can do some studying, brush up on your practical politics. Maybe when you come back you'll have a better handle on the way the real world works.”
Smith shuddered.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Cas! C'mere, quick!” Mirim shouted.
Casper was out of his seat at the kitchen table before he even realized he'd heard Mirim's voice-the Spartacus File, as he'd discovered right from the first, had its own reflexes, faster than his own natural ones.
“'Scuse me,” he said to Cecelia and Ed, as he hurried into the living room.
Mirim was watching Headline News; a government spokesman was on the screen, half a dozen microphones shoved into his face.
“…responsible for this regrettable incident are under arrest,” the spokesman was saying.
“What's happening?” Casper asked, as he settled onto the couch.
“I repeat,” the spokesman said, “their actions were completely unauthorized, and a thorough investigation is under way.”
“The sniper at the rally,” Mirim said. “They're saying he was part of a rogue cell within the national security structure, acting illegally.”
Casper threw her a quick glance, then locked his attention on the screen.
“Sir!” a reporter called, “does this mean that Casper Beech, the speaker at that rally, is in fact not a terrorist?”
“We can't say that definitely at this time,” the spokesman replied, “but it appears that in fact, there is no evidence that Mr. Beech had broken any laws at the time these renegades issued their order for his apprehension. Mr. Beech has not been indicted, and the government has dropped all charges against him. We do have some questions we'd like to ask him in connection with prosecuting those responsible for this outrage, and the City of New York apparently has some problems with his failure to obtain a permit for his rally…” He paused, grinning, for the reporters to laugh appreciatively. “…but if he was sincere in saying that his organization, People For Change, is dedicated to peaceful political reform, we trust he'll come forward and share his insights with us. Together, I'm sure we can prevent any further abuses of this sort.”
Cecelia had followed Casper from the kitchen, without rushing; now she stood in the doorway, listening to the speech.
“Pretty good,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “Notice how he left everything open. If they decide you're trouble, Cas, they can still hit you with failure to get that permit, and wrongful death suits by the relatives of the four feds in Philly, and a lot of other shit.”
“Yeah,” Casper agreed, “it's a nice recovery. I hadn't thought of this. If I surface, they can keep an eye on me and tie me up six ways to Sunday, and stage an accident if they decide it's necessary. But if I stay underground, I'll be discredited-they'll be able to ask everyone why I'm still hiding if I'm not a terrorist.”
“So what do you do?” Mirim asked.
“For now,” Casper replied, “I stall.” He reached into his pocket and extracted his wallet, then pulled out a bill. “Here, Celia,” he said, “take this as a retainer, would you?”
Cecelia didn't move. “Why?” she asked.
“Because you're going to surface, of course, and start negotiating my surrender.”
“I am?”
“Sure. Weren't you saying that keeping me alive was just a matter of the right P.R. and legal shenanigans? Well, here's your chance to prove it.”
“You're going to give up? The Spartacus File hasn't got some clever way to twist this around again?”
Casper shrugged. “Hey, Celia, they've got me-the File doesn't cover anything like this. Schiano and his people couldn't think of everything, and besides, this is really outside what Schiano had planned on. He was figuring on guerrillas and battles, not political duels. The Party's got the real political pros here, and they're finally using them. I'd hoped they wouldn't catch on in time, but they have. They've outmaneuvered me by giving up those Covert guys and saying they were acting alone, out of control. I don't have a power base to argue that from. If I stay underground now, it'll prove I'm a terrorist, as far as the public is concerned, so I've got to surface pretty soon-but I'm not about to just walk into the local cop shop. I could have an accident, or commit suicide. So I want you to stall until I'm sure I'll be safe.”
Casper noticed that Mirim was staring at him doubtfully.
Cecelia, too, clearly wasn't quite ready to accept this sudden acquiescence.
“I thought the Spartacus File was compelling you to rebel,” she said.
“It is,” Casper said, “but it doesn't have to be violent. Schiano assumed it would be violent, but it doesn't have to be; as long as I'm fighting the government, I'm okay. I can fight them in the courts, by proxy-or at the ballot box. I'm not about to go back to working as a liability analyst; I'm in the political reform business now.”
“You don't still think they'll kill you?”
“I don't know-that's one thing I want you to find out for me.”
“You don't think they'll kill me?”
Casper shook his head. “Not until they've got me,” he said. “You'll be their best link, and they'll know it. You just tell them that you were kidnapped, make whatever connections you need to keep yourself safe-that's another reason I want to stall, to give you time.” He pressed the bill toward her.
Reluctantly, she took it.
Casper smiled at her.
He knew why she was reluctant-he was doing exactly what she had wanted him to do all along, but he wasn't whining about it, wasn't putting up a struggle, and she didn't trust that. She thought there had to be a catch.
She was right, of course-there was a catch.
That was the next step in his plan.
The fact that his identity was known right from the first, and that he was too heavily outgunned to set up a guerrilla force in the wilderness somewhere, had made most of the preferred options in the Spartacus File impossible-Schiano hadn't compiled it with the U.S. in mind. Casper's promise to Mirim not to openly take power himself limited his choices still further. The government's disavowal of any ill intentions toward him narrowed it down even more.
He couldn't stay underground without ruining his position, and if he tried to operate in the open he could never succeed-they'd find a way to kill him if he started to get close. He had to find a third way.
And of course, the Spartacus File provided one. Schiano and the hundred other programmers who had worked on the File hadn't been able to think of every possible contingency, but they'd included every general case they could think of, and provided guidelines for choosing which model to follow.
It was pretty clear what to do in this situation. When presented with two unacceptable options, find a third choice even if it looks even worse on the surface. And here there was definitely such a choice, one that looked really bad at first:
Martyrdom.
Not suicide, of course-he had no intention of killing himself, and if he let himself be killed, who would lead the revolution? Who would guide People For Change into power? And he didn't want to die.
Spartacus had died for his revolt, and the revolt had died with him. Casper didn't want that, didn't want either part of it-he wanted to live, and he wanted his revolution to continue and grow. Martyrdom was a matter of public perception, not reality; all he had to do was appear to die, at the hands of a treacherous government.
He was pretty sure he could pull it off.
He hadn't yet worked out the details, though, and until he did, he wasn't about to let Cecelia in on his plans.
“Go on,” he told Cecelia, “go turn yourself in, or whatever.”
She stared at him a moment longer, then nodded.
