Without warning

‘We’re in dangerous, unchartered waters here, gentlemen, if you’ll forgive me the maritime analogy. This isn’t just a military problem, it’s political. But we have no political authority to lead us, and frankly I don’t see that changing any time soon. The civilian leadership here is barely coping with local responsibilities. Just feeding the islands and maintaining order is keeping Governor Lingle busy twenty-five hours a day. She makes the point, quite reasonably, that she can do infinitely more in her current office. After all, her state government instrumentalities remain completely intact and functional, whereas almost everything at the federal level has disappeared. I get the same line from Alaska and Washington State. They might be bucketing out a sinking boat, but we’re asking them to give up the bucket and the boat just to help us out. I don’t think we should plan for a new executive to emerge any time soon. Certainly not soon enough to deal with your immediate concerns, General Franks.’

A brusque nod from Franks signalled his agreement. ‘So, what do I do, Jim?’ he asked.

The words seemed to come from outside Ritchie. ‘If there is no political solution, we will have to find a military one. And fast.’

* * * *

21 17TH ARRONDISSEMENT, PARIS

Sleep finally claimed her, but only after hours of pain, dulled in the end by a dangerously large dose of Advil. The argument with Monique had been titanic and galvanising, and she feared that it had cost her more than just a few hours’ rest. Caitlin felt as though something vital had torn inside her head. She had lost her temper, and lashed out physically at one point, pushing Monique away from her, which only served to reinforce the French girl’s certainty that she held the moral high ground. After Monique’s initial shock at being pushed into the wall, Caitlin was sure she’d seen a smile and a small measure of triumph on her face.

‘So, in the end it is always the same, Caitlin, yes?’ she’d teased. ‘If you cannot win by reason you will do so with violence.’

Caitlin had been unable to reply. She’d staggered backwards, suddenly losing her balance to a strong surge of nausea and a blinding stab of pain behind one eye. She’d collapsed and vomited up all of her dinner. Monique was beside her immediately.

She had to hand it to the chick, she didn’t hold grudges. From a crazed harpy, screeching at Caitlin that she knew nothing about her boyfriend, she had switched without hesitation – propping her up, wiping the sick from Caitlin’s face with the sleeve of her shirt and helping her over to the tatty, uncomfortable couch, where she lay, shivering, for the next hour, sipping a glass of cloudy, brackish tap-water. Monique had even apologised repeatedly for upsetting her when she was so sick.

She was genuinely remorseful. Caitlin didn’t know whether to be aggravated or touched, and in the end it hadn’t mattered. She was too sick to care. Sleep had only been possible after taking the painkillers, and she’d only managed that after three attempts. Her stomach was rebellious and disinclined to keep anything down. Eventually, however, she had drifted into a feverish, unsatisfying and fitful doze, waking frequently, or thinking she had, but never gaining full consciousness. The couch was just a few inches too short for her to stretch out comfortably, and the cushions were old and hard. She was so tired and drained, though, that it didn’t matter. Her body needed to rest.