Empire (27 page)

“All it would take is
one
former student in the group. Or just somebody who went to a speech of his. He used to lecture all over the place. I don't know if this Roman Empire thing is in any of his books. Wouldn't that be a weird situation to be in? National Security Adviser to a President who's fighting a civil war caused by somebody following
your
theory.”

“Kind of like having the President assassinated by somebody using your plan,” said Coleman from the back.

“Yeah,” said Reuben. “Like that.”

Silence for a while. Then Reuben said, “Zarathustra.”

“What?” asked Cessy.

“I'm telling Cole. The password. To my files. ‘Zarathustra.' And then when the software tells you that you're wrong, type in ‘Marduk.' ” He spelled it.

“You're so paranoid you doubled your password?” said Cessy.

“Hope I never need to use them,” said Coleman.

“I've got to trust somebody. And if I die, I don't want that data lost.”

Cessy shook her head. “Ancient gods of Iran and Iraq.”

“Zarathustra was a prophet, not a god,” said Reuben.

“They sacrificed children to Marduk, didn't they?” said Cessy.

“You're thinking of Moloch.”

“Gods of war, either way,” said Cessy.

“But not
my
God,” said Reuben. “I don't take
his
name in vain.”

I hope we can learn to forgive our enemies, thought Cessy. I hope God forgives us for daring to decide that we know when it's right to kill.

But if men like my husband weren't willing to kill in defense of civilization, then the world would be doomed to be ruled by those who were willing to kill in pursuit of their own power.

I'll explain all that to God on judgment day. I know he's just waiting for me to clarify the matter.

If he sends these good soldiers to hell for killing the enemies of their country, then I'll go with them.

You don't know who a person is until you see how he acts when given unexpected power. He hasn't rehearsed for the part. So what you see is what he is.

Cole was sure that not since July of 1863 had there been so many soldiers in and around Gettysburg. And they were in combat gear—this was an armed camp. They started running into military checkpoints at the crossroads at York Springs, and then four more times before they got into the town itself. The first time it took some argument before they were allowed to keep their weapons.

Standing outside the car, Cole tried to keep his temper with the young MP who insisted on disarming him. “This morning I fired these weapons at the enemies of the United States who were attacking us on our native soil. I killed at least one enemy soldier with it. What has
your
weapon done today, soldier?”

But it was Cecily Malich's call to her former boss, Sandy Woodruff, that led to their getting passed through the other checkpoints without delay and fully armed.

The President was installed at Gettysburg College, which for the moment was the seat of the executive branch of the government of the United States. Cole and the Malichs were sent to a motel that would have been a lovely surprise in a village in the mountains of Iran, but which Cole's family would have disdained on any of their cross-country trips.

Rooms were at such a premium that Cole finally had to get in the face of the officious young clerk making the assignments and explain, “I'm not their son,” before he gave way and assigned them separate accommodations.

“Good job of making yourself memorable,” Rube said to him before they disappeared into their room.

Cole only had a few minutes to unpack and use the bathroom before there was a knock at his door. MPs had been sent to escort them—this time definitely unarmed—to the President's office.

It made Cole vaguely disappointed that when he actually got to meet a President of the United States, it was only the stand-in, not the real one. LaMonte Nielson was a little shorter than Cole, and seemed nice enough and intelligent enough as he came forward to greet them. But he also looked just a little surprised to see them. A little too grateful that they had answered his summons. You're the President, man! Of course we came! But Cole kept his reaction to himself. He'd done enough exasperated talking today. Especially considering that he was only in this room out of courtesy. It was Rube and Cecily that the President wanted to talk with. Cole was there just to have his hand shaken and get the official thanks of the President for his heroic actions in the face of yadda yadda yadda.

Only there wasn't any yadda. Nielson asked them to sit and then half-sat on the edge of the college president's desk and said, “The city council of New York met today in emergency session and voted by an overwhelming margin to recognize the Progressive Restoration as the legitimate government of the United States of America.”

“Under duress?” asked Cecily.

“U.N. witnesses say there was no threat from the Progressive Restoration.”

“Except their troops all over Manhattan,” muttered Reuben.

“That's only the beginning. San Francisco, Santa Monica, San Rafael—I can't remember all the Sans in California that have passed resolutions recognizing the Progressive Restoration.”

“But those have no legal force,” said Cecily.

“I'm sure the Supreme Court would agree with you. The Attorney General certainly does. But so what? Progressive state legislators in California, Oregon, Washington, Vermont, Massachusetts, Hawaii, and Rhode Island have all declared their intention to demand a quick vote in those legislatures. There are others calling for
plebiscites in Minnesota, Wisconsin, New Hampshire, Connecticut, New York state, Maryland, and Delaware. Let the people decide, they say.”

“They'll fail,” said Cecily.

“Probably,” said President Nielson. “Probably the first motion will fail. Oh, and needless to say, all over the South and Midwest and Rocky Mountains there are political leaders demanding the immediate suppression by force of any political unit that goes over to the Progressives. Rural and suburban legislators in many of the states in question have been . . . fervent, let's say . . . in their opposition to any movement to switch allegiance. But you see my predicament.”

“Is the Army loyal?” asked Cecily.

“Think about what you're asking,” said Nielson. “Loyal? Of course. Willing to fire on Americans who do not fire on them first? What an interesting question. Wouldn't it be better if we could avoid fighting?”

“There's already been bloodshed,” said Reuben. “And they killed first.”

“Fort Sumter,” said Nielson. “And if I were Lincoln, I'd issue a call for 75,000 volunteers. But we don't have such a clear Mason-Dixon line. The red-state/blue-state thing is actually deceptive. If you look at recent elections on maps of the counties, you'll find that it's an urban versus suburban and rural split. Even southern states show metropolitan areas as blue more than red.”

“But that's the black vote,” said Reuben.

“Oh good,” said President Nielson. “Let's make it a racial war as well as a philosophical one. But here's the point. The New York City Council has legalized this invasion after the fact and now declares the armed forces of the Progressive Restoration to be the police and defense forces of the entire city, not just Manhattan. Under those circumstances, if we attack or occupy any part of New York City, are we liberating or invading? When we fire on their armed forces, are we killing traitors or shooting down New York cops?”

“I know who the New York cops are,” said Reuben. “They killed as many of them as they could find.”

“It's public perception. They've played this beautifully. I have to admire it, even as it makes me want to weep for my country. They provided arms, plans, and information to terrorists so they could behead the country. Our strongest leadership wiped out in a stroke. Then they set up a right-wing coup to establish martial law and abrogate the Constitution during this time of emergency.” Nielson sighed and looked down at his shoes.

“A phony coup,” said Cole.

“Oh, yes,” said Nielson. “General Alton came into my office and told me that he and a large number of officers were ready to implement my order to establish martial law. He didn't call it a coup. He was handing it to me. But I was so naive and so—what's the word I want?—yes, so
stupid . . .
that I didn't even recognize the veiled threat—that martial law would be declared anyway, with or without me. I was new at this. I was frightened. I was not well advised.” Nielson walked around behind his desk and finally sat in the president's chair. “If it had not been for your broadcast, Captain Coleman, I would have announced martial law at nine
P.M
. yesterday. The President's writers—oh, they would be mine now, wouldn't they—were scrambling to write an appropriate speech. I was just about to read the final draft when Sandy came in and told me to switch to O'Reilly and listen to one of the soldiers who tried to prevent the assassinations.

“You reminded the soldiers of their duty. You reminded me of mine. I finally saw what Alton was doing. As God is my witness, it was never my intent to throw out the Constitution. I thought it was hanging by a thread, and I could save it.” He chuckled bitterly. “You don't save it by cutting that thread.”

“You didn't make the announcement,” said Cecily. “That's what matters.”

“It's more than that,” said Nielson. “I remembered how Alton talked. Thinking back on it, it was crazy. A paranoid version of conservative principles. It should have been obvious. It was like a parody, the Left's version of the Right. But you see, I was a Congressman from Idaho. The people who fund my campaigns talk
like that. It's the looniest ones who pony up the most, sometimes ideology opens the pocketbook. I'd been hearing their lunacy for so long that it didn't sound irrational to me anymore. I was used to madness.

“Well, so is the Left,” he continued. “The wackos on both sides have controlled the rhetoric for so long that the Left really thinks they're right when they call simple mistakes ‘lies' and openly arrived-at decisions ‘conspiracies.' That city council in New York, if you said to them, ‘Will you secede from the United States and bring the full wrath of the U.S. military down on your city?' they'd say no. They'd say
hell
no.”

“Actually,” said Reuben, “this is New York you're talking about. They'd say—”

“I know what words they'd use,” said Nielson, smiling tightly. “But I don't use them. Look, these Progressives, they're playing it smart. Keeping the tempo up. They undoubtedly already had people on the council, ready to drive things forward. It's not a coincidence that there are legislators and city councilors in all the blue states, calling for their city or state to get on the bandwagon. I think they've already counted the votes while we were napping. I think tomorrow morning we'll find that Washington or Oregon, maybe even California, officially ceases to recognize me as President of the United States. If I had declared martial law last night, I think it would be a dead certainty that they
all
would. Because I would be out in the open as a tool of the insane faction of the extreme right wing.”

“Are you saying,” said Reuben, “that you intend to do nothing?”

“I intend to proceed carefully,” said Nielson. “The New York City Council has declared that their borders are peaceful—and open. Everyone who works in the city is invited to come to work tomorrow, and apart from some reconstruction work and traffic problems because of the damage caused by . . .”

He picked up a paper on his desk and read from it.” ‘Caused by the illegal resistance of reactionary forces' . . . apart from that, it should be business as usual. But any attempt to restrict access to
New York City will result in sudden, harsh retaliation. ‘We will defend ourselves.' ”

Reuben shook his head. “You can't let this stand. If you let people go to work, if you let trucks in with food and fuel—”

“If I don't, then I'm starving perfectly good Americans as part of my fascist conspiracy to force theocratic antienvironmental—I can't do their rhetoric very well, but you know what I mean. Remember the propaganda that Saddam got from the embargo, even after we were supposedly letting humanitarian aid get into Iraq.”

“You're going to let public relations determine the course of this war?” asked Reuben.

“Spoken like a soldier,” said Nielson, not unfavorably. “But as my advisers—
my
advisers
now
—point out, it's already a public relations war. It's about winning the hearts and minds of the people. If we leap in with guns blazing, we might win—and we might not, because those jets they knocked down yesterday have the Air Force generals wetting their pants—but what do we have? A huge portion of our population will believe that they are now an oppressed and conquered people. We will
prove
that the Progressives were right, and guess who wins the election this fall?”

“You think people would vote for the very people who tried to break this country apart?”

“But they
aren't
breaking it apart,” said Nielson, smiling sarcastically. “They're simply restoring government by the principles that the American people voted for in 2000, and which have been suppressed for all these years by the evil right-wing conspiracy. This is not the American Civil War. It isn't one region against the other. There are no boundaries. What kind of war can we wage if we have no secure areas? How can we tell, looking at the local populations, who is for us and who is against us? Who is a supporter and who is a saboteur? And then consider collateral damage. And then consider the way most of the media is playing this. Oh, they cluck their tongues about those bad people who took over New York, but their stories are full of admiration for the chutzpah of it—and for the high technology, and for the ‘peaceful approach' they're taking now.
Naturally, everybody is calling for negotiations. I've had so many messages from European governments begging me to negotiate I could paper these walls with them.”