escapes you, does it, Mr. President?”
“Not much. I wouldn’t trust that old bastard any further than I can spit. And I never was a chewer or a dipper.”
“I don’t have any concrete proof about him. But I can tell you he plays footsie on both sides of the aisle.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“My brother, bless his pseudo-liberal heart, never did let me get too close to the inner circle. So I can’t give you much on them—except their names, and I’m certain you already know that.”
“True.”
“But before I come down too hard on those who lean left, as compared to our thinking, let me say there are some men and women in both Houses who call themselves conservative that are not what I would call in your camp.”
“Yes, and that troubles me, General. Well,” Ben sighed, “stay with this thing,” he once more tapped the letter of warning. “Keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir.” Altamont stood up, retrieved the letter, and left the Oval Office.
When he was certain the general was gone, Ben punched his intercom. “Susie? Have Mitchell put a tail on General Altamont.”
“Yes, sir. Want him to report straight back to you, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Did he buy it?” Senator Carson asked General Altamont.
“All the way, Bill,” the general said with a laugh.
“When do we detonate the first one?”
“Next week. I’ll blow it in a deserted town so no one is likely to get hurt.”
“Lovely,” the old senator said. Then he slapped Altamont on the back. The three men shared a laugh in the night.
Altamont turned to the Secret Service agent. “When you report back to Raines, tell him I went straight home.”
“Yes, sir,” the agent responded.
“Does Bob Mitchell suspect anything?”
“Not a thing, General. He’s fat, dumb, and happy.”
“Good. Let’s be sure we keep it that way.”
The three men broke apart, walking out of the small park just a few miles from the White House. They got in separate cars and drove away.
“Cute,” Rosita said, stepping from the shadows. “
She walked swiftly back to her car, got in, and drove away into the damp night. Not even the president of the United States knew the Spanish-Irish lady had come to Colonel Hector Ramos’s command from Captain Dan Gray’s Scouts. She was as thoroughly trained in the art of counterinsurgency as a person could be. And she was as lethal as a ticking time bomb.
Ben sat alone in his office. He had dismissed Susie, sending her home. The White House was quiet, and he was alone with his thoughts. The twins were with their nanny, in their rooms down the hall, but Ben had no desire to go and play with them. They reminded him too much of Jerre. He wished he had someone to talk with.
He tried Cecil. No, the secretary told him, the VP was out for the evening. A meeting with several department heads.
He knew Dawn had gone out of town; Ike was off in search of Jerre. Lamar was back in Idaho. So many of the old bunch dead and gone.
What the hell was he doing here in the White House? He didn’t want this damned job! Loneliest goddamned job in the world.
And what about those SSTs? The message? Ben Raines beware?
What the hell was that all about?
Damn! but he was tired of double crosses and triple crosses and backbiting and the whole scene.
He wondered if his house in Louisiana was still standing. And suddenly he thought of Salina.
Ben pulled into his driveway at five o’clock in the afternoon. He had been wandering for almost a year since the bombings. Nothing had changed except the lawn had flowers where none had been before. A station wagon parked in the drive.
Since the outskirts of Shreveport, Ben had seen hundreds of blacks. No one had bothered him; they had all been friendly, waving to him and chatting with him when he stopped.
But the vague and somewhat amusing—to him—thought was: he knew how Dr. Livingstone must have felt.
Ben got out of the truck thinking: there is a lot of land to be had. I’m not going to spill any blood for an acre of land in Louisiana.
He felt kind of silly knocking on his own front door. But as he raised his hand to tap on the door, it swung open.
“Come on in, Ben Raines,” Salina said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Hello, Salina.” Ben revised his original appraisal of her: she was not just good-looking. She was beautiful.
“I was about to invite you in, Ben, but that would be rather silly of me, wouldn’t it? This is your house.” She looked at Juno. “What a beautiful animal. What’s his name?”
“Juno.”
She held out her hands and Juno and Ben stepped into the house. Not much had been changed except the house was a great deal cleaner and neater than when he’d left it. He said as much.
She smiled. Lovely. “Most bachelors aren’t much on housekeeping. ‘Sides,” she said, a mischievous light creeping into her eyes, “us coons have been trained for centuries to take care of the master’s house while he’s away seein’ to matters of great import.”
“Knock it off, Salina,” he said, then realized she’d been ribbing him. He gave back as much as he got. “You’re only half-coon. So the house should be only half-clean.”
She laughed. “Call this round a draw. Dinner’s at seven. Guests coming over. We knew you were coming.”
“How?”
“Tom-toms!”
Ben grimaced. “I’ll be hungry by seven, I assure you.”
Her eyes became a flashing firestorm of humor. “Got corn bread, fatback, and greens.”
“Salina, you’re impossible!”
She laughed. “You think I’m kidding?”
She wasn’t.
Cecil and Lila and Pal and Valerie came over. After dinner the six of them sat in the candlelit den and talked.
“Are you planning to stay, Ben?” Cecil asked.
“No. I’m heading over to north Mississippi in the morning, then striking out for the northwest.” He told them about President Logan’s plans to relocate the people; and that most of them were going along with it. Logan’s stripping the citizens of firearms.
It did not surprise Ben to learn they knew more about it than he.
“We won’t bother Logan as long as he doesn’t bother us,” Pal said. “We just want to live and let live.”
Ike’s words, Ben thought.
