Cold War - Jerome Preisler [115]
Waylon in his headphone: “Okay here, sir.”
Then Mitchell: “Check.”
Nimec breathed hard, and took hold of both handlebars again, his weapon hanging from its shoulder strap.
“We better get on over to the dome, see what help we can be there,” he said.
“I’m sorry everyone’s been inconvenienced, and realize most of you were pulled out of bed,” Megan Breen was saying. “But as you know, we’ve received a fire alert from one of the outbuildings. It’s our normal practice to gather all non-base personnel into a single area during occurrences of this sort. Having you in one place benefits our ability to coordinate a response.”
Annie Caulfield, Russ Granger, and the entire Senatorial gang of three looked at her from their respective chairs in the small, pleasantly furnished common room provided to guests sharing Cold Corners’ DV accommodations.
It was now fifteen minutes since Pete and his men had gone out into the storm to face God only knows what kind of threat, and Megan was thinking that if she could somehow get this next piece of business done without revealing her agitation, she could probably keep a grip on herself through anything.
Still in his robe and slippers, Bernard Raines wrinkled his face, snuffling as if he’d gotten a whiff of something foul.
“You say a fire,” he said. “I hope it isn’t serious. For the sake of your people’s well-being, of course.” He cleared his throat. “It seems to me getting outside assistance in the storm would be difficult.”
Megan responded to the fear in his eyes.
“I appreciate your concern, Senator,” she said. “But a strong point of pride throughout UpLink International’s entire organization is that we’re very good at avoiding disruptions to our operations in any environment. That’s especially true for those of us stationed at Cold Corners—our contingency planning staff takes its responsibilities very seriously.”
Bravo, Meg, Annie thought, listening to the exchange. Couldn’t have finessed that one better myself. It even might’ve topped my interview performance on the Mc-Cauley Stokes Show.
Raines had almost reassembled his poise.
“Why, yes,” he said. “I see what you mean. And we have the highest regard for UpLink’s capabilities.” He looked around at his fellow Senators and waved his hands in an expansive gesture. “That’s speaking for everyone in my party, I’m sure.”
Both of his colleagues were nodding.
“I suppose bringing us together in here was only prudent,” Wertz said. “A sensible precaution.” She paused, crossing her arms. “Without making too much of it, though, when do you think the alert condition will be called off?”
Megan looked at her.
“That depends on when we hear from our firefighting team,” Megan said. “With a little luck we’ll have you safely and comfortably back in your quarters tonight . . . before anyone gets too homesick for civilization. Then we can all relax and can get some sleep.”
Across the room, Granger sat quietly in his chair. The redhead was as cool and slick as the block of ice she probably snuggled up to at night. He wasn’t sure how much she knew about the fire’s cause. But she would at the very least know where it had broken out, and was minimizing its impact to the politicos . . . which made him wonder what else she realized and was keeping to herself.
Granger crossed his arms, feeling a chill in his stomach despite the more than adequate warmth of his surroundings.
He felt neither safe nor comfortable, and sleep was the furthest damn thing from his mind.
Phil Corben wanted to know how he’d gone from a night of beer and darts at the Meat Locker to lying outside in the cold to die.
Thrown face-down off his bike, snow mashed into his eyes, nose, and mouth, halfway burying him where he’d fallen, the flesh under