The Black Ships, Page 4

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  Ellen often waited for Frank in the delegate’s dining room; it was far more entertaining than sitting on the couch in his office watching as he worked his way through the mound of change orders that invariably awaited him when he returned from a field inspection. Despite the initial variety of the dining room, the same themes always became apparent and she loved how the patterns emerged from the chaos.

  The regulars invariably talked shop. There were broad gestures and swinging arms at some tables and quiet disagreement at others. The tourists and visitors tended to split evenly between the thrilled and the disappointed. Though many were excited by the idea of dining there, a sizeable proportion were unimpressed with the service after all the trouble of getting in.

  The walk to her favorite table overlooking the East River always led her past conversations in at least three different languages. The table to her right was occupied by a delegation from the Seminole Tribe of Florida. They were dressed in traditional garb and spoke quietly in Miccosukee. Having grown up in Florida, Ellen knew they represented one of the few tribes never to be defeated by the US Army. In the mid 19th century, after years of open conflict costing over thirty million dollars, the government finally gave up attempts to remove them from their territory.

  Their presence gave her some small measure of hope for Humanity. They managed to fight off almost ten times their number and maintain their way of life, she thought as she looked out the window at a dry bulk freighter as it made its way down the narrow channel between Manhattan and Roosevelt Island. At a table in front of her a family made the best of their lunch.

  Though she had a permanent pass giving her access to the Secretariat, including the delegates dining room, other visitors who wished to try lunch at the ‘open to the public’ facility had to reserve several days in advance. They also had to arrive at least an hour early to pass through screening and obtain their passes, leaving their driver’s licenses or passports with the security desk in the process. After all that, they were treated to a meal that often failed to delight.

  And the coffee maker was broken yet again.

  The tourists in the room jumped as the fire alarm suddenly came to deafening life. Most of the delegates and regulars rolled their eyes in frustration. This would be the third time over the weekend that the contractors had accidentally triggered the alarm. Only a third of the building had evacuated last time and the fire fighters had been very clear that they would issue a heavy fine, special territory or not, if they failed to enforce a full evacuation for any fire alarm.

  As the tourists got up to leave, the regulars shoveled their food down before standing. Ellen decided that she would have time to finish her tea before joining the tail end of the evacuation and was looking back out the window when her phone rang. “Elle, get out, right now.”

  “Frank, don’t be such a stickler,” she replied, setting her mug on the table. “I’ll probably be outside before you even get off the elevator.” Her voice became playful. “If this is the only way to get you out of your office, I may have to pull the alarm myself next time.”  

  “Jess pulled the alarm. It’s not a fire, there’s a bomb threat. I need you to get out and head through the barricades. There’s tanks and National Guardsmen a few blocks away in any direction but they’ll let you through. Just get moving.” Frank sounded frightened.

  “If there’s that much security at every access point, how do you figure someone is going to get a bomb through?” Ellen stood and shrugged her left arm into her coat before switching the phone from her right hand. She froze, staring out the window as the danger became apparent. “Frank, get in touch with whoever is in charge of security; the bomb is in the East River.”