offered to cook dinner, which they gratefully accepted. Bill therefore shifted them to his office off the living room to give her space.
Joe glanced around at the signs of upheaval — piles of folders and files and scattered paperwork, covering every flat surface. "All the conveniences of your real office?" he asked with a sympathetic smile.
Bill was clearing seating space and groaned. "Yeah — right. I have no idea how people work at home." He then looked up and added, "Thank God, we run a pretty autonomous outfit with the VBI. Can you imagine if we were more traditionally top-down? Other agencies are in a real pickle right now."
They settled down with their coffee, making themselves comfortable.
"How is the public safety building?" Joe asked.
"It would've been fine, except for the damned tunnels," Allard explained. "The water never reached the walls, pretty much like this house. But no one thought to rig the tunnels with watertight doors, so that's how it got in. So stupid," he added. "It's always the things you don't think of."
"Those the same tunnels that Carolyn Barber used?" Lester asked. "They sound like a rabbit warren, going everywhere."
"Pretty much," Bill agreed.
"I take it there's still no news about her?" Joe asked.
Their host shook his head once more. "Nope. Vanished into thin air."
"Or drowned," Lester added glumly. "From the looks of downtown, she may be fifty feet from the hospital, caught in a flooded passageway. When will we be able to get in there to check? I had no idea the whole campus was still six feet under." He looked at Joe for confirmation. "We thought search and rescue had already gone through the tunnels."
"They did what they could," Bill hedged. "Not an easy job." He raised a finger for emphasis as he answered Lester's question. "If the estimates are correct, you might get in tomorrow. The water's draining fast. It'll be a mess, but it should be accessible."
"You have hazmat suits for us?" Joe asked. "I could smell the pollutants as soon as we hit town."
Lester shot him another glance, clearly not having considered the issue.
"Yeah," Allard said airily. "We've got you covered. You're not only facing all the crap you can guess, but there's asbestos, too, from the leftover underground pipes and conduits, dating back to the bad ol' days. It should be a real blast, poking around down there."
"Great," Lester murmured.
"Not to worry," Allard reassured them. "You'll have people with you who know their stuff. I'm not sending you in there alone."
Lester did his best to fake a pleasantly surprised smile. "Ah," he said. "That makes all the difference."
Chapter Five
"How're you holding up?" she asked.
"Better than most," Joe admitted. "I can think of ten other professions right now that've been working harder than us from the start. The uniformed cops are mostly making sure people don't get into trouble, and we fancy guys in suits are being called on to do even less."
She laughed knowledgeably. "Unless they're Willy Kunkle, diving into the floodwaters to save the brain-dead."
He was impressed. "You heard about that?"
"I'm the governor, Joe. I have people."
He smiled at the phone in his hand. She was, and she did. And Gail Zigman also made it her business to be better informed than most of her recent predecessors. Her early years as a selectman and prosecutor had sensitized her to the old rule that all politics are local. Among the backroom organizations that she'd created before her first day at work was a team of phone and e-mail workers whose sole duty was to keep in touch with handpicked human listening posts all across the state. These were mostly people whom Gail had wooed and won during her years of ascension, ranging from small-town politicos to fire chiefs, town clerks, church leaders, and almost anyone else who was engaged, informed, and/or just plain nosy. It had served her more than once in sensing an upswelling before it became a tidal wave.
"How're your people serving
Joe glanced around at the signs of upheaval — piles of folders and files and scattered paperwork, covering every flat surface. "All the conveniences of your real office?" he asked with a sympathetic smile.
Bill was clearing seating space and groaned. "Yeah — right. I have no idea how people work at home." He then looked up and added, "Thank God, we run a pretty autonomous outfit with the VBI. Can you imagine if we were more traditionally top-down? Other agencies are in a real pickle right now."
They settled down with their coffee, making themselves comfortable.
"How is the public safety building?" Joe asked.
"It would've been fine, except for the damned tunnels," Allard explained. "The water never reached the walls, pretty much like this house. But no one thought to rig the tunnels with watertight doors, so that's how it got in. So stupid," he added. "It's always the things you don't think of."
"Those the same tunnels that Carolyn Barber used?" Lester asked. "They sound like a rabbit warren, going everywhere."
"Pretty much," Bill agreed.
"I take it there's still no news about her?" Joe asked.
Their host shook his head once more. "Nope. Vanished into thin air."
"Or drowned," Lester added glumly. "From the looks of downtown, she may be fifty feet from the hospital, caught in a flooded passageway. When will we be able to get in there to check? I had no idea the whole campus was still six feet under." He looked at Joe for confirmation. "We thought search and rescue had already gone through the tunnels."
"They did what they could," Bill hedged. "Not an easy job." He raised a finger for emphasis as he answered Lester's question. "If the estimates are correct, you might get in tomorrow. The water's draining fast. It'll be a mess, but it should be accessible."
"You have hazmat suits for us?" Joe asked. "I could smell the pollutants as soon as we hit town."
Lester shot him another glance, clearly not having considered the issue.
"Yeah," Allard said airily. "We've got you covered. You're not only facing all the crap you can guess, but there's asbestos, too, from the leftover underground pipes and conduits, dating back to the bad ol' days. It should be a real blast, poking around down there."
"Great," Lester murmured.
"Not to worry," Allard reassured them. "You'll have people with you who know their stuff. I'm not sending you in there alone."
Lester did his best to fake a pleasantly surprised smile. "Ah," he said. "That makes all the difference."
Chapter Five
"How're you holding up?" she asked.
"Better than most," Joe admitted. "I can think of ten other professions right now that've been working harder than us from the start. The uniformed cops are mostly making sure people don't get into trouble, and we fancy guys in suits are being called on to do even less."
She laughed knowledgeably. "Unless they're Willy Kunkle, diving into the floodwaters to save the brain-dead."
He was impressed. "You heard about that?"
"I'm the governor, Joe. I have people."
He smiled at the phone in his hand. She was, and she did. And Gail Zigman also made it her business to be better informed than most of her recent predecessors. Her early years as a selectman and prosecutor had sensitized her to the old rule that all politics are local. Among the backroom organizations that she'd created before her first day at work was a team of phone and e-mail workers whose sole duty was to keep in touch with handpicked human listening posts all across the state. These were mostly people whom Gail had wooed and won during her years of ascension, ranging from small-town politicos to fire chiefs, town clerks, church leaders, and almost anyone else who was engaged, informed, and/or just plain nosy. It had served her more than once in sensing an upswelling before it became a tidal wave.
"How're your people serving
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