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the apartment and exchange his civilian clothing for fatigues, then head back to begin his shift.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Emilee Bailey's black face showed a patina of perspiration under the harsh camera lights. Her speech to
the United Nations assembly had gone over about as well as she had expected, perhaps better. She had
been interrupted only three times by shouts of violent disagreement and outright disbelief. At the end,
there was only a smattering of applause. She didn't blame the delegates for their less than enthusiastic
reception because she didn't believe half the words she had just spoken herself.
As she stood before the podium, ready to take questions, she wondered again why she hadn't simply
resigned or better yet, disclaimed some of what she had been ordered to say. In the end, she had
decided to go along. If she hadn't, she would simply have been replaced and someone else put in her
place to make the same speech and she thought she very well might have been permanently silenced
and her death attributed to the Harcourt virus. Her newly appointed  aide sat behind her, a constant
reminder of how extensive were the powers granted the president under martial law. He was an agent of
the Homeland Security Council, there to be sure she said what she was supposed to and to let her
know that the surviving members of her family could be locked up indefinitely without charges if that was
what it took to keep her in line.
Emilee doubted that much would get done in any case. Most countries had a percentage of blacks and
dark skinned citizens and were busy at home, just like the United States was. She could look out over
the chamber and see that almost every seat was filled but she knew that some of those ambassadors no
longer served effective governments. In some of their countries, there was no government left at all.
Phrases from the speech she had just given were still running through her mind. ... demand that Israel
cease all offensive operations immediately ... stand ready to offer unconditional assistance to the
beleaguered continent of Africa and all other areas afflicted by the Harcourt virus ... no territorial
ambitions in Africa nor designs on the Arab world ... stridently deny providing assistance to Israel
in carrying out their air strikes ... must put our own house in order ... deny in the strongest
possible terms that the United States government had anything whatsoever to do with instigating
the Harcourt virus. The proof should be apparent in the fact that our country is also suffering
grievously from ... have no knowledge concerning the new virus that has cropped up in the Middle
East ... That statement had been inserted into her speech at the last moment as news of the new virus
became public knowledge.
There was more, but it all went into a summation of how the United States was making every effort to
restrain Israel, find a cure for the Harcourt virus, render aid to Africa and other afflicted nations, help
Russia and the European powers to secure nuclear power plants that were at risk of being abandoned,
and in general tell the world how benevolent and helpful her country's efforts during the crisis were. Parts
of the speech were true, but other facts had been shaded and she knew she had uttered some outright
lies. Modern diplomacy, she thought with bitter self loathing.
Her answers to the questions were little more than a recap of the text of her speech. As quickly as she
decently could, she declined to provide any more answers and took her seat. She did her best to ignore
the derogatory remarks coming to her translator earphone during the debate that followed. Fortunately it
didn't last but another hour, then was suspended until the next day. After that, she had a short break
before meeting with the Permanent Security Council members, where the real decisions would be made.
Not that she thought much would be accomplished there, either.
* * * *
Doug's platoon was on the three to eleven shift. He was tired but not impossibly so when he arrived back
at the apartment that he and June were already beginning to call home. During the day he would have
been amused at the sight of men and women in white coats carrying their own trash out to the dumpsters
had it not been a portent of how many vacancies there were for workers who performed the mundane
but necessary housekeeping tasks all over the country. The cafeteria food was suffering from the same
shortage. The potatoes at dinner had been lumpy and undercooked and the meatloaf had an odd taste to
it that he didn't care for, as if it had been diluted with too many crackers or bread to make it go further.
June was awake and watching the news when he came in, wearing a thin yellow silk robe, a souvenir
from a mission to Thailand a few years ago. It shimmered as she stood up to greet him, some of the
fabric clinging to the curves of her body as if attached to her, while others parts of the material flowed
with her movements, presenting as pretty a picture of a new bride as he could ever wish for.
"I thought you would be in bed by now, he said, leaning his rifle carefully against the wall and taking her
into his arms.
"I was, but I set the alarm so I'd be awake when you came home. Have you eaten?"
"I had a bite at work. Don't worry about it. How was the rest of your day?"
She pointed to the wall screen.  About like that. I didn't feel like reading, so I watched how the world is
going to hell until I couldn't stand it any more, then turned it off. Are you ready for your drink?"
"If you don't mind. I need something to perk me up; it's been a long, long day."
"Go ahead and get your shower; I'll make it for you."
"You're a doll. Also a dutiful wife. And a beautiful one. Make it a double because I'm only going to have
one. He winked, kissed her in a manner that promised much more later and headed for the bedroom,
unbuckling his holster belt as he went.
When Doug returned a few minutes later, feeling clean and somewhat refreshed, June had turned off the
news and was sitting in quiet silence.
Doug sat down and took a big sip of his bourbon and water, savoring the bite and the warmth it started
in his middle.  Anything good on the news? He slid his free hand in under the hem of her robe and
caressed her thigh with gentle motions.
"Not on the news, but Amelia got something good in the feed from Washington. It's not being made
public yet, though. Remember that scientist who created the virus for those Nazi skinhead nutcases we
executed?"
"Johannsen? Sure. Did someone finally pop him?"
"Even better. He's been captured."
"Why is that better? We'll just execute him, same as those other Aryan supremacist bastards. For my
money, he ought to be hung up by his balls and beat to death with rusty barbed wire."
"Amelia thinks he might be able to help find a cure, or a treatment. Possibly a vaccine. She's requested
that he be brought here and put to work under armed guard."
Doug wasn't a scientist but he tried to keep up with developments, particularly since taking his present [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]