The Julian Year Read online

  Stoker made a note to do so.

  “Do you buy what he said?”

  “In some ways, it’s the sanest explanation I’ve heard since all this began,” Stoker said.

  “An invasion of damned souls from hell? Worldwide possession?” Rhodes shook his head.

  Stoker took out his smartphone and pressed its screen. “Our polls show that 28 percent of voters already attribute the Omega Disorder to possession.”

  “Why the hell are we polling voters? We’ve all seen our last election.”

  “When you said you wanted everyone to continue with their lives, I assumed you meant us too.”

  Rhodes chuckled in disbelief. “I don’t want you or anyone else devoting any time, energy, or resources to some campaign that’s never going to be necessary.”

  Stoker blinked twice.

  Rhodes pointed at his aide and friend. “I mean it. Fate has made me a one-term president, just as it has put Donna in line to be the first Hispanic female president. Your only job is to help me—help us—govern during this last year.”

  “You realize your opponents are already campaigning against you?”

  “Let them. No one is listening. If they want to spend their time coming after me rather than with their families, they’ve already lost. Anyone who plays politics now is cutting his own wrists.”

  “What if you’re wrong? What if our doctors and scientists find a solution to this thing? We need to be ready to put our best foot forward.”

  Rhodes smiled. “You’re a political animal. I can appreciate that. I appreciate you. I was a political animal too but not anymore. This is too important. Will our people find a cure to this disorder before my birthday in July? I don’t believe so. But if they do—on my watch—we won’t need to worry about campaigning for reelection. What I need your counsel on is if and when to share this new information with the public.”

  Stoker removed his glasses. “Let me ask you something about what our guest back there said.”

  Here it comes. Rhodes folded his hands on his lap. “Go ahead.”

  “He mentioned three infidelities. The first was Shirley Jacobson in Chicago. We handled that. The second must be Angie Gray in El Paso. When I asked you about the rumors, you denied them. I told you I wouldn’t pass judgment, but I needed to know the truth to run an effective campaign, and you denied having done anything wrong.”

  “I shouldn’t have lied to you about Angie. There was so much on the line, and after Shirley, I just couldn’t tell you the truth.”

  Stoker’s expression didn’t change. “And the third, in Hershey, Pennsylvania?”

  Rhodes sighed. “I don’t even remember her name.”

  Stoker sank deeper into his seat.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you. I’m no saint; you know that. I love my wife and my family. There’s just something intoxicating about . . . the availability of women on the campaign trail. They weren’t even attracted to me. They were attracted to the same thing I was, the possibility of power.”

  Stoker raised one hand. “You don’t owe me an explanation or an apology. I honestly don’t care how you relieved your tension on the trail. What I do care about is that a disordered and incarcerated citizen of this country knew details about your private life that he couldn’t possibly have known. Were there others?”

  “No. I swear it, for whatever that’s worth.”

  “Of course there weren’t, or he’d have known about them too. We have to assume that everything he told you was true, including this ‘one mind’ concept. And if that’s true and you sit on the information, another disordered person will go to the media, and we’ll appear to be hiding vital information.”

  “Not if they’re all in custody.”

  “But we know that’s not the case. There are fugitives forming cells and waiting for the right time to strike.”

  “A revelation like this could change everything. Maybe it’s better if people don’t know the truth.”

  Stoker put his glasses back on and looked at the screen of his phone. “O’Rourke’s resignation is the hot topic now.”

  “Let him have his moment in the spotlight. He deserves it.”

  “People want to know a successor’s in place.”

  “I’ll announce my selection of Donna tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. I can reveal this thing tomorrow in prime time if that’s the way we decide to go.”

  “We need to have more to run with than the word of one homicidal lunatic. Let me do some research tonight when we get back.”

  “No. How long has it been since you were home in time to tuck in your son for bed?”

  Stoker appeared to search for an answer. “I can’t remember.”

  “Go home and be with your family. That’s what I intend to do. Family is so important, now more than ever. I’ll make my decision tomorrow.”

  Sixteen

  Weizak entered Tin Men, a bar on Second Avenue, and draped his coat over the back of a chair. The place was crowded with muscular bodies and short haircuts. Scanning the noisy interior, he spotted Officer Rachel Konigsberg sitting alone at the far end of the bar. Calvin Ethridge, her partner, sat at a table with three other men. Unlike Konigsberg, they found something to laugh about.

  The bartender, who resembled Wayne Newton, moved before him and gave him a suspicious look.

  “Just give me a pint of whatever’s on tap.” Tossing a five-dollar bill on the bar, Weizak nodded at Rachel. “I’ll take it down there.”

  The bartender collected the money without saying anything and turned from Weizak, who gathered his coat and pushed through the crowd to his target. Rachel noticed him when he was halfway to her, and she watched him as he sat down. Her hair remained in a ponytail, but she wore a black sweater.

  “Officer Konigsberg, what a surprise. I almost didn’t recognize you out of uniform.”

  “Are you tailing me?” she said.

  “What, me? No, I’m not following you, but I admit it occurred to me that the blues from your precinct congregate at this establishment, and what safer place is there to imbibe in these days than a cop joint?”

  Wayne Newton set Weizak’s pint before him.

  “Hey, thanks,” Weizak said, as if he had just received a free drink.

  “What do you want?” Rachel said.

  “Just to talk. What are you having?”

  Rachel sipped her drink and smacked her lips. “A Long Island iced tea. What’s on your mind?” “Ah, a Long Island girl. I thought I noticed a touch of Amityville in you.”

  She seemed to peer inside him. “Oh, did you?”

  Weizak nodded. “Can I get you another?”

  “Maybe after I finish this one.”

  “Take your time.”

  “Are you trying to liquor me up to get me to talk or to get me into bed?”

  Hello, what have we here? Weizak thought. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

  “About those Normans today? I already told you everything I have to say.”

  “Well, it’s all over the news, obviously. And that TV cameraman kept rolling on you and your partner even after you took out that second perp. It looked like the two of you were arguing on the rooftop.”

  “It was a clean shoot or I wouldn’t be back on the street, would I?”

  “What street is that? Main Street in Dodge City?”

  Rachel chuckled. “Is that a complaint about the way this department protects the city?”

  “No, I’ve got no complaints about that. Thank God you’re all still on the job. But you have to admit things have gotten pretty crazy out there.”

  Rachel’s demeanor cooled. “Not because of us.”

  Seeing her cheeks flush, Weizak decided to change direction. “Of course not. I know what sacrifice you’re making: the long hours, the lack of support. Speaking of which, what do you think about this bill to train potential police officers who had low scores on their entrance exams?”

  Rachel stirred her ice cubes with a swizzle stick
. “It’s fine by me. We need backup.”

  “But you’re getting the National Guard and the armed forces, and they’re already trained.”

  “Let me set you straight. We’re at fucking war, and everyone has a pretty goddamned good idea who the enemy is. The National Guard? The army? The marines? All those guys and gals are coming in to run prison camps. They make a great visual deterrent, but until they’re allowed to deploy firepower, we don’t have enough manpower to do what needs to be done. We’re devoting every uniform we have to running down Normans and every detective to finding people who have gone underground. We got no one—and I mean no one—dealing with regular crime fighting.”

  Weizak sipped his beer. “I see your point.”

  “Don’t con me. You don’t see anything.”

  “I’m out there every day. This morning I saw a mailman biting a dog.”

  Rachel snorted. “I’ll take that refill.”

  “You got it.” Weizak beckoned to Wayne Newton and pointed at Rachel’s glass.

  Frowning, the bartender nodded.

  Rachel laughed. “I don’t think he likes you.”

  “That’s because he’s an ex-cop, and cops don’t like me.”’

  “Why is that?”

  “I guess because I lack respect for authority. It’s always been a problem for me. I think it held me back in my career aspirations for years.”

  “It doesn’t seem to be hurting you now.”

  “I’ve got skills. All anyone needs is a chance to prove himself.”

  “Perfect timing.”

  “I’ve got a front-row seat to the apocalypse.”

  “When’s your birthday?”

  He offered her a sheepish smile. “December 31. Unless some Norman chops me up, I’m going to make it to the last day.”

  “Is that important to you?”

  “Doesn’t everyone want to survive as long as possible? It’s an animal instinct. But there’s more to it than that for me. Because I broke the birthday angle, I want to see the show through to the end. I want to be there when the final curtain comes down and file that last story.”

  “But who’s going to print it?”

  “I’ll write it on the sidewalk with chalk if I have to.”

  “If you make it to the end, what do you think that’s going to be like? Everyone will be dead or disordered. If they’re working together, the world will be theirs—their society, their rules. What makes you think they’ll let you see the big show, that they won’t eat you for breakfast long before then?”

  “You’re a very bleak person.”

  “I’m just a realist.”

  “When’s your birthday?”

  Rachel shrugged. “Eh.”

  “No, wait. Don’t tell me the actual date. What’s your sign?”

  She snickered. “Now I know you’re trying to pick me up.”

  He snapped his fingers. “You’re an Aries.”

  The bartender set a fresh drink before Rachel, and she sipped it.

  “I’m a Pisces.”

  “The fish?” He did the math in his head: February 19 to March 20. “Ah, shit, that’s right around the corner. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. My birthday is February 29.”

  “That’s just over two weeks away.”

  “That’s right. I turn in my shield and my gun at the end of the day tomorrow and take my last vacation, hurrah, hurrah.”

  “Really, I’m so, so sorry.”

  “This is your lucky night.”

  “It is? Why?”

  She leaned closer to him. “Because I’m going to let you take me home and screw my brains out.”

  Weizak held her gaze, waiting for the punch line.

  “There’s just one problem: I’m only seven years old. You’ll be a child molester.”

  Weizak double blinked, then smiled. “Holy shit, you’re a goddamned leapfrog!”

  “Keep it down, will you? It’s already made me a leper with my partners.”

  “They’re just jealous.”

  “Either that, or they’re afraid of whatever makes me different from them. The way I see it, it was just the luck of the draw, if anything. And there’s still a fifty-fifty chance I could turn into Norma Bates. Nobody knows what’s going to happen. In some ways it’s worse for me, because I don’t know what my end game is, if my good-byes are real good-byes. Not knowing is frustrating, which is where you come in.”

  “I see where you’re going with this and consider me at your complete disposal.”

  “I wasn’t planning to take no for an answer.”

  “Why me? Underground sex clubs have opened all over the city. Anonymous sex is back in style now that people don’t have to worry about AIDS.”

  “I guess I’m just an old-fashioned girl.”

  “Can we go now?”

  “I’d like to finish my drink.”

  When they stepped outside and bitter cold numbed Weizak’s nostrils, he heard the sound of sirens on the wind. “The new rhythm of the night. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

  “Worry when you don’t hear them.”

  Anibal opened the door to the hotel room, and Jasmine led Juan and Julio inside. Each boy ran to a bed and jumped on it like a trampoline. Anibal brought in some of the luggage.

  “Get off those beds,” Jasmine said.

  Laughing, the boys belly flopped onto their respective mattresses and bounced into submission.

  “This isn’t so bad,” Anibal said, looking around the dingy room. “I’ll be right back.”

  Closing the door behind him, he walked through the hotel, passing armed security guards, and into the parking lot, where he unloaded the rest of the luggage from the rental car. It had taken them all day to reach Florida due to numerous delays, most of them caused by enhanced security measures. After being rerouted twice, he had doubted they would ever reach their destination, but here they were in the Sunshine State, and his sweaty shirt now clung to his chest, arms, and lower back.

  Two helicopters circled the area: military birds, he knew. The troops were out in force, guarding the Magic Kingdom and Islands of Adventure.

  Reentering the room, he saw Jasmine sitting alone on the bed, facing the flat-screen TV, and heard the bathwater running and the boys laughing with such high-pitched voices they sounded like girls.

  Jasmine nodded at the TV. “Look at this.”

  On the screen, thousands of people stood in line. The camera panned around the restless families, passing dozens of armed police and National Guards holding machine guns.

  Anibal narrowed his eyes. Some kind of emergency food distribution center?

  A female newscaster said, “Park officials assure tourists and other visitors that security is the highest it’s ever been . . .”

  Jasmine lowered the volume.

  “Did something happen?”

  “No, it’s just the size of the crowds. All the parks down here are at full capacity. It’s like every family in America had the same idea.”

  “Maybe they did.”

  She got off the bed, her denim shirt untucked with its sleeves rolled up. “Do you think we did the right thing?”

  Anibal set his hands on her hips. “We’d better have. This trip is costing us a fortune.”

  She leaned her head against his chest, and he felt her exhaustion. “I’m serious. You always hear about crazy things happening in Florida, and you don’t even have your gun.”

  He stroked her hair. “Baby, this place is locked down tighter than the UN. Trust me. We’re safe.”

  Weizak led Rachel into his lobby, where he showed his ID to the armed security guard who sat on a stool by the mailboxes. “Hi, Dave.”

  The guard nodded to him. “Good evening.”

  In the elevator Weizak said, “I feel bad for him. There’s not even enough room in the lobby for a desk.”

  He let Rachel into his studio and locked the door behind them.

  With her hands stuffed in her pockets, Rachel
looked at the apartment. “It isn’t much, is it?”

  “It’s on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, and I don’t need much.”

  Rachel shook one hand in the air. “Trendy. You may not have heard the news, but between casualties, crazies, and people getting the hell out of Manhattan before the shit hits the fan, there’re a lot of vacant apartments on this island, and they’re going pretty cheap. You could get yourself a real spread for what I bet you’re paying.”

  “I’m comfortable here, and I don’t want to move again.”

  She looked at him. “Where are you from, anyway?” “Jamestown, south of Buffalo.”

  Rachel clucked her tongue and wagged one finger in his face. “I thought I recognized a trace of an upstate New York accent.”

  “I don’t have an accent. You do.”

  Rachel unbuttoned her coat. “Are you sure about that?”

  “My mother assures me I’m accent-free.”

  The coat dropped around Rachel’s ankles. “That’s because she’s still in Jamestown, I bet. Take off your coat and stay awhile.”

  Unbuttoning his coat, Weizak allowed it to drop to the floor near Rachel’s.

  Rachel looked him up and down. “Not bad, not bad. You’ve lost some weight since you became a star reporter. Maybe I didn’t need to finish that drink after all.”

  “Thanks. Does that mean I don’t have to turn the lights off?”

  Rachel let down her hair, pulled off her sweater, and unclasped her bra, revealing firm breasts. “It’s your place. Do whatever you like. I’m just passing through.” She kicked off her shoes and wiggled out of her jeans, then crossed the floor wearing only black panties. Crawling over the futon, she rolled onto one side, one hand propping up her head.

  Admiring the view, Weizak followed her and unbuttoned his shirt. “The last woman I had up here stole my Rangers shirt.”

  “I’m not going to steal anything. I just want to get laid. Hopefully the magic moment will last longer than a minute.”

  Stripping naked, Weizak got into bed beside her. “You’re working hard to convince me that romance is dead.”

  Looking into his eyes, she stroked his face. “There’s no romance here. There’s just you and me, two unattached people waiting for the end of the world.”