A state of disobedience

III

Same script, different players, thought the convalescent Carroll, initially. Then he amended the thought, Well, no, a slightly different script after all. Now, while we've lost Willi, she's entered the ranks of martyrs to the cause. And while we've lost quite a bit of power, Willi's 'martyrdom' also gave us back some.

I wonder if she knew and understood how important it was to the cause that she become a martyr? 

The new president, Rottemeyer's previous Vice—Walter Madison Howe, had seemed nearly a political nonentity to Carroll, a mere adornment to the ticket. Indeed, other than a widely suspected penchant for females young enough to be his daughters, and a widely held contempt for the new President's extremely poor taste in women— those tending to the fat and insecure—there had seemed to Carroll nothing to recommend the man.

Politically, Howe was regarded as being somewhat moderate, or—as many had said to Rottemeyer in her heyday, 'Compared to you, Willi, the man's practically a right wing Fascist.'

But Howe was no such thing. He was, in fact, possibly the least politically committed President since Calvin Coolidge.

This was not to say, however, that Howe was uncommitted to politics. From his earliest boyhood, one thought had dominated his heart and mind. I will be President someday.

Running successfully and successively as a populist, Howe had served as representative, governor, and senator for his home state. Never once had he ever shown the slightest tendency to let principle interfere with expedience. 'I'm against the death penalty,' so had Candidate Howe told more than a few cheering crowds at fundraisers. 'I'll support the will of the people,' so had Governor Howe said in signing an almost unequalled number of death warrants. 'I believe in protecting the environment.' So had said candidate Howe. 'A few million towards my next campaign and I think I can find ways to rein in those environmentalist people who want to shut you down.' So had Governor Howe told a major contributor, the second largest pork producer in the nation.

A man utterly without political or moral principle, thought Carroll. Perhaps that's just what we need.

'So what's left?' asked Howe of his assembled Cabinet.

'That's a shorter list than what's gone,' answered Carroll.

'Meaning?'

Carroll drawled back, 'Well . . . we've managed to save some of the federal law enforcement capability, Customs, the INS and a part of the IRS. The Army's not been cut, as a practical matter, and won't be anytime soon if we can find a use for them. The Environmental Protection Agency still stands, though it's lost most of its direct enforcement powers . . . and I think that's going to be important . . .'

'It is,' answered Howe. 'But what we really need is to get our tax base back, am I right?'

'Yes, Mr. President. But they've stripped us of most of the responsibilities we need to have in order to tax. 'Promote the general welfare' lost most of its meaning and use to us.'

'We still have 'provide for the common defense,' don't we?'

'Yessir, we do.'

'Okay then, what's the problem? We got the government we had through foreign wars, didn't we? We just need to have some more of them.'

Carroll considered. It was true, he knew. 'But where, Mr. President? The Arabs are still reeling from the drubbing we gave them a few years back. The Europeans? Nah. The Balkans? A quagmire. And we don't have much reason to go in there anymore, anyway.'

'Oh, I agree, Mr. Carroll. But I was thinking maybe somewhere closer to home.'

Carroll inclined his head in deep thought. 'Mexico? Maybe. 'Stop illegal immigration.' South Africa's going to hell, so there's another place. Colombia or Panama in another drug war might be possible. The Chinese can always be relied on to threaten Taiwan, I suppose. Iran? Well, it's no big deal to drum up popular feelings against Iran; that's become something of a national habit. The press won't roll for us as readily as they used to.'

'I am thinking, Mr. Carroll, that one of those might do just fine. . . .'

Greensville Correctional Center, Jarratt, Virginia

For once the Warden regretted a death penalty case the feds had not insisted on taking over themselves when they had a chance to. But in the current political enviroment, and with Virginia having no noticeable squeamishness about putting convicted murderers to death, the feds had simply stood aside.

Still, thought the warden. I wish I didn't have to go through with this one.

'It's time, Alvin.'

Scheer looked up at the warden, and the two burly guards accompanying and nodded, calmly and with great dignity. 'Yes, sir. I figured it would be.'

'The governor—'

Alvin held up his hand to cut off the warden's words. 'I never asked anybody for clemency, Warden. All those appeals? Well-meaning folks, most of 'em, I'm sure. But I never asked.'

'I know,' answered the warden.

Looking over at the tray of half-eaten food, the warden queried, 'The meal, Alvin? It was cooked okay?'

'Yes, sir. It was just fine. Only thing is I weren't all that hungry. You understand.' The condemned man smiled.

'Sure, sure. I understand.'

Another man walked into the cell, more or less stiffly. 'Alvin,' said the warden, 'this is Dr. Randall. He's going to give you a shot to relax you.'