Footfall

So far, so good. Jenny watched the big wall screens with satisfaction. “M minus fifty-five minutes, and counting,” she announced. “Thank you,” Admiral Carrel! acknowledged.

“Melon daiquiri,” President Coffey muttered.

“Sir?” Carrell asked.

“Nothing. Admiral, I have a good feeling about this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t.”

“Mr. President, they say that Admiral Jellicoe at Jutland was the only man in the world who could have lost World War One in a single afternoon.”

“Oh. And we …?”

“Can lose something more than that,” Carrell said.

“Of course you’re right.” The door opened to admit a mess corporal with a tray of coffee. Outside the door were half a dozen military personnel, plus Jack Clybourne, who was doing his best not to look through the door and across the office so that he could see the big battle screens on the floor below. The President grinned. “Mr. Clybourne?”

“Sir.”

“Let Sergeant Maihey’s people act like doorkeepers. Come in and watch the action.”

“Sir?”

“Come in. You’ve earned a ringside seat.”

“But … well, thank you, sir.” Clybourne stood against one wall.

He blends into it. Like wallpaper, Jenny thought. She turned to wink at him. There was a buzz in her headset.

“Control. Gimlet.”

“Gimlet, this is Harpoon. We have a security breach. We have a security breach. This went out on police radio air four minutes ago. I play the tapes now…”

“Launch now,” General Toland said.

“There are people in Bellingham,” the President said. “A lot of them.”

“All right, so it’s hard on Bellingham! Launch! Colonel, tell them to prepare.”

“Yes, sir.” Jenny spoke into the microphone. “Prepare for launch in five minutes. Launch in five minutes.”

More sirens blared on the floor below.

“Admiral?” the President asked.

Admiral Carrell put his fingertips together and looked acros their tops at the situation maps. “Give me a minute.”

“Not much more than that,” said the General.

“All right. First, the timing is terrible. We’d be launching straight up at Bogie Two, and we didn’t hurt those digit ships enough.”

“If they drop rocks on Michael, we’ve had it!” Bland shouted.

“Yes.” Carrell glanced at his watch. “What are we afraid of? A laser can’t hurt Michael. A meteor takes time …”

“It could be on its way now!”

“And ready to hit atmosphere. All right. I say we … wait. Get ready to launch on ten seconds notice. Wait the full hour if we can, but if Gillespie sees a light in the sky he’ll launch. A meteor would flare at fifty miles up, and come in at a slant at five to six miles per second. We’d be twenty seconds in the air when it hit. Michael would survive.”

“Michael can blow Bogie Two out of the sky,” the General said. “It’s all alone. We won’t see another digit ship for an hour.”

“We have a plan,” Admiral Carrell said.

“And if we stick with it, we lose! Mr. President, you’re betting everything on this.”

“General, I’m aware that it’s important.”

“We have to fight the damn digit ships anyway! Go now.”

“And kill everyone in Bellingham,” President Coffey said.

“Better Bellingham than the whole damn human race!”

“Oh, Jesus.” President Coffey stared at the situation screens. “Admiral Carrell, you’re my naval expert. Take command.”

“Yes, sir. Colonel Crichton, get me direct communications with General Gillespie.”

“Sir.” The first three lines she tried were filled with static. “General Gillespie, sir.”

“Ed, this is Thor Carrell.”

“Yes, Mr. Secretary?”

“There’s been a possible security leak. Your local sheriff used his radio.”

“Is that why there’s jamming? We can’t talk to our own MPs.”

“That’s it. General, you’re to make ready for instant launch. Watch the skies. The first glimmer up there, and you go. It’s your ship, as of now.”

“Acknowledged.”

President Coffey looked significantly at the Admiral.

“Mr. President,” Carrell said.

“I won’t take your time,” Coffey said. “Godspeed, General.”

The sirens were still wailing on the floor below.

General Toland was still frowning. “All right, God damn it, we’ll do it your way.” He turned to Jenny. “Colonel, get me the MP commander in Bellingham. I want that sheriff’s ass in a sling.”

“General.”

“Yes, Mr. President?”

“Have your MPs do what they can for the people in Bellingham. They’re Americans too.”

“Yes, sir.”

John Fox heard it first.

There was high wind with a few raindrops in it. Fox was turning the compost heap. He’d managed to make this his own territory; nobody else would fool with it. His pitchfork probed, and he worked around the denser mass he sensed, to keep Roger hidden. Bones showed suddenly, not clean yet — a foot. Fox grimaced an picked up a pitchforkful of compost.

He stopped, cocked his head. There was a sound in the wind. Motors.

Fox placed his forkful to cover the bones deep. Then he moved briskly toward the house. He opened the door and shouted at the first human figure he saw. “Navy coming back. Alert everyone. I’ll be at the gate.”