Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) by James Best (top romance novels txt) 📗
- Author: James Best
Book online «Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) by James Best (top romance novels txt) 📗». Author James Best
“Do we welcome everyone?” Cunningham asked.
“Good question,” Evarts said. “Let me make a few calls.”
He called Captain Standish to discover that Lompoc had flood victims well situated at the middle school and a VFW hall. Buellton and Solvang had similarly established suitable encampments for the newly homeless. County refugees had been accommodated. Or at least as well as they would be in Elings Park.
Evarts told Cunningham, “Yeah, we’ll accept refugees from outside the county. You’re in charge. Limit the numbers to estimates provided by the Red Cross people. Get to me if the number gets within twenty percent of the recommended density. Until then, we’ll take anyone from anywhere. Got it?”
When Cunningham nodded, Evarts added, “You got the whole bailiwick, so start calling south of here and preplan for the inevitable overflow. You’re the czar of refugees. Understand?” After another nod, Evarts said, “Then get to it.”
He called his wife. After she explained that the city teetered on anarchy, Evarts wondered how he could get her out of there. Nothing came to mind. He wondered if he knew anyone at the Presidio of Monterey base, the army presence closest to San Francisco, but doubted that she could get one hundred and twenty miles south. He decided to call Jim O’Brian.
“Jim, Greg Evarts here. I’ll get right to the point. I have some people stuck in San Francisco. One of them is my wife. Water is out, electricity spotty. She just told me they’re preparing for citywide riots. Any ideas how to get them out of there?”
“Washington views San Francisco as high risk for civil disturbances. A decision was made in the last few hours to bring up naval troop transports from San Diego to assist in evacuations, but they’re still seventy-plus hours away. But … and this is on the QT … FEMA is using C-17 Globemasters to bring in emergency supplies.” He hesitated. “They’re not returning empty.”
“I don’t understand,” Evarts said.
“Think about it.”
He did. “Under wraps, they’re transporting VIPs out of San Francisco.”
“Exactly. They say they’re keeping it quiet to avoid panic, but they really don’t want the public to know that all animals are equal, but some are more equal than others.”
“Has the state government abandoned the city?”
“Not yet, but not because they haven’t tried. The feds ordered them to stay put. If they leave, anarchy will reign. A few members of the legislature and city government have gotten out, but under their own contrivance. The feds aren’t helping.”
“The pols can’t insist?”
“Yeah, they can, but the feds say they’ll expose their cowardice. For now, they’re safe enough, so they haven’t put up too much of a fuss. Besides, their friends and family are getting priority.”
“Friends or political contributors?” Evarts asked.
“I believe politicians see those as one and the same.”
“Can you get four seats on one of those outgoing flights?”
“I’ll try.” He laughed. “Despite these people pissing off my Livermore pals.”
“Thanks. How’s the situation up there?”
“The base is secure, the homeless sheltered, the missing rescued or found dead, and no plunderers in sight.”
“Okay, thanks again.”
“No problem. Just make this the final favor that requires me to burn capital with friends in high places.”
“No worries. If I can get my wife home, I’ll become an agreeable guy.”
“I already said I’d do it.”
He ended the call before Evarts could say another word.
Chapter 48
With her back against the wall, Baldwin peered out the front window. She seldom became unnerved, but for some reason, a rampaging riot frightened her. All riots, by definition, were out of control. Primal emotion drove individuals to do things they would never do in ordinary circumstance. But it wasn’t the individual’s emotions that went berserk. The collective passion of the mob overwhelmed self-control, and through some phenomenon, the group acted like a single living organism, like in some spooky zombie movie. Baldwin possessed a controlling personality, and the frantic nature of riots terrified her.
“We need to go,” Smith said. “I promised we would bring people from our neighborhood to help.” He looked at Wilson and Ashley huddled together at the small dining table. “Sherrell, we need help talking to your neighbors.”
“No,” Ashley said. “Neither of us will get involved in this. You may enjoy street fights, but we do not.”
Smith turned to Wilson. “Will you help recruit your neighbors?”
“No.” She looked embarrassed. “How can I and then not go myself?”
Smith shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. He turned to Baldwin. “Okay, let’s go.”
As they headed up the few steps to the street, they heard yelling and what sounded like trashcan lids clashing.
“What the hell is that?” Baldwin asked.
“A riot,” Smith answered. “But from the wrong direction. Stay here.”
He ran up to the corner, peeked around the building, and scurried back. “They’re coming. Heading north on Castro. Back into the apartment.” He gripped her shoulder and rudely jerked her down the stairs. The door was locked. Smith pounded the door and called for Wilson to let them in. No response. What the hell? He pounded the door and yelled for Wilson or Ashley. Still no response. The tempo of the mob grew louder. They must be at the corner. Baldwin saw Smith reach into the small of his back to pull his gun. He used the butt to bang the door, and she yelled to Ashley.
The door opened a crack, and Ashley
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