“Too bad,” Danny-boy said. He heard a hard edge in his own voice.
Jax glanced at him, frowning. “You all right?” she asked softly. He shrugged. “Sure. Just a little tired.”
“You need to get some sleep.”
He shook his head. “Can’t sleep with those bells ringing.” “Yes, you can. Come on.” She took his hand and led him away from the cafeteria, down one flight of stairs to a sub-basement.
There was a mattress and a few blankets on the floor. He could still hear the bells, but they were a distant annoyance now. He lay beside her and put his arms around her. He thought he felt her trembling, but after a moment he realized that his own arms were shaking with fatigue.
“What’s the matter?” she asked him. “What’s going on?”
“I’m just tired,” he said. “Very tired.”
She kissed him gently. “Go to sleep. We’re safe here.” She held him until he fell asleep in her arms.
CHAPTER 25
THE WAR WENT ON.
The Machine, flying out of rifle range as always, towed a banner that said SURRENDER NOW. Ms. Migsdale began a series of propaganda broadcasts through a system of speakers that The Machine had rigged up in the Civic Center Plaza before the war. She played a recording of Ruby’s sweetly chiding voice. “Soldiers,” Ruby’s recorded voice said. “Why do you keep fighting? There’s no need for that, no need at all. Put down your weapons and join us. We’d be glad to have you. Don’t you understand that you’re free men?” By the end of the second day of broadcasting, the soldiers had found all of the speakers and destroyed them.
There were rumors of strange happenings. Hundreds of rats swarmed under the razor wire and into the enemy camp. The sentries shot at them, but hit only one in ten. The rodents overran the field kitchen, fouling the food and terrorizing the cooks. The soldiers shot the rats, stamped them beneath their feet, attacked them with meat cleavers. The grass beside the kitchen was piled high with dead vermin. The cooks scrubbed their pots repeatedly, but still dared not eat the food.
A rain of frogs fell on the Civic Center Plaza. They were tiny tree frogs, no larger than the last joint of a man’s thumb. They clung to the trees, to the tents, to the men’s helmets, and they sang in sweet high voices. Wherever the soldiers walked, they crushed the small animals underfoot.
The air reeked of smoke and the fog was constant. Sometimes, late at night or in the early hours of the morning, when the fog glowed faintly with dawn light, Jax began to believe that she might be a ghost after all. It was difficult to believe in the sun—she had not seen it for so many days. And if the sun were not real, perhaps she had imagined all the rest as well. Perhaps the angel had taken her when she arrived in the city, and all the memories since that time were just fever dreams, adrift in the multicolored mist.
It was easy to get lost in the fog. Jax found her way by scents and sounds: the reek of gunpowder, the tang of the sea; the cooing of pigeons, the crying of gulls. Once, she heard the voices of soldiers, passing just a few feet away. “Saw an angel,” one said. “Its face was a mess, but it had wings of pure gold.”
“You’re nuts,” said another. “Next thing, you’ll be claiming you saw Jax herself.”
“Nobody sees Jax,” said the first.
She ran away, looking for familiar faces. Temporary headquarters had moved to the Palace of Fine Arts, a cavernous structure built for a long-past exposition. To reach it she climbed the Divisadero Street hill. For the first time in days she left the fog behind, breaking out into the sunshine. From the top of the hill she could see the gray dome of the Palace’s rotunda, surrounded by a jungle that had once been a city park. She walked slowly toward it, relishing the warmth of sunlight on her face.
Up close, she could make out the Palace’s Roman columns and elaborate carvings, now covered with clinging vines. She made her way along a narrow track, shaded by the trees, and entered through a door marked “Staff Only.”
She found Danny-boy sitting in what had once been an office. He looked up when he heard Jax’s footsteps. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked very tired. His hands were empty and the desk in front of him was clear.
“What are you doing?” she asked him.
“Thinking.” His voice was hoarse. “Thinking about what?”
He looked down at his hands. “Have you been out in Golden Gate Park? There are some soldiers living there. They’ve run away from the fighting.”
“I heard,” she said. “Randall told me.”
He nodded slowly. “Have you talked with them?”
She shook her head.
“I talked to them,” he said. “Do you know—they’re as afraid of Fourstar as they are of us. They say that he kills deserters. They say he will never give up.”
“I know,” she said.
“We have to get to Fourstar,” he said. “We have to do it.”
“We have to kill him,” Jax said.
Danny-boy nodded. “I think you’re right.”
“No,” Jax said, “not just label him dead. We really have to kill him.” She was not surprised when he shook his head.
“He just needs to know that we can get to him,” Danny-boy said.
“You know better than that. He won’t scare. That won’t work. Not with Fourstar.”
Danny-boy shook his head again. “If we mark him, his men will know that he is just a man. Then they will be able to leave. They won’t be afraid.”
“It won’t work,” Jax said.
“Why are you so sure? We can try it and see. We’ll mark him and watch the results.”
“Have you forgotten, Danny-boy?” She could not keep the edge out of her voice. “They use real bullets. And Fourstar stays in the most heavily guarded areas.”
“I’ve been out there,” he said. “I remember.”
“Sometimes I think maybe you’ve forgotten. Or maybe you’ve started believing the stories that the soldiers are telling. Maybe you think you’re a ghost and you can’t be hurt.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You think this is a game. It isn’t.”
“I know it’s not a game.”
“Then what is it? Why shouldn’t we kill Fourstar?”
He would not look up to meet her eyes. “You’ve got to realize that violence and death aren’t the only forces that can change the social order.”
She shook her head, started to speak, then shook her head again. “I don’t have to realize that. I don’t have to realize anything. Don’t you understand? This is real.”
“We started this way, and we have to keep going or it’s all for nothing.” His voice was flat. “If we kill him, that won’t end it. We need to make him run. We have to play by the rules we set up. We have to warn him, and then, if we must, we can kill him.” He spoke as if he were trying to convince himself. “It’s my responsibility. I’ll go in after him.”
“You wouldn’t make it past the first sentry,” she said.
“I might surprise you.”
“Yeah, you might make it to the second sentry.” She reached across the table and took his hand. She would protect him from his own folly, whether he liked it or not. “You can’t go. You’ve got a war to run. I’ll go. I’ll help change the goddamn world.”
“No,” he said. “This is my war.”
“Forget that, Danny-boy. This isn’t just your war. This is my city and this is my war. You understand?”
“I won’t let you go,” he said.
“You’ve got to,” she said. “I’m the only one who stands half a chance of getting through.” She turned and ran from the office before he could protest again.
She walked out through what had once been the museum’s exhibit floor. Sunshine filtered through skylights, creating patches of brightness in the dark interior. In one such patch, she found The Machine, adjusting the valves on his gyrocopter. She sat beside him on the asphalt floor and watched him work.
“So how does the war look from up there?” she asked hi
m at last.
He shrugged. “Small. Everything looks small from up there.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“How does it look from down below?”
She looked at her hands, clasped quietly in her lap. “A little too big, I think.” She could hear pigeons cooing in the rafters overhead. The Machine waited calmly for her to speak. “I’m going to try to mark Fourstar,” she said.
“That won’t be easy.”
“I know.” She found herself fingering the silver pendant that hung around her neck. She released it and returned her hands to her lap.
“Do you think marking Fourstar will end the war?” The Machine asked.
“I don’t think so. But I have to try. If I don’t, Danny-boy will.” She stopped abruptly.
“You don’t want him to.”
“He doesn’t have a hope in hell of getting through. He’d get himself killed for sure. I have a better chance.” She shook her head and spoke softly, half to herself. “I’ve got to do it.”
She was staring down at her own hands. She heard The Machine set a tool on the asphalt floor, then felt his hand touch hers. For the first time since she’d known him, he reached out and touched her—a gentle, hesitant pat of reassurance. “I’ll help,” he said.
Her mother would have approved, she thought, as she ran through the streets of the fogbound city. Her mother would have agreed with Danny-boy. But her mother did not have to find a way to get to Fourstar.
It wasn’t hard to find the camp where the deserters were living. She could smell the smoke from their campfire. They had taken shelter in a picnic area, where a grove of trees sheltered them from view. But she could see their boot prints in the grass, a clear trail leading to their refuge. She climbed an oak tree a short distance from their camp and relaxed, leaning against a broad branch. From there, she watched soldiers pass by, going out to get firewood and water, returning from hunting with rabbits or quail. She waited until she saw one that she recognized.
Dave was returning to camp with an armload of firewood. As near as she could tell, he was unarmed. She dropped from the tree to the trail in front of him.
“Hey, Dave—seen any angels lately?” she asked him.
He eyed her, still clutching his armload of wood. “I deserted, like you said,” he told her, speaking quickly. “I want to leave the city, but the General’s guarding the bridge. All the guys here—we all want to leave.”
“No problem, Dave. Relax. Come here.” She jerked her head in the direction of a fallen log, just off the trail. She sat on it and patted a place beside her. He glanced longingly in the direction of his camp. “I’ll catch you if you run,” she said, and he sat on the log.
“You were a lot more relaxed last time we met,” she said.
“When you’ve seen an angel, a few ghosts don’t matter,” he muttered.
“I’m not really a ghost.”
He glanced toward the trail.
“Look—I didn’t hurt you last time, I won’t hurt you now. I just need some information. I’m looking for a way into Fourstar’s quarters. And it can’t involve walking through walls or becoming invisible.”
“You going to kill him?”
“You think I should?”
He nodded slowly. “If you kill him, we can go home.”
“I’ll mark him the same way I marked you.”
He shook his head. “You should kill him, Really kill him. If you can.
“Do you know the sentry posts around his quarters?” she asked him. “Can you help me find a way in?”
With a pointed stick, he drew in the dirt, diagramming the floor plan of the house where Fourstar slept. He made X’s where guards were posted. “The guards change at three in the morning. It’s pretty slow around then. No one’s paying much attention. That might be a good time.”
Jax listened carefully and studied his map. She made him mark all windows and doors, point out the location of the fire escapes and emergency exits. “Looks good,” she said at last. She reached over and touched his hand. “Thanks.”
“So you’re not a ghost,” he said, watching her closely.
“Not yet,” she said. “If this information is wrong, I may become one.”
“It’s right,” he said. “Good luck.”
Then she ran away to kill Fourstar.
CHAPTER 26
THE MACHINE CHECKED HIS WATCH. Midnight exactly. He circled once, then swooped low over the Civic Center Plaza to dump his load of water balloons. They were filled with a synthetic stench that smelled remarkably like skunk. Working in an isolated house on the edge of town, Tiger had concocted the scent and loaded the balloons.
The Machine climbed steeply, leaving the shouting and gunfire behind. The half moon hung over the bay, casting just enough light to let him see the sharp-edged skyscrapers. The moonlight reflecting from the snowdrifts in the Civic Center Plaza made them glow as if lit from within. He watched the soldiers running, trying to leave the stench of his bombs behind. They took cover in City Hall and in the library, and he smiled, hoping that they would stay inside long enough for Jax to get in and out.
He had accomplished his mission and he could return to headquarters, but he decided against it. It was a lovely night for flying. He circled, climbing higher. As he passed over the Holiday Inn on 8th Avenue, he caught a glimpse of Danny-boy and Snake, waving to him from the roof.
Looking back, he saw the first of the fireworks that Danny-boy and Snake were setting off to draw attention away from the Civic Center Plaza. A brilliant burst of colored light bloomed in the darkness like a luminescent flower.
Jax went in through the tunnels, crawling along a storm drain. By flashlight, she checked the time on the delicate gold wristwatch that Ms. Migsdale had given her to use on this operation. At a few minutes to midnight, Jax emerged from the storm drain into an alley behind the house where Fourstar slept.
Dave had assured her that no sentry was posted in the alley. She was relieved to learn that he had been telling the truth. She climbed up through the storm drain and waited, resting in the shadows. In the narrow strip of sky above her, the stars seemed very cool and distant. The stench of skunk made her eyes water.
She heard a distant explosion and saw a burst of colored light in the sky overhead: brilliant red sparks spiralled madly in all directions, whistling as they went. Then there were three more muffled explosions, and simultaneous bursts of green, silver, and gold.
While the fireworks were exploding, Jax climbed the fire escape to the fourth floor. The sentries were at the far end of the hall, watching the fireworks through an open window. “Never seen anything like it,” one young soldier was saying to the other.
Jax slipped behind them and let herself into Fourstar’s room, quietly closing the door behind her. She stood perfectly still in the darkness, listening to the steady rhythm of Fourstar’s breathing. Silently, she crept closer and looked down at the sleeping man.
He looked older up close than he had from a distance. His gray hair was rumpled; his skin was slack and wrinkled. He frowned, even in his sleep. She wondered what he was dreaming about.
She took a deep breath and pulled an ether-soaked cloth from a plastic bag. As he finished exhaling, she gently placed it over his nose and mouth, so that his next breath was laden with ether. He grumbled in his sleep and moved his head restlessly. She followed the movements of his head with the cloth, staying with him. His eyelids fluttered and then he lay still again. His breathing eased, returning to the steady rhythm of deep sleep. His face relaxed.
When she was sure that he was out, she sealed the cloth back into its plastic bag and opened the window, letting in a gust of fresh air. She took a deep breath and shook her head to clear away dizziness. Then she returned to the bed where Fourstar lay sleeping.
In a gesture that felt strangely intimate, she smoothed the hair back from his forehead. It was difficult to think of him as dangerous now. He was just an unhappy old man. She looked around the room at his th
ings. His uniform was laid neatly across the chair; his hat hung from a corner of the chair back. A bottle of pre-Plague whiskey stood on the table. A paperback book—it looked like a spy novel—lay open on the bedside table.
With the red paint that had become her trademark, she carefully marked DEAD on his forehead and signed BY JAX on his cheek. When he moved restlessly beneath the brush, she held the ether-soaked kerchief to his nose. As she worked she could hear the explosions of the fireworks. Now and then there was a burst of answering gunfire. She did not let the sounds distract her; she worked steadily. When she finished, she tucked the Death Certificate into Fourstar’s hands.
She went to the open window and glanced out. As near as she could tell, the street below was empty. The Federal Building blocked the moonlight, leaving the side of the building below Fourstar’s window in dense shadow.
Jax tied one end of her climbing rope to the iron bedstead, dropped the other end out the window, and rappelled down the side of the house, moving quickly and trying to stay in the shadows. Above her the fireworks continued, painting the night sky with brilliant colors.
Just as she reached the ground, she saw a soldier step into the alley. She flattened herself into a window alcove, trying to blend with the shadows, but she was sure he had seen her. He ducked for cover, crouching behind a parked car.
For a moment, he did not shoot. In the darkness she could hear him breathing, almost hear him thinking. He had shot at so many shadows. Was this another of the city’s tricks? Or was this one real?
She pressed herself deeper into the alcove: there was no better cover and she knew that any attempt to run would only convince him to fire. She breathed softly, fighting the urge to panic and run.
She saw a movement on the far side of the street. She caught the scent of burning marijuana. And suddenly the street was crowded with people: men and women walking arm in arm. Their faces seemed to glow in the darkness. Some carried signs—“U. S. out of Central America,” “No Contra Aid.” Three women carried a long banner that said “NO MORE WAR.” In the distance, Jax heard the murmur of an enormous crowd, a great restless rumbling that blended with the chanting of the marchers: “No more war. No more war.”