The Empire

by Richard Todd

  “It is known that many in this government have aided and abetted these traitors. It will take time to root out the cancer that has infected our great country.

  “During this transition period, to maintain order, I have suspended Habeas Corpus and declared martial law. During this time, President Bush and President-Elect Obama shall be kept under house arrest, pending an investigation by the tribunal regarding the extent of their involvement with Mr. Wild and Miss Mahajan.

  “I wish to assure all Americans that this period will be as brief as possible—just long enough to restore freedom and liberty to America. During this time, I have assumed the temporary position of Consul Pro-Tem.

  “While martial law is in place, curfews will be established, as well as rules regarding proper behavior. Dissent against the United States government, in any form, will not be tolerated. Our soldiers have complete authority to maintain order.

  “For our neighbors around the world, be advised that this is not a time to challenge the strength or resolve of these United States. The world’s most powerful military is under my command, including our formidable nuclear arsenal. Do not test our borders. Do not provoke us. If you do, you will find that the United States will shoot first and ask questions later.

  “My fellow Americans,” Jones said, smiling to the camera. “I realize this may be a confusing and stressful time. Be assured that what is being done is for your best interests, and for the best interests of these blessed United States. You have my assurance that I will protect our citizens and restore greatness to this country. God bless you and God bless the United States of America.”

  Mission Control

  Time Tunnel Complex

  Area 51, NV

  November 21, 2008

  08:30 hours

  Timeline 002

  Padma and Kyle stared at the giant mission control screen as the image of Jones’ face cut to a modified emblem of the president. The president’s same American bald eagle held arrows and an olive branch in its talons, though the words encircling the eagle had been changed to “SEAL of the CONSUL of the UNITED STATES.”

  Padma raised her hands to her lips. “Oh my God.”

  Kyle was silent.

  “They’re coming for us!” she said.

  Kyle nodded. “Yes.”

  “How much time do we have?” she asked.

  Kyle shook his head. “To prepare an assault on the complex? A couple of weeks, at least. General Craig has his hands full right now consolidating power.

  “Breaking into the Time Tunnel isn’t easy,” added Kyle, trying to comfort his wife. “We’re in a steel-encased underground fortress. We’ve disabled all the vault door entrance codes. The logistics of an assault are very tough. It’s hard to break in without destroying the complex.”

  “They could just nuke us,” Padma said.

  Kyle was silent for a few moments. The words of Jones’ NRG Stadium hate speech replayed in his mind. He felt a chill in his center.

  “Jones wants you alive,” Kyle said.

  He shook his head, returning to the present. “Even if Jones opts for nukes, General Craig won’t risk destroying the Time Tunnel. The general is holding the keys to the army—at least for the moment.

  “The bottom line is that it’s time for Plan B,” Kyle said. “We have to make some decisions—where and when to go. We agreed that we need to go a time and place with reasonably modern medicine, a place that is tolerant, and one where we can rebuild our fortune.”

  “I still can’t believe we’re going to do this,” Padma said.

  “Love,” Kyle said, taking Padma by the shoulders. “We have to go.”

  Padma nodded. “I understand. I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

  “We talked about the fifties—post-war, Eisenhower era,” Kyle said. “It’s a boom time. Maybe go back to New York?”

  “Sure,” replied Padma. “With my gender and skin color, I’ll have no trouble landing a job cleaning toilets.”

  They were quiet for a moment, thinking.

  “Kyle,” Padma began, “I have a crazy idea.”

  “What?”

  “What about the sixties?” she said. “San Francisco.”

  Kyle smiled. “The summer of love?”

  Padma nodded, smiling back at him.

  Kyle looked at Padma’s face. It was easy to see flowers in her beautiful long dark hair.

  “It’s perfect,” Kyle said.

  Washington DC

  November 28, 2008

  09:30 hours

  Timeline 002

  General Aaron Craig sat in the back seat of a black Lincoln Town Car as it drove down Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House. The green hat of his dress uniform rested in his lap. He wore a long black wool topcoat over his uniform.

  A black-uniformed driver, wearing a flat-topped military-style cap, sat behind the wheel. Another identically uniformed man sat beside the driver.

  The driver gripped the wheel with black leather gloves. A shiny black patent leather shoulder strap of a Sam Browne belt passed through the right epaulet of each man’s black tunic. A silver star gleamed on each epaulet. On each of their right shoulders was a patch—a fist gripping a sword in front of a red shield with a gold-accented eagle—the insignia of the newly minted Praetorian Guard. They had replaced the president’s secret service, most of whose members had died during the White House gunfight that ensued when the army apprehended the president. The rest of the president’s secret service detail had either fled or been imprisoned.

  The general noted the consul’s penchant for ancient Rome. In addition to their MP7 submachine guns, Guard members also wore a ceremonial short sword in a black leather sheath on their right thighs.

  Though the Guard was initially charged with the responsibility of protecting the consul, its scope was widening rapidly to include police and military responsibilities. The Guard was growing stronger by siphoning soldiers and weapons from the army. General Craig had already been ordered to transfer two full regiments to Guard control. He knew he was running out of time.

  As they drove down Pennsylvania Avenue, the general saw banners that lined the avenue, hanging from lampposts. The banners alternated between the American flag and an image of the consul.

  The consul’s image was an eighteenth-century-style bust portrait. The consul appeared in his uniform, looking up and slightly toward the left. A divine light shown on his face from above, illuminating an expression that attempted to balance defiance, bravery, and supplicant humility. The consul’s right arm crossed his chest, his hand over his heart. The general noted that the consul’s physique had been generously sculpted by the artist, molding his enormous potbelly into a powerful barrel-shaped chest. At the base of the portrait, “Liberty” was written in gold Times Roman letters.

  “Would you like to listen to the radio, General?” asked the driver.

  The general didn’t respond. The driver turned on the radio. A man’s voice read the news.

  “In today’s news, units of the consul’s elite Praetorian Guard stormed the World Trade Center buildings this morning in the hunt for the fugitives Anderson Wild and Padma Mahajan...”

  The two Guard members smiled and nodded toward each other.

  “…Though neither of the fugitives were found in the buildings, our valiant Guard members uncovered additional evidence of the fugitives’ treason in the form of computer records and files. The fugitives’ financial assets have been seized and will be used for one of the consul’s preferred charities…”

  The charity of the personal enrichment of Jonah Jones, thought the general.

  “…In another victory for our glorious Praetorian Guard, commandoes thwarted an attempt by Muslim terrorists to detonate a high explosive device onboard a passenger airline la
st night. Richard Paul, America’s newly appointed minister of security, had this to say:

  ‘My reaction to this attempt to kill innocent Americans is the same as that of all Americans—utter abhorrence! While we in the Ministry of Security realize that not all Muslims represent terrorist threats, we believe that in the interest of public safety, we must embrace certain prudent measures to keep our citizens safe. The Ministry of Security has issued an edict, effective today, that all Muslims are required to register with the Ministry. At that time, they will be issued a pin displaying a star and crescent, the symbol of their religion, which they will be required to wear on their clothing at all times while in public. Law enforcement and Praetorian Guardsmen are authorized to stop and question anyone suspected of being Muslim who does not comply with these simple requirements. Those found in violation of the law will be detained for further questioning and possible charges.’”

  The news anchor continued, “That seems like a sensible precaution from our minister of security, one that is fair, yet still protects Christian Americans.

  “And finally, in a triumph for morality and family values, the Supreme Tribunal unanimously struck down Roe v. Wade, making abortion illegal in the United States. The penalties for committing the atrocity of abortion will be severe, ranging from a minimum incarceration period of ten years in a patriot re-education facility to death by hanging. In its first step to enforce the law, Praetorian Guardsmen closed dozens of Planned Parenthood centers and arrested hundreds of doctors and employees...”

  The driver began surfing stations. All radio, TV programming, and Internet websites were now managed by the new Ministry of Information. Radio choices were limited to propaganda news and talk shows, Christian music and talk radio, and other bland music considered inert by the ministry.

  The general was unaware that he was gripping his hat tighter. He realized Jonah Jones had studied the fascist playbook well. America’s consul had wasted no time putting it into action in the very last country on earth expected to succumb to totalitarianism.

  The general knew he bore the responsibility for making this nightmare possible. He suppressed his shame, driving it deep within him. He reminded himself that the ends justified the means. Regaining control of the Time Tunnel was the only thing that mattered. Once he had done so, he could easily reset America with a time jump, erasing Jones’ takeover and making everything right again.

  As the general’s car pulled into the White House driveway, he noticed several differences between the consul’s White House and the home of the former democratically elected president. Dozens of black-uniformed Praetorian guards carrying M16 rifles stood at the iron fence bordering the White House grounds. Two banners flanked the White House portico—the same two that lined Pennsylvania Avenue, as well as hundreds of other streets in America.

  As the town car rolled to a stop in front of the White House portico, another Guard member saluted by pressing his right fist to his heart, then extended his arm parallel to the ground with his hand extended. The general knew the Nazis had fashioned their similar salute on that used in ancient Rome. The guard opened the car door. The general climbed the red-carpeted steps to the White House entrance. Guards on either side of the entrance greeted the general with the same Roman-style salute.

  Inside the White House, the general was escorted to an elevator where another guard stood watch. The guard saluted, then inserted a key into a panel next to the elevator doors. The doors opened, and the general and his escort entered. The guard inserted his key and pressed the basement button. The general realized their destination was the White House Situation Room.

  Outside the Situation Room entrance, yet another guard saluted. The general’s escort returned the salute. The guard opened the door for the general. He stepped into an administrative anteroom outside the Situation Room. Women sat at three separate desks—two Caucasian and one African American. They were attired identically, each wearing an inappropriately short dress with a column of shining buttons running up the front of the left side. The style was similar to the military tunic worn by the consul. The general couldn’t help but notice that all three women were breathtakingly beautiful. Though computers sat on each of their desks, the women sat with their white-gloved hands folded in their laps. A static emblem of the Consul of the United States was displayed on their computer screens.

  The general looked at the African American woman. She looked up from her desk, meeting the general’s gaze with beautiful green eyes that peered from beneath long bangs. Her long straight bobbed hair framed her face. She smiled at him. The general looked away, embarrassed, as he removed his topcoat and hat.

  “May I take those for you, General?” asked the woman. The general avoided looking at the woman, as she gave the hem of her short dress a slight tug over her thighs as she rose from her seat.

  One of the Caucasian women, a fair-skinned woman with long blond hair, giggled at the general’s awkwardness. He gave her a sharp look.

  “The consul is expecting you, General,” the woman said, smiling, impervious to his glare. “Please go in.”

  The general did not return the woman’s smile. He handed his coat and hat to the woman of color and entered the Situation Room as the three women giggled in his wake.

  The White House Situation Room was a rectangular conference room with a long wooden conference table and large computer displays on the wall. One display showed a world map with icons depicting US and foreign military assets. Another was a helicopter view of the World Trade Center. Another was a satellite view of Area 51.

  At one end of the table sat Jonah Jones, the consul of America. Seven other Caucasian men sat at the table. With one exception, all of the men wore the same navy-colored military tunic as Jones. The exception was a young man in his twenties, who wore a black Pretorian Guard uniform. He wore four stars on his epaulet shoulder boards. The long brown partially grown sideburns of an adolescent grew on a face bursting with pimples.

  “General,” said Jones, “You’re right on time. Please have a seat. General, I would like you to meet the chiefs of our ministries.”

  General Craig instantly recognized one of the men.

  One by one, Jones introduced the men—Hunter Williams, minister of information; Brent Walker, minister of education; Chase Reed, minister of energy; Charles Hammer, minister of economics; The Reverend Gerald Wainwright, minister of morality; Richard Paul, minister of security.

  “…and I believe you know our new minister of defense…”

  The former General James Patterson smirked at General Craig.

  “General,” he said.

  The general noted that several former agencies were no longer represented by the cabal, including the Environmental Protection Agency, the Department of Veterans Affairs, and Health and Human Services.

  Jones turned to the Praetorian guard sitting to his right. “And this is my son, Joshua Jones. I am very proud to announce that Joshua has been appointed the new general of the Praetorian Guard.”

  The others seated at the conference table applauded. Joshua made an entitled smile, lifting his hand in a wave. General Craig’s sullen expression did not budge.

  “One of General Jones’ tasks over the coming weeks will be to liaise with you to coordinate the transfer of assets from the Third Army to the Guard.”

  The remark caught General Craig like a sucker punch. After handing the keys to the United States to Jonah Jones, he was now expected to hand over his army to his brat.

  “Before we get down to business,” said Jones, “Reverend, would you like to lead us in prayer?”

  Reverend Wainwright was in his forties, and wore his red and gray hair very short and parted on the side. A neatly trimmed goatee surrounded his mouth. He was the founder and pastor of the First Calvary megachurch in Dallas, Texas, leading a flock of some 50,000 Southern Baptists.

 
“Dear heavenly Father…” began the reverend as the men around the table lowered their heads and closed their eyes. It was General Craig’s second awkward moment since arriving at the White House. He bowed his head, but he kept his eyes open, staring at the grains in the wood conference table.

  “…we thank you for delivering the blessed consul to us. We ask you to protect your Christian warrior and bestow your blessings upon him as he restores greatness to these United States of America. Please help him as he reclaims America—wrests it loose, oh Lord—from the grasps of the wicked. Enable him to punish those who have chosen to deviate from your glorious shining path while showing your eternal love to those that follow your way—the only way.

  “We ask this in the name of your blessed son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

  “Amen!” echoed the men at the table. General Craig remained

  silent.

  “Thank you for joining us, General,” began Jones. “The reason we’ve invited you here today is to get a progress report.”

  Expectant eyes fell on the general.

  “As you know, the objective of the operation’s first phase—” began the general.

  “The liberation,” interrupted Jones.

  The general continued, “…the objective of the first phase was to secure the federal government, the Pentagon, major cities, and all communications, including broadcast television and cable, radio, and Internet. The first objective was accomplished on day 1.