2 DAYS LATER. MOUTH OF CHESAPEAKE BAY. 2 PM EST. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 2025.
As Martin Fierro made its way south, the weather
continued fair but cold. The three passengers had an after-lunch
habit of bundling up in borrowed sweaters and having a last cup of
hot tea in a sunny spot out of the wind; it was as secure a place
as they could find for private discussions.
Today, without
preamble, Chris said, “Since morning we’ve been headed
northwest.”
Larry nodded. “I woke
up when I heard them bringing the ship about, looked out the
porthole. We were passing Sea Gull Island as we turned north into
Chesapeake Bay.”
Jason stared at him.
“How did you—”
Larry grinned. “When
I was assigned to Bureau headquarters and still married, my wife
and I, every chance we got, used to love to spend the weekend
driving around the bay in a big circle. So this morning, well, you
really can’t mistake the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel for anything
else. After the turn this morning, Martin
Fierro ran parallel to it for several miles before it found
an open channel. I was surprised at how much was still standing
after the DC bomb, but the Bridge-Tunnel was made to stand
hurricanes, and even something as huge as the Washington nuke, at
this distance, was just a big wave, a strong wind, a small
earthquake, and I guess some fires if there was anything to burn.
Probably the tunnels flooded when the ground shock wave cracked
them, and I saw some trestles that had fallen over, so you couldn’t
cross the bay on it, but most of it is still there, and not hard to
recognize.”
Chris looked around
for Argentine crew again, before asking, “So what do you suppose
they are doing? There’s no resettlement, nothing to trade with,
probably not even a surviving dock.”
“Well,” Larry said,
“since early morning, Roberto’s been hauling up water samples and
logging them every half hour. I’m guessing that’s meant to look
like he’s just taking soundings. And a couple of times they’ve sent
a dinghy out, which came back with a wet bag of something—bottom
samples, or maybe they’re going out to a shore just over the
horizon. And fish coming up off the trawling lines are going into
jars of alcohol, not to the kitchen as they usually would. So my
guess is that they’re doing a biological survey for someone back in
Argentina, along with maybe a certain amount of
mapping.”
“Why would they do
that?” Jason asked, quietly.
Larry shrugged. “I’m
the president of Argentina, okay? Now, here I am, the head of one
of less than a dozen nations that came through Daybreak sort of
functional. Not only am I located on a whole collapsed,
disorganized continent I can overrun in the next generation or two,
there’s an even bigger continent to the north with huge depopulated
areas and the rest in political chaos. Not that I wish them ill,
but you know . . . maybe if I knew more about the devastation, I
could help them better. Plus I should be keeping an eye on what
kind of craziness they might do after what’s happened. So why not
know something about one of the biggest and best bays in the world
for harbors and fishing, since the yanquis aren’t using it right now? Especially since
who knows what things might be like in ten years, or a
generation?
“In fact, speaking as
El Presidente, despite the Commandant’s sharp little eyes, I’d be
looking over New York Harbor too. In fact it’s just possible the
Commandant pulled a dirty trick on me and found a way to force one
of my ships to carry American spies.
“Am I planning an
invasion? No. Right now I couldn’t invade Uruguay. Am I thinking of
seizing parts of the old United States? Not anytime soon. Do I
think I’ll have to fight the norteamericanos? I hope not; peaceful trade would
do us all so much more good. But do I need to know everything I
can? Oh, yes. Very much yes.” Larry shrugged. “We’d be doing
similar stuff if the situations were reversed.”
“If you’re right,”
Chris added, “they’re also checking out Cape Cod and the Long
Island Sound. Not that they are extra-special wicked or anything
but just in case, you know? That’s how this stuff has been done
since Sumer.”
They stayed out in
the sun on the deck as long as they comfortably could. Their cabin
door had barely closed before they heard quiet orders and
scrambling feet, and felt the ship swing round to another
tack.