Cold War

Chapter 10

“Looks like he’s coming around, General.”

Schaefer heard the words, but it took a few seconds before he could attach any meaning to them or to the thunderous beating sound that almost drowned out the voice.

Then his mind began to clear. He knew he was in a helicopter, that someone was talking about him, and they’d noticed he was waking up.

”There will be some initial disorientation and minor dizziness from the drug, Detective Schaefer, but that will pass,” the voice said. Schaefer blinked and saw that a man in a U.S. Army dress uniform was kneeling over him-an officer. A captain, to be exact. The man looked genuinely concerned, which Schaefer didn’t believe for a minute.

He was, he realized, lying on a stretcher aboard a military transport copter-he couldn’t be sure what kind from here, with the pilot’s compartment curtained off. The captain was probably a doctor, and Schaefer was now awake enough to spot the medical insignia-yes, an army doctor.

Schaefer turned to look to either side. Two other men were crouched nearby-more medical personnel, in whites rather than military garb. Two others, soldiers who looked like guards, sat farther back.

And at his feet sat General Philips.

Schaefer stared at the general for a moment.

He had dealt with Philips before, when those things from outer space had come prowling the Big Apple. Philips was a bastard, no question about it, but he wasn’t such a robot as Smithers or the others. Schaefer’s brother Dutch had actually liked Philips, and Schaefer himself had seen signs of humanity in the old warhorse.

”Seems like I have fewer legal rights than I thought,” Schaefer said. His voice was weak and husky at first; he paused to clear his throat. “Maybe I’m just a dumb cop, General, but isn’t kidnapping still illegal in this country? Not to mention murder.”

Philips glowered at Schaefer.

He hated dragging civilians into this, especially unwilling ones, but when he’d been called back, after those months of inaction, and had seen what they’d left him to work with, he’d known he was going to need help.

His experts had all been reassigned; research had been stopped dead. Colonel Smithers and his men had been working counterespionage and had been pulled off that and put back under Philips’s command just the night before. Captain Lynch’s team was still intact, but they’d mostly been marking time, training in marksmanship and demolitions and unarmed combat and not learning a damned thing about the enemy they were supposed to fight.

Because with the researchers gone, nobody in the government knew, really knew, anything about the aliens. They’d given him all the staff he asked for, all the authority to call in any help he wanted, and the only person Philips had been able to think of who did know anything, and who could be located on short notice, was Schaefer.

They needed Schaefer. The fate of the whole goddamn world could depend on this man.

And Schaefer wasn’t cooperating.

”Don’t talk to me about the law, Schaefer, the general retorted. “Some things transcend Man’s laws.”

Schaefer’s eyes narrowed. “And some things don’t, General, and who appointed you God’s judge and jury, anyway? Those goons of yours blew away two citizens back there!”

”Two citizens who were selling cocaine and who had just helped murder four cops, Schaefer,” Philips replied. “I didn’t authorize Smithers and his boys to kill them, but don’t try to tell me you really give a damn about what happened to Baby or Arturo or Reggie.”

Philips wasn’t happy about how Smithers had handled matters, but he didn’t want to let Schaefer know; this wasn’t the time or place to argue about it.

”You know all their names?” Schaefer said. “Hey, I’m impressed.”

Much as he hated to admit it, he was slightly impressed-he hadn’t known Reggie’s name himself, nor that Rawlings and the others were definitely dead.

Baby and her friends had had it coming, then, but still, they should have had their fair chance. Arturo had gone down shooting, but Baby and Reggie had been defenseless; they shouldn’t have died.

”I do my homework,” Philips said. In fact, he’d been cramming desperately ever since the phone call had come.

He held up a manila folder. “For example, I read up on you, Schaefer. You grew up in Pennsylvania, you’re good with languages-fluent in Russian and French, picked up some German and Spanish on the streets.” The Russian was a lucky break, Philips thought, but he didn’t say so. “Joined the NYPD in 1978, made detective in ‘86. We’ve got your military records, your department file, hell, we’ve got your marks from grade school, right back to kindergarten-I notice you got ‘needs improvement’ for ‘works and plays well with others’ for three years straight. It looks like you haven’t changed all that much since, but I guess we’ll just have to put up with you.”

”No, you won’t,” Schaefer said. “You don’t need to put up with anything. You can just land this contraption and let me off.”

”No, we can’t.” Philips leaned forward. “I thought Smithers told you, Schaefer. We need you.”

”Why?” Schaefer started to sit up, then thought better of it as a wave of dizziness from the aftereffects of the drugs swept over him. “I seem to remember you and your boys telling me to stay the hell out of it when those things came to play in New York-in my town. Now they’re making trouble somewhere else, and you want me to get involved? Why? Maybe it’s Washington this time, and you’re afraid some senator’s going to wind up as a trophy?”

”You know they’re back,” Philips said. It wasn’t a question.

”Of course I know they’re back!” Schaefer said, sitting up and ignoring the dizziness this time. “For God’s sake, General, do you really think I’m as stupid as that? What the hell else would you want me for?”

”You’re right, God damn you,” Philips said. “They are back, and that’s why we want you.”

”So where are they, that you can’t just ignore them? Who are they killing this time? Why should I care?”

”I wouldn’t have brought you in if it weren’t absolutely essential to national security,” Philips said.

”Christ, it is Washington, isn’t it?” Schaefer said. “Well, if it is, you can all go fuck yourselves…”

Philips shook his head. He’d forgotten how quick Schaefer could be, that despite his looks he wasn’t just muscle, but this time he’d got it wrong.

”Not Washington,” he said, cutting Schaefer off. “It’s not body counts we’re worried about this time. It’s their technology.”

Schaefer frowned.

He didn’t get it. Sure, it would be nice to have the gadgets those creatures used, but the good ol U.S. of A. had gotten along just fine without them for a couple of centuries now. “Why is it suddenly so urgent to capture their technology?” he asked.

”No,” Philips said. “That’s not it. Not exactly. It’s not capturing anything that we need you for.”

”Then what the hell is it?”

”Making sure their technology isn’t captured.”

Schaefer stared at Philips.

Schaefer was certain that if it was Americans who captured some of the alien gadgets the general would be turning cartwheels. So it wasn’t Americans he was worried about. Who, then?

There must be a spaceship down in some hostile country somewhere. That was the only explanation that made sense.

But even that didn’t make much sense. The things only hunted in hot climates. Somehow, Schaefer couldn’t see a bunch of Iraqi or Somali camel jockeys, or Amazon tribesmen, figuring out how to copy a starship’s main drive. “Where the hell are they, this time?” he demanded.

Philips made a face, as if there were a bad taste in his mouth.

”Siberia,” he said.