Pacific. We believe it’s safe there—maybe the only safe place. We have food and fuel for seven hundred passengers, maybe a few more.”

He hadn’t expected this to be easy. Under ideal circumstances, he would have softened the blow. But Lore would cope, because that was her nature, the meat and marrow of Lore DeVeer. What had passed between them years ago was, for her, a painful memory perhaps, a quick jolt of anger and regret that touched her from time to time, but not for Michael. She was part of his life, and a good part, because she was one of the few people who had ever understood him. There were people who simply made existence more bearable; Lore was one.

“That’s why I brought you here. We have a long voyage ahead of us. I need the diesel, but that’s not all. The men who work for me, well, you’ve met them. They’re hard workers, and they’re loyal, but that only goes so far. I need
you.
”

Her struggle was not over. There was more talking to be done. Nevertheless, Michael saw his words taking hold.

“Even if what you say is true,” Lore said, “what can
I
possibly do?”

The
Bergensfjord:
he had given her everything. Now he would give her this.

“I need you to learn how to drive her.”

35

The funeral was held in the early morning. A simple gravesite service: Meredith had requested that no general announcement of Vicky’s death be made until the following day. Despite her high profile, Vicky had been a guarded person, sharing her private life with just a handful of people.
Let it just be us.
Peter offered a few words, followed by Sister Peg. The last to speak was Meredith. She appeared composed; she’d had years to prepare. Still, she said, with a hitch in her voice, one was never really ready. She then went on to tell a series of hilarious stories that left them all weeping with laughter. At the end, everyone was saying the same thing.
Vicky would have been so pleased.

They adjourned to the house that was now Meredith’s alone. The bed in the parlor was gone. Peter moved among the mourners—government officials, military, a few friends—then, as he was preparing to leave, Chase took him aside.

“Peter, if you have a second, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Here it comes,
he thought. The timing made sense; now that Vicky was gone, the man felt that the path had been cleared for him. They stepped into the kitchen. Chase appeared uncharacteristically anxious, fiddling with his beard. “This is a little awkward for me,” he admitted.

“You can stop right there, Ford. It’s okay—I’ve decided not to run again.” It surprised Peter a little, how easily the words had come. He felt a burden lifting. “I’ll give you my full endorsement. You should have no problems.”

Chase looked perplexed, then laughed. “I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong. I want to resign.”

Peter was dumbstruck.

“I was waiting until Vicky … well. I knew she’d be disappointed in me.”

“But I thought you always wanted it.”

Chase shrugged. “Oh, there was a time when I did. When she picked you, I was pretty sore, I won’t deny it. But not anymore. We’ve had our differences along the way, but the woman was right, you were the man for the job.”

How could Peter have so badly misjudged? “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say, ‘Good luck, Ford.’ ”

He did just that. “What will you do?”

“Olivia and I are thinking Bandera. It’s good cattle land out there. The telegraphs are in, the town’s first on the drawing board for the rail line. I figure fifty years from now, I’ll make my grandkids rich.”

Peter nodded. “It’s a sound plan.”

“You know, if you’re really not running again, I’d be willing to talk about a partnership.”

“You’re serious?”

“It was actually Olivia’s idea. The woman knows me; I’m all about the details. You want to fix the sewers on time, I’m your guy. But a cattle operation takes more than that. It takes nerve, and it takes capital. Just your name on the operation will open a lot of doors.”

“I really don’t know anything about cows, Ford.”

“And I do? We’ll learn. That’s what everybody’s doing these days, isn’t it? We’d be a good team. We have so far.”

Peter had to admit it: the notion was intriguing. Somehow, through the years, he had somehow failed to notice that he and Chase had become, of all things, friends.

“But who’s going to run if you don’t?”

“Does it matter? We’re half a government now. Another ten years, this place will be empty, a relic. People will be making their own ways. My guess is, the next guy to sit in that chair will be the one to turn the lights off. Personally, I’m glad it won’t be you. I’m your adviser, so let this be my last piece of advice: go out strong, get rich, leave a fortune behind. Have a
life,
Peter. You’ve earned it. The rest will take care of itself.”

Peter couldn’t argue the point. “How soon do you need my answer?”

“I’m not Vicky. Take time to think it over. It’s a big step, I know that.”

“Thank you,” Peter said.

“What for?”

“All of it.”

From Chase, a grin. “You’re welcome. The letter’s on your desk, by the way.”

After Chase had gone, Peter lingered in the kitchen; he emerged a few minutes later to find that nearly everyone had left. He said goodbye to Meredith and stepped onto the porch, where Apgar was waiting with his hands in his pockets.

“Chase bowed out.”

An eyebrow went up. “Did he now?”

“You wouldn’t by any chance feel like running for president?”

“Ha!”

A young officer jogged up the path. He was out of breath and sweating hard, evidently having run a great distance.

“What is it, son?” Peter said.

“Sirs,” he said between gulps of air, “you need to see something.”

The truck was parked in front of the capitol. Four soldiers were standing guard. Peter unlatched the tailgate and drew the canvas aside. Military crates filled the space, packed to the ceiling. Two of the soldiers extricated a crate from the first row and lowered it to the ground.

“I haven’t seen one of these in years,” Apgar said.

The crates had come from Dunk’s bunker. Inside, vacuum-sealed in plastic strips, lay ammunition: .223, 5.56, 9mm, .45 ACP.

Apgar broke the seal on a round, held it up to the light, and whistled admiringly. “This is the good stuff. Original Army.” He rose and turned to one of the soldiers. “Corporal, how many rounds do you have in your sidearm?”

“One and one, sir.”

“Give it here.”

The soldier handed it over. Apgar dropped the magazine, cleared the chamber, and topped the magazine off with a fresh cartridge. He racked the slide and held out the gun to Peter. “You want the honors?”

“Be my guest.”

Apgar aimed the pistol at a square of earth ten feet away and pulled the trigger. There was a satisfying boom as dirt leapt up.

“Let’s see what else we’ve got,” Peter said.

They removed a second crate. This one contained a dozen M16s with extra thirty-round magazines, similarly sealed, looking fresh as they day they were made.

“Did anybody see the driver?” Peter asked.

Nobody had; the truck had simply appeared.

“So why would Dunk be sending us this?” Apgar asked. “Unless you brokered some kind of deal you didn’t tell me about.”

Peter shrugged. “I didn’t.”

“Then how do you explain it?”

Peter couldn’t.

36

She crossed into Texas on old Highway 20. The morning of the forty-third day; Alicia had traveled the half the breadth of a continent. The going had been slow at the start—cutting her way through the detritus of the coast, working inland across the rocky folds of the Appalachians, then the way had loosened and she’d begun to make good time. The days grew warmer, the trees burst into flower, springtime spread over the land. Whole days passed in heavy rain; then the sun exploded over the earth. Unbelievable nights, wide and starlit, the moon rolling through its cycle as she rode.

But now they stopped to rest. In the shade of a gas station awning Alicia lay on the ground while Soldier grazed nearby. Just a few hours and they’d press on. Her bones grew heavy; she felt herself plummeting into sleep. Throughout her journey, this had been the pattern. Days of wakefulness, her mind so alert it was almost painful, then she’d fall like a bird shot from the sky.

She dreamed of a city. Not New York; it was no city she had ever seen or known. The vision was majestic. In the darkness, it floated like an isle of light. Mighty ramparts surrounded it, protecting it from all danger. From within came noises of life: voices, laughter, music, the delighted shrieks of children at play. The sounds fell upon her like a shimmering rain. How Alicia longed to be among the inhabitants of that happy city! She made her way toward it and walked its perimeter, searching for a way in. There seemed to be none, but then she found a door. It was tiny, fit for a child. She knelt and turned the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. She became aware that the voices had faded. Above her, the city wall soared into blackness.
Let me in!
She began to pound the door with her fists; panic was consuming her.
Somebody, please!
I’m all alone at here!
Still the door refused her. Her cries became howls, and then she saw: there was no door. The wall was perfectly smooth.
Don’t leave me!
On the far side, the city had fallen silent: the people, the children, all gone. She pounded till she could pound no more and collapsed to the ground, sobbing into her hands.
Why did you leave me, why did you leave me …