“Sorry, Barstow.” Katz caught himself and smoothed his strident tone. “That’s how I feel, though I can’t say so in public. I have to live here. But I do think your brother learned and wrote too much about it. I think that’s what got him killed.”
He paused, fiddling uneasily with the silver humidor on his desk as if still tempted by the cigars inside.
“Talking about it, I get carried away.” He was suddenly apologetic. “Mostly I keep my head down, but that’s why I’d side with Stuart, if I had to take a stand.
“As for your own case—” He paused to study me speculatively. “Could be somebody thinks you know too much.”
Back in my room, I thought about his unexpected outburst. Alden had said some of the same things, though in more temperate language. He had even suggested that the vast sums spent on drug wars locking up offenders might better have gone for treatment and education. Had such comments led to the letter bomb? Still I had no clue, nor any reason to think Katz might be a good defender.
Del Rio came back on the infonet, profiling Gottler. Bom in Argentina but brought up by a generous uncle here in McAdam, he had become a power in Washington with means to spend half his time on a yacht in the Caribbean.
“Our mysterious Mr. Big!” She rolled her eyes in mock wonder. “His dad claimed to have a bonanza, a fortune made breeding race horses on the pampas. Gottler senior disappeared when the bubble broke. Junior’s now riding high on his own gravy train. International finance? Backroom politics? Gambling on the infonet? He never says.”
I saw him on the tube when Del Rio covered the council meeting for KRIF. He and Stuart sat waiting like opposing lawyers in the shabby old county courtroom. The councilors filed in to sit like presiding judges, Moorhawk in a rumpled business suit, Rob Roy in a white lab jacket, Pepperlake in shirt sleeves, none of them recently shaven. They frowned impatiently at Gottler till a clerk closed the doors.
A heavy man, darkly tanned, he rose and bowled to them with an affable smile.
“Gentlemen. I speak for Senator Finn.” In gray flannel slacks and a green polo shirt, he looked dressed for his yacht rather than diplomacy. Pitched high, his voice had a slight Spanish accent. “I speak for President Higgins.”
“Okay.” Pepperlake was curtly unimpressed. “What’s your message?”
“An appeal to sweet reason.” He spread his hands like a high-school orator. “Mr. McAdam, I do admire your technology.” He nodded warmly at Rob Roy and turned soberly to Moorhawk.
“You’ve just won a trick. I grant that, but you’ve dealt yourselves a losing hand.”
“How so?” Moorhawk bristled. “We’ve beaten Zeider.”
“Not yet.” Gottler waved that aside. “We don’t know the range of your weapon, but you can’t stretch your shell forever without taking in more good Americans than you can bamboozle with your crazy utopia.”
Stuart was muttering, his hand impatiently raised. Gottler ignored him.
“We’ve got you hemmed in. If you think you can exist on your own resources, you’d best think again. How many of your good American citizens will want to eat their race horses when beef and pork run out? How many can feed themselves on the cabbage and turnips they grow in their backyards?”
He grinned at Stuart.
“If you don’t want turnips, I’m here to offer you a carrot. That’s total amnesty for all the legal charges that can rise from your lunatic rebellion. President Higgins has set just one condition. You must open up this silicon shell and reveal plans and specifications for it to the National Security Agency.”
The camera swept them, Rob Roy doodling on a yellow scratch pad, Moorhawk scowling in anger, Pepperlake glancing at them inquiringly. Stuart snorted, his hand indignantly raised. He turned to Gottler, almost sneering, when Moorhawk let him speak.
“We’ve got another ace to play.”
“Let’s hear.”
“We’ve got the silicon shell. What’s your answer to that?” “The armed forces of America.”
“We’ve stopped them cold.”
“What has that got you?”
“Freedom.” Moorhawk shook a long forefinger at Gottler’s face, a big diamond flashing. “Freedom we won’t give up.”
“Freedom to die here?”
“Freedom.” Stuart turned grim. “Freedom for all the world.”
Gottler blinked and stared. “I’m not tipping our hand. Just wait till you see.”
“I'll see you on trial for treason.” Gottler glanced at his watch and turned to the councilors. “Gentlemen, I’ve heard wind enough.” His easy smile was gone. “It’s now or never if you want to save your lives.”
“You’ll see—” Stuart was beginning. Moorhawk banged a gavel. The tube went dark till Del Rio’s incandescent smile lit it again.
“Council Chairman Moorhawk adjourned the meeting,” she said. “The councilors retired with Colonel Me Adam to the judge’s chambers. Mr. Gottler stalked out to look for a hotel.
“This is all for now, but please stand by.”
I sat up late with KRIF, the only station on the air. The county agricultural agent was giving instructions for growing garden vegetables under glass or plastic, if glass or plastic could be found. The station engineer ventured into meteorology.
“Fortunately the barrier has had little effect on our weather. Though hailstones bounce off, it is now set to allow free passage to air currents and the water droplets in clouds. We forecast thunderstorms, possibly severe.”
An old interview with Colin McAdam followed, about his books on slavery. Del Rio was suddenly on the monitor, interrupting a question about Daniel Boone and the Cherokee Indians.
“Urgent update from Washintel WebWatch One!” For all her air of tension, she looked heavy-eyed. “Special correspondent Ramona Del Rio, reporting Council action on the ultimatum brought by Ambassador Gottler. The meeting has ended with no communique. Our camera caught Colonel McAdam and the Councilors after the meeting.”
Stuart came out first, and stopped to scowl into the lens.
“Here’s one for Gottler and Higgins.” He made an ugly gesture. “They offered us a carrot or a stick. I never cared for carrots, and I’ve got a bigger stick.”
The councilors followed him, one by one. Tight-faced, they had no comment. The time was almost midnight. I yawned and went to bed. Half asleep, I heard sirens and what I thought was distant gunfire.
“Open up!” The order woke me. “Open to the law!”
The door crashed in before I could reach it. Men in Rifle gear burst into the room. An hour later I was back in Oxman’s custody at the city-county jail.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"WELCOME HOME!" OXMAN greeted me with a sardonic smirk and booked me in. “Back to stay?”
I didn’t know; they hadn’t told me anything.
I begged for any explanation, but he locked the door and tramped on down the corridor toward the prisoners in the tank. The cell was the one where I had been, the infotel Quigg had left still on the shelf. It stayed dark and silent when I turned it on, but I heard sounds outside.
A crackle of distant gunfire. A heavy thud, perhaps an explosion far away. Steel doors clashing a little later, as more prisoners came in. I was dozing when the rattle of Mrs. Oxman’s cart woke me for breakfast, scorched grits and a slab of half-cooked salt pork. She had time to talk when I asked what was going on.
“God knows!” She wrung her stringy hands. “They was fighting at the TV station. Kelly Flynn was on the air, telling about shooting on the street. Men busted in and took his mike.” The station was still off the air, but Oxman had talked to the cops.
“They say it’s General Stuart McAdam agin’ the council—he’s a general now. Mr. Oxman’s sick and tired of this crazy mess with Pepperlake and Moorhawk. Too much empty wind about turning the county into some lunatic paradise. They’ve let Higgins cork us up like scorpions in a bottle. Stuart never fell for their idiot tricks. When they wouldn’t listen to good horse sense, h
e just took over.” She grinned in satisfaction.
“A squad of his Rifles brought the whole dem council in. We’ve got ’em upstairs now, in the penthouse suites. Them’s the high security cells on the top floor.”
“All three members?”
“A midnight surprise.” The grin went wider, showing crooked yellow teeth. “They winged Mr. Moorhawk when he tried to grab a gun. Just a scratch on his arm, but they had to take him by the hospital and get it dressed. Mr. Pepperlake was on the phone to this Washintel reporter when they got to him.”
“And Rob Roy McAdam? Stuart’s brother?”
“Him too. Upstairs with the others, though he don’t seem upset about it. A funny thing. He had one of his high-tech cryptophones. Mr. Oxman took it when they searched him, but the general’s staff called and told us to give it back, so him and the general could talk.”
She squinted at the ceiling.
“They’s soldiers up there now, left to watch ’em. We’ve got orders to feed ’em special meals, like we did Mr. Quigg. I took ’em the same chow me and Oxman had for breakfast. Buckwheat cakes with maple syrup—stuff I found on a shelf in the pantry. Too bad there ain’t none left for you.”
I asked if I could call my lawyer.
“Katz?” She shook her head. “Mr. Pepperlake tried. His wife said he’d call back, but he never did.”
She rattled away with her cart. With nothing else to do, I paced the cell and watched the dead infotel till at last it came to life with a blare of military music. A putty-faced man in a Rifle uniform was suddenly on the monitor.
“This is station FREE.” I recognized the oily tones of the florist I’d met at Rotary. “We are back on the air as the official electronic organ of the Free State of America. Stay tuned for an interview with acting president Stuart McAdam.”
I watched the dead monitor till the bugles blared again.
“Ramona Del Rio.” She had a fresh shine on the silver sheaf of hair and a fresh excitement in her eyes. “I’m an international correspondent for Washintel WebWatch One, speaking to the world from McAdam City, capital of the world’s youngest nation.
“A historic moment!
“The Free State of America was born this morning when General Stuart McAdam took control. Formerly a militia leader, McAdam comes of a pioneer family, prominent in the county for the last two centuries.
“The former commander of the rebel military, he is now acting president of the new provisional government. Washintel WebWatch One is privileged to present his first statement to the world.”
Stuart leaned alertly across a long bare table in a wood-paneled office in what had been the National Guard armory. I saw Beth in the piercing blue eyes, the shape of the bones, the wave of the light-brown hair, but all her grace grown hard in a way that wrenched me.
“President McAdam,” Del Rio was crisply respectful, “can you tell us what happened last night?”
“Freedom was born again.”
Through the window that framed his head, I saw the well-kept lawn, trees luminous with autumn red and gold, and the dull gray dome of the old courthouse. Consciously striking, he paused and turned to perfect his image for the camera.
“The Haven Council met last night to consider a shameful ultimatum from President Higgins, delivered by Rocky Gottler, a special mediator. The council refused, debated for hours, and finally decided to do nothing at all. That was the end of the charade they called the Haven. I speak for a group of saner and braver citizens who prefer freedom to famine.
“Early this morning, we acted to replace the unpopular and illegitimate Haven gang.” Stuart straightened in his chair, right hand lifted to his eyebrow. “I salute our new government. I am proud to be speaking for the Free State of America.”
“Sir, may I ask one question?” Del Rio smiled disarmingly. “What makes your new government any more legitimate than the old?”
“They were a handful of arrogant and autocratic zealots who had lost faith in democracy. They thought they saw us us sliding into chaos and terror, and they were trying to use my brother’s silicon shell to save the world from its own people.
“We, however, trust the people.” He looked beyond her, raising his voice for the world. “I intend to use the shell to restore the democracy that our founding fathers meant America to be.”
“Aren’t you trapped like the council was?” She was coolly ironic. “Sealed up by Zeider’s blockade?”
“We are not the only friends of freedom. The Rifles have sister militias scattered all over the country. They are willing to risk their lives for liberty, and we have a weapon for them.”
“A weapon?”
“The silicon shell.” His smile turned harder. “The ultimate weapon.”
“Ultimate? When Zeider has you surrounded?”
“That’s what he thinks. We have a surprise for him. We can send our friends out in small convoys, each led by a pickup equipped with a mobile unit.”
“Portable shields!” The camera caught her widened eyes and parted cherry lips. “A reality?”
“And invincible!” He gestured expansively. “Nobody can touch them. New recruits will flock to join our revolution. We’ll have a hundred islands of freedom set up all across the country. The Free States of America!
“But never united! Nobody can unite them, not against their will. When they want to act together, it will be in free associations.
They’ll never need to fear tyrannical majorities or despotic bureaucrats. They’ll never be taxed or coerced.”
Elation lifted his voice.
“The world set free!”
“An exciting vision, sir.” Del Rio smiled as if she had caught his enthusiasm. “If you can make it happen.”
“Certainly we’ll face difficulties.” He nodded more gravely. “We have a new government to organize, new laws to write. But the government will be our own, not far off in Washington. The laws will be laws we like, and we can change them if we don’t.”
“Don’t you face opposition, even from your brother? Her eyes had narrowed shrewdly. “Isn’t he in jail?”
“Rob’s caught in an awkward situation.” He shrugged. “He had sworn allegiance to the council. I suppose he still feels bound by it, but the council is out of the picture now. He’ll have to face a new reality.”
Smiling again, Stuart was on his feet.
“So will Zeider and Higgins.” Brimming with confident energy, he bowed to the lens. “You must excuse me now. We have a new world to make.”
Del Rio thanked him and asked when channels to the outside might open.
“We have the interview recorded,” she told him. “Washintel Web Watch One will be anxious to broadcast it to the waiting world. Whenever possible.”
“I’ll have it arranged.”
They were gone. After another blast of military music, the monitor went blank. I watched it the rest of the day, waiting for Katz, but he never arrived.
When Mrs. Oxman brought breakfast next morning, it was biscuits with gravy and a few bites of scrambled eggs.
“Made for the VIPs up in the penthouse suites,” she said. “A little left over.”
Hopefully, I asked for news.
“Ain’t none.” Lips grimly compressed, she shook her head. “None that anybody knows. Mr. Oxman says General Me Adam is trying to change everything, with new laws and new courts. Now he’s in some kind of spat with his brother up in the penthouse. Mr. Oxman had to put him in a private room to talk on his cryptophone.”
She made an impatient swipe with the back of her hand at the beaded sweat on her forehead.
“God knows what will happen to us. Mr. Oxman always got on with Mr. Hunn—he’s been the boss of the county. But there’s bad blood between him and the General. I’m afraid they’ll throw us out of the jail with nowhere to go. The good God knows.”
She came back later escorting Katz.
“I offered the conference room,” she said. “But he says he ain’t got time.”
He stood in the corridor to speak through the bars. The big black-rimmed glasses gave him the air of a harried owl.
“Yesterday!” He shrugged in helpless apology. “Hell of a day! One crisis on top of another. We’ve got a new world to cope with. A madhouse, up to now. I tried to get here quicker, but I never had a minute. Today, however—”
He spread his hands in urgent appeal.
“Today—” He stopped to take off his glasses, lick the lenses, and rub them with a wrinkled handkerchief. “Well, Mr. Barstow—” Replacing the glasses, he shook his head. “I hope you’ll try to understand.”
“Yes?”
“You’re in a hard spot. General Me Adam wants to get rid of you. ‘Red meat for the firing squad,’ if I may quote. He blames you for trying to kill his father. And he thinks you tried to seduce his sister.”
“I didn’t—”
“What you did doesn’t matter. It’s what he thinks you did. But
please, my boy, don’t give up.” Once more he spread his fat hands. “I’m doing all that can be done. I’ve even appealed to the general’s father.”
“At the hospital? How is he?”
“Not well.” He shook his head. “The bullet has been removed, but it carried infection into his body. I tried to phone him, to ask if he meant to press the case against you. I never got to him, but they let me speak to his daughter.”
“Beth?” I saw her in my mind, sadly shaking her head. “What did she say?”
“Nothing useful. I asked her what Stuart thinks of you. She says they’re no longer in touch. I told her I would be your defender when the new courts are set up.” He paused, with a nervously apologetic laugh. “I probably shouldn’t say so, sir, but she seemed to think your case is hopeless.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SOME TIME AFTER midnight, I was startled awake by glaring light and the clash of steel.
“Bastards!”
The Silicon Dagger Page 23