Ill Wind (35 page)

Rex O’Keefe took a long gulp from his cup—Gewürtztraminer, this time, a bit young but bright and fruity—and watched the swarthy man with the shaved head. The man put down his empty plate, lit a candle, and went back outside to work.

Rex wondered what burden the stranger bore that drove him to work so hard.

Chapter 43

Armed guards, once discreetly hidden behind banks of high-tech observation equipment, now openly patrolled the White House complex. Barricades cut off foot traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue to the north and E Street to the south. The Old Executive Office Building and the Treasury Building served as heavily fortified buffers to the west and east.

Hunching down, Jeffrey Mayeaux walked in the middle of his team of escorts through the wrought-iron gate. Leather patches on the hinges served as makeshift lubrication for the gates. More sophisticated artificial lubricants could have been shipped in from the Department of Commerce’s NIST laboratory in Gaithersburg, Maryland, but those were being stockpiled for emergency use.

Mayeaux thought of the briefing given to him while he was driven back to Washington with a military guard. Four of the convoy trucks had succumbed to the petroplague during the three-hour drive.

As of an hour ago, President Holback was officially declared dead. Short-wave radio transmissions stated that some sort of mob action in Qatar had killed the president and his escorts, then burned the American embassy in retaliation for the petroplague ravaging the Middle East oil fields.

With the breakdown in communications, none of this could be incontrovertibly confirmed, Mayeaux knew. But none of that would let him off the hook. He was going to be sworn in as the actual president, not just the acting Commander-in-Chief. No pomp, no ceremony—just an emergency action. The world was turning into one giant dog turd, and it was being plopped right in his lap.

Even under normal conditions, he’d never felt comfortable coming into the White House’s snobbery—a Southern boy, he didn’t have the right background, attend the right schools, or come up through the political system in the right way. The White House staff had treated him with disdain only a few days ago—now Mayeaux looked forward to putting them in their places. From now on, he was going to have to take his pleasures wherever he could. He wondered how the kitchen would react to a request to serve Creole red beans and rice every Monday, as was traditional.

A maintenance woman unrolled heavy-gauge emergency telephone wire across the top of the West Wing; flanked by MPs, Navy personnel lugged baskets of food across West Executive Avenue to the White House Mess.

“This way, Mr. Speaker.” The Secret Service escort motioned him toward the heavily guarded side door. Any other time, the President-to-be would have been received at the front of the White House like a conquering hero, chauffeured through the yawning gates to where the Marine guard stood stiffly at the front. The side entrance was reserved for lowly political appointees. But with the turmoil in the city and rumors of snipers, Mayeaux wanted to make himself as small a target as possible. He didn’t need all the fuss. Hell, he didn’t even want the job.

A crowd of politicians stood just inside the door. A slight smile came to Mayeaux as he recognized the former President’s Chief of Staff, the Science Advisor,
the
Budget Director. He had seen the others before, but they were too far down the food chain to elicit acknowledgment.

The Chief of Staff steered him past the Situation Room and up the stairs. “Mr. Speaker, we’re required to swear you in before updating you on the status of the current emergency. Things have deteriorated and require some drastic decisions.” The Chief of Staff had too much of a “trust me” tone. Mayeaux would see to it that good old Weathersee took his place, pronto!

“We’ve already frozen our borders,” Mayeaux said. “I was told that the National Security Council is recommending martial law across the entire country, confiscating all untainted oil.”

The Science Advisor nodded grimly. “Yes, but it might get tougher still. This is the moral equivalent of fighting a war. Our nation is on the verge of collapse.”

Mayeaux paused and studied their grave expressions. What the hell was he supposed to do with an attitude like that? “Gentlemen, I have absolutely no intention of letting the United States break apart, if it is within my power to stop it.” He extended his palm, indicating for them to lead the way and get a move on.

They took Mayeaux through the Roosevelt Room to the Oval Office, past military campaign streamers, polished wood, fine art, and a Nobel Peace Prize on display. A lanky man with long sideburns stood by the Secret Service agent outside the door. He carried a Bible and seemed nervous; he must be one of the lower officials in the Justice Department dug up to administer the oath of office. Figures, they wouldn’t get the Chief Justice for him.

The group moved into the Oval Office, filling the room. A row of bushes blooming with flowers outlined the Rose Garden just outside the window. Mayeaux could see the jogging track that encircled the south lawn; a walkway led to the outdoor swimming pool. It seemed too perfect, too good to be true.

He didn’t want to be here.

The lanky man with the Bible cleared his throat. “Please raise your hand and swear on the Bible, Mr. Mayeaux.”

“Right.”

Jeffrey Mayeaux repeated the man’s charge, mouthing the oath as it was said to him. The words meant nothing; they were just another set of guidelines to follow, just as his Congressional oath or marriage vows. It wasn’t the words that
mattered,
it was the position, and what he could do with it. He
mumbled
“So help me God,” and felt no different. With the minor scandals dogging him throughout his past two terms, he had never dreamed he would keep his Congressional office, let alone fall face-first into the presidency! He wasn’t ready for this.

As others in the room shook his hand before leading him to the situation room, the Science Advisor’s comment stuck with him. This crisis was like fighting a war.

Well, in war, the Commander-in-Chief needed to be obeyed. Mayeaux couldn’t afford to have his staff second-guess him. The first thing he would do was fire these throwbacks from Holback’s administration and surround himself with people he trusted. Finding a good Vice President was high on the list.

“Mr. Speaker—I mean, Mr. President,” the Chief of Staff corrected himself, “we need to get to the Situation Room.” He moved to the door.

“In a minute,” Mayeaux said. “I have a few things I want to discuss first.
A few changes
.”

Chapter 44

MEMORANDUM FOR THE PRESIDENT

FROM
:ASSISTANT
TO THE PRESIDENT

FOR SCIENCE, SPACE AND TECHNOLOGY

SUBJECT
:PETROPLAGUE
-AFFECTED MATERIAL

ADDENDUM 3, CONTINUED

We have again revised our list to include the following items:

Toys

Sixpack
beverage can
rings

Photocopy machine bodies

Tupperware

Polyethylene food wrap

Handles/knobs/buttons

Toothbrushes

Hair dryers

Garment buttons

Hair brushes

Coffee makers

Watch faces

Most clocks

Videotapes

Movie film

Photographs

Floppy diskettes

Adhesives

Faucet gaskets

Electrical switchplates

Laminate films

Orange highway cones

Plastic buckets

Shower curtains

Plastic tarpaulins

Varnish coatings

Marquee lettering

Driver’s licenses, laminated IDs

Petroleum jelly

Credit cards

Lighting fixtures

Athletic balls

Wastebaskets

Disposable diapers

Adhesive tape

Plastic utensils

Garment buttons

Chapter 45

On horseback, Todd led Iris quickly away from Stanford, out of the city of Palo Alto, and across the South Bay flatlands. Although he wasn’t certain where he wanted to end up, he knew they had to head east, away from the Bay area cities.

The mud flats smelled rancid in the low tide, with spoiled garbage and iridescent scum drying under the sunlight. Gnats buzzed around his face, and the horses’ tails whisked like scratchy brooms to drive the pests away. When they finally rode north, reaching solid ground, the tall grass whispered and shushed beneath the horses’ legs, the only sound except for the wind and a few circling birds over the empty network of highways.

Iris rode beside him, jarring him into conversation. Although he felt confident on the horse, he didn’t know what to say—he had spent so much time riding down to Stanford to pick her up, he couldn’t for the life of him think up any small talk. He had much bigger things to think about—like their survival.
But he was content just to be with her, and she seemed not unwilling to stay with him a while.

The sun beat down on his cowboy hat and his calloused, tanned hands gripping the reins. He could smell the horses and his own sweat, which made
him
wonder if Iris liked cologne.
Probably not.

“So,” Iris said,
jet black
hair blowing around her face, “you haven’t actually agreed yet. Do you think it’s a good idea to make our way to the Altamont and the community up there?”

Todd nodded, but he had been avoiding the question. He was still surprised that Iris had come along with him. “Sounds like a good idea, especially if they’ve got access to food from the Central Valley, even better if they’ve managed to rig power from the windmills.” He tugged his hat down tighter as a Bay breeze gusted past him. “I’m just a little uncomfortable about living with a bunch of hippies.”

“What’s the problem? They’ve been living off the land there for years.”

Todd was quiet for a moment. “What if they’re growing drugs or something?”

Iris laughed at him. “I’m sure they’d let you have some, if you asked nicely.”

Todd felt his skin prickle. “That’s not what I meant—”

“I know, I know. I’m sure they’ll be a lot more concerned now with planting vegetables. Don’t worry about it, Tex.”

“Stop calling me that,” he growled. “I’m from Wyoming.”

“Would you rather I called you Wye?”

Todd kept looking ahead, squinting into the sunlight. “I’d rather you just called me Todd.” Then he added defensively, “Okay, Professor? Or should I say, Little Miss Rock Star?”

She started to retort, but chuckled instead. “Okay, you made your point.”

They left the water behind as they headed between grassy hills crowned with dark green live oaks. Iris urged Ren ahead a few steps to parallel Todd. “We should avoid Hayward, Newark, and Fremont as much as possible,” she said, pointing to the wrinkled, flapping map spread on the saddle in front of her. “No telling how bad those cities have gotten. If we keep away from the Interstate, there are plenty of hills, ranches, and grazing land between here and the Altamont. Think we can make it there by nightfall?”

Todd laughed. “We didn’t leave Stanford until after lunch. Maybe by tomorrow afternoon.”

Iris looked down at the map again. Her dark eyes flicked back and forth, as if checking directions and distances. “I can drive it in an hour.”

“You really are an academic type, aren’t you? Horses don’t go quite as fast as cars. And they’re not nearly as comfortable.” Todd finally felt reassured to be talking about a subject he knew. “Anyway, after about twenty miles or so, your butt is going to feel sore enough to fall off. I’d just as soon keep that from happening.” Todd suddenly realized what he had said and he clamped his lips down hard together. His ears burned.

“Gee, thanks,” Iris said. “Are you willing to give me a massage if I ache too much?”

It was Todd’s turn to snort; but inwardly, he wondered if she really meant it.

#

That night they sat around a small campfire. The only thing missing was a pair of wailing coyotes in the hills. He heard a few distant gunshots after dusk, but that wasn’t quite the same.

Iris removed a can of peaches “in their own natural juice” she had taken from her pantry and opened it with a hand can opener. “Too bad we don’t have any beans for dinner,” she said, scooping the mess into their traveling bowls. “Then we could recreate that scene from
Blazing Saddles
.”

Todd laughed. “You think all cowboys are like that?”

“Aren’t they?”

“Right. Just like all professors are rock & roll addicts.” Todd ducked when Iris threw a clod of dirt at him. Afterwards, they managed to have a decent conversation over dinner.