Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) James Best (best e book reader .TXT) 📖

“Asshole,” Smith said under his breath as he threw his shoulder against the door. It blew open as if there had been no resistance. As soon as they both got inside, Smith whirled around and threw the two deadbolts into the lock position. As he ran to pull taut the curtains, he yelled at Wilson to blow out the candles. He hustled everyone to the back of the apartment and put his finger to his lips as he made a hushing sound. They crouched behind the bed.

“What’s out there?” Ashley whispered.

“A mob. They went around Haight-Ashbury, outflanking any resistance. Smart. They must have leaders with a goal.”

“Maybe they’ll pass right by,” Ashley said hopefully.

Smith said, “I suspect they’ll first loot the store above us.”

“There’s nothing left on the shelves,” Baldwin protested.

“That won’t put them in a better mood,” Wilson said.

Baldwin watched Smith lay his gun on the bed. She leaped up, ran to the kitchen, and grabbed a big chef’s knife. Returning to her hiding spot, she placed the knife within eyesight on the bed.

They heard footfall over their heads. It sounded like an army stomping around. Soon, they discerned voices, and the profanity sounded even more like an army.

“Not happy to find the cupboards bare,” Smith commented.

“If they break in,” Ashley said, “let them take what they want.”

“They get nothing,” Smith said.

Ashley desperately whispered, “Do not make them angry.”

“They’re already pissed as hell,” Smith said. “You can’t negotiate with a mob. If you give them a sip of water, they’ll take everything, including your girlfriend.”

“You do not know that,” Ashley said.

“I do … and so do you, so go grab a knife.”

Wilson jumped up and ran to the kitchen area to grab two knives. She gave one to Ashley, who had the presence of mind to say thank you.

They heard a huge clamor that overwhelmed the clomping upstairs.

“What is that?” Ashley asked.

“The mob,” Smith answered. “A moving, angry mob. Still heading north on Castro. With luck, the people looting the store will join them and be carried away from here.”

“Where’re they going?” Baldwin asked.

Smith didn’t answer at first. “Probably Pacific Heights. I’ll bet the leaders heard the rich have boogied, and their stuff is there for the taking.”

The footsteps and profanity from above receded. The raw anger emanating from further up the street continued, however.

“Damn, how big of a mob can it be?” Baldwin asked.

“Thousands,” Smith said. “I’m going to peek out the window. All of you stay here.”

Smith duckwalked over to the window and used his gun barrel to slightly move the curtains aside. Then he lifted the curtain further and craned his head to see down the street. He waved them over.

Baldwin got to the window first and saw an endless parade of people marching through the intersection a half block away. Men and women. Voices raised, with arms pumping signs, bats, pipes, sticks, and crowbars. Anyone caught in the flowing fury would have had a greater chance of surviving raging waters from a failed dam. Eventually, the noise subsided, and Baldwin saw the crowd thin enough that she could see through the stragglers to the block beyond. Then came the beaters. Or that’s how she thought of them. Some tough-looking men wielding bats hurried the laggards forward to catch up with the rest of the mob. Once they passed, all became eerily quiet.

The four of them jumped at a shrill noise. It came from Wilson’s phone.

Wilson answered on speaker. It was Howard Brady, her estranged husband and head engineer for the Division of Safety of Dams.

“Dammit, you made us look like fools.”

“Who is this?” Wilson asked.

“You know damn well who this is.”

“Oh, hi, Howard. What’s got your dander up?”

“Like you haven’t got a clue. A MOAB can’t possibly dislodge enough rock to make a wit worth of difference in draining the Central Valley. The Pentagon laughed their ass off at us.”

“Excuse me,” Ashley said. “We never claimed expertise in this area, but General Marx passed the idea by his Engineering Battalion, and he said—”

“This is Adjutant General Brad Marx. I’m also on this call, so don’t think you can shift blame in my direction. This was all your idea.” He snickered. “I heard the governor give you full credit.”

“Why are you calling?” Wilson demanded.

“A friendly warning. You not only got us ridiculed, but now the feds want martial law declared before they’ll provide substantive assistance. They’re trying to paint us as incompetent, but that particular load of shit is being redirected right at you.”

“Get Gleason on this line,” Smith said impatiently. “We’re in the midst of a huge riot … more like an insurrection. He should receive a firsthand account.”

“We have our own sources. We don’t need more of your BS. Just get ready to be famous … and not in a good way.”

“Excuse me once again,” Ashley said. “Did the Pentagon mention tactical nuclear weapons?”

The phone went silent.

Finally, Marx said, “Did I just hear you suggest nuking California? Are you mad?”

“Talk to the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory,” Ashley said. “They are just a few miles down the road.”

“If you want, we have a connection through my husband,” Baldwin added. “You can keep conversations confidential and off-the-record.”

“General Marx,” Ashley said, “The scientists at the lab live only miles from Pacheco Pass. They are real Californians.”

“They live in California, but they work for the feds,” Marx said. “The Pentagon already asked us to consult with them. To my way of thinking, that’s not a ringing endorsement.”

“Then perhaps you should think differently,” Ashley said, with an uncharacteristic edge. “They can help. We can help … if you will listen.”

Brady broke in. “Now, you listen, you little—”

“Little what, Howard?” Smith said. “I suggest you don’t say it. You’re a little man in a big-sounding job. How many dams have failed under your watch? How many? Huh? Your careers are over. You and the pretend general. You called to gloat that we’re in the doghouse. Why? Because misery loves company. You two are through! Why? Because