Bronzeville || A Superhuman Tale - 2

Chapter Twenty-Five

The only good thing about Tommy's phone conversation with Max was her reassurance that she hadn't been dodging him. Everything else was various degrees of neutral, terrible, and who-the-hell-knows.

Her job required her frequently to log long hours at a SCIF, a classified facility where she wasn't allowed to keep her personal phone. For the last week, she'd spent every free hour housed in such a facility, managing the fallout of decisions made by the new presidential administration.

Tommy spent dinner mulling over the possible ramifications of everything she'd told him and couldn't come to any decisions. He and the others at the seminary spoke after the dinner dishes had been cleared.

"None of the help Max gave us last year was in the form of classified information," he said. "Though I think a lot of what she told us was so politically sensitive that half of Washington would've called for her head if anyone found out."

"What's different about what she told you today?" asked Christy.

"A lot of the things she told me today are, or rather were, government secrets, and to avoid jail time for sharing them she had to get the approval of her boss, the Secretary of Defense. It was another reason she was so long getting in touch."

"The so-called 'defense-intelligence' community," Sam rumbled.

"Yeah, a goodly portion of it," Tommy agreed. "Truth is, nothing she told me today came as too much of a surprise ... well, okay, a few of the fine details were." He gave them a few seconds, but no one spoke. "We always sort of figured the group of Gifted mercenaries that Ulysses Morse had gathered around him was bigger than the small handful Sam and I faced in Utah."

"How much bigger?" Sam asked in a voice that sounded like someone had just stepped on his grave.

"Counting all of them, including Morse? There were 64."

"Sonofabitch," said Lydia, amid a chorus of gasps.

Sam looked as if he wanted to utter the same obscenity but didn't. Instead, he stood and placed his thumb and forefingers on his forehead like a sideshow clairvoyant. "Don't tell me," he muttered, "Morse was the only thing keeping them in line, and the moment he died, they all fled the reservation ...."

"That was my first thought," said Tommy cautiously. "And Max ... well, she sort of alluded to it."

"Do they want your help?" asked an incredulous Philly.

"I dunno ... Max didn't ask for it, but ... I dunno. I rather think her bosses are just interested in what we might know. At least Max dropped that hint a couple of times. I'm fairly certain she thought our phone call was being monitored. In any event, I'm sure the conversation would've gone differently if we'd been face-to-face."

"Read between the lines," said Philly, an indecipherable look on her face.

"Gimme a second," said Tommy. He stood and walked into the kitchen to put coffee on and retrieve sodas for the children. A minute or so later he returned and spoke.

"We've had that informal agreement with Max's bosses for the past year. Nothing she said led me believe that's changed. But there's been some sort of shift in power or policy at some level. I don't think Max is completely convinced Morse's former posse has actually set out on their own ... at least not completely. There's something going on that either she doesn't understand herself or that she's just too reluctant to share over the phone."

"What is it, then?" Philly's indecipherable look had become one of uncertainty.

"I don't know. I just remember what Max said last year, about how much money and political power was behind what Hollirich and the others were doing back then. Stuff like that doesn't just disappear into thin air. I think we just bought ourselves some time is all."

Christy had been sitting quietly. She often did in such meetings. As smart as she was, Tommy sensed she felt herself not equal to the conversation.

"If the secretary of defense is curious about what you know," she said suddenly, "he isn't behind what Summerall and the others are doing."

Tommy realized what she said made perfect sense.

"How do you figure?" Sam asked the young woman.

"Why would he try to collect information on his own program? It sounds to me like he wants help," said Christy.

Tommy couldn't help but smile. "That would explain something. Max hinted a couple of times about me meeting her boss."

"What did you say?" asked Philly.

"I didn't say 'no', which was my first impulse. I just told her I'd think about it. It wasn't even clear if it was her idea or his ... or if it actually even was an invitation. I've never seen her so guarded." He looked to each of his companions in turn. "What do you all think of the guy?"

Lester Savoy, the current Secretary of Defense, was a retired marine general whose nickname, the Duke, stemmed from his uncanny resemblance to the late actor John Wayne. In fact, despite his 60-plus years, the fit and athletic general might have stood in as a body double for the late film icon during his prime. Savoy was one of two or three cabinet appointments made by the puerile moron who currently held the presidency who were universally held to be responsible adults.

The girls were close mouthed, and Philly seemed distracted.

"He's not the president," Sam said distastefully. "He has that in his favor."

"Christy, you're on a roll. What do you think?"

She looked back at Tommy in surprise before speaking with hint of hesitation. "I think Sam's right. He's not the president, because the president doesn't know anything about us. If he did," she said with greater confidence, "he would've tweeted about it within five seconds of finding out."

Her words floored Tommy, because the truth of them were so obvious. He told her as much.

"The man has never held any elected or appointed office," he added. "There's no reason to imagine he'd know anything at all about what is the biggest open secret in the federal government." Tommy began laughing. "And no one wants to tell him."

"Is that what this is?" asked Philly, her face again a mask of incredulity. "Just a big turf war because no one wants the grifter-in-chief in the loop?"

As they continued their discussion, it all became clearer to Tommy. Either in or out of office, Mallory Chaney had driven policy regarding the Gifted for at least the previous 20 years. Her disappearance undoubtedly had allowed factions within the government, many of them deeply unprincipled, to set out in every possible direction. And the new president, completely uninformed, had no unifying policy to guide them.

It's probably for the best, he thought. That criminal narcissist would only build something more heinous than Chaney had.

The conversation went on well into the evening, with no clear decision on their long-term plans. It was all simply too complex at that point.

"Tomorrow, early, I should go look around for Fleener," said Tommy as people began to talk of bed. Sam had discovered earlier in the day the man had been released from the hospital. "Who should I take with?" he asked Sam and Christy.

"Sam," said Christy without hesitation. "I don't want a word of protest, either. One of you doesn't have to be here at the house all the time. And the girls are falling back on their lessons. Just be careful. If you catch up to that Merrick guy and Dr. Mindfuck is still with him, you could have some trouble."