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  “You make it sound so easy,” said Cecily. “But my husband couldn’t even get out of the Pentagon alive. How are these guys supposed to go into an unscouted location and bring back a living prisoner with hundreds of troops shooting at them?”

  “That won’t be the situation,” said Torrent. “If I’m right, then when we have possession of either Verus himself or Verus’s dead body, right there in their fortress, the other guys will stop because what’s the point?”

  “They’re true believers, that’s why,” said Cecily. “They’re fanatics. They’ll keep shooting.”

  “Some of them might,” said Torrent. “But at the point you have possession of Verus and, I hope, his top people, then you call in the Army. You just have to hold out till they finish mopping up resistance and secure the rest of the prisoners.”

  “What if we can’t find the installation at all?” said Cole.

  “That’s the thing,” said Torrent. “It’s all guesswork. And I certainly have no idea where in the area around the lake this place will be, if it exists. Or where, inside it, we’ll find Aldo Verus.”

  “Why do you even think he’s there?”

  “Because on this one,” said Torrent, “he’s not going to let anybody else control it. He’s micromanaging it, and he’ll be right at the center of power. Trust me, if the place exists, and it’s his, then he’s there.”

  It dawned on Cecily. “You know him, don’t you? You know him personally. You know him well.”

  Torrent looked surprised. “Of course. I assumed you all knew that. He’s been to several of my seminars. He hates me, but he learns from me.”

  “Why does he hate you?” said Cecily. “You’re no more a Republican than I am.”

  “Your example contains your answer,” said Torrent with a smile. “You’re no Republican, yet here you are. When I started consulting for the NSA, Verus accused me of being a whore and we stopped talking. Too bad, because he got it completely backward. Whores give out sex for money. Me, I’d give my advice for free. A chance to play with history? A chance to make a difference?”

  Cecily had never seen Torrent be so candid about himself. And it fascinated her. “Good heavens, Dr. Torrent. You think you’re Hari Selden.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Drew.

  Load and Babe both snorted as if Drew had revealed himself to be a complete idiot. “Asimov’s Foundation trilogy,” said Load.

  “Guy who thinks he can shape a thousand years of human history,” said Babe.

  “Oh,” said Drew disdainfully. “Science fiction. All those futures, with lots of little green men but no black people.”

  “That’s Hollywood,” said Babe. “Because they think black stars won’t open sci-fi movies. The books are—”

  “Please, boys,” said Cecily. “You’re preparing for an incredibly dangerous mission and you’re arguing about movies?”

  “You brought it up,” said Load.

  “Hari Selden,” muttered Babe.

  But after the meeting broke up, Cecily could not help but wonder how right or wrong she might be. It wasn’t a bad thing to be Hari Selden, really. A man who manipulated history in order to save the human race from many centuries of misery and chaos. Hadn’t Reuben come home from Torrent’s class full of talk about what the Pax Romana meant to the world, and how miserable the chaos was afterward? And that was what Asimov’s Foundation trilogy was about, too. The Decline and Fall, set in the future.

  Now here was Torrent, getting to play in the sandbox of history. Getting to shape events.

  Well, that was a good thing, wasn’t it? A good thing he wasn’t on the other side. If Aldo Verus was really the other side’s mastermind, he was making Al Qaeda look like a bunch of Keystone Kops—both for cleverness and ruthlessness. America needed somebody like Torrent to balance the equation.

  But it was still guesswork. Maybe it always came down to guesswork.

  SEVENTEEN

  BORDER CROSSING

  Armies have spent a lot of time and effort training their soldiers not to think of the enemy as human beings. It’s so much easier to kill them if you think of them as dangerous animals. The trouble is, war isn’t about killing. It’s about getting the enemy to stop resisting your will. Like training a dog not to bite. Punishing him leaves you with a beaten dog. Killing him is a permanent solution, but you’ve got no dog. If you can understand why he’s biting and remove the conditions that make him bite, sometimes that can solve the problem as well. The dog isn’t dead. He isn’t even your enemy.

  Gathered in a classroom at Gettysburg College, Rube’s jeesh knew only two things: They were going to Lake Chinnereth, and they had to do it without anyone knowing they had entered the state of Washington on a military mission.

  If they were caught, it would be taken as provocation. The governor had posted the National Guard at all the entrance points, with airplanes overflying the rest of the border, and boats patrolling the Columbia River.

  As Drew said, “It plain hurts me to be looking at a map of part of the U.S.A. in order to figure out how we can get U.S. Army ordnance across a state boundary line undetected. This is just wrong. No matter who’s President, we should be able to tell them to get their little National Guard boys out of the way, we’re the American Army on American soil!”

  The others could only agree.

  But the job still had to be done, right away. “We can’t enter from Canada,” he said, “and I think we should avoid Oregon. We get spotted there, it’s almost as bad as Washington itself—their legislature is debating a resolution right now.”

  “So,” said Mingo, “it’s Idaho or the Pacific Ocean.”

  “Idaho,” said Arty. “I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout boats.”

  “You want boats, send Marines,” said Benny.

  Most of them were looking at ordinary highway maps of the Idaho-Washington border. Load was flipping through a stack of U.S. Geological Survey maps. Drew had Google Maps and Google Earth up on his laptop.

  “We’ve got to come in on a legitimate road,” said Cole, “because once we’re inside Washington, we need to carry our ordnance in regular trucks, not the kind of all-terrain military vehicles that could get in cross-country.”

  “We could come in with ATVs and then transfer to trucks.”

  “Any way to hide everything under, like, potatoes?” said Babe. “Coming in from Idaho the way we are?”

  “Not bad,” said Cole. “Let’s find out how potatoes are shipped from Idaho to Washington. But look at the map. The most direct route is Highway 12. Gets us from Idaho right to Lewis County. National Forest Road 20 leads right to Lake Genesseret. Road 21 leads to the eastern lake, Chinnereth.”

  “Can’t go up those roads,” said Drew. “Probably the ones they use.”

  “No,” said Cole. “We go in on National Forest Road 48 and then go a mile up 4820. Only a couple of us need to be with the truck. Everybody else goes in like birdwatchers or photographers, in rental cars, on different days, park in different places. We rendezvous here and then cross over the ridge.”

  “We’re climbing that?” said Drew.

  “You must have the vertical exaggeration set on ‘two,’ ” said Cole. “The ridge isn’t really that high.” “High enough,” said Drew.

  “So the guys with the truck,” said Benny. “If they screw up and don’t get there, then what?”

  “Then the rest of you have binoculars and cameras,” said Cole. “Take what pictures you can, email them in, and at least we know more than we did.”

  “Two trucks,” said Drew. “Twice the chance of getting in.”

  “Twice the chance of getting caught,” said Mingo.

  “Either we can get in or we can’t,” said Cole. “We don’t want one of the trucks to go in by the second-best route.”

  “And I bet you’re with the truck,” said Arty.

  “We’ve been working together for a little while now,” said Cole. “I don’t care who goes in with the truck. There’s nobody
here I wouldn’t trust for the job.”

  “But you want to go,” said Arty.

  “Don’t you?” said Cole.

  “No way,” said Arty. “Trucks are great big targets. Trucks run over mines. Trucks get blown up.”

  “They haven’t mined the roads,” said Babe, disgusted.

  “Not at the border,” said Arty. “But the rebels? Up those National Forest roads they’re using?”

  “Start killing park rangers in jeeps,” said Cole, “and somebody’d notice them. There are no mines.”

  “What ordnance are we taking, anyway?” said Cat.

  “Separate discussion,” said Cole and Drew at the same time. They laughed. “We’re on border crossing right now,” said Drew.

  “Idaho and Washington got a lot of border,” said Mingo.

  “Route 12 comes across the border at Clarkston, Washington,” said Arty. “Lewiston, Idaho, and Clarkston, Washington. Lewis and Clark. I feel like I’m in grade school again. We did a pageant about Lewis and Clark.”

  “What did you play, Sacajawea?” asked Cat.

  “And we’re headed for Lewis County,” said Arty. “It’s like a tour of American history.”

  “There’s a road comes in just north of the river at Clarkston, so we aren’t going right through town,” said Mingo. “In case there’s shooting.”

  “There won’t be shooting,” said Cole. “We’re crossing into Washington, not Iran. If they stop us, they stop us, we don’t shoot.”

  “And if they try to arrest us?” said Mingo.

  “Then we’re arrested,” said Cole. “Let them take the heat for arresting United States soldiers. Better than us killing U.S. citizens. In or out of the National Guard.”

  “Those really the rules of engagement?” said Mingo.

  “Absolutely,” said Cole. “The only time we use our weapons is at Lake Chinnereth, and then only if we know they’re definitely the rebels and we can’t avoid shooting.”

  “Hell, the truck’s all yours then,” said Mingo. “Those are shitty rules of engagement. I’m not going to rot in some jail.”

  “It’ll be an American jail,” said Benny. “Cable TV.”

  “Okay,” said Cole, “who’s willing to go with the truck, under those rules of engagement?”

  Everybody looked stonily forward. “We don’t want to kill anybody,” said Drew, “but we don’t want them to be able to shoot, and us not.”

  “I don’t want to do it alone,” said Cole.

  “It’s just a U-Haul,” said Mingo.

  “No need two of us getting arrested,” said Arty.

  “I’d go with you,” said Drew. “Except that’s white man’s country. Eastern Washington? Might as well be North Dakota. Black face with you in that truck, they’re going to look extra hard at whatever you’re carrying. They’ll be looking for drugs.”

  “Come on,” said Cole. What century was this?

  “You never been black in the United States,” said Cat. “Trust me on this. Drew and I travel separately or we’re a gang. We come through Seattle airport, and we try real hard not to look like drug dealers.”

  “How’s this,” said Load. “The truck comes in from Genesee, Idaho, on this Cow Creek Road.”

  “That’s a promising name,” said Cole.

  “Not exactly a major highway,” said Arty.

  “That’s what we want, right?” said Benny.

  “If they got nobody on it, then yeah,” said Mingo. “But if they put somebody there, it’s gonna be Barney Fife. Real eager to inspect every vehicle to count the bolts in the chassis.”

  “I look at the map and it looks like this goes nowhere,” said Cole.

  “No, you pick up Schlee Road to Steptoe Canyon Road and take that south to Wawawai River Road.”

  “Is that a real name?” said Arty. “Wawawawawawai?”

  “What is this, the Grand Canyon?” said Cole. “Nothing crosses this river for miles.”

  “That’s right,” said Load. “You backtrack almost to Clarkston before you can cross the river. But we’re not working to save gas, we’re trying to go undiscovered.”

  “So what shows up more,” said Cole, “a truck on main roads, or a truck driving on back roads? We have to remember they’re watching by air, too.”

  “Maybe the guys with the truck go there and see what it looks like,” said Mingo. “Play it by ear.”

  “There’s no second chance,” said Drew. “The first time you try is the only try you get. How can you see how it looks?”

  “Cross in a car first?” said Arty.

  “And then you decide that’s a good place to cross, but when you come back with the truck, the guardsman recognizes you?” said Drew. “One shot.”

  “So whoever drives, decides,” said Arty. “We can’t decide it from here, looking at a map.”

  “Okay,” said Drew. “Cole, when you’re about to come through, you call me on your cell. If I don’t hear from you in two hours that you got through, then we lay hands on whatever weapons we can buy inside Washington and go on without you.”

  “Okay,” said Cole. “I’ll do it.”

  “Of course you will,” said Drew. “You’re still active duty, so you’re used to taking shit from everybody.”

  “It’s the assignment I want,” said Cole.

  “Why?” asked Arty.

  “When Rube and I came out of the Holland Tunnel, the National Guard saved our butts. They did their job and they went the extra mile. I want to be there to make sure we don’t hurt any of them.”

  Arty rolled his eyes. Cat coughed.

  “An idealist,” said Drew.

  “A pacifist,” said Mingo. “Did you join the Peace Corps and got Special Ops by mistake?”

  “Just teasing you,” said Load. “None of us wants to hurt American soldiers. We all agree with you. But it’s your job because you’re the one most willing to do it. We trust you to bring us the tools of the trade.”

  “Of course, you got to change your appearance,” said Mingo. “You went on CNN, people are gonna know you.”

  “I went on O’Reilly,” said Cole.

  “So even more people,” said Mingo.

  “How fast does your beard grow?” said Drew.

  “Bleach your hair?” suggested Arty.

  “Fake glasses?”

  “Wax teeth?”

  “You’re getting silly now,” said Cole. “I’ll grow my beard, I’ll dye my hair darker. It was a month ago. Nobody’s going to remember.”

  Then they got down to the serious business of choosing their weapons. Torrent had opened the whole arsenal to them—including all the prototypes that were meant to counter mechs and hoverbikes.

  “Guys, it’s a candy store, I know,” said Arty. “But we got to shlep these things through the woods and over a ridge that looks like it’s, what, eight miles high.”

  “Vertical exaggeration,” Drew reminded him.

  “A hundred and fifty pounds on your back gives you all the vertical exaggeration you need,” said Arty.

  “Want to buy good backpacks in Washington?” said Drew. “Easier than trying to carry them through airports.”

  “Can we keep it after?” said Benny.

  “If you pay for it yourself,” said Mingo.

  “Of course we’re going to pay for it ourselves,” said Benny. “You think they’re going to take a DOD purchase order?”

  Cole shook his head. “They’ll fill our ATM accounts with plenty of money. This is the United States government. Possibly the only entity with more money than Aldo Verus.”

  So it came down to Cole in a U-Haul. Everything they needed for a week in the woods—including rations, uniforms, backpacks, weapons, and ammunition. Covering it: a bunch of used furniture and boxes filled with old kitchen stuff. A Goodwill somewhere had been stripped of everything, it looked like.

  If somebody just looked into the back of the truck, fine. If they pulled out a few boxes and looked inside them, fine. If they unloaded the fi
rst three layers, fine. But if the search got serious, Cole was toast.

  He tried to picture the truck on the lonely back roads and he didn’t like the picture. Oh, he had his cover stories—if he took the northern route, then he was moving from Genesee to Pasco, but he needed to pick up stuff from his mother-in-law’s house in Colton on the way. If he went into Washington through Clarkston, then it was still Genesee and Pasco, only he could skip the mother-in-law. He even had the mother-in-law’s name—a woman they knew would not be home, but who had a daughter the right age to be married to Cole. Just in case they got a guardsman who happened to be a local boy.

  Still, once he got across the border near Uniontown, why in the world would he take that circuitous route on Schlee and Steptoe and Wawawai River Road? Obvious answer: He wanted to avoid crossing the border again. Maybe they’d buy it. But it was a lot of miles out of the way. If I were a patrolman and I heard that story, I’d unload the whole damn truck.

  It had been a solitary drive. A few cellphone calls, but not too many, just verifying that Drew was in Washington and that there were more guards but they didn’t seem particularly alert or hostile. Business as usual. Only . . . everybody in the airport watched the news. Baseball season, the Mariners were even in contention, sort of, but even in the bars, more people were watching CNN than ESPN or whatever game happened to be on.

  “They care, man,” said Drew. “I just don’t know from looking which ones want the revolution to succeed, and which ones want it to fail.”

  “Probably most of them just want it all to go away.”

  “Don’t see many people inspired by President Nielson, tell the truth.”

  “They inspired by the New York City Council?”

  “The mayor’s acting like he thinks he’s the new President of the U.S.A.,” said Drew. “People kind of laughed.”

  “Well that’s a good sign,” said Cole. “But we’ve talked long enough. Cellphones. Somebody might be listening.”

  “In D.C. I worried,” said Drew. “Didn’t know who was doing what, and everybody had all the tech. But out here? What, they’re listening to all the cellphone calls?”