Digital Winter (39 page)

“Yes, sir.” The soldier stared at the gunman for a few long moments. “Leave. In fact, you should run.”

The man did.

Back in the Humvee, the corporal asked. “You okay?”

“Yes. Thanks. I seem to owe you my life.”

The corporal laughed. “You owe me more than that. You gave away my lunch too, sir.”

The streets leading to Roni's hospital reminded Jeremy of several depressing movies he had seen. Real life was worse than imagination. The main building of Harris Memorial looked in good shape, unlike the office buildings and restaurants just a block away.

Two military vehicles stood at the front of the building. Several National Guard soldiers patrolled the parking lot and walkways around the structure. They came to attention the moment Jeremy exited the vehicle. He returned their salutes. “Carry on.” It took all his willpower not to sprint through the doors and start calling Roni's name. It wouldn't be seemly for a general to do, not that he much cared about that.

The lobby furnishings had been rearranged. Chairs were lined up like those in a theater or a church. As he walked through the lobby, he noticed that many of the chairs sat askew. Then he noticed a dark stain on the floor. His heart tripped. He moved down the main hall toward the ER in back. He knew one of the doctors' lounges was there. He'd start with the ER, move to the lounge, jog up the stairs to Roni's office, and if need be, camp out in the surgical wing.

He got lucky. Roni walked down one of the halls and through the intersection of the corridors. A blond boy was with her. He was eating what Jeremy assumed was canned tangerines. She glanced his way and continued on. He started to call out when she returned to the corridor intersection. She stared and stood motionless as if the sight of him had petrified her.

She was thinner.

He took another stride toward her.

Her hair was shiny with oil and in need of a good shampoo.

Another stride.

There were bags under her eyes, and her shoulders slumped as if she had been carrying bags of concrete for the last two months.

Two more steps.

Her skin was pale and her cheeks sunken.

She looked beautiful.

“Hey, good looking, come here often?”

Her lip quivered. “Hey, sailor.”

“Sailor? No need to be insulting.”

She took one step his direction and then ran into his arms. He held her tight, unable to believe she was in his embrace again.

They both wept.

In a crazy world, in a dark city, in a violent environment, Jeremy felt better than he had in his life.

Then a small voice. A boy's voice. A voice with a sob in it. A voice Roni had come to know so well.

“Are you going to take Roni away from me?”

The last thing Roni wanted to do was pull away from her husband. She would be happy to die right on the spot, right at that moment. Still she released Jeremy.

“And who is this young man?” Jeremy dropped to a knee.

“This is Cody,” Roni said. “Cody, this is my husband, Colonel—General Matisse.”

“Just Jeremy to you, Cody.” Jeremy held out a hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” Cody shook hands but his face showed his fear. “I hear you've been taking care of my wife. Thank you.”

“You're going to take her away, aren't you? Everybody leaves me.”

Roni looked into Jeremy's eyes, and then he turned back to Cody. “I've come to take both of you away. That is, if you'll come with us.”

“I can go?” He brightened.

“Roni sent a letter to me. Just between you and me, pal, I think you might be stuck with her. Or I suppose you and I could take off and leave her behind.”

“Fat chance of that,” Roni snapped. She missed sparring with her husband.

Jeremy rose and put his arm around Roni. “No objections, Dr. Matisse. I have a plan and a presidential order. Let's find the hospital administrator, and then we have some catching up to do.

He took her hand. It was as if she had been reborn.

“The plan is simple, Dr. Pickett. We have more vehicles operating now. The military and emergency vehicles get priority on parts. Our mechanics are creating new ways to get vehicles rolling again. It's a slow process, but we're making progress.” Jeremy sat at a cafeteria table. Cody wanted to sit next to him. It reminded Roni of the boy's need for a father figure.

“Wait,” Roni said. “I can't leave the hospital in the lurch—”

Pickett raised a hand. “You can and you will, Dr. Matisse. No one has given more than you. You've saved countless lives, but things are better now. Not good, I know, but what the general suggests will work. If the military can transport doctors to and from the hospital, we can run shifts.”

“That's the idea.” Jeremy took Roni's hand. “I can arrange for trips back here. Where we're going is some distance but still workable.”

“I don't know…” Roni said.

Pickett sided with Jeremy, something Jeremy appreciated and needed. It was going to take two men to move one woman. “Dr. Matisse…Roni…listen to me, and listen closely. This isn't just about you. It's not just about the hospital or patients.” He looked at Cody. “This is no place for Cody. True, he's safer here than out there, but it sounds like you'll be going to a safer place. I don't have to remind you what happened—”

“No, you don't.” She cut her eyes to Jeremy.

His eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

“I'll tell you later.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You can count on that.”

“I can make this work,” Pickett said. “I just got word that the government has helped get another hospital back online. Roni, don't make me take away your surgery privileges. Just go. I'll work out a schedule so you can cover a few days a week. That will give the other surgeons time off.”

“But—”

“Good. It's decided.” Pickett stood. “I checked the schedule. You have no surgeries. Anything that comes through ER we can handle. Now get out of here.” He walked away.

Jeremy was impressed. “The man knows his mind.”

“You really have a presidential order for this?”

“Yes, and he's not the kind of guy one argues with.” Jeremy mussed Cody's hair. “Come on, Champ. You're not going to believe where I'm taking you.”

When President Barlow opened his eyes, he saw the frowning face of Franklin Grundy. “I'm glad I don't have to see that face every time I wake up.”

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. President. I know the doctor gave you orders to rest.”

“And I gave orders to be kept in the loop.” He pushed up in the bed. Katey stood at the bedroom door, her hand raised to her lips.

“Israel retaliated. Four submarine-launched cruise missiles. All targets were in Syria. We think they used Gabriel 4LRs. They wouldn't even have to surface.”

“We guessed they would respond with SLCMs. Damages?”

“Unknown. Without our spy birds and contact with operatives in country, we can do little more than make estimates from trajectory. All sites were military.”

“Which is a shade kinder than Syria was with them.”

“Yes, sir. If I were Syria, I wouldn't depend on such restraint.”

Barlow reached for a glass of water next to his bed. Grundy handed it to him. He drank half the contents and handed it back. “I suppose we should be thankful the power outage has made war a little more difficult.”

“That leads me to the bad news, sir.”

“I thought the missile attack was bad enough.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.” He paused. “Cities in Syria are coming back online. Somehow they have power again.”

“How?”

“No one knows, sir.”

“Israel?”

“Dark as before.”

“Not good. Not good.” Barlow rubbed the center of his chest.

G
eneral Holt stepped into Jeremy's office. He had aged several years in the last eight months. Still robust. Still strong. Still in possession of a steel-trap mind, but the strain had taken a toll. He spent much of his time at Fort Meade helping rebuild Slipper—the secret Internet protocol router network for the military. Jeremy was confined to overseeing the security of Mount Weather's computer systems and tracking down the Moriarty worm. With more and more military bases and radar instillations online and other communications following, he had been able to make some headway but not nearly enough. He could demonstrate that the malignant, self-writing program had started on the West Coast, probably Southern California.

“I have a message for you, Jeremy.”

“Since when did you become a messenger boy?”

Holt took a chair near one of the several computers in Jeremy's workstation. “I'm doing a lot of work I never imagined I'd be doing.”

“I hear that. How are things at USCYBERCOM?”

“Moving along. Most of our systems have been rebuilt and some of our specialty software reconstructed. To tell the truth, I thought we were better protected than we were. We took a much bigger hit. If someone had asked me if all this could happen, I would have wagered my stars that it couldn't, and you know how much I love my stars.”