Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) by James Best (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📕

you cared more about your dear reputations and careers than about your responsibilities or the people of California. Bring on the notoriety. Cover us with your bullshit. It’ll give us a bigger platform to bury you and Gleason. If incompetency was against the law, the three of you would be given life sentences. You can tell that to Gleason. Better yet, put Gleason on the line. I’ll tell him myself.”

“He’s busy,” Brady said, with barely concealed fury.

“He’d better be addressing these riots. The governor’s campaign contributors are about to get ransacked by a mob, and after they loot the wealthy, they may go after the do-nothing politicians cowering at San Francisco State University.”

The phone went dead. Baldwin wondered if Brady had terminated the call or if cell service had crashed again. Wilson gave him the answer after glancing at her phone screen.

“Cell service is still strong. He hung up.”

“Good riddance,” Smith said.

“Wrong attitude,” Baldwin said. “They have a responsibility to the people of this state … and so do we. We need to find a way to get them to listen.”

“Shush, listen,” Smith commanded.

Baldwin did. Mob noise had become a distant but constant buzz during the call, but now it grew louder. Much louder. And angrier. Something was happening, and it was not good.

“What’s happening?” Baldwin asked.

Smith answered. “My guess, the mob ran into resistance, probably cops in riot control gear.”

Ashley jumped. “Shots! Who is shooting?”

“The cops,” Smith said. “Gas canisters, not bullets. This is a battle between authority and the anarchists.”

“How far away?” Wilson asked.

“Half mile … maybe less.”

The anger of the crowd exploded into ferocious yells and banging. More shooting.

“Those were bullets!” Smith exclaimed.

“Hopefully rubber,” Wilson said.

“Hopefully not,” Smith said in a low voice. “If they retreat from a nonlethal assault, they’ll come back in this direction madder than hell. Nothing will be safe. Better a rout that takes all the energy out of the mob.”

They fell silent and listened to the battle rage. Baldwin knew guns, and she heard many different calibers, but worse, she heard some fully automatic fire. Cops never used full auto weapons. The police were outgunned. The next thing she heard sent chills up the back of her neck. A celebratory roar. Loud. Sustained. It never seemed to stop.

“What does that mean?” Ashley asked.

“It means the forces for order lost,” Smith said.

Chapter 49

The next day, Evarts arrived at the station early. There was no other place he would rather be. The surf was windblown, his wife gone, and his guests annoying. Cunningham already sat behind his desk but jumped up to follow him into his office.

“Chief, we have a problem.”

“Why wouldn’t we? What’s up?”

“Elings Park is overcapacity. The Red Cross estimates that more than seven thousand evacuees have crowded into facilities designed for four thousand.”

“What the hell? We just set up that camp yesterday. Where’d all those people come from?”

“North. Delta region mostly. One of the radio stations had a news story about the camp, and they swarmed in all night. Still swarming in.”

Evarts barely controlled his anger. “I told you to notify me if the camp exceeded eighty percent of capacity. I’m not aware of any call or text.”

“I worked until 1:00 am setting up the camp. When I left, we had only two thousand refugees. I thought we were golden until daybreak.”

Evarts rolled his eyes. “Because nothing happens in the middle of the night.”

Cunningham looked embarrassed. “Yes, sir. I misunderstood the situation.”

“Did you set up overflow camps in Ventura?”

Now he looked really uncomfortable. “I intended to make that my first order of business this morning.”

Evarts heaved a heavy sigh. “Okay, use all available city parks, avoid low-lying areas. Put anyone with a self-contained camper in the UCSB parking lots. Have the Red Cross set up another camp in the San Marcos Nature Preserve. I’ll call Ventura. Go!”

“Sir, we have another issue.”

“Spit it out,” Evarts said, his desk phone in hand.

“US 101 is totally blocked above Las Positas Road. Abandoned cars across all three lanes.”

“What the hell?”

“I just got off the phone with an officer at the scene. She said someone organized it to stop the refugee flow from up north. Conditions became so crowded at Elings Park, they blocked the arrival of newcomers. Cars are at a standstill all the way back to Los Olivos.”

“Tow trucks?”

“Working on it, but there are dozens of abandoned cars. More every minute as frustrated drivers walk off the highway to search for shelter. The Earl Warren Showground is mobbed.”

Evarts slammed the phone onto the cradle. “Dammit, and you waited to tell me this until I came into the office.”

“I got here twenty minutes ago and just discovered the situation myself. I went to bed thinking everything was in hand.” Cunningham shook his head. “I’m sorry, chief, it all went to shit in the last two hours.”

Evarts doubted that that was completely true but decided to let it go for the moment.

“New orders. Disregard refugee relocation. The sole task of the moment is clearing the 101. Every tow truck from here to Oxnard should be here within the hour. If the driver left the keys in the car, drive them off the highway; otherwise, push the cars off the road until that becomes impossible due to clogging. Tow any you get off the highway to the community college parking lot. Get that highway clear. I want cars flowing south. Understood?” When Cunningham nodded, Evarts added, “I want photos of the first three rows of cars and their licenses and registrations. Bring the damn plates to my office with whatever paperwork you can find. That’s a crime, and the DA damn well better prosecute. Got it?” Another nod, and Cunningham scurried away.

Evarts called his deputy chief on his cell. As he guessed, Damon was driving to work. He instructed him to authorize overtime and to use the extra officers to monitor the camp at Elings Park. He wanted State Street and other thoroughfares heavily patrolled, with random flashing lights and short bursts of the sirens