Free Tidal Rip by Joe Buff Page B

nosy reporters everywhere, and the country was entering a heightened state of national emergency—triggered by the sailing of the von Scheer and the relief convoy. Jeffrey expected to be rushed back to New London, Connecticut, any moment, to rejoin Challenger in her home port and then get under way. He decided to stop in a men’s room while he could.
    As he unzipped his fly he heard a loudspeaker announcement: “NBC drill. This is a drill. Lockdown is in effect until further notice.”
    NBC stood for nuclear-biological-chemical. The drill meant the staff and building engineers were rushing through standardized measures to make the hotel airtight. The ventilation system was stopped and the rooftop intake and outlet vents were shuttered automatically. All public and service entrances and exits were also sealed.
    Such drills were a common aspect of life on the U.S. East Coast these days, in major structures from office towers to hospitals to schools. The threat-detection hardware and communications gear, and the procedures and the practice drills, went back several years, to the wave of increased homeland protection forced upon the country by the War on Terror. All this was coming in very handy now: Jeffrey knew radioactive dust, from the battles that raged out at sea, sometimes reached the coast in local hot spots that could be dangerous. Civil defense was no joke. There were stiff fines for people leaving home without their gas-mask satchels. National Guard units were on call 24/7 in all jurisdictions, outfitted with mobile decontamination equipment; the National Weather Service tracked the movement of winds from the Atlantic carefully, with a network of sampling stations to check for radioactivity every minute. And government price controls went well beyond enforcing prewar levels on many staple goods, to defend against panic inflation. Now controversial laws set mandatory minimums on house and apartment sales—based on prewar market appraisal data—to prevent any mass exodus from vulnerable areas. Some people argued these severe executive orders were unconstitutional, but the president stood firm and told the people to stand firm too. If you can’t find a willing buyer at prewar prices, the president addressed the nation on live TV, then wait to sell after the war. Jeffrey figured that by the time dissenting lawsuits reached the U.S. Supreme Court, the war would be over in any case, one way or another.
    Jeffrey finished washing his hands. As he walked to the ballroom, the crowd continued its murmur and hubbub, largely undisturbed by the NBC drill. Swallowing iodide tablets was part of most people’s daily health routine; nobody used unfiltered tap water. Survivalist books, and emergency supply stores, did a land-office business—Geiger counters and gas-mask filters were two top-selling items. The populace adapted as best they could.
    Jeffrey suspected the actual purpose of this particular drill was to establish zone security as the president was escorted from the hotel. He guessed these Washington old-timers knew it too.
    Sure enough, in moments the drill was lifted. Jeffrey’s trained submariner ear sensed the air circulation fans start up again, even as the reception’s din increased.
    Jeffrey noticed Commodore Wilson standing in one conversation group. A full captain, Wilson was the commanding officer of Challenger ’s parent squadron in New London/Groton. He was Jeffrey’s boss. Half a year ago, Jeffrey joined the ship as executive officer, while Wilson was Challenger ’s captain. The two men, so far, were being promoted upward in lockstep. Though a loving husband and father to his wife and their three daughters, Wilson was a very tough and demanding guy to subordinates.
    The commodore saw Jeffrey. “Where have you been?” he snapped. He didn’t wait for an answer. “We need to be going. Where’s Lieutenant Reebeck?”
     
    Jeffrey, Wilson, and Ilse were standing with some Federal Protective Service