Monster Nation(69)

'It's not a disease at all, I do not think,' Vikram said, rubbing his beard. 'It is more like a radiation. Or perhaps it is magic.'

Clark shot him a warning glance and pressed SEND.





Monster Nation





Chapter Ten


NO VACCINE, NO PEACE!!!! Sheriff's Office in Clark County has some according to insider eyewitness but no plan to distribute to the people! WTF!!!1 If I was WHITE like YOU, could I have my innoculation then, OFFICER??? ['unDead Amerikkka' electronic newsletter, distributed via email 4/9/05]

Men with machine pistols and brown baseball caps patrolled Terminal Two of McCarran international airport in Las Vegas. They moved in teams of two or three. One of them lead a pair of Doberman pinschers directly past where Bannerman Clark sat, waiting for the next flight to Washington.

'They don't have any badges,' Clark observed to the man sitting next to him in the cocktail bar. He sipped at his ginger ale'a little sugar always helped with his jet lag'and watched one of the dogs shove his snout into a trash can. 'No insignia. Is this new?' He had never been to Las Vegas before, and was only there now because it was the last airport in the West that hadn't been overrun. A military helicopter had brought him that far but lacked the range necessary to get him to the Capital.

The businessman sitting next to him hunched his shoulders, wrinkling his tweed jacket and looked at Bannerman with some surprise. 'This is the only city in a hundred miles that isn't crammed full of dead maniacs and you're worried about identification? They're private consultants. We don't ask a lot of questions about them, and you shouldn't either. Excuse me, I have a flight to catch.' He dropped a five on the bar and hurried off.

Who had hired the private consultants? The mayor of the city? Organized crime? It wasn't Clark's jurisdiction. Yet when he finally arrived in Washington twelve hours later (after an unannounced layover in St. Louis where he was not allowed to deplane) he found more private consultants at Ronald Reagan, though at least these wore some insignia on the back of their flak jackets: KBR. A man in a KBR vest with a long, fluttering mustache checked his ID before he was herded into the baggage claim, even though he had no bags to pick up.

At least the driver of the car that picked him up at the terminal was military'a regular army corporal with a stubbled dimple on the back of his head. In Georgetown the corporal gave him a snappy salute and indicated the door of a building Clark had never seen before. It was not the same building where he'd met with the Civilian the first time, nor was it anywhere near the Pentagon. There was no sign on the door except for the street number.

Inside he found what must have been a cheap hotel at one point in its life-cycle. It had been converted into office space, the rooms on the first floor broken down into cubicles, but it took Clark a while to find anyone inside. Finally a man in a buttoned-down white shirt lead him to a conference room and knocked on the door. Inside the Civilian sat silhouetted before dust-and fly-specked Venetian blinds, a fresh box of Marshmallow Peeps on the table in front of him. 'Mission creep,' he said, and stuffed one of the treats in his mouth.

Clark removed his cover and stepped forward. 'I have something I'd like to show you,' he began, but the Civilian's eyes didn't move at all. He looked deep in thought.

'Mission creep,' he said again. 'Powell Doctrine. A million Mogadishus.'

Clark stepped a half-step closer. 'Excuse me?' he asked.

'You'll have to forgive me, Bannerman,' the Civilian drawled. 'I'm coming down from my afternoon dose of hillbilly heroin. I have a bad back, you see. A really. Really. Bad back.'

He did not ask Clark to sit down, nor were there any extra chairs in the office.

'It's a shame about Los Angeles. And, uh, Colorado, right? Colorado. They had some nice scenery there. I really need to re-velocitize. Hold on. Marcy!' he shouted. 'Not even an intercom in this office. Marcy! I need my pick-me-up!'

A young woman brought in a tray and set it on the desk. It held a glass full of ice and a can of Red Bull. The Civilian ignored the glass and drank straight from the can. 'Good of you to come out, Bannerman. I appreciate the face time. Listen, there's someone I need you to meet. You ready? Need to freshen up?'

'No, I'' Clark looked down at his briefcase. 'With your pardon, though, there are some papers I need to show you. This is crucial material.'

'I know that, Bannerman. I heard what you said on the phone. Now come on. I'm counting on you for my dead cat bounce. Did you know you were the only military type to come out of Denver without losing a single troop?' He held up a hand for patience though Clark had not interrupted him. 'It's definitely a shame about Sanchez. Read all about her, wish I could have met her. Come on. The person we're meeting for lunch will want to hear about your papers.' The Civilian rose from the desk and headed out the door. It was all Clark could do to keep up.