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

to discourage looting. The goal was containment and preventative measures, not arrests.

When he finished, he called the mayor. She answered immediately.

“Mayor, we have a problem. Where are you?”

“Joe’s,” Walsh said. “Standing in line with a bunch of people I don’t know. I can’t even get to the hostess podium.”

“I’ll pick you up in two. I know a quiet place. We need to talk privately.”

He hung up before she could answer. He ran down the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator and jumped into his car. He figured it couldn’t hurt, so he ran his siren and lights the seven blocks to Joe’s. About a block away, he turned off the emergency measures. When he pulled in front, she stood on the sidewalk, literally tapping her foot.

As she climbed into his unmarked sedan, she said, “I presume that was you making the ruckus. What’s so urgent?”

He told her.

“So that’s who all the strangers are.” She thought about it. “Maybe we should—”

She didn’t finish, so he finished for her. “Leave 101 blocked?”

“Nooo … that would be wrong. But you can’t blame me for thinking about it.”

“I don’t. This town is your primary responsibility. But it makes me proud that you abandoned the idea.”

She laughed. “Yeah, right. Well, I have a whole day in front of me to disappoint you.”

He smiled at her. “You won’t. I trust your judgment.”

“You are getting the hang of this job. By the way, where are you taking me?”

“Do you like migas or chilaquiles?”

“Of course. Do I look like a gringo?”

“With an Irish name like Walsh? Yeah, I’d say you were a gringo.”

“Shssh. I tell my Hispanic constituents, ‘soy hispana’”

He laughed as he pulled into a taco shop that served a dozen variations of tortilla eggs.

“Consider this a campaign stop then.”

Evarts thought she might be unfamiliar with the menu, but she greeted the owners with familiarity and ordered without examining the large printed board above the counter.

“Been here before, I take it.”

“George Washington attended services at a different church every Sunday. When he was reproached for attending a Greek Orthodox church, he said there was no chance of him being converted because he didn’t understand a word.” She gave him a condescending smile. “I eat all over town.”

“And you speak Spanish like a native,” Evarts said.

“Like a native Californian. They can tell the difference.”

“Probably the Irish accent,” Evarts joked.

“I presume you speak cop Spanish,” Walsh said.

“You mean short, staccato phrases. I do a little bit better than that.”

“How much better?”

“Why?” Evarts asked.

“I hold community meetings here once a month. It would be good for police relations if you came occasionally and gave a short speech in Spanish.”

“I look forward to it.” He smiled. “Can I say anything I want?”

“Of course not.” She also smiled. “Now, what do we do with this mass of humanity moving south?”

“Depends on whether we can clear the 101. Our first priority should be to relocate about half of the people in Elings Park. The overcrowding must be third world. If we—”

His phone rang.

Cunningham spoke quickly. “Chief, we can’t clear the 101. There are hundreds of cars blocking passage. A CHP cycle officer scouted the highway for us, and for every car we pull or drive out of the way, another twenty get abandoned. This is the end of the line heading south, and everyone is marching up State Street. Mostly families, but some gang members who are agitating the crowd. There have been six 911 calls. So far, only minor vandalism, but it could explode into a riot at any time.”

“Shit. Did you call dispatch?”

“I called you first.”

“Okay, new plan. Leave 101 to CHP. Call dispatch and get everyone over to State Street. Herd the evacuees toward San Marcos Nature Preserve. I want State closed at South Hope Street. No nonresident gets any further into town. Shut down Las Positas at Modoc. Hem in Elings Park and the Nature Preserve. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Cunningham hung up.

“Damn,” Evarts said.

Walsh looked nervous. “They’re entering from the north of town?”

“En masse. Can’t blame them. Most are families. They need toilets, food, water. They’ve been stuck in traffic all night, and they’re restless. They’re not in a mood to be patient. It won’t take much to trigger a riot.” Evarts stood. “I’m sorry, I need to get out there.”

“Don’t be sorry, go!” Walsh said.

Evarts started out, intending to call CHP for assistance when his phone rang.

“Evarts,” he said briskly.

“Greg, the entire town of San Francisco is under siege,” Baldwin said. “The police have been routed. The riot’s moving this way. This is horrible.”

“Where are you?”

“On the roof. We came up to see if we could get the lid off the building’s water tank. Tom thought we could use it to collect rainfall. We dropped the idea when we saw smoke and fire moving in our direction.”

“How close?”

“It’s windy as hell up here, with steady rain. It’s hard to discern the smoke from the rain mist. I don’t know … maybe a half mile.”

“What do you see?” Evarts asked.

“Smoke … and fires. And—”

“No, I mean what do you see close in? Is there a place to hide? Are there other people on roofs? Can you barricade the access door? Can you escape if the building’s set on fire?”

“All noes. No place to hide. I can’t see anyone else outside, on the roofs or in the street. The roof access door is smooth on the outside, no handle, and the roof is bare of any materials. The fire escape does not reach all the way to the roof.”

“What do you see south?”

It took her a while to answer. He assumed she needed to walk to the other side of the building.

“Calm. At least it appears calm from up here. What should we do?”

“Run!”

Chapter 50

They clamored down the stairs so fast, Baldwin was certain one of them would slip with their wet shoes and send them all head over heels. She had expected an argument from Smith when she told him her husband had told her to flee,