Gale Force Page 0,14

talk to Paul, figure out if we've got anybody who specializes in radioactivity. We're going to need somebody who knows what they're getting into."

I nodded and dipped my first bite of waffle into syrup. It never made it to my mouth, because my phone rang. I stepped away from the table to answer it - it was a number that didn't pop up with a name, but it was a New York City area code.

"Ms. Baldwin? Phil Garrett here, New York Times. I hope you weren't injured in the disturbance down there?"

I was surprised first of all that he'd gotten a cell signal through; the Wardens had priority on connections in a crisis, along with various emergency services and governmental agencies, and I was pretty sure reporters weren't on that list. After that surprise wore off, though, a big, ugly ball of black stress formed in my stomach where my waffle was going to go, and my knees went a little weak. I felt light in the head for a second, and braced myself against the wall. So not cut out for this.

"No, Mr. Garrett, I'm fine," I lied, and was pleased that my voice sounded steady and almost welcoming. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I don't know if you remember, but a couple of days ago I tried to reach you when you were on vacation. . . . I wanted to talk about the Wardens organization that you're part of."

My heart trip-hammered, thanks to a sudden dump of adrenaline into my bloodstream. I supposed as an Earth Warden I ought to be able to take care of that stuff, but no, not happening. I struggled to keep my voice calm and light. "Mr. Garrett, I'm ashamed of you. A journalist, ending a sentence in a preposition?"

He laughed. He sounded at ease. I supposed this was fun for him. All in a day's work, terrifying the people on the other end of the phone. "Ms. Baldwin, if dozens of English teachers and journalism professors couldn't beat it out of me, I think you've got a lost cause on your hands." The amusement fell away like a discarded carnival mask. "Let's talk about the Wardens. What would you say if I told you I had a credible source telling me that not only are the Wardens real, and acknowledged by every government on Earth, at least in secret, but they also function as a kind of shadow governmental agency? One that fundamentally affects and controls the lives of ordinary people?"

"I'd say you need to call Spielberg," I said. "Bet it would make a great movie. Your source is a mental case, Mr. Garrett. If you actually have one. Which I notice you didn't actually say. So, in theory, I didn't actually answer the question, either."

He ignored that, although it at least deserved a chuckle, I thought. "This is serious stuff," he said. "I take it seriously. I'm not convinced about all this talk of paranormal events and controlling the weather, but there's got to be something behind it. Maybe you guys have technology we're not aware of, something classified; we can get into the details later. What I want to know is the structure of your organization. I understand it's worldwide. Do you report up through the U.S. government?"

"I'm not having this conversation." I kept it simple this time. Garrett waited for me to blurt out something else; silence was pressure. I held on to my tongue and turned to see the entire table of Wardens watching me. Lewis put down his fork and got up, walking toward me. Whatever he saw in my expression, it couldn't have been reassuring.

"So the organization is independent of national interests? A shadow government of its own?"

"No!" One-word answers were going to land me in trouble; he'd box me neatly in. "I'm afraid I can't confirm any information for you, Mr. Garrett. I really have no idea what kind of fiction you've been fed by your source, but - "

"I have videotape," he said. "Television footage of a woman stopping a tornado in the Midwest last week. The more I searched, the more I came up with - strange events caught on tape here, surveillance camera video there. Put it all together, and it confirms everything my source has told me."

I took a deep breath, covered the speaker of the phone, and whispered to Lewis, "We're screwed. The New York Times has the scent on the Wardens. I don't think he's going