Chapter 28: Rules

Despite his earlier confidence, Gene was feeling less sure that he could keep his breakfast down. Holly had driven the pontoon hard over the growing swells, and the up-and-down motion was unsettling his sense of balance. The wind blew spray over him as he clung to the railing and tried not to be sick.

The short blonde showed no signs of being affected. She kept her gaze mostly straight ahead, her grip on the wheel steady and firm. Despite the protection in the cockpit, her clothes were soaked as much as Gene’s.

After what felt like hours, Gene was still holding down his guts as Holly throttled back and slowed the boat down to minimal maneuvering speed. It had been light for over an hour, and already the sun heated the air. Holly called over to him, “we’re here. Now we wait for them.”

“And they’ll send a boat from the sub?” Gene groaned.

“Not a boat,” Holly shouted back, “a submersible. They’ll take us down to the Cambridge.”

“Does it rock as badly as this piece of shit?”

“Dunno, Gene, never ridden on one. Hey, you get to experience a first with me, don’t you just love it?”

Gene groaned again and tried not to watch the swells rising ahead of them.

The thrum of heavy machinery woke Tamara from a heavy slumber. It took her a moment to collect her thoughts and remember where she was. Hannigan had rolled into her, his head up, listening. He whispered, “we should move soon.”

Tamara nodded, stretched and slowly got to her feet. Her muscles felt loose and weak, her mind foggy. It had been a stressful and restless few days. Tamara hoped they could find a place to stop running very soon.

Hannigan looked better than he had the night before. His eyes were alert, though tendrils of blood filled the whites of his eyes. His beard was growing in, covering much of his face. Tamara kind of liked the look of the rugged Hannigan.

Tamara checked the front of the house and saw men and machines a few meters up the road. Hannigan motioned to the back door as they grabbed their sacks and tried to hide their weapons under jackets.

They moved out of the house and hugged the thicker tree line near the back of the property where it ran along a small, brackish drainage ditch. The air was thick with buzzing things and the smell of rotting wood. They found a small fountain near the entrance and quickly took the opportunity to wash their faces, hands, and genitals. In moments, they had reentered populated blocks and slowly made their way to the northwest.

There were a few people about, some looking haggard, most carrying big bags of things such as potatoes, clothing, and toilet paper. The few cars they saw ignored stop signs and raced past without pausing. Tamara knew that such light traffic was not a good sign.

They saw flights of fighter jets moving north several times that day, and on a small hill, they could see numerous warships on the Black Sea to the northeast.

They watched a moment as one of the dark-grey vessels began to turn and head out to deeper water, then another. A small patrol vessel followed a tug down the strait, heading south.

Loudspeakers exploded around them, the chatter of an excited Turkish speaker echoing around them. The man went on for a moment then went silent again.

“Any idea what he said?” Tamara asked.

“No ... I don’t speak Turkish.”

They heard a woman’s muffled anguished cries from a building nearby, cars suddenly racing to the north and west. A man rushed out of small home, carrying a small child under his arm.

Sirens went off all over the city, the wailing mechanical drone designed to waken those sleeping, and to frighten those who might not take it seriously. Tamara was frightened, and she damn sure was taking it seriously.

Hannigan’s head swivled. “We need to get to a bunker or basement. Those are air raid sirens.” They raced up the street as more people started running. Lines of them disappeared into a building now and then, and Tamara wondered if those were the best ones in the area to find shelter. She pointed to where a dozen people or so were rushing to go down steps into a half-sunken level of one building, motioning Hannigan to come with her.

They followed the dozen down a short set of steps and through a narrow hallway. Near the back, beside a large painting of a Turkish general on a horse, they climbed down a ladder, then followed as they descended another small set of stairs. Tamara rounded a corner in a short, narrow passage and entered a decent sized room with low ceilings and concrete walls. At least two dozen people were inside, a crying child and sobbing older man included.

Tamara pressed her back against a far wall and sank down on her butt, Hannigan right next to her. The sirens continued to be quite audible even below the ground. There were hushed whispers, many frightened eyes, people holding each other.

Tamara spoke to anyone who could listen, “does anyone speak English?”

A tall, light-brown-skinned young man, perhaps sixteen, raised his hand. “Yes, I can.”

“What is happening?”

“I’m not sure,” the man said, “we were told to seek basements and shelters immediately. We were not told why.”

“And this is the first time this has happened here?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry, we’ve been ... out of touch ... is Turkey at war?”

The young man looked at her oddly a moment. “Of course.”

“With who?”

“With the United States, the UK, Italy, Israel. Many others. How ... how do you not know this?”

Tamara shook her head. “Very long story.

Hannigan asked, “have there been any nuclear attacks? Anywhere?”

The man shook his head, “not that I’ve heard about.”

Hannigan let out a breath and nodded, remained silent for a while.

Tamara wondered what it meant to them for Turkey and the USA to be at war. The young man walked up and said quietly. “Americans? Don’t worry. This is a friendly neighborhood, we like Americans, don’t want war. In the more traditional parts of the city, things are very different.” He bowed slightly, said, “my name is Erol.”

“Ta-- Taylor. My name is Taylor. This is Ben.” She’d nearly forgotten the pseudonyms they’d decided on. “Thanks, Erol.”

Erol looked at Hannigan a moment, turned back to Tamara. “Tourists?”

Tamara almost laughed. “Uh ... yeah, that’s pretty much it. We’ve been ... off the grid for a few days, came back to a changed world, it seems.”

Erol nodded, said, “people have been looting everything the past two days. Some of us are lucky enough to get ahold of some of these, as well.” He raised his tan shirt to reveal a black handgun tucked into his pants. “For protection.”

Tamara nodded, “where are the police?”

“Oh, everywhere. But with the looting and rioting in places, they are stretched thin. They can’t be everywhere. Supposedly the port is closed, no more ships in or out that don’t have to pass through the ships out there.” His arm swept across towards the back of the room.

Tamara shared a quick look of gratitude with Hannigan as she realized how lucky they had been to arrive when they did. She asked Erol, “so, hoarding supplies, wearing a gun ... are people also leaving the city?”

Erol shrugged, “probably. Not sure why, there’s really nowhere to go. Lots of rumors, of course, maybe just rumors, but I’ve heard that the Americans landed near Gallipoli yesterday, or maybe it was the Italians. Also, we heard just this morning that the Turkish army is setting up tight roadblocks around the city. By tonight, so I hear, no one will get in or out easily. Just rumors, maybe. They don’t tell us much, and the news is as confused as we are about all this.”

Hannigan muttered, looking at his feet, “Gallipoli ... seriously ... not those fights again.”

Erol tilted his head, asked, “what do you mean?”

The man looked up suddenly, said, “oh ... there was a nasty, months-long campaign in World War I around Gallipoli. Your Ottoman forefathers tore up the Brits. Brutal fighting.”

“Ah, yes,” Erol replied, “I remember hearing something about that.” He knelt down and then sat next to Tamara, said quietly, “even in this room, probably best not to go announcing that you are Americans. Lots of them, along with Brits and others, have disappeared over the last couple of days. More rumors say there are prison camps where they are being held.”

Tamara shivered, unable to consider what being held prisoner in a Turkish camp might be like. “Thanks ... I ... I don’t know what we’ll do, but--”

The building shook as a shock wave pounded through, then another. Bits of concrete shook loose and snowed down on the people inside. Tamara’s heart leapt with each shudder. They heard concussive booms, well-muffled in the basement, more shock waves. A woman joined the crying man, wailing louder the longer the shaking went on.

A closer explosion rocked the building. Tamara heard screaming from somewhere outside, then silence for a few seconds before another, even-closer explosion knocked out the lights and left them in the dark.

“Logan, would you like to go riding again this afternoon?” Juliana asked as the six of them finished breakfast and made ready to take care of the morning chores.

“Yes!” the fourteen-year old replied.

“Great! I need you to do something for me, then. I’m sure the kids showed you how to check the saddles, right? Make sure they are ready to ride?”

Lauren smiled as Logan nodded his head.

“Be a dear and go out to the stables and check that we have six saddles ready? Take your time, make sure you do it right.”

“Ok!”

Lauren watched Logan run out the door and disappear. Juliana turned back to the remaining teens. She looked much too serious for a morning conversation. “The five of us need to have a talk.”

The teens sat silently, staring at the woman. She paused a moment, eyes meeting each boy and girl, then finally said, “I saw something last night that I didn’t expect, and I’m not sure how to talk to you about it...”

She paused again, and Lauren’s stomach turned over. Oh ... no...

Juliana’s chin came up. “I think you know what I mean ... You weren’t as sneaky as you thought going down to bunker three. What I saw when I came down there ... well, there are no words.”

Four teens sat nervously, looks of horror on their faces. Lauren’s whole world felt ready to rip open, their secret taboos laid bare for judgement and shame.

Juliana tried to collect herself, then said, “I’m not angry. But I am upset. What I saw is not something which should have happened.” She paused, sighed, her voice more gentle when she began again, looking from Hannah to Georges. “I should have known that you two might be tempted, all alone here ... I should have known. It’s our fault for this, we gave you no other options and you did what kids do...”

Georges looked at his sister, and Lauren could see that the twins were petrified.

Juliana turned to look into Lauren’s eyes, then passed to Finch. “And you two ... I barely know you ... but there you were ... just like my two ... I can’t put into words what I’m thinking right now. Like I said ... I am upset. I never expected to see my own kids doing ... that ... or you two...”

Lauren couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to, her throat tight and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, teeth locked together as her nerves rattled.

Juliana leaned back, took a deep breath. “Rules. Listen now. First, never, ever force anyone to do anything, yes? Hannah, this is consensual? Georges? Lauren? Finch?”

Four heads nodded, Lauren’s eyes pleading.

“Fine. Second, Georges, Hannah ... your father never finds out. Promise me, you two ... He has enough to deal with without the incest ... I’m not stupid, I won’t try to stop you. However, you will never take a chance of being caught like that when he is here, and you’ll go out of your way to keep me from seeing or hearing it, understood? Promise me.”

“Y-yes, of course.” Hannah mumbled, her face red and flushed. “I promise.” Georges echoed the sentiment.

“Third, Lauren, Finch, your brother is too young for this.”

Lauren couldn’t stifle a nervous chuckle.

Juliana paused, asked, “tell me...”

Lauren’s lips didn’t move and she looked at Hannah. The tall twin let out a soft sigh, said, “not all of it ... but ... some stuff...”

“Good grief, Hannah, really?”

Hannah tried to sink lower in her seat.

Juliana let out a long breath, “fine, fine. Then you will go over with him the rules, then.” Juliana stood and glanced at the wine rack, quickly popped the cork on a bottle of red and poured herself a full glass. She shook her head, said, “my god, children. This is quite an unusual morning...” Juliana took a long swill and swallowed. She looked at each of them. “Ok. For now, this is over. Remember what I said.” She looked up at the sound of the door opening and Logan rushing in. “Ah, just in time.” She gave each teen one last hard look and disappeared down the hall.

“Hands up! Hands up now!” A man’s shout came from behind Gene and he wheeled off the starboard rail to see a dark figure a few meters out in the rough ocean, his head barely above the water, a small black weapon pointed at them. A second person popped up nearby, a similar gun in his hands. “Now! Do it now!”

Gene’s hands shot into the air, and he saw Holly do the same further back.

“Move forward and turn away from me. Hurry!”

Gene did as told, shaky legs barely supporting him as the boat rocked heavily. He held onto the railing and stood on the bow, looking forward. Holly was beside him, whispered, “standard procedure. Just do what they say.”

Gene nodded, barely able to think. He heard splashing then the boat rocked back towards the port side. Another splashing sound and another rock.

“Stay where you are. Answer: Are you armed?”

“Yes.” Holly answered.

“Do not move! Your weapons will be removed.”

Rough hands were over Gene immediately, pulling the pistol from his holster and the knife from the band on his leg. Holly was quickly stripped of her own.

“Names!”

“Agent Holly Bridgewater, First Nightwing, five-alpha-omega-seven.” Her head tilted slightly towards Gene, and she continued. “Gene Polanski, high-value protected, confirmation delta-delta-four.”

Gene nearly fell as the boat sloshed over a large wave. The man shouted at him immediately. “Do not move!”

Holly held his waist as his stomach turned over and felt like jelly.

There was a long silence from the men, only the creaking boat and splashing water rising above the roaring wind.

“You are cleared,” the first man said loudly. “You will go with us, one at a time, to TV-106. You will be escorted down immediately.”

The other man grabbed Gene’s arm and brought him to the back of the boat. In a thicker, Germanic accent, the man said roughly, “get into the water and swim out a few meters.” Gene swallowed his fear of being swept away and jumped in. The sea rushed over his head and it took him a moment to come to the surface. By the time he could see again, he was already several meters away.

The second man splashed in and was at his side immediately. He pressed a secondary breather into Gene’s mouth and motioned him to follow closely. They dove quickly, the sensation of being several feet underwater leaving Gene’s ears feeling thick. He had dived before, but never in such a terrifying manner. He sucked at the oxygen, starving for each breath.

A dull grey shape appeared below them in the darker, deeper water. As they drew closer, the submersible became recognizable. It was the size of a bus, and the man led him towards a hatch on the top. The hatch opened automatically and the man directed Gene inside.

He dropped in and the hatch closed behind him. For a moment, he was sloshed around in the water-filled compartment, then he felt the pressure change and air was forced in quickly, pushing the water out through unseen drains.

In moments, he was leaning against the metal wall, dripping and shivering from the cold water. A buzzer sounded twice, then a small door retracted towards the front of the vessel. A small, dark-haired woman wearing a dark-blue diving suit motioned him forward. Gene crawled through, the door returning to its closed position.

“Polanski, yes?”

Gene nodded.

“Marisa. Sit here. The rest will be along shortly.” She offered him a towel the size of a blanket. “Dry off, then we’ll go up to the cockpit.”

Gene did so, feeling seasick again despite the relative calm of the submersible. Marisa offered him a small bottle of a brownish liquid. “Drink this. Will help you adjust to the depth.”

It tasted like iodine and celery, but Gene downed it in one gulp, hoping that it might also help his nausea.

Marisa moved forward through a two-foot wide opening and disappeared in the next room as the chamber closed off again. Gene sat shivering long after he was dry, kept the towel over him to try to conserve warmth.

He felt the vessel shudder slightly, then heard a mechanical whine in the first chamber. Moments later, Holly was beside him, drying herself on another towel, the two divers shedding their suits and pushing past them in their underwear.

Holly looked at Gene, an amused look in her eye, “a first, eh?”

“I could go for a fifth of something about right now.”

The bombings came in waves throughout the morning. Tamara slowly learned to steady her fear. She’d accepted that what happened was out of her control. If they were directly under a strike, they’d be killed. If the building gave way, there was nothing to do but try to grow smaller.

An older man walked over and spoke to Erol in Turkish. Several times the man pointed to Tamara and Hannigan, growing more agitated as the minutes went by. Erol appeared calm, or at least as calm as a young man could be in a bomb shelter during an attack.

The older man stepped back slightly and Erol turned to Tamara. “He says that there are rules you must follow if you are staying with us.”

“Rules?” she asked.

“Everyone brought food, water, clothing, supplies. We’ve had plans for years for these things, even if never used. He wants to know ... what you can share that helps us? If we share our food and water with you ... it means less for all of us ... can you offer anything to help?”

Tamara said, “we have a little food, maybe a day of water each. A few extra clothes. I ... I don’t know what else...”

Hannigan leaned over her, said, “we also have these...” He opened his jacket to reveal the compact automatic strapped to his chest, as well as the pistol in the holster over his shoulder. Tamara took her cue and revealed her own gun. “We can fight if we must.”

Erol spoke to the older man in Turkish a moment, then asked Hannigan, “are you military?”

Hannigan shrugged, “of sorts.”

The old man chattered, then Erol said, “then you lead us when we fight, yes? Other than this man, Asil, none of us have any training. He served many years for Turkey, but he is old and cannot think like he once did. He asks that you lead us if we fight.”

Hannigan nodded. “As long as we’re here, I can do that. I need to know a few things. How many weapons? What types? How much ammunition?”

Erol called to the room and several responses came back. He called again, then replied, “four pistols, four AK47s, a shotgun, and two hunting rifles. Um ... maybe a hundred rounds for each weapon.”

Hannigan nodded, “ok, not horrible, but one firefight and we’re done. Anyone have experience shooting? Hunting?”

Erol asked and said, “yes, this man, and that man. They have shot their pistols previously.”

“Ok...” Tamara could see Hannigan’s mind working quickly. “I want it clear right now. If we fight, you take orders from me. Period. Taylor here is my second in command. Those two men will lead two fire teams. Have the men with weapons split into two teams, divide the types of weapons as evenly as possible between the teams. Erol, whatever happens, you are by my side to translate, got it?”

The young man looked excited to be given an important role. “Yes, absolutely!”

“Tell the room this: If you have a weapon, you are going to protect those who do not. Anyone without a weapon will take my orders as well.” Erol translated rapidly. “We fight only if we must to protect ourselves, only as a last resort. But if we fight, we do it aggressively and without mercy, understood?” Heads nodded as Erol relayed his words.

“Good.” Hannigan leaned back, hand on Tamara’s leg. He spoke more quietly to Erol. “I doubt we’ll see military force from outside this deep in the city anytime soon, certainly not if the Turk army is as strong as it should be in this area. We’re far more likely to come up against other civilians or thugs.” Hannigan thought a moment. “Who is leading this group when we’re not fighting?”

Erol pointed, said, “Asil. He is an elder in the neighborhood. We follow him.”

“Tell him I’m his second, then. If I’m going to lead when the guns are firing, I need to be able to lead when they’re not, as well.”