“It is understandable. You have spent the past two years awaiting the arrival of the authorities. Of someone who would relieve you of responsibility for the Mount. You have just realized no one is coming. You are the authorities. You are and always will be responsible for the people of Los Angeles.”
“And this isn’t freaking you out?”
“I have told you before, George, I am not an optimist. I have never expected us to be saved or relieved of duty. I accepted this responsibility two years ago.”
She turned and continued along the inside of the fence. St. George took a few quick steps to catch up with her. “You’ve already got a plan, don’t you?”
“You will go back to Danielle and get her to the workshop where Cerberus is being stored. In turn, she can direct you to Sorensen. I am certain he knows where Zzzap is being held. Once Danielle is back in the armor, we shall demand transport back to Los Angeles. If they refuse, we may have to steal it.”
“That’d be great if any of us knew how to fly a Black Hawk helicopter.”
“I do,” she said, “but I believe a basic M35 cargo truck will get us back to Los Angeles in four days at the most.”
“Okay,” he said, “what are you going to be doing during all this?”
“I shall give Colonel Shelly a final chance to present evidence of his claims that the federal government is still functioning and to convince me that his plan represents our best option. Barring that, I shall convince him to allow us to leave without incident.”
“Just to be clear,” said St. George, “when you say ‘convince him’ are you talking about attacking a U.S. military officer?”
“Of course not,” said Stealth.
“That wasn’t very convincing.”
“George, we do not have time for this. It is twelve-forty-three. You must endeavor to have Danielle at her workshop and Zzzap freed by one-thirty.” Her head turned to him within her hood. “Are you comfortable with this? I do not want to influence your decision.”
“You influence most of my decisions,” he said with a half-hearted smile. He took a slow breath. “No, I don’t feel comfortable about this at all, but sometimes the right thing to do isn’t the comfortable thing. And this feels right.”
“Then it must be so,” she said.
“How can you be so sure?”
She stopped and turned to him. “Because you think it is, and you are the only person I have ever known who always does the right thing.”
They looked at each other, and George realized an opportune moment had just slipped past him again. He cleared his throat and tried to brush it aside. “I hope so,” he said. “Six months from now I don’t want any of our people walking between fences like Bub there.” He gestured at an ex staggering along on patrol.
“Bub?”
He nodded at the ex-soldier with the dangling rifle. “Barry makes me watch a George Romero movie every other month. The zombie with the gun is named Bub.”
“I do not understand.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Chapter 21
NOW
The soldiers marched down the dim hall with an easy, even stride. They were two of the older recruits, both in their thirties and specialists. A year of guard duty with nothing more challenging than a handful of exes had relaxed them, but they still paused when they turned the corner and saw the darkened hallway.
One of the fluorescent tubes flickered for a moment, then went black again.
“Dead light,” said one soldier. He nodded at the office door. “The colonel’ll be pissed the next time he works late. Remember to tell maintenance.”
“You remember.”
“It’s your turn to write up reports.”
“Asshole.”
“Hey, you lost fair and square.”
They turned the corner, still trying to pass off their paperwork, and Stealth dropped down from the ceiling.
The colonel’s office was locked with a Medeco3 deadbolt, but she had seen schematics of the tumbler mechanism at a seminar in Las Vegas several years earlier. Six minutes of work and she was inside the reception area of Shelly’s office. The door closed behind her without a sound and she re-engaged the lock.
Her fingers skimmed the adjutant’s desk. She looked at letterheads and printed emails, paged through the appointment book and the desk calendar. She considered the computer. Based on the personal items on the desk and in the drawers, she was confident she could break the adjutant’s password in less than ten attempts. However, there was little chance the materials she needed were on his hard drive.
The inner office door was not locked. She paused to listen for overt movement or heavy breathing, signs of someone working or even sleeping. If there was anyone in the office, they were making a point of being as quiet as her.
She opened the door and slipped inside.
Colonel Shelly sat behind his desk, face down on a set of disciplinary reports. Red lines ran from his nostrils, his ears, and his left eye. Enough of it had pooled on the desk to start spreading out past his skull.
There was a faint rustle of hair on linen from behind her. The low hiss of a seat cushion shifting.