Empire

“When you come visit me,” she said. “Call your mom.” Then she left.

But when he called for an appointment the next day, she wasn’t in. And the day after, she called him and said, “Look, I was probably wrong. It was just stupid. Come see me and the kids anyway—at home. And I mean really home—the President is moving into the White House now, and I’m taking my kids back home to Virginia.”

Cole could imagine how it might be for her to enter the house she had shared with Rube. “Would you like company when you go back home for the first time?”

“I’ve already been back,” she said. “I’m okay. But thanks for offering.”

He figured that was that. They’d worked well together, even liked each other, but whatever confidence she was going to share, she had changed her mind. And that was fine. Her privilege.

Verus had asked to see Torrent, and Torrent accepted. They did not notify the press. Verus was being held under guard at Andrews Air Force Base; Torrent arrived in a limo and was hustled directly to Verus’s room.

Verus’s arm was in a sling, his hand thickly bandaged.

Torrent sat down without waiting to be asked. “How is your hand?” asked Torrent.

“My own doctor got to examine it and approved of the work they did. As a starting point. There’ll be more surgeries. I’ll probably never get full use of it, but people have suffered worse than that in wars.”

“I thought you hated war.”

“I hate wars that are fought to advance fascism,” said Verus. “I didn’t invite you here to argue with you.”

“Really? Then why am I here?”

“Because you’re the reason I fought this war,” said Verus.

“I didn’t realize I had made you so angry with me. In fact, I thought you enjoyed my seminar.”

“Your lectures spurred me to action,” said Verus. “I realized that it wasn’t enough to lobby against fascists. Bayonets could only be stopped by bayonets.”

“But Aldo,” said Torrent. “If you really believed that, you and General Alton wouldn’t have had to fake up a right-wing coup attempt.”

Verus smiled thinly. “You think I don’t know what you are?”

“We know you’re a traitor, and definitely not a pacifist. What am I?”

“You’re the devil, Torrent,” said Verus. “And we all do your work.”

Torrent rose to his feet. “You could have faxed me that message.” “I wanted to say it to your face. I just want you to know. This war isn’t over. Even if you kill me or keep me in chains, your side will be brought down in the end.”

“My side?” said Torrent. “I don’t have a side.” With that, he left the room.

Cecily moved her children home. Aunt Margaret stayed with them for a while, and when she went home to New Jersey, Cecily came home from the White House. “I was just transitional,” she told LaMonte. “My children lost their father. They need me. But I needed the work you gave me to do. So I thank you for that.”

It was hard, especially because many of her friends—most of her friends—seemed to regard the death of her husband as something that made her too sacred to actually talk to. She got notes. There were flowers. A few visits, with the standard words, “Well, if there’s anything we can do.”

But no calls from girlfriends inviting her to dinner or the movies.

Then, about a week after she moved home, Cat and Drew came by right after dinner, bringing ice cream. They sat around the kitchen table with Cecily and the kids, and told stories about Reuben. What he did in the war. What he did in training. What he did when he was on leave with them.

A week later, it was Mingo and Benny. Same thing, with pictures this time. They’d made a scrapbook and they left it with them.

Babe came alone a few days later. He had made a DVD of a slide show about Reuben. It was really funny. And sweet. At the door, as he was leaving, she asked him, “Did you guys draw lots? Take turns?”

“Oh, did the other guys already come? Have we been pestering you?”

“No, no,” she said. “I love you guys for this. Reuben never talked about his work, not with the children.”

“Before he was a martyr,” said Babe, “he was already a hero many times over. I think when kids have lost their dad, they need to know who he was and why it’s important that he did the things that made it so he can’t come home anymore.” He smiled a little. “I know. My dad died in the Gulf War.”

Eventually they all came. And came back. Along with other friends of Reuben’s from the military. And she began to get visits from military wives that she’d known on various assignments.

But Cole didn’t come.

At first she wondered why—was a little hurt, even.

Then she realized that Cole might have fought with these guys, but he didn’t really feel like part of the group. He had been added in.

And then she remembered telling him she wanted to talk to him, and then changing her mind. Maybe he interpreted that as my having changed my mind about wanting to see him.

Or maybe he’s busy.

I’ll call him.

But she knew that he was different from the other guys. Because he had been with Reuben those last three days. When the President died. In New York. And in the Pentagon, when DeeNee shot Reuben down. If he came over, she would tell him. Even though she couldn’t prove anything. She’d tell him because she had to tell somebody.

But not yet.

She watched the news assiduously, as she always had.

All the movements to recognize the Progressive Restoration died with the arrest of Aldo Verus. Vermont’s legislature didn’t bother rescinding their resolution because, as their attorney general assured everybody, it had no binding legal force anyway.

America watched with Cecily and her children as the Progressive Restoration forces in New York surrendered peacefully after two days of dithering—and after the city council voted unanimously to declare them to be traitors and request them to leave their territory.

And more and more evidence came out, exposing Aldo Verus’s network of influence and financial control. Many organizations dissolved themselves; others repudiated the financing they had received from Verus and pretended they hadn’t known where it came from and that it certainly shouldn’t be taken as any link between them and Verus’s abortive revolt.

Verus himself waited in a special prison as his hand underwent repeated reconstructive surgeries and he was kept on continuous suicide watch.

The children lost interest. The war was over.

But Cecily kept watching, with special interest in Averell Torrent.

She wasn’t all that unusual. Torrent was enormously popular. Almost movie-star popular. And he was handling it all so brilliantly. There had been talk right from the start about giving the Republican presidential nomination to Torrent, though there were also grumblings about how nobody even knew where he stood on abortion, on marriage, on taxes, on immigration, on anything except defense.

But whenever reporters asked him if he was seeking the Republican nomination, he’d answer, “I’m not a member of any party. I’m not seeking any nomination.” And then he’d walk away.

Then, in an interview on Fox News, O’Reilly said, “All right, Mr. Vice President, I’m going to ask you point- blank. Remember, this is the no-spin zone.”

“I never forget that, Mr. O’Reilly.”

“If the Republicans nominate you, will you accept the nomination and run for President?”

“No spin,” said Torrent.

“And no evasions, please.”

“Here’s the thing. I believe in democracy. Hard-fought elections. But right now—this country’s been on the brink of war. No, we were over the brink. Shooting had begun. And what was it about? The same divisive, vicious,