Empire

“I won’t help you, sir,” said Cole.

“Well, there you go,” said Alton.

“I’ll work against you, sir.”

“Do your damnedest,” said Alton. “But just like yesterday, you’re already too late.”

“Am I?” said Cole. “Didn’t it occur to you that my debriefers probably planted bugs on me? On my uniform?”

“Of course they did,” said Alton. “But all your interrogators are with me on this, Coleman. You still don’t see it. What I’m doing—what we’re doing—is an Army operation.”

“No way, sir,” said Cole. “There’s no way the whole Army is behind you.”

“They will be,” said Alton. “I wanted you with us because you and Malich would be great on camera. War heroes. The guys who tried to save the President and are now getting framed for killing him. But we can still use your story—we just won’t put you on camera.”

“I’ll go on camera against you,” said Cole.

“And what?” said Alton. “Tell the world that you did conspire to kill the President? Since the story we’ll be telling happens to be true, I don’t know what you’d say.”

“I’d say that you don’t save the Constitution by tearing it up,” said Cole.

“Say what you want,” said Alton. “Nothing you say will be broadcast. No one will hear it. No one will read it.”

And for the first time it dawned on Cole that much as he hated the media, he and Malich had been able to get some version of their story out there. Leighton Fuller believed them, or at least thought they might be telling the truth, and he gave them their public hearing, and his editors went along with it. It wasn’t some Pentagon committee deciding what could be published. Cole knew something about military culture, and he didn’t want the Army controlling the American news media.

He didn’t even want the Army controlling the Army.

“Sir,” said Cole. “This is an all-volunteer military. We’re all citizens of a free country. We took an oath to support the Constitution, not destroy it. To obey elected civilians, not dictate to them. Most of us get pissed off by a lot of things going on in this country, but our weapons are meant to point at foreign enemies, not at American news editors and reporters. If you think the Army is going to follow along blindly, you’re crazy, sir.”

“Well, you know what they say,” said Alton. “’Soldiers want to get paid and not die. Civilians want to be left alone.’ We’ll pay the soldiers and we won’t ask them to die. We’ll leave the civilians alone.”

“Except the reporters and the judges.”

“They ain’t civilians, son,” said Alton. “They’re the tyrants and traitors.” Alton stood up. “We’re done here,” he said. “You’ve been brainwashed, but that’s fine, no harm.” He put two twenties down on the table and led the way out to his car. “As for the Army,” Alton said, “we’ve succeeded in retiring most of the top officers who would oppose us. All the stateside forces of any size are already under our control. And our public statements will not be as plain as what I’ve said to you. We’ve got our own media experts, Coleman. We know how to spin this story.”

They got in the car and Alton’s driver started back toward the Pentagon. “It’s the nice thing about how the Left has emasculated America. Most people really will just sit back and let it happen. There just aren’t that many real men left in this country. You watch—inside of a week, we’ll have all the editors asking us when to jump and how high. America has been pre-adapted to live under a dictatorship, because we already do. All we’re doing is trading in politically correct judges for dedicated soldiers.”

All the way back to the Pentagon, as Alton went on talking, all Cole could think about was: He can pretend he’s not going to kill me, but this is going to lead to bloodshed almost immediately. He can pretend that he doesn’t care what I do, but I just went on an enemies list.

They pulled into General Alton’s reserved parking space. Cole did not open his door. “Sir,” he said. “This is all working out so well for you. You were so ready. So what I want to know is this. Was it you? The Army, I mean. Your group inside the Army. Was it you that gave those plans of Major Malich’s to Al Qaeda?”

Alton’s brisk, cheery attitude disappeared at once, replaced by true rage. “By God I swear to you we did not,” he said. “We were preparing, yes—for the day when a leftist President was elected, determined to destroy the military. We weren’t going to stand for it. But that was still many months away. This President was an idiot. But he kept the military strong. We didn’t want him dead.”

“I believe you, sir,” said Cole. “But can you vouch for everybody else in your… group?”

“I can, son,” said Alton. “I can indeed. We had nothing to do with this. It took us by surprise. But we do contingency planning in the Pentagon, Coleman. When shit happens, we’re ready to deal with it.”

“I’ve got another contingency for you, sir,” said Cole.

“What’s that?”

“The guys who really did get the President killed—doesn’t it occur to you that they know about your group and your contingency plans and they pulled this off specifically to get you to do exactly what you’re doing? So they’d have an excuse to go to war to save the country from you?”

“Maybe,” said Alton, “but so what? We’ve got all the guns.”

Job offer

It is possible to be too much smarter than your opponent. If you give him credit for more subtlety than he has, he can achieve tactical surprise by doing the obvious.

They might as well have stayed home, for all the difference it made in the children’s activities. Mark was the kind of boy who remembered the friends he made in Aunt Margaret’s neighborhood the last time they came to New Jersey, so he was already out doing something with them. Nick was holed up in some corner of the back yard, reading; he read outdoors so Cecily wouldn’t keep telling him to go out and play. Lettie and Annie were whooping around with some old clothes Aunt Margaret let them play with; Cecily only worried when she couldn’t hear them. And John Paul was her shadow; he had apparently decided that she was better than TV, because he didn’t have to figure out the channels to get entertainment from her.

Not a single reporter had got wind of the fact that they were there, so it had been worth the drive. She had discussed it with Mark and he knew not to tell anybody that it was his dad who tried to save the President—and also came up with the plan that the terrorists used. The other kids didn’t see anybody outside the house. With luck, they could keep something like a normal life for a few days more.

Until Reuben started testifying. Because the hue and cry was already beginning in Congress. They loved to strut in front of the cameras, didn’t they, and spout off about things they knew nothing about. “Why was a United States soldier ordered to think of ways to kill the President?” demanded a Senator who should have known better, because he was in on all the contingency plans as part of his duties on the Armed Services Committee. Didn’t he know that the essence of defense was to anticipate the enemy’s attacks and prepare to meet them? Of course he knew it. But the people back home wouldn’t know it.

Besides, the nominating conventions were coming up soon. In the Republican Party the nomination was still up in the air—no clear candidate had emerged. LaMonte Nielson wasn’t even in the running, but there would soon be a groundswell to nominate him so they could have the advantage of incumbency.

Whereas the Democratic candidate had it nearly locked up, barring a massive swing of the few uncommitted delegates away from her.

The Senator who was grandstanding was one of those who had a handful of delegates. Maybe he thought everything would break his way at the convention if he made enough noise at Reuben’s expense. What did he care that he was trashing the reputation of one of the best soldiers in the Army? If it got him a single vote, it was worth it to him.

“Oh, we’re angry today,” said Aunt Margaret, who was sitting at her computer desk in the kitchen, scanning pictures out of food magazines.