Mercury Revolts: (Book Four of the Mercury Series) Read online

  He was encouraged in his efforts by the strange man—if he could be called that—named Rezon, who visited him occasionally over the summer. Rezon had a habit of asking Arnold if there were any particularly insurmountable difficulties he was facing, and Arnold would tell him about the sail-makers who were stuck in Connecticut because of a bridge that was out, or the schooner that couldn’t be completed because of a shortage of nails. Rezon would listen quietly and then disappear as mysteriously as he had arrived, and more often than not Arnold found that somehow whatever problem had been plaguing his little ship works had been miraculously solved. The bridge would be repaired in the middle of the night, or an unscheduled shipment of nails would appear, and so on. Once in late August, three of the carpenters were miraculously healed of syphilis. Arnold accepted these gifts—if that’s what they were—with aplomb, having little time to speculate on Rezon’s motives. But in the back of his mind, he suspected that someday there would be a reckoning for his help.

  Arnold proceeded with his ships down Lake Champlain to the north of Crown Point and situated them between Valcour Island and the western shore, so that both his wings were covered and he could only be attacked from the front. In this position he lay in wait for the British.

  On October 11, 1776, Sir Guy Carleton’s squadron approached, and the first naval battle of the war began. At sundown, after seven hours of brutal fighting, the British withdrew out of range, intending to renew their attack in the morning. Both fleets had been badly damaged in the fight, but the Americans were so badly cut up that Carleton expected to force them to surrender the next day. But Arnold’s ships slipped through the British line in the foggy night and made for Crown Point as fast as the beat up fleet could travel. The enemy eventually caught up with him late the next day. Arnold sent most of his flotilla to flee to safety while he engaged three British ships in his schooner for four hours. His ship was badly damaged and her deck covered with dead and dying men when, having sufficiently delayed the enemy to allow the rest of his ships to escape, he ran the schooner aground and set her on fire. He and his men marched overland to Crown Point, rendezvoused with the fleet, and brought the whole force safely to Ticonderoga. Carleton did not press the attack.

  Despite acquitting himself brilliantly in this battle, Arnold never received due acclaim for his efforts. A retreat—even one handled so impeccably as this—is still a retreat, and rarely receives the sort of accolades reserved for a victory. Arnold was passed over for promotion by the Continental Congress, and, adding insult to injury, personal rivals brought charges of corruption and malfeasance against him. He was acquitted of these charges—in fact, Congress ultimately found that he had gone deeply in debt in support of the war effort. But the damage was done. Bitter and feeling unappreciated, Arnold found himself in a dark corner of a Philadelphia tavern, brooding over his future.

  It was in this dark moment that he was visited for the last time by the man he knew as Rezon. Rezon, who was in fact Lucifer, First of the Fallen, the original turncoat, had been doing some brooding of his own lately. His initial glee at the outbreak of war had turned to ambivalence as he realized that not only were the Americans going to win the war, but they were going to do it without reverting to a military dictatorship, a puppet state of France, or even a chaotic collection of rival colonies. It looked, in fact, that they were going to emerge stronger than ever, as the world’s first constitutional republic. The Americans had among them a truly first-rate group of political thinkers, among them Jefferson, Franklin and Madison, and it was clear that these men intended to establish a government designed to make it almost impossible for someone like Lucifer to manipulate it. As a result, Lucifer decided a change in strategy was needed: he was now going to do everything he could to help the British win the war. And he knew just the man who could make that happen.

  So it was that Lucifer settled in across from Benedict Arnold with the intent to reverse the course of both of their fortunes.

  “Rezon,” muttered Arnold. “You always show up at the worst times.”

  “I show up when you need me,” said Lucifer. “But you’re not doing so badly. They’ve put you in charge of Philadelphia and made you a major-general. And I hear you’re courting a lovely young woman of a very fine family.”

  “How do you know about that?” demanded Arnold. “We’ve been very discreet, given her family’s loyalist tendencies.”

  “I have ways of finding things out,” replied Lucifer. “Although, speaking frankly, it’s a shame you have to conceal your love for this woman merely because of a few prominent Tories in her family. What business is it of anyone who her family is? Love is love, is it not? And certainly you deserve some happiness, after all you’ve been through.”

  Arnold smiled wryly. “You do have a way with words, Rezon. Perhaps I could prevail upon you to exercise your persuasiveness with Congress. Somehow they’ve seen fit to promote five lesser men ahead of me, even though anyone with eyes could see that I should be second only to Washington himself, given what I’ve accomplished.”

  “Congress!” spat Lucifer. “An assembly of self-important baboons who think they have the right to play puppet master to truly great men, such as yourself. I wouldn’t condescend to an audience with such a glorified mob.”

  “Why are you here, then,” replied Arnold, “if you don’t intend to grease the skids? I have no bridges in need of repair, other than the metaphorical type. Are you here at last to demand comeuppance for your aid?”

  Lucifer held up his hands. “You affront me, sir! My assistance is offered without any expectation of reciprocation, in service to a greater cause.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that cause is not American independence, however,” said Arnold.

  Lucifer shrugged. “What about you, Benedict? What are you fighting for?”

  “I fight in service of my country,” replied Arnold.

  “Which one?” asked Lucifer. “Up until a few scant years ago, you were a loyal British citizen. Now you’ve taken up arms against your former country at the whim of a noisome rabble. Tell me, Benedict, do you trust the fate of this continent to a Congress that promotes a jackal like Jedediah Wilkins over you?”

  “What’s your game, Rezon? Now you’re suddenly rallying to the British cause?”

  “I have my reasons for reassessing the situation,” said Lucifer. “But you knew when I first came to you that my motives probably differed from your own. The question you need to ask is whether your interests are being served by your present course of action. Someday this war will end. You’ll be married, perhaps with children. Do you think your children will look up to a man who serves at the pleasure of a Congress that that has repeatedly scorned and ignored him? And what of your future wife’s family? Do you think loyalists will be kindly treated in an independent America? You’re a smart man, Benedict. I know you’ve asked yourself these questions.”

  “What would you have me do?” cried Arnold. “I’ve got responsibilities! I can’t just…”

  “You’ll have responsibilities wherever you go,” said Lucifer. “You’re an important man, regardless of your circumstances. Someone of your wit and cunning will find a warm welcome anywhere talent and intelligence are appreciated. After all,” Lucifer went on, “you do possess significant intelligence, do you not?”

  Benedict stared into his beer, not speaking. The double-meaning of Lucifer’s statement was not lost on him.

  “I’m not here to strong-arm you,” said Lucifer, getting up from the table. “But I do suggest you spend some time thinking about what’s best for you and your future family. And your country, of course. Whichever country that may be. I will, of course, do whatever I can to assist you in any transition you see fit to make.”

  With that, Lucifer bowed slightly, turned, and walked out of the tavern, leaving Benedict Arnold to ruminate on his words.

  Chapter Nineteen

  South Dakota; August 2016

  “Tell me again how you know where the b
omb is?” Eddie said.

  He and Suzy were back in the Suburban, barreling east on I-90 through South Dakota. Suzy had taken over driving, and Mercury was flying a few miles in advance to perform reconnaissance, in case Michelle had put up checkpoints to try to catch them before they got to Michigan.

  “I worked on the damage assessment software,” Suzy said. “We analyzed the potential effects of the detonation of a Wormwood-style bomb in seventeen American cities. The only city that Gabrielle mentioned that was also on our test list was Grand Rapids, Michigan.”

  “Hmm,” replied Eddie.

  “What?”

  “That doesn’t strike you as strange?”

  Suzy bit her lip. It did, in fact, strike her as strange. “You think it’s a trap.”

  “Well, they practically told us where to go to look for the bomb. Of course, it could be anywhere in the city.…”

  Suzy shook her head. “No, there was a very specific epicenter for each test. In Grand Rapids, it was on the roof of the Vanden Heuvel Building. The bomb does more damage if it’s a few hundred feet above ground.”

  “What makes her so sure we’re going to take the bait, though?” Eddie asked. “If we had any sense, we’d be on the other side of the planet when that bomb goes off.”

  “She’s betting on my conscience,” replied Suzy. “She figures that if I walked out of Brimstone because of ethical concerns, there’s no way I’m going to let her actually detonate the bomb, if there’s any chance I can do something about it.”

  “Is she right?”

  Suzy sighed. “Yeah. Mercury said never to do what they expect you to do. I don’t think he’d approve of this plan if he understood what we were doing.”

  “Hmm,” said Eddie again.

  “You think he knows we’re heading into a trap?”

  “Hard to say,” replied Eddie. “Mercury is a strange one. One minute it looks like he’s completely over his head and the next he’s somehow made a fool out of everybody. I haven’t figured out if he’s putting on an act or if he’s just incredibly lucky.”

  “Or maybe he just has good intuition,” said Suzy. “Some people just seem to muddle through just by following their instincts.”

  “Could be,” said Eddie. “Like I say, he’s a strange one.”

  They both jumped as something thumped on the roof of the car. Mercury’s face appeared, upside down, in front of the windshield, his silver hair whipping furiously in the wind. “Get off at the next exit!” he yelled. “Police cars up ahead. We’re going to have to take back roads for a while.”

  Suzy nodded and Mercury shot into the air ahead of them. She took the next exit, which led to a two lane road that wound through the hills to the southeast. They remained on this road for the next three hours, when Mercury reappeared and told them it was safe to take the next left to get back on the highway.

  In this manner, taking the highway unless warned to do otherwise by Mercury, they traversed the 1500 miles to Michigan. Suzy did most of the driving, even though she was dog-tired and Eddie, being an angel, didn’t need to sleep. She liked Eddie but his driving made her nervous. He had a tendency to become interested in something on the horizon and then drift toward it, as if he had forgotten what he was doing. He wouldn’t snap out of it until he either hit gravel or Suzy barked at him to straighten out. After the third time this happened, she insisted on doing the rest of the driving.

  They didn’t dare try to enter the city in the Suburban, since the National Guard had undoubtedly put up checkpoints on all the roads. They ended up ditching the vehicle outside of Kalamazoo and flying the rest of the way. They kept low to the ground, avoiding roads and houses, with Mercury carrying Suzy. It was a terrifying but exhilarating way to travel.

  When they neared the outskirts of the city, the two angels landed and they walked for several miles. Suzy was so tired she could hardly put one foot in front of the other, and several times they had to make detours to avoid checkpoints or National Guardsmen walking down the street. Her mood was not helped by the banter of the two cherubim, who had spent twenty minutes arguing about what to call people from Kalamazoo.

  “Kalamazooians,” said Mercury.

  “Kalamazooites,” replied Perp.

  “Kalamazoans,” said Mercury.

  “Ooh, I like that one,” said Perp. “But wouldn’t the plural be Kalamazoa?”

  Mercury rubbed his chin. “My friend Bill is from Battle Creek, but Glen and Freda are Kalamazoa. Hmm.”

  “Kalamazooers?”

  Finally they reached a motel and got a room. Suzy collapsed on one of the two beds while Mercury and Eddie sat on the other, trying to figure out what to do next.

  “You realize, of course,” said Mercury, “that this is a trap.”

  “So you figured it out too,” replied Eddie.

  “Of course I figured it out. How dumb do you think I am? Damn it!”

  “What?”

  “I did leave my toothbrush.” He smacked his lips together. “My mouth tastes like road tar and gnats.”

  “Do you think she’ll actually detonate the bomb?”

  “Michelle?” asked Mercury. “Yeah. I mean, if she doesn’t, it won’t be because of any kind of moral scruples. Michelle’s always had an authoritarian streak, and now that she’s got nobody telling her what to do, all she’s got left is her sense of order. She wants everything to be regimented, ordered, controlled. And if she’s got to cause a little bit of momentary chaos to bring that about, she’ll do that.”

  “A nuclear blast in a city of half a million people is ‘a little bit of momentary chaos?’” Eddie said.

  “In the scheme of things, yeah. You nuke one city and suddenly everybody in the country is clamoring for more security. Look at what she’s accomplished already, with just the threat of a nuclear attack: twelve cities under martial law. And nobody complains because Gabrielle is assuring them that it’s temporary and only applies to a few cities. Except of course it isn’t, and this is just the beginning. Michelle’s not going to give up any power that she manages to get her hands on.”

  “So we have no choice,” said Eddie. “Even if it is a trap. We have to stop that bomb from going off.”

  “Whoa, take it easy on the ‘we,’ there, buddy,” said Mercury. “I told Suzy I’d get her here. I didn’t say anything about defusing a nuclear bomb. I’ve already played that game, and it doesn’t end well.”

  “So what are you going to do, leave?”

  “Well, I’m not staying here in Blast Radius, Michigan, if that’s what you’re asking. Thought I might hang out in Portugal for a while.”

  “How can you just sit by while Michelle detonates a nuclear bomb in a city?”

  “I can’t. I have to fly to Portugal. Weren’t you listening?”

  “Thousands of people will die. Tens of thousands, probably. That bomb will take out most of downtown Grand Rapids.”

  “Thousands of people die every day,” said Mercury. “Mostly from war and famine. Most of the world is in chaos.”

  “You sound like you’re defending Michelle.”

  “I’m not defending her; I’m just saying this is the way things are. The world is in tension between order and chaos. It’s always been this way. Sometimes things swing too far to the side of chaos. Maybe it’s time for a correction.”

  “Time for a… it’s a nuclear bomb, Mercury! The fallout and radiation alone…”

  “Not much fallout with a bomb like Wormwood. I did some research on these bombs after I got blown up by one. Turns out one of the advantages of ultra-grade plutonium is that there’s relatively little radiation released. I mean, you’re not going to want to be downwind of this place for a few weeks, but most of the damage is in the initial blast. And it’s a painless way to die. You’re atomized before you even know what hit you.”

  “Unless you’re on the outer edge of the blast,” said Eddie coldly.

  “Well, yeah. Third degree burns and probably some radiation poisoning. A slow, pai
nful, gruesome death over the course of a few days or weeks. Damn it!”

  “You forget your dental floss too?”

  “Huh? No, floss is in my pocket. It’s unwaxed, though.” He shuddered at the thought. “So, you really want to do this? Walk right into Michelle’s trap?”

  “I just don’t see how we have any choice, Mercury. We’re the only ones in a position to do anything about the bomb. If we don’t stop it, we’ll have the deaths of thousands on our hands. I’d rather try and end up in Michelle’s secret prison than just run away.”

  “Yeah, yeah, fine,” said Mercury. “I get it. There’s not enough beer in Portugal to make a guy forget about people dying from radiation sickness. So what’s the plan?”

  “Um,” replied Eddie.

  “You’re going to make me come up with the plan, aren’t you?”

  Eddie smiled.

  “All right,” said Mercury. “First, we need to identify the weak link in their organization.”

  Chapter Twenty

  New York; 1779 - 1780

  Lucifer’s poisonous words slowly worked their evil in Benedict Arnold’s heart, until one day in the April of 1779 he penned a letter to the British General, Sir Henry Clinton. Written in disguised handwriting and under the signature of “Gustavus,” the letter described its author as an American officer of high rank, who, due to disgust at the French alliance and “other recent proceedings of Congress,” might be persuaded to switch sides in the war. Congress having recently spent a fair amount of time dithering over the latest trumped up charges to be made against Arnold, there was little doubt as to the identity of this “officer of high rank.”

  This initial letter led to a correspondence between Arnold and Sir Henry’s adjutant-general, Major John André. At first Arnold offered only his personal allegiance to the crown, but once he had begun to think of himself as a British agent rather than an American officer, it was but a small step for him to decide to take advantage of his position for the benefit of his new masters. He entreated General Washington to put him in charge of West Point, and Washington, who had long defended Arnold against the trifling charges that plagued his career, did not hesitate to entrust his friend with this strategically important post.