A Hard Rain: Book Two Of The Shift Trilogy

Chapter 3

Montpelier Station, Virginia

Rochelle Sovereignty

December 2012

It was turning into a banner day for Meredith Jung. Her husband's crew, which was due back home yesterday, was laid over another evening out in the wilderness. Baby Charles kept her up half the night with colic. She was awaiting—more like dreading—Ezra's findings in Asheville and comparing it to what Ross discovered. Meredith didn't look forward to reading what Ezra brought back from Asheville or the report from Ross. She wouldn't understand what the reports said, anyway. She would have to have her people in Stokesville translate it for her, but again, she did not look forward to that. Actually, she hoped something more pressing would pull her away, and then she regretted making such a foolish wish, because something did pull her away, something horrible.

Meredith, the young director of the Swan, the intelligence agency that was comprised of and served the members of the Orange Pact, sat at a communications console and placed the telephone receiver up to her ear. Greater Monticello and Rochelle had laid down old-fashioned copper wire for telephonic communications, which was relatively reliable and provided clearer transmissions compared to radio communication. The communications office was clamoring with frantic activity, making it difficult for her to hear the receiver. Men and women were running into and out of the suite of the late 18th century mansion, which overlooked James Madison's estate, or would have if they ever opened the blinds, which she never allowed.

Back in the real world, Meredith had been perfectly content serving in DHS as a simple GS-12. She never had any desire to be a manager and hold a leadership position. She never dreamed that she would wind up as the founder and leader of an intelligence agency herself, and she never would try to compare herself to her former boss Michael Chertoff. But she took her cues from what she remembered of him as best as she could in creating the Swan.

As she waited on the line, reports officers handed her scribbled notes. She would have to put it all together within the next few minutes to brief the constable.

"Mrs. Jung? Are you still there?"

"Yes, Ezra," she answered expectantly. "I am. Sorry, it's difficult to hear. Was the chief magistrate harmed?"

"Quick answer, the chief magistrate is unharmed. Repeat, Rita's fine."

Meredith sighed with relief and gave herself a moment to catch her wits. "Thank God."

"What were the casualties?"

"We have two archers injured, but no bystander fatalities."

"Thank you, Ezra. Once your boss relieves you, I want you to come over."

"I'll get my night bag and I'll send you a status update in the next half hour."

After hanging up, Meredith took off her glasses and squeezed the center of her forehead just above the bridge of her nose trying to massage the massive headache away. Her Montpelier souvenir mug was filled with a viscous dark brew of chicory. It tasted dreadful, but it served to substitute coffee, which was now a precious commodity available only in pre-Shift vacuum packed bricks. Even with the vacuum seal, such gems were losing their freshness. Right now she either needed some coffee or to go into the complete opposite direction and partake in some cash crop cannabis.

She took a few moments to read the decoded cable traffic sent from Monticello, which gave more sensitive details about the would-be assassins. Meredith gathered her team and over the next few minutes, they hashed out what they knew, making sure they didn't miss anything. When she was satisfied that she had enough information, Meredith gathered the cables, which were nothing like the cables in the old days, but rather handwritten notes jotted from a telegraph, and headed to see the constable.