“Okay,” she said. “I'll turn myself in to… let's see… CNN, I guess. Or maybe ABC would be better.”
He smiled wryly. “Not the cops?”
“Don't be an idiot, Casper. Hasn't that thing in your head taught you anything? They aren't going to shoot me live on TV; in private, though, who knows?”
Casper nodded. She was exactly right.
He wondered-if Cecelia had gone for one of Covert's optimizations, would she have gotten the Spartacus File? She seemed to have half the tactical knowledge already. Certainly, she had more of what it took to fight a revolution than he had had before his visit to NeuroTalents.
“Colby,” Cecelia called up the stairs, “could Rose or Tasha or someone drop me somewhere? And I need to make a shielded phone call.” She turned and headed back for the kitchen.
Casper watched her go, then settled onto the couch beside Mirim.
The news was still running, but had moved on to the financial report. Casper watched it, not really paying attention.
Mirim stared at him.
“Are you really giving up, Cas?” she asked at last.
He looked at her, startled, then smiled at her, a big, warm smile.
“Nope,” he said. “Come on, let's get the vidcam; as soon as Celia's gone I want to record some more speeches. And I need to check the nets, see if we've got some volunteers. After that we'll talk to Colby and the others about setting up maildrops and bank accounts for contributions.”
“So you're still going to try this political stuff?”
“Absolutely!” He stood up and reached down for her hand. “Come on,” he said. “We've got a campaign to launch.”
Bob Schiano stared at the screen in amazement. A dozen security men were shielding Cecelia Grand from the mob as she was led up the courthouse steps.
“Ms. Grand, a lawyer representing alleged terrorist Casper Beech, announced that she had come to negotiate Beech's surrender,” the off-screen reporter announced.
“But he can't,” Schiano said. “He can't surrender. The file won't let him.” He smacked a fist onto the table in front of him. “ I won't let him!”
The scene cut to Cecelia addressing the press.
“Mr. Beech is understandably wary,” she said. “Government agents openly tried to kill him on the streets of Philadelphia and again in New York, and while the administration may now say that those agents were acting without authorization, Mr. Beech feels that he needs greater assurance of his own safety before turning himself in.”
Schiano leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen.
Beech couldn't surrender. And especially not now, when he'd scored a victory and forced the government to disavow their attacks on him! Smith and his chief aide and two triggermen were packed away somewhere, being prepared as scapegoats; Schiano had been briefly concerned that they might even sacrifice him, but in the end they hadn't done anything that desperate. Good imprint programmers were hard to find.
He was, however, out of work for the moment, while they looked for somewhere else to put him. That meant he could stay home and watch the news.
He hadn't expected this, though.
Was the Spartacus File breaking down?
Or… He relaxed somewhat as the thought struck him.
Or was Beech up to something?
That had to be it. Beech wasn't going to surrender at all.
Schiano tried to remember more of what had gone into the File. He'd overseen the whole thing, but of course it had been far too much for one person to do single-handed; if he'd been able to write the whole Spartacus File by himself, he'd have been the new Spartacus.
Then he had it. He knew what was coming.
He wondered how Beech would set it up.
“I'm here representing Casper Beech and People For Change,” Cecelia told the interviewer.
“And are you a member of People For Change, yourself?” he asked her.
“People For Change is a legitimate political organization, seeking recognition…” she began.
“Yes, Ms. Grand,” the interviewer interrupted, “but are you a member of People For Change?”
For a moment, Cecelia hesitated. On a living room couch somewhere in New Jersey, Casper Beech looked up from his laptop and waited.
Cecelia had surfaced two days before, with much fanfare. The government had apologized to her, the media had feted her, and everyone had listened to her tale of desperate flight from crazed renegade feds. There had been various denunciations of the “rogue” operation, and several editorial comments about the need for a political reform movement like People For Change.
But until now, no one had asked her much about her own politics.
No one-not even Casper.
And Casper needed to know. He had plans for Cecelia and for PFC.
“Yes,” she said at last. “Yes, I am.”
Casper thrust a fist in the air and said, “Yes!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Tell them I want to surrender at the U.N., in front of the international community,” Casper said into the phone.
“Do you?” Cecelia asked.
Casper smiled. “It's a possibility,” he said.
“The U.N. should be okay,” Cecelia said thoughtfully.
“See how it would work, then, and I'll get back to you. I should have that speech ready for you soon, too.” He shut off the phone and stuck it in his pocket.
“I thought…” Mirim said.
“What?” He looked up at her, startled.
“Didn't you just ask Rose to book you on the train to Kennedy Spaceport? I thought maybe you were heading out to somewhere on the Fringe.”
“Where I might get a more sympathetic hearing?” Casper shook his head. “It wouldn't be the Fringers themselves who'd be listening to me out there, it would be the authorities, and they're heavily into suppressing rebellion.”
“But then why did… isn't that what you told Rose?”
“Don't worry about what I told Rose,” Casper said. “You just be ready to go.”
“Casper, I don't want to go out to the Fringe! Space travel scares me.”
He looked up at her with interest. “Have you ever done any space traveling?”
“No, and I'm not going to!”
He held up his hands. “Okay, okay, that's no problem! You don't have to. I promise.”
“You're going without me?”
“Look, Mirim, just trust me, okay? It'll all be fine, just wait and see.”
She looked down at him uncertainly.
“I promise,” he said.
She turned away.
He watched her go, then picked up his laptop and booted it up. He had things to do. There were a lot of arrangements to make.
It was a good thing that PFC had at least one or two serious terrorists as members; he was going to need some of Ed's skills, and other specialists, as well. He'd need a bomb, and for some reason he hadn't been getting
