Empire (45 page)

Leading Republicans fell all over themselves to announce that if the Democrats nominated Torrent, they'd nominate him, too.

It's really going to happen, thought Cecily.

And . . . I have to talk to somebody or I'll go crazy.

So she went to look for Cole's number, and realized: She didn't know it. She had only the numbers of cellphones that he had long since discarded. And of course his office number at the Pentagon, where his assignment had evaporated when Reuben was killed.

Finally she called Sandy in the White House.

“If you want your job back,” said Sandy, “the answer is hell yes what took you so long.”

“I don't,” said Cecily, “but it's nice to know I've been missed.”

“I don't miss you, I just have jobs for you to do,” said Sandy. “So what
do
you want? Because I'm so busy I don't have time to scratch my butt.”

“Bartholomew Coleman's phone number.”

“You call me to get a phone number?”

“Captain Coleman,” said Cecily. “The soldier who was with Reuben when . . .”

“I know who he is, I see him every day,” said Sandy. “Home phone? Cell? Office?”

“You see him every day?”

“He's assigned to the Vice President as his top aide on military affairs. He's at all the briefings.”

“I didn't know.” Cecily was dismayed. Had Cole climbed into bed with Torrent? Then she couldn't talk to him.

“So don't you want the numbers now?”

“Sure, of course,” she said. “I just didn't know—yes, all the numbers.”

She could write them down. She just wouldn't use them.

And she didn't.

But that night, he showed up at her door at nine o'clock.

“Cole—Captain Coleman. I didn't know—I didn't expect—”

“Sandy said you called,” said Cole. “And then when you found out I worked with Torrent, you suddenly didn't want to talk to me.”

Sandy was way too observant.

“But I've kind of been waiting for you to call,” said Cole. “When you sort of backed off from talking to me a few weeks ago, I figured you wanted to wait. Or something. But . . . you know I really liked your kids. I don't want to lose contact with you. I only knew Rube—Major Malich—for a few days, but . . . “He took a deep breath.” Look, I was hoping there'd be cookies.”

She laughed and ushered him into the kitchen. Mark and Nick were still up and they remembered Cole and practically tackled him and dragged him to the floor. Well, Mark did. Nick just watched him, but Cecily saw how his eyes glowed. Cole had made an impression on her sons.

They didn't talk about Reuben. They didn't talk about world affairs. Instead Cole asked the boys about things they were doing. They ate ice cream. Cole demonstrated how cupcakes don't actually have to be bitten into, you can jam a whole one in your mouth at once. Then he made a show of choking before he swallowed it all. “The bad thing,” he said, “is when you cough icing out of your nose.”

At ten o'clock Cecily sent the boys to bed.

“I'll go now,” said Cole. “It's late for you, too.”

“No,” she said. “Stay. I do want to talk to you.”

He answered softly, so the boys wouldn't hear. “It's about Torrent, right? I'm not married to him. I'm
assigned
to him.”

“His request?”

“He's vetting the White House staff and the Pentagon. Working with the FBI to isolate the ones who
should
be under suspicion so the rest can breathe easy again.”

“That sounds like an awfully controversial job for somebody who claims to be against divisiveness,” said Cecily.

“That's just the point. He's the one that everybody will accept as being impartial and not politically motivated. He doesn't have a
history
with anyone.”

“Actually,” said Cecily, “he does.”

They went down into the basement. Into the office. There she laid out the translations of Reuben's class notes. “First things first,” she said. She handed him a paper with one paragraph circled.

“Augustus Caesar,” he said. “So?”

She handed him another.

“Augustus again.”

And another.

“He's a history professor,” said Cole. “Augustus is history.”

“Three different classes, Cole,” said Cecily. “Only one of them even vaguely dealt with Rome.”

“You're building a case, I see,” said Cole. “So . . . build it.”

“Read what Reuben said right
after
that paragraph.”

Cole read it aloud. “ ‘Roman Empire an obsession? Especially Augustus and Trajan'—you didn't show me any Trajan notes.”

“Keep reading.”

“ ‘Heroes of his. Guy watches two sides fight it out in civil wars. Then steps in, puts a stop to it, Rome hails him as hero who brings peace and unity. Shows great respect to Senate, republican form of government. Modesty. But rules with iron hand. Torrent suffers from empire envy? Always says American empire can't fall because we're still in republic phase, not an empire yet. Wishing he could play Augustus and start one?' ”

Cole set down the paper and leaned back in the chair. “So you think Torrent—what, set up a civil war just so he could come in and be the great conciliator?”

“I've read a lot about Augustus and Trajan, since getting these notes translated,” said Cecily. “They were great emperors. Not cruel. They really did seem to want to maintain stability within the empire. Bring Rome to its true destiny. Improve life for everybody.”

“So they were decent guys.”

“But they were dictators, Cole. They played up to the people. To the army. To the Senate. They kept themselves popular. They also had their opponents murdered. They stayed in office till they died. And once you've got an emperor, even a good one, you can't be sure the
next
one will be an Augustus or a Marcus Aurelius, or a Trajan or a Hadrian.”

“Could be Nero,” said Cole. “Caligula.”

“Then I keep thinking—am
I
being Brutus? He and his friends were worried about Julius Caesar becoming dictator, and so they conspired to murder him to save the republic. But his death just launched the civil wars that brought Octavian to power, that renamed him Augustus and put an end to democracy.”

“Such as it was, in Rome.”

“It was a lot, for those days,” said Cecily. “And it's a lot for us, too. They're going to nominate him, Cole. You know they are. Both parties. He's going to run unopposed.”

“The two-party system isn't going to die in one election.”

“If we
have
another.”

“Come on.”

“Oh, he'll allow another election, and another, and another. Augustus kept all the
forms
of the republic. He just made sure that nobody was nominated that he didn't approve of. He kept control of the army.”

“Torrent doesn't have
that
, I can assure you.”

“I know. I'm just worried about nothing. Except.”

“Except what?”

“What if Torrent's benign image is just that? Just an image?”

“You said he had a history. What?”

“He's been teaching a long time. And he's a noted teacher. His books are very popular. So all of this might be coincidence.”

“All of what?”

Cecily handed him a list of names.

The first name on the list was Aldo Verus. He had attended two seminars of Torrent's, years ago—seminars called “History for Future-minded CEOs.” Cole hadn't heard of most of the rest of the people, but Cecily provided a description of their activities along with their link to Torrent. They were all prominent in the Progressive organizations that were tied to Verus.

“He had a lot of students,” said Cole.

“I know. I said so, didn't I? But the thing is, he
did
have
these
students.” She handed him another sheet. It contained only two names.

Reuben Malich and Steven Phillips. “I've talked to Phillips.”

“He's not in jail?” asked Cole.

“Nobody can prove that he knew any more than Reuben did what was being shipped and to whom and from whom. I'm not inclined to press it with him, because then people might press it with Reuben, and I
know
he didn't know.”

“Me, too,” said Cole.

“Phillips says that Torrent asked him if he'd be interested in being approached for some extra assignments. Just like Reuben.”

“But Torrent didn't actually give him any assignments.”

“He just asked if he'd be interested. He said the people would use his name. But when the approach came, they
didn't
mention Torrent. Same with Reuben. So Phillips—and Reuben—were never sure if these people had been sent by Torrent or not.”

“But they took the assignments.”

“Because they thought the assignment was from the President. And because . . . because it was secret and exciting and . . . these are
men
, Cole. And in the back of their mind, they thought it probably was from Torrent, and they knew he was such a brilliant guy, everything must be on the square.”

“As if brilliant equals good.”

“Exactly,” said Cecily. “But we still don't know if he had anything to do with it. And we don't know who the people who approached

Reuben and Phillips even were. Phillips doesn't know, anyway, and Reuben never said and never wrote down anything.”

“So Torrent may or may not be involved with Verus.”

“No, that's
not
the point,” said Cecily. “I'm almost sure he's
not
part of Verus's operation. Verus was in control of everything about his operation. People reported to him, and he reported to God. Or history. Whatever he believed in.
Not
to Torrent. And can you imagine Torrent reporting to
him?
”

“Maybe. It's possible.”

“I don't think so,” said Cecily. “You met Verus.” “I didn't see him at his best.”

“But can you imagine that if Torrent worked for him, Verus would sit still for Torrent being nominated by both parties? Essentially
handed the
presidency?”

“Of course he would,” said Cole. “If it means he wins after all.”

“Okay, maybe,” said Cecily. “But I don't think so. Because of this.”

She handed another sheet of paper to Cole. It had only one name on it. DeeNee Breen. Took a class with Torrent as an undergrad at Princeton. Got an A.

Cole felt sick. “But it was just a class.”

“From Torrent. At Princeton. Coincidence. Lots of students took classes from him. Not all of them murdered a major in the U.S. Army, but I know I'm reasoning backward. It's no proof of anything. It's just . . . I had to tell somebody. I had to show somebody or I'd go crazy, watching Torrent do this—this rocket ride to supreme power.”

“Who would keep a secret like this?” said Cole. “This conspiracy would be too—”

“Cole,” said Cecily, “who would believe Verus could bring off his conspiracy? Anyway, I don't know if it
was
a conspiracy. It might have been more like some kind of evil Johnny Appleseed. Torrent might just have gone around planting seeds. Who knows what he said to Verus that maybe provoked him. Like, ‘You talk about how committed you are, Mr. Verus, but you don't do anything. You took the name of a Roman Emperor, but you act like a lobbyist.' That's
the way he talked. Challenging. Goading. He goaded Reuben. Called him ‘soldier boy' all the time. It made Reuben all the more eager to prove himself to Torrent.”

Cole remembered that day when Torrent led them through the reasoning process that pointed to Chinnereth and Genesseret. “You're saying that he already knew where Verus's operations were?”

“No, no, that's the beauty of it. He goads Verus. Makes him read history books that will point him to certain courses of action. But he isn't actually
in
on it. I think he really did figure out where Verus was exactly the way he showed us. Maybe he had some scrap of inside information—after all, he was NSA, he had access to intelligence reports that he wouldn't necessarily share with us. But he wasn't in on it, any more than he was directly in on what Reuben and Phillips were doing.”

“And DeeNee?” asked Cole.

“That's different. The men who were waiting to ambush you they're dead. We can't question them. Did they know she was planning to kill Reuben? Were
they
planning to kill him, or just subdue him and get the PDA? Did they work for Verus or Torrent or some third party we don't know about? It's all so murky and I don't know. But she was a student of Torrent's.”

“Were the guys who were with her?”

“No. Nobody else.”

“I don't know, Cecily. I just don't know.”

“I don't know either. I'm not accusing him. I'm really not. But this stuff just won't go away.”

Cole nodded. “I guess it's like having a song on your mind. You can't get rid of it. You
hate
the song. So you sing it to somebody else, and now we've
both
got the song on our minds.”

“I'm so sorry!” she said. “You'll notice that I
didn't
call you, you just came over.”

“Absolutely,” said Cole. “And I'm glad you told me. Really. No lie. I'm glad you told me and nobody else.”

“Because they'd think I'm crazy?”

“Because word might get around and somebody might kill you,” said Cole.

She was rocked by that. “Come on.”

“If it's true,” said Cole, “
If
it's true. Then you're just begging to be murdered. To shut you up.”

She reached over to the papers, turned on the shredder beside the desk, and turned them into confetti.