Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) by James Best (top romance novels txt) 📗

but he readily agreed, and they had taken off. Baldwin had shed possessions during this entire storm ordeal, and now she ran for her life with only a cell phone and a wallet.

Once they exited the building, Smith led them directly south on Sanchez Street. A side street, Sanchez was lined on both sides by two-story residences and small apartment complexes. Baldwin saw an occasional curtain flutter as people peeked out, but no one was on the street. It appeared everyone was hiding in the hope that their neighborhood could escape the rampage.

After three blocks, Baldwin suggested that they quit running and walk to catch their breath. Smith nodded and said they needed to conserve their energy in case they were chased. They walked in silence, each breathing hard.

When she felt somewhat rested, Baldwin asked, “Sherrell, do you know the neighborhood in this direction?”

Baldwin heard her take in breath before she answered. “Residential. I’d move here if I could afford a house.” She turned toward Smith. “Where are we going?”

“The safest place in San Francisco,” he answered.

“That mob just laid waste to the Heights,” Wilson said. “What’s safe?”

“California State University at San Francisco,” Smith said.

“Oh shit, he’s right,” Baldwin said. “But will they let us in? We burned our bridges.”

“Thinking on it,” Smith said.

“How far?” Ashley whined.

“About four more miles,” Wilson said. She held up her palm to catch raindrops. “Beautiful day for a walk.”

“Can we catch a cab?” Ashley asked.

“Good idea, hail one,” Smith replied.

It took them an hour and a half to cover the remaining distance on foot. On the perimeter of the campus, General Marx had troops on guard. They looked serious.

“Think of a way to get pass those soldiers?” Baldwin asked.

“Walk right through,” Smith said.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. You did keep your capitol IDs, I hope.”

“I never had an ID, and you were dismissed,” Ashley said.

“You think those weekend warriors know that?” Smith said as he confidently strolled up to someone wearing lieutenant bars.

“We’re here to see Howard Brady, chief engineer for Safety of Dams.” He handed over his capitol badge. “I’m Dr. Tom Smith, from Caltech. I chair the governor’s commission for natural disasters. This is Dr. Patricia Baldwin, also on the commission.” As Baldwin handed over her ID, Smith pointed at Wilson, who presented her ID. “Dr. Wilson is with the United States Geological Survey, and Dr. Jonathan Ashley is the reason we were summoned.”

“Do you have a phone number for Howard Brady?” the lieutenant asked.

“The government moved here two days ago. To my knowledge, Mr. Brady does not have a desk phone. I have his mobile number in my cell, but with the power outages, my phone died. That’s okay though, we saw him yesterday, so we know how to find his desk. It’s in a bull pen outside Paul Gleason’s office. In case you don’t know, Dr. Gleason is lieutenant governor and director of the Emergency Operations Center.”

“I know who Dr. Gleason is,” the lieutenant said in a huff. He stepped out of earshot and made a call. After a few moments, he yelled over to them, “You have an appointment?”

“Not exactly,” Smith said. “We were just told to get over here ASAP. I believe there’s a problem with another dam.”

The lieutenant spoke a bit longer and then waved them through, paying them no further attention as he continued to talk on his phone.

“That was easy,” Baldwin said.

“Yeah, but let’s hope his superior’s not located close to Brady and decides to double-check our bona fides after he finishes that conversation. I think we should move swiftly through campus.”

“Okay, we’re inside a safe perimeter, but how do we keep from being thrown out?” Wilson asked. “Do we hide in the student union?”

“Can’t hide for long. We need Gleason’s permission to stay long term. It’s going to remain dangerous outside for days.”

“How are we going to do that?” Baldwin asked.

“Thinking on it,” Smith said with a grin.

Baldwin texted her husband that they were safe on the college campus and returned her phone to the breast pocket of her raincoat. In a few minutes, they entered Gleason’s anteroom, only to find it empty.

“Did you figure something out?” Baldwin asked, looking around.

“No.” He sounded worried.

The door opened to the bull pen area, and the same beta male came hurrying out. He stopped mid-stride, stared at them in disbelief, and disappeared back into the bull pen. After he closed the door, they heard him exclaim that he was going to get a raise.

“What was that all about?” Baldwin asked.

“Beats me,” Smith said.

Before they could speculate, the aide stuck his head back out and made a follow-me motion with his hand. They walked into the bull pen to find only two workers. Had their staff deserted them? They were ushered into Gleason’s office to find Gleason, Marx, and Brady. None appeared happy.

Without preamble, Gleason asked, “Can you get us a back channel to the Livermore Lab?”

“Try calling them,” Wilson said. “They’ll probably pick up the phone.”

“Now, that wouldn’t be a back channel, would it?” Gleason said.

“Why a back channel?” Smith asked. “Is this unofficial?”

“Very. The governor does not want to go through D.C. We just need to talk.”

“Without appearing to have caved in,” Smith said.

The fact that they weren’t thrown out after that retort told Baldwin that these were highly desperate men. She wanted to tell them to go to hell, but lives were in the balance. Besides, they had the power to throw them outside the perimeter.

“My husband can,” Baldwin said. “Or, I should say, he can put you in contact with someone who has a friend at the lab.”

“Is this friend of your husband a federal employee?”

Boy, they really were nervous. “My understanding is that he’s retired army. So is my husband. I presume that’s how they came to know each other.” She hesitated. “May I say something?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “The Livermore Lab is run by the Department of Energy. You aren’t likely to find access from someone who has never