‘America is more than just a name on a map or a bunch of business interests,’ said Kipper. ‘It’s not the military. It’s not the President. In fact, it’s none of those things anymore. It hasn’t been since they disappeared. I’m not destroying America, you are, General. America is an idea – of the people, by the people. You do the math on the rest of it. Because locking up the people’s representatives, no matter how useless and fucked up they might be, that is destroying the idea of America. And I’m here to tell you that we won’t stand for it. Release the councillors now.’

Blackstone, who had been sitting back, absorbing Kipper’s attack, suddenly exploded forward into the light and slammed both open palms down on the table. ‘How dare you! You march in here, under the pretence of amity, and lay down a subversive agenda…’

‘Oh please – what are you, channelling McCarthy? The only subversives here, my friend, are toting guns and pretending the fucking Constitution doesn’t exist. Well, it does, and if you won’t defend it, we will.’

Blackstone gaped as though struck and Kip wondered if he might have gone too far. But no, damn it, he would be heard. Even if it meant he ended up in the cells too. He didn’t dare take his eyes off Blackstone, lest it be interpreted as weakness, but he could sense the presence of Dave Chugg and Marv Basco on either side of him, and of the state government people beyond them. They weren’t exactly supporting him yet, but they weren’t backing Blackstone either.

‘Haven’t you seen the news, son?’ asked the General. ‘Are you a complete imbecile?’

Kipper smiled, but without warmth. ‘The news? Is that what you call it? I’ve seen the censored bulletins your media people let out.’

‘Uh-huh. And did you happen to notice anything about a nuclear war starting overnight? You think that might affect how you see things? Do you really want to turn the city over to a bunch of headless fucking chickens who couldn’t even decide what cookies to eat the last time the world was ending? What’ll it be this time, Kipper, as the fallout cloud closes in? Deadlock over flavoured milk or Kool-Aid?’

‘I don’t know, General. That’ll be up to them. And they’ll be judged on their performance or lack of it the next time they go to the polls…’

‘Oh my god, man! There won’t be a next time!’

‘Why, you getting rid of the vote while you’re at it?’ countered the engineer.

‘Don’t be obtuse.’

Kipper closed the manila folder in front of him and scanned the ranks of military personnel arrayed around and behind the general. The only one he recognised was Ty McCutcheon, on Blackstone’s right. What could they all be thinking? he wondered. They had to take off those uniforms sometime – surely they didn’t want to live in a prison camp at the end of the day.

At least Blackstone hadn’t ordered him thrown in irons yet. He let his eyes wander around the room, playing for time. It was an unremarkable breeze-block structure, somewhere deep underground. Maps of Seattle and the local area covered all the walls. Some others had been obscured by hastily hung drop cloths. He had no idea why. Perhaps it was time to roll a hard six.

‘How about we ask Admiral Ritchie?’ Kip suggested, turning back to let Blackstone get the full wattage of his stare.

The general wouldn’t have made much of a poker player. His lips curved downwards, his shoulder rolled, a vein stood out on his neck. He did everything but run a finger around the inside of his collar and make an exaggerated cartoon gulp. A few of his uniformed offsiders shifted noticeably in their seats too. Major McCutcheon, Kip noted, was as still and quiet as a stone dog.

‘Holy crap!’ The engineer smiled, chancing his hand again. ‘You haven’t told Ritchie, have you?’

‘I have full authority for line management of the tactical situation here and I…’

The blustering tone nailed it. ‘Oh, General,’ said Kipper. ‘Oh, dear me… We are in trouble, aren’t we? My apologies – I mean it. I came in here all ready to beat you down. But now I see what I need to do is give you an exit plan, right?’

A long, uncomfortable silence greeted that, broken in the end by McCutcheon.

‘Keep talking.’

‘An offer?’ said Kip. ‘Truth be known, I don’t have one. This has sort of caught me by surprise, but if my colleagues agree to let me take this on the fly…’ He glanced sideways at Dave and Marv, who nodded, and at the state government people, who were now more obviously behind him. ‘Look, I guess, if you let the councillors go, and apologise for the inconvenience, I could do my very best to make sure that they don’t make a meal of it. Unless you’ve tortured them or something – you haven’t done that, have you?’

He was joking but Blackstone took genuine umbrage. ‘They’ve been quartered more comfortably than any of my people, I’ll tell you that.’

‘They had Xbox and satellite TV,’ offered McCutcheon.

‘Well then, I’m sure they’ll see the upside of their imprisonment,’ quipped the engineer. ‘Look, being serious, I can understand why you felt the need to take them out of the decision loop, but you just can’t do that. Let them go. Put them back on the Executive Committee…’ He held a hand up to stave off any objections. ‘But in the meantime we’ll set up an Operational Committee, with my heads of department, some guys from the state capital, and whoever you feel the need to have on it, and the OC can do the actual grunt work of ensuring the power stays on and people get fed. Okay? Executive can discuss… I dunno… the meaning of life… but at Operations we’ll actually get stuff done. Like assigning security to food distribution,’ he finished, pointedly.

Blackstone let out a long breath and leaned across to consult in a lowered voice with Major McCutcheon. After a few moments of muttered discussion, he leaned forward and nodded. ‘All right. You square it with the councillors, or it doesn’t happen. Believe me, Admiral Ritchie is going to be a lot less interested in what’s happening here than the Middle East for the next little while.’

‘Well, let’s hope for your sake we don’t have to find out.’

‘Is that all, Mr Kipper?’ asked Blackstone. ‘Can we get on with the meeting now?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘All this 1984 bullshit has to stop, too. Travel permits, monitoring people’s phone calls and shutting down the media. It’s convenient in the short term – God knows I understand that – but it is a road to hell, General. And it has to stop here and now.’

‘Are you crazy?’ replied Blackstone. ‘Even in normal times, during natural disasters, the government reserved the right to temporarily restrict travel, to federalise services, ration supplies and limit communications. You surely can’t be serious about letting people run around as they please? Think how that scene at your food bank the other morning would’ve turned out if just anybody had been allowed to turn up. Some controls are necessary. Especially given that we have a fallout cloud from the Middle East making its way around the world.’