She hadn't been reading long before a man in what was almost but not quite Confederate uniform strode in. Anne put down the newspaper and got to her feet.
'Miss Colleton?' asked the man in the butternut uniform.
She nodded. 'That's right.'
'Freedom!' the man said, and then, 'Come with me, please.'
When they went out the door, the doorman-a different Negro from the one who'd been there the day before, but wearing identical fancy dress- flinched away from the Freedom Party man in the plain tan outfit. The Party man, smiling a little, led Anne to a waiting motorcar. He almost forgot to hold the door open for her, but remembered at the last minute. Then he slid in behind the wheel and drove off.
The Gray House-U.S. papers still sometimes called it the Confederate White House-lay near the top of Shockoe Hill, north and east of Capitol Square. The grounds were full of men in butternut uniforms or white shirts and butternut trousers: Freedom Party guards and stalwarts. Anne supposed there were also some official Confederate guards, but she didn't see any.
'This here's Miss Colleton,' her driver said when they went inside.
A receptionist-male, uniformed-checked her name off a list. 'She's scheduled to see the president at nine. Why don't you take her straight to the waiting room? It's only half an hour.'
'Right,' the Freedom Party guard said. 'Come this way, ma'am.'
'I know the way to the waiting room. I've been here before.' Anne wished she didn't have to try to impress a man of no particular importance. She also wished that, since she had tried to impress him, she would have succeeded. But his dour shrug said he didn't care whether she'd lived here up till day before yesterday. Freedom Party men could be daunting in their single-mindedness.
She had the room outside the president's office to herself. Too bad, she thought; she'd met some interesting people there. A few minutes before nine, the door to the office opened. A skinny little Jewish-looking fellow came out. Jake Featherston's voice pursued him: 'You'll make sure we get that story out our way, right, Saul?'
'Of course, Mr. Feath-uh, Mr. President,' the man answered. 'We'll take care of it. Don't you worry about a thing.'
'With you in charge, I don't,' Featherston answered.
The man tipped his straw hat to Anne as he walked out. 'Go on in,' he told her. 'You're next.'
'Thanks,' Anne said, and did. Seeing Jake Featherston behind a desk that had had only Whigs sitting at it up till now was a jolt. She stuck out her hand, man-fashion. 'Congratulations, Mr. President.'
Featherston shook hands with her, a single brisk pump, enough to show he had strength he wasn't using. 'Thank you kindly, Miss Colleton,' he answered. Almost everyone in the CSA knew his voice from the wireless and newsreels. It packed extra punch in person, even with just a handful of words. He pointed to a chair. 'Sit down. Make yourself at home.'
Anne did sit, and crossed her ankles. Her figure was still trim. Featherston's eyes went to her legs, but only for a moment. He wasn't a skirt-chaser. He'd chased power instead of women. Now he had it. Along with the rest of the country, she wondered what he'd do with it.
'I expect you want to know why I asked you to come up here,' he said, a lopsided grin on his long, rawboned face. He wasn't handsome, not in any ordinary sense of the word, but the fire burning inside him showed plainly enough. If he'd wanted women, he could have had droves of them.
Anne nodded. 'I do, yes. But I'll find out, won't I? I don't think you'll send me back to South Carolina without telling me.'
'Nope. Matter of fact, I don't intend to send you back to South Carolina at all,' Featherston said.
'What… do you intend to do with me, then?' Anne almost said, to me. Once upon a time, she'd imagined she could control him, dominate him, serve as a puppet master while he danced to her tune. A lot of people had made the same mistake: a small consolation, but the only one she had. Now he was the one who held the strings, who held all the strings in the Confederate States. Anne hated moving to any will but her own. She hated it, but she saw no way around it.
She tried not to show the nasty little stab of fear that shot through her. She'd abandoned the Freedom Party once, when its hopes were at a low ebb. If Jake Featherston wanted revenge, he could take it.
His smile got wider, which meant she hadn't hidden that nasty little stab well enough. He did take revenge. He took it on everyone who he thought had ever wronged him. He took pride and pleasure in taking it, too. But, after he let her sweat for a few seconds, what he said was, 'Parlez-vous franзais?'
'Oui. Certainement,' Anne answered automatically, even though, by the way Featherston pronounced the words, he didn't speak French himself. She returned to English to ask, 'Why do you want to know that?'
'How would you like to take a trip to gay Paree?' Featherston asked in return. No, he didn't speak French at all. She hadn't thought he did. He wasn't an educated man. Shrewd? Yes. Clever? Oh, yes. Educated? No.
'Paris? I hate the idea,' Anne said crisply.
Featherston's gingery eyebrows leaped. That wasn't the answer he'd expected. Then he realized she was joking. He barked laughter. 'Cute,' he said. 'Cute as hell. Now tell me straight-will you go to Paris for me? I've got a job that needs doing, and you're the one I can think of who's best suited to do it.'
'Tell me what it is,' she said. 'And tell me why. You're not naming me ambassador to the court of King Charles XI, I gather.'
'No, I'm not doing that. You'll go as a private citizen. But I'd rather trust you with a dicker than the damned striped-pants diplomats at the embassy there. They're nothing but a pack of Whigs, and they want me to fall on my ass. You know what's good for the country, and you know what's good for the Party, too.'
'I… see.' Anne nodded again, slowly and thoughtfully. 'You want me to start sounding out Action Franзaise about an alliance, then?'
She saw she'd surprised him again. Then he laughed once more. 'I already knew you were smart,' he said. 'Don't know why I ought to jump when you go and show me. Yeah, that's pretty much what I've got in mind. Alliance likely goes too far. Working arrangement is more what I figure we can do. Probably all the froggies can do, too. They've got to worry about the Kaiser same way as we've got to worry about the USA.'
'I won't be bringing back a treaty or anything of the sort, will I?' Anne said. 'This is all unofficial?'
'Unofficial as can be,' Featherston agreed. 'There's a time to shout and yell and carry on, and there's a time to keep quiet. This here is one of those last times. No point to getting the United States all hot and bothered, not as far as I can tell. So will you take care of this for me?'
Anne nodded. 'Yes. I'd be glad to. I haven't been to Europe since before the war, and I'd love to go again. And this has one more advantage for you, doesn't it?'
'What's that?' the president asked.
'Why, it gets me out of the country for a while,' Anne answered.
'Yes. I don't mind that. I'm not ashamed to admit it to you, either,' Jake Featherston said. 'I will be damned if I know what to make of you, or what I ought to do about you.' Again, he sounded as if he meant, what I ought to do to you. 'If you can do something that's useful to the country, and do it where you can't get into much mischief, that works out fine for me. Works out fine for both of us, as a matter of fact.'
Again, Anne read between the lines: if you're on the other side of the Atlantic, I don't have to wonder about whether I ought to dispose of you. 'Fair enough,' she said. All things considered, going into what wasn't quite exile was as much as she could have hoped for. One thing Featherston had never learned was how to forgive.
Colonel Irving Morrell watched from the turret of the experimental model as barrels chewed hell out of the Kansas prairie. Fortunately, Fort Leavenworth had a lot of prairie on its grounds to chew up. Once upon a time, it had occurred to Morrell that the traveling forts might find it useful to make their own smoke: that way, enemy gunners would have a harder time spotting them. When they traveled over dry ground, though, barrels kicked up enough dust to make the question of smoke moot.
Most of these barrels were the slow, lumbering brutes that had finally forced breakthroughs in the Confederate lines during the Great War. They moved at not much above a walking pace, they had a crew of eighteen, they had cannon at the front rather than inside a revolving turret, the bellowing engines were in the same compartment as the crew-and they had other disadvantages as well. The only advantage they had was that they existed. Crews could learn how to handle a barrel by getting inside them.
The experimental model had been a world-beater when Morrell designed it early in the 1920s. Rotating
