A state of disobedience

'Does she know about this meeting, James?' asked one of the two women present.

'Ma'am, I don't think so. She's, for the minute, in such a blue funk about everything that's happened that I don't think she's listenin' to much of anybody about much of anything.'

'Useless, then . . . or harmful.'

'Harmful is the only way to read it, Mr. Chairman,' piped in Walter Madison Howe, Rottemeyer's always-kept- in-the-background Vice-President.

Sadly, reluctantly, the chairman nodded his head. Looking around the room's important occupants he saw . . . some regret, yes. But little opposition; none, in fact.

The chairman looked pointedly at Howe. 'Can you handle your responsibilities to the party, Walter? Rebuild everything we've lost or are about to lose? I know it will be hard, very hard.'

Howe exhaled. 'I can set us on the right road, sir. But rebuilding seventy years of effort? And that was seventy years in a world already more or less under our thumbs? We'd be doing well if we did it in forty. And that's a big 'if.' That miserable Seguin woman is going to be an awful impediment to our purposes as well.'

The group discussed Juanita, Willi, a host of problems—Republican, Democrat and Independent—before reaching any firm conclusion.

Again nodding the dignified old head, the chairman turned to Carroll. 'Can you fix the problem for us, James?'

'I've already taken the liberty, sir. . . .'

Houston, Texas

After so long without it, liberty felt strange to the senses of Jose Bernoulli. Indeed, based on the shocked, stunned expressions on half the faces emerging into liberty's light, Bernoulli was by no means alone.

Not that the sight of liberty, confronting people emerging at last from a long dark, was so very pleasing. That sight, in this case, in this city, was as often as not one of wrecked and burned cars, trashed buildings, and bloodstains.

At least they've taken the bodies down from the lampposts, thought Bernoulli.

Underneath a nearby lamppost, under guard by the engineer's platoon, some dozens of former federal agents labored at cleaning up the mess, shoveling broken glass, prepping wrecked automobiles for towing . . . cleaning up unsightly stains.

'God in Heaven,' muttered the short Tejano, 'I hope we never have to do anything like this again.'

* * *

Convention Center, Virginia Beach, Virginia

'Please don't ask me to do anything like this again, Juani,' pleaded Jack as he walked by her side down the long aisle between cheering—and a few scowling—attendees at the convention.

It was the off season; hotel space was plentiful, the convention center unbooked. Transportation by air and ground was easy. Moreover, the U.S. Army's own 'Transportation Center,' at Fort Eustis, was nearby to assist and coordinate, as was Oceana Naval Air Station and Norfolk Navy Base. And, given how much the Armed Forces were looking forward to the expected changes from the convention, that support was cordial indeed.

And Virginia Beach was a great place for a convention, in any case. Though off season, the weather was unseasonably warm. The area reeked of history, of sights to be seen and restaurants to be sampled.

It was a place and time of the greatest excitement.

It was also bedlam, nothing less. Schmidt followed Juanita through the mass of cheering . . . cheering what? Nuts, was Schmidt's opinion. And, though he tried to hide it from everyone, Juanita knew that opinion, even shared it to a degree.

A quick glance confirmed Juani's suspicions. 'Smile, Goddamit, Jack. You're the man of the hour. Act like a politician for once in your life, will you? It won't kill you, you know.'

Schmidt nodded, forced a smile to his face and then leaned over to whisper in Juani's ear, 'These people are insane, Governor.'

Juani shifted her eyes, glancing quickly at a bearded man in a confederate uniform with a pole bearing the Battle Flag of the Army of Northern Virginia grasped tightly in his hands. The man wore gray clothes with a double set of brass buttons topped by a broad brimmed gray felt hat.

She smiled, warmly, and tore her widened eyes away. 'I know, Jack, but what can you do?'

'Run to the insane asylum?' he asked, rhetorically. 'It should be safe enough since all the real nuts are here.'

'Jaaack . . .'

'Okay, Governor, okay. I'll be good.'

Juanita, followed by Jack, began to climb the steps to the stage on which stood the podium. She really didn't feel quite at home. Worse, she felt a horrible itching between her shoulder blades, as if someone had set cross hairs on her back.

At the top of the stairs, once again standing by the governor's side, Jack whispered, 'I've heard Willi herself is going to show up.'

* * *