Angels of Vengeance: The Disappearance Novel 3 by John Birmingham Page A

Humboldt’s settlement plan to Cabinet. Having been told it was his responsibility to make sure any plan was workable and saleable, Jed Culver applied himself in spite of his misgivings. He still thought the best solution was to pack them on a raft made out of beer barrels and wave them off at the docks during hurricane season. But he understood the President’s reasoning and was grateful that he himself would have some control over the outcome. It might even be possible, according to Ritchie, to turn some of the fighters completely around and send them back against . . .
    Against who?
    Bilal Baumer’s movement seemed to have topped out with him. As best they could tell, he had been killed in Manhattan. It was unfortunate they hadn’t been able to lay hands on a body, or even a scrap of DNA. This wasn’t going to turn out like bin Laden, with a couple of goat farmers wandering into town with his severed head on a stick and their hands held out for the reward money. But there was very good intelligence placing Baumer in the ruins of the Rockefeller Center, surrounded by US ground forces, an hour before 2nd Bomb Wing’s B-52s had atomised the complex and everybody in it. As far as anyone knew, none of the leadership cadre had survived. The US Army had captured only small-unit commanders away from the site of Baumer’s last stand, all of them now held out at Fort Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary, north of Kansas City. None of those bastards knew of any higher authority than their so-called Emir. The pirate bands that had been captured, especially the Serbs and Russians, who surrendered en masse once they’d seen the hammer come down on Baumer, were likewise convinced that he was the mastermind. And deader than disco.
    In the darkest corners of his heart, Jed remained unconvinced, and he knew that Kipper, even though he wanted to put the episode behind them, couldn’t do so until he was certain the men responsible for New York had all been captured or killed. The President might ignore the pawns, but he wanted to know for sure the king had been taken from the board.
    ‘Sorry about the ambush.’
    James Ritchie had caught him unawares, wool gathering by a window looking out past the Christmas tinsel and over the grounds of Dearborn House. A good couple of inches of snow had fallen, blanketing the ground and capping the hedges and garden furniture. Culver abandoned his thoughts to the cold.
    ‘You didn’t need to sandbag me like that,’ he said, cutting to the point. ‘I pushed the President pretty hard to get you in here. I was impressed with the way you held it all together out in Hawaii. If you thought Sarah’s plan was a good one, you could’ve just told me. I might not have agreed, but I would have taken your opinion seriously.’
    Ritchie had the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘Yes, I can see it was a mistake now. But Ms Humboldt sought me out in confidence and asked if I would keep her proposal to myself. It didn’t seem an unreasonable request. I’ve spent my life inside a chain of command that operates on a need-to-know basis. Needless to say, I’m still finding my feet here.’
    He moved his shoulders around inside his off-the-rack navy blue suit. It was obvious to Jed that the National Security Advisor needed a tailor who could do more than sew patches onto jackets.
    ‘To be frank,’ Ritchie continued, ‘I miss the certainties of wearing a uniform.’
    Just then, Kipper’s secretary waved to them from the far end of the hallway, calling them back to the meeting. Culver clapped a hand on the admiral’s shoulder, taking note of the cheap fabric. He decided not to ruin the peace gesture by saying as much. Instead, he made a mental note to see about getting this guy to a tailor.
    ‘If keeping someone’s secret is the worst thing you do in politics, you can consider yourself lucky, Admiral.’
    ‘Politics?’ Ritchie looked surprised. ‘I don’t think of this as politics, Jed. More like public