“May I come in is more proper,” said Aunt Margaret, opening the door wider to let him pass. “But it’s rude to correct people’s grammar, so I never do.”
The PT Cruiser didn’t like going faster than 65. At 70 it started trembling.
Then again, Cessy didn’t like driving faster than 65 anyway. And she was driving. Cole was sitting behind the seats with the shelf over his head. They looked like two nice citizens on their way to or from church. Unless you looked closely and saw all the weapons on the floor of the back seat. And the guy in the back with the machine gun.
Aunt Margaret was taking the kids to the home of some very good friends in Hamilton. “Good Croatians,” she said. “They’ll not breathe a word. And I’ll stay with the kids the whole time.” She was only driving Charlie O’Brien’s car as far as Lawrence, and her friends were picking her up there. She’d mail Charlie’s keys to him and tell him where to get the car. “I feel like a spy,” she said.
“You should feel like a refugee,” answered Cessy.
But it still tore her apart to leave the kids behind. And she could see that even though Mark was as manic as ever and Nick as quiet, they were scared. There was terrible stuff happening on the news, and their own parents were right in the thick of it, and now they were going into hiding. The girls, of course, were irritated that Mom and Dad were leaving them, but they had no clue about the outside world. They’d be fine, she was sure of that. Fine fine fine.
“I thought I turned down that job in the White House,” Cessy said.
“Well,” said Reuben, “technically, since the President isn’t in the White House . . .”
Cessy wished she could have heard the discussions when LaMonte told them he wasn’t going to Camp David or any of the known locations. “Since we don’t know whom we can trust,” LaMonte would have said, “we can’t vouch for our security anywhere.”
“Some political adviser was bound to say, “It’ll look like you’re in hiding. It’ll cause confusion and make you look bad.”
“I’m not running for anything right now,” LaMonte would have said. “And the country doesn’t need another dead President right now.”
But . . . why Gettysburg?
“Gettysburg?” she said out loud.
“It’s an appropriate place,” said Reuben. “He’s not moving the whole government there, just himself and enough aides to keep communications going. Lots of parkland. A good buffer. Relatively easy to maintain reasonable security.”
“Plenty of places for people to sneak past checkpoints,” said Captain Coleman from the back.
“Symbolically,” said Reuben, “it’s the place where the last Civil War we had broke its back. And it’s close to Washington. He can come back whenever he wants.”
“Also lots of motels for his staff,” said Captain Coleman.
“And since the visitors information office is closed most of the time, it won’t really interfere with park operations,” said Reuben.
Cessy explained to Captain Coleman. “He’s still irritated that we got there after six on a summer day and they were already closed. Three more hours of daylight. This was two years ago, remember.”
“I just don’t understand why government has to be run without reference to what people actually want and need,” said Reuben.
“People want so many different things,” said Cessy. “Some people want visitors’ centers open late. Other people want lower taxes.”
“Other people want to take over a city here, a city there.”
“Oh look,” said Cessy. “Aunt Margaret has XM. We can listen to the news.”
Reuben turned on the system and went straight to Fox News. They listened for a while. No mention of attacks on any city other than New York. Lots of speculation about the death ray that brought down the F-16s. Speculation about what city would be next. Speculation about casualties in New York. Experts talking about how long New York could last without trucks bringing in food and fuel. Other experts talking about how many businesses would be shut down because their workers couldn’t get into the city tomorrow.
Speculation on foreign powers that might take advantage of the present situation. Speculation about foreign powers that might be behind all of this. Was this a terrorist takeover? What would the United States do if Manhattan was being held hostage? What were the diplomats at the United Nations going to do?
Eventually, though, some answers started coming through, in an endless succession of news bulletins. It came from the United Nations, where a group of diplomats from Germany, France, and Canada were allowed to take off in a helicopter and go to Kennedy, where they held a press conference. The Canadian ambassador did most of the talking, and most of what he said came from documents provided him by the invaders.
“The military force that took over Manhattan affirms that not one civilian has been harmed.”
“What a lie,” said Coleman. “We saw one dead doorman with our own eyes.”
“They call themselves the Progressive Restoration. They declare that Progressives won the popular vote and the electoral vote for President in 2000, and only flagrant vote-stealing by the radical Right kept the duly elected President from taking office.”
“Please say they’re not bringing back Al Gore,” said Reuben.
“Shut up, please, boys,” said Cessy.
“Since stealing office, the usurpers trampled on the Bill of Rights, involved the United States in illegal and immoral foreign wars, destroyed the environment, oppressed minorities of every kind, imposed their brand of Christianity on the whole country, stifled scientific research, ran up huge deficits, and flaunted—I’m sure they mean flouted—”
“He’s correcting their grammar now,” said Reuben.
“Flouted world opinion and international law, and brought the world to the brink of disaster.”
“They didn’t mention Zionism,” said Coleman. “What are they thinking?”
“Now the radical right wing, which dominates the U.S. Army, has planned and carried out the assassination of their own President and Vice President as the first step toward imposing full-fledged dictatorship on the United States. Only this national emergency prompted the Progressives to take action in defense of freedom against the totalitarian Christian and Zionist agenda.”
“They were saving it up for last,” said Reuben.
“The Progressives have liberated New York City, they say, as the first step to restoring Constitutional government to the United States.”
“All they have is Manhattan,” said Coleman.
“They are not interested in war with the illegal government, but they are prepared to defend New York City against any attempt to impose hegemony over the city. They encourage the U.N. to remain in New York City and affirm that it will be protected and all diplomatic rights respected. They have petitioned the city of New York to recognize the Progressive Restoration as the acting government-in-exile of the United States of America and they invite all other cities and states in the United States to recognize the Progressive government and no other as the legitimate government of the United States.”
The official announcement was over. Reuben reached over and turned down the press questions. “So it was the Left,” he said.
“But it could have been the Right,” said Cessy.
“And it could very easily turn into a war between the wackos of one side and the wackos of the other,” said Reuben. “We saw it in Yugoslavia. People were getting along fine, Serbs and Croats, Christians and Muslims. But when the wackos started shooting, you either had to shoot back or die. Not wanting to fight didn’t protect you. You had to choose up sides.”
“There weren’t any sides today,” said Coleman. “Just uniforms and non-uniforms.”
“The whole leftist philosophy is about rejecting authority,” said Reuben bitterly. “And replacing it with an even more rigid list of forbidden ideas. The only difference is that the Progressive thought police won’t wear uniforms.”
“Stop it,
” said Cessy. “Like I said, it could have been the right wing, and then the thought police would carry Bibles.”
“Let’s not do this now,” said Reuben.
“But you were doing it,” she said. “You’re married to a liberal, Reuben.”
“Not an insane one.”
“Most of us are not insane. Just like most conservatives are like you, reasonable people. You warn us how it could turn into a war just like Yugoslavia, and then you start condemning the other guys like their ideas don’t matter.”
“I was, wasn’t I,” said Reuben. “I’m just so angry. They killed the President.”
“Really? All the Progressives of America, all the liberals, they got together and plotted to kill the President?”
“But they’re glad.”
“No. You’re wrong. The sick ones, yes. The sad, miserable, mind-numbingly self-righteous ones, sure. But most of them are in shock. They didn’t do it and they didn’t want it done. They didn’t ask for anyone to invade New York, either.”
“But they’ll let it stand, won’t they?”
“They might. Or they might enthusiastically join this Progressive Restoration. That’s what they’re counting on, aren’t they? That people will flock to their banner. And if we start talking and thinking the way you were talking and thinking just now, Reuben, then we’ll end up driving them to the Progressive banner. So stop it!”
Reuben looked out the side window.
“Reuben,” said Cessy. “I think the great American achievement of our war against terror was that we did it without having to hate all Arabs or all Muslims or even all Iranians, even though they’re financing it now. We stayed focused. We waged a war without hate.”
“Except for the Americans who hated us for fighting it.”
“Do you hate them, Reuben? Enough to kill them?”
He shook his head. “You’re right,” he said. “Completely right. But they’re tearing apart my country. They’re killing guys like me because we volunteered to defend it. You can’t expect me to stay calm.”
“When it’s all over,” said Cessy, “I want you to come home as Reuben Malich.”
“Me too,” said Reuben. “I will.” And then he turned again toward the window and Cessy realized that he was crying, his forehead resting on his right hand, tears dropping straight down from his eyes onto his lap. “I killed a man with my bare hands today,” he said. “And another with a knife. And another with a spray of bullets. I cut off a guy’s thumb.”
Cessy had nothing to say to that. She knew that was the kind of thing a soldier had to do. If he hadn’t done it, he’d have been found and killed. He got other men out of the city alive. He helped stop the mechs at the Jersey end of the Holland Tunnel. And that’s how jobs like that are done—with force. Force unto death.
But she couldn’t say, There there, that’s all right. It wasn’t all right. It was a terrible thing. It had to be done, and because he and Coleman were the ones who knew how, it had to be done by them.
Steering with her left hand, she hooked her right hand through the crook of Reuben’s left arm. She slid her hand down the inside of his arm, pulling it closer until she was holding his hand. She squeezed. He squeezed back. But he still cried.
In the back, Coleman had brains enough to keep silent.
On the radio, the press conference and commentary went on and on, almost too soft to hear now. A constant background of commentators pooling their ignorance but coming, bit by bit, closer to the conclusion that a second American revolution had begun, if you viewed it one way, or a second civil war, if you looked at it another.
“What did that professor of yours say?” Cessy asked softly.
“What?”
“At Princeton. That one professor. What’s his name? Torrance. No, that’s a city in California.”
“Torrent.”
“About the fall of Rome. How civil wars in the Roman Republic led to the foundation of the empire.”
“Oh, yeah, I bet Torrent’s happy now,” said Reuben. “He’s getting all the chaos he could ask for.”
“He really is the same guy they just made National Security Adviser, right?”
“Yes,” said Reuben. “He was already a top adviser to the NSA. Adviser to the adviser. Now that Sarkissian is Secretary of State, they bumped Torrent up to NSA.”
“If Congress approves him.”
“Oh, that’s one thing President Nielson’s got for sure—a rubber-stamp Congress. Time of national emergency and all that.”
“Maybe not,” said Coleman from the back.
“So . . . will Torrent be happy?” asked Cessy.
“No, of course not. I just meant—he just said that before America could truly be great, we had to—have a crisis that would end the republic and bring about—no, he can’t be part of this.”
“Why not?”
“He didn’t advocate it,” said Reuben. “He just . . . but the way he talked . . . somebody could get the wrong idea. Somebody with a little megalomaniac in him could decide to try to act on Torrent’s theory. Fulfill his prophecy.”
“So it might be a bunch of his former students doing this?”
“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.
FOURTEEN
GETTYSBURG
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?”
&
nbsp; 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.”