by Frank Zafiro
“Not just any agency,” Wayne said. “The agency. Homeland Security. It’s the hub of the wheel.”
Ryan studied him, wondering if that was where Wayne worked.
“Don’t ask,” he said, noticing the look. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Ultimately, we all work for HSA. Hell, you do, too.”
“Not me,” Ryan said. “I take the ‘community of service’ clause of nationalization seriously.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Wayne told him. “Every cop has a federal commission. Every cop answers to the orange fuhrer.”
Ryan burst out in a bitter laugh. “Oh, that’s good. You better not let anyone you work with hear you say that.”
“Why do you think I’m talking out of the side of my mouth just below the sound level of the ambient crowd noise? It’s called tradecraft, brother. And I am good at it.”
In Wayne’s voice, Ryan could hear that age-old genuine mix of self-deprecating humor and mild arrogance that was pure Wayne. That reassured him.
“What would you do if you were me?” he asked.
“I’d get a better haircut, for starters.”
“After that.”
Wayne was quiet for a long while. Then he said, “Let me think on it for a bit, all right? I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“We don’t have much time left,” Ryan said.
“I know.” Wayne put his hands into his jack pocket. “In the meantime, you should do what we always did on an op. You remember?”
“Plan for the worst, hope for the best,” Ryan recited. “Except—”
“—hope is not a plan,” Wayne finished. He gave Ryan a grim smile. “But we can still hope, right, brother?”
“We can always hope, yes.”
“Good.”
They sat quietly for the rest of the period, reacting with ooohs and ahhhs to Conway nearly scoring another goal and then leaping to their feet after a questionable hit on her just a few moments later. Veteran player and long-time Blues captain Brayden Schenn immediately dropped his gloves and waded into the Houston player. After a brief tie-up and some jockeying, Schenn began landing jackhammer blows on his opponent’s face.
Conway was back on her feet. Instead of making her way to the bench, she waved the trainer away and grabbed onto a Houston player who was drifting too close to the Schenn fight. They jerked and pulled on each other for a few moments, but neither one dropped their gloves.
Schenn’s pummeling ended abruptly when one of the punches landed on the button and the Houston player’s legs gave out. He sank to his knees. Schenn held him from falling to the ice, but stopped raining blows upon him. The linemen got between the two players and guided the Houston player to the bench. Schenn made his way toward the penalty box to the uproarious approval of the crowd, but one of the referees intercepted him and guided him to the Blues bench instead. He left the ice and headed straight down the tunnel to the locker room.
Ryan glanced up at the game clock. There was a little under four minutes left in the period. Fighting was a five-minute major penalty, so that explained why they’d sent Schenn off the ice.
“Old time hockey,” Wayne mused. “You don’t see that very often anymore.”
“True,” Ryan admitted. Fighting had become rare in the NHL. He wasn’t sure that was a bad thing necessarily, but it was a change from the game he’d grown up with.
“Well, good for Schenner for sticking up for a teammate like that. I guess you can take the boy out of Saskatchewan...” Wayne said, then trailed off without finishing the cliché. He held out his hand. “Listen, I gotta go. I want to beat the traffic.”
Ryan grasped Wayne’s hand in his own. He felt a small plastic chip press into his palm.
Wayne leaned in and hugged him with this other arm. “You put that in your phone and you can call me secure. Just in case, okay?”
Ryan nodded. “Thanks.”
Wayne broke the embrace and let go of the handshake. He gave Melina a small wave. “Enjoy the rest of the game, kiddo. Blues for life, right?”
Melina gave him a thumbs up.
Wayne clapped Ryan lightly on the shoulder, then turned and made his way up the steps and out of the arena.
Ryan sat back down, slipping the small chip into his pocket. When the period ended, he and Melina stayed and watched the intermission activity on the ice, then quietly followed the Zamboni as it glided over the ice, smoothing over the deep grooves that ran across the ice surface like scars.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, honey?” he glanced down at her expectantly.
“I love you,” she said. Her tone was very matter-of-fact.
He smiled, and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “I love you, too.”
“I think we’re going to win this one,” Melina told him.
“You may be right. I hope so.”
“I hope so, too,” she said, and went back to watching the Zamboni sweep across the ice.
Chapter 16
History can be a subjective field, and one’s own politics frequently mar an otherwise adroit analysis. So when Sage Rasmussen wrote that by 2020, Canada had become the nation that the United States always believed it was, his comments were met with either derision or disappointed agreement, depending upon the political beliefs of the receiver. Certainly, people from any political persuasion would be forced to admit that there was something very similar in Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s early term sentiment that “[w]e have created a society where individual rights and freedoms, compassion and diversity are core to our citizenship. But underlying that idea of Canada is the promise that we all have a chance to build a better life for ourselves and our children.”
— From An Unlikely Phoenix by Reed Ambrose
ALEXANDER DERRICK MET with Gregory Bell in the late morning. He agreed to meet at Gregory’s office, which was a common ploy by those in power. There were dozens of similar small moves – who set the meeting, who picked the neutral site (making it somewhat less than neutral), who set the agenda, who spoke first, who steered the conversation to his own agenda...all small steps in a dance of dominance and manipulation. He had once reveled in these kinds of political games, but in recent years, he had grown exceptionally weary of all of them. Maybe it was because it didn’t seem like a game to him anymore. The stakes had risen from politics to...to what?
Something grander, he decided. Something far more important than the day to day minutiae that had dominated most of his career up until about a decade ago. He just didn’t have time to care about these ridiculous power plays.
Power plays. That made him think of the text he’d received from Ryan at breakfast.
Blues 6, Renegades 2 last night. Conway a natural hat trick. Schenn got a Gordie Howe. Anaheim next, then your Sharks.
With everything going on, his brother still took a few moments to jab him about his perceived disloyalty to the hometown team. Somehow that made him feel like there were still things that were right in the world, despite of how the recent Supreme Court decision potentially impacted Ryan’s family.
Gregory greeted him courteously, if a little withdrawn. Once they had a very public conversation out in the waiting area, one that enough of his staffers heard or would hear about that minions such as Young would get a favorable report, the two retreated to Gregory’s office.
“Something to drink?” Gregory asked.
“Maybe some coffee, if you’re having some.”
Gregory lifted his phone and made a quick order. Then he leaned back in his chair and waited for Alex to start.
Alex wasted no time. “I’ll get straight to it, Gregory. I’m here to secure your vote to back the Governor’s initiative.”
“She isn’t going to wait for the people to vote? The referendum won’t be voted on for another week.”
“Of course, she’s going to wait. But we all know how the vote will turn out.”
“Do we?” Gregory asked. “See, I’m not so sure.”
“California is still a blue s
tate,” Alex said. “And more importantly, we have a culture that prizes personal liberty. That has led to a lot of anti-federal sentiment—”
“Yes, I live here, too, Alex. I don’t need a lesson on politics or history from you. I get enough of that from August as it is.” He shook his head. “But I’ll tell you something. Even if you and the Governor are right about this vote, you’re making a mistake.”
“What’s the mistake?”
“Counting on votes as if they are yours by right. The majority has been doing it for as long as it’s been a majority. Democrats always believed they had the black vote locked up without even trying. Republicans counted on the religious right as a fait accompli. But when you view a block of people like that, like their vote belongs to you, it shows a lack of respect. It’s condescending.”
“That’s fair. But I’m here in your office, Gregory. I’m not taking your vote for granted – I’m trying to secure it.”
“I know. But you’ve already counted the people’s vote, and they won’t even go to the polls until next week.”
There was a rap on the door, and Gregory called for them to enter. A young man in a sweater vest came in briskly, putting a cup of coffee on Gregory’s desk and leaving without a word.
“I hate that,” Gregory said.
“What?”
“That stupid sweater vest. It’s worse than bell bottoms.”
“Those are due for another resurgence soon.”
“I know. I dread it.” Gregory slid one of the cups across the desk to Alex. “Let’s be generous and say that you’re not being arrogant or entitled by counting on the public vote. Instead, let’s say that you’ve got a keen feel for the public winds right now.”
“That’s gracious of you.” Alex sparred back gently.
“Where does that leave things? Does the Governor intend to act immediately? To secede?”
“I can’t speak for what’s happening in the Governor’s mind.”
“You’re here, speaking on her behalf.”
“True. All I know is that she wants to have the votes to do it. I don’t know more than that.”
Gregory gave him a pointed look. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Alex.”
“I’m not.”
“You two have gotten pretty cozy over the last few months. You’re going to tell me she doesn’t share her plans with you when you go over to the Governor’s mansion for dinner? I mean, you do talk politics, right?” A knowing grin spread across his face. “Wait. You’re not dating the Governor, are you?”
Alex felt a slight blush of warmth, followed immediately by irritation.
Gregory’s eyebrows went up. “Holy Hell, you are. Alex, she’s eight-two!”
Alex cleared his throat. “I’m not. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Hey, I’m not judging. Everybody needs somebody.”
Alex gave him a dark, weary look. “It’s not like that,” he said. “Some of it is business, and yeah, some of it is personal. We’ve become friends. I like her, and I admire her. That doesn’t mean I want to sleep with her.”
“When a man likes and admires a woman, it usually means he wants to sleep with her.”
“Well, call me unusual, then. It’s a friendship, and honestly, Gregory, I’d like it if you didn’t cheapen it with your silly speculation.” His tone had become a touch sharper, not beyond remaining congenial, but Gregory clearly caught the shift.
Gregory held up his hands. “All right, all right. I surrender. You’re just friends.”
“We’re friends,” Alex repeated, omitting the just.
“My question still stands. Is she going to pursue secession as soon as she has the vote?”
“My answer is still the same. I don’t know. I think a lot will depend on what the White House does.”
“If we move too fast, we’ll lose Canada,” Gregory said.
Alex didn’t answer. He’d hoped the Governor’s revelations about her discussions with the heads of state of both Canada and Mexico would dissuade those who still held to that strategy. He couldn’t be sure if this was gamesmanship by Gregory or what he honestly thought was still the best course.
“You don’t think Canada is there for us, do you?” Gregory asked.
Alex shook his head. “No. Not yet. Maybe once we’re independent. Before that, it’s too risky.”
Gregory lifted his coffee cup and took a drink, his face thoughtful. “I have come to agree with that position,” he said, “or at least consigned myself to Canada being part of the long-term plan, not the short term.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“If my position is no longer viable in the short term, then I obviously have to decide what position to take in the short term.” He put the cup down. “Clearly, I can’t back Héctor’s plan to join Mexico. Just between you and me, I think that might be the only thing worse than the current state of affairs, at least for the people I represent.”
Alex didn’t reply. He knew Gregory took great pride in being from Oakland. He often drew on the hard, urban roots that he came from, but pointed to the extreme revitalization that had gone on in that city over the past dozen years...ironically, coinciding closely with the President’s term in office. He’d pointed that out to Gregory once, who’d given him a death stare before gritting, “Correlation doesn’t equal causation. You’d do well to remember that.”
“I’ve never been one to sit the fence, so that leaves me staring down either reconciliation or secession. The two extremes.” He leaned back. “When did we become a people of extremes, Alex?”
Alex shook his head. “We always have been,” he said. “Once we got this big, it’s impossible not to be.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Gregory took another sip of coffee.
Alex waited, wondering what Gregory wanted. Did he want to be courted? Was he just enjoying his moment of leverage? Or something else?
“Have you been to any of these concerts?” Gregory asked him. “These Freedom Concerts?”
Alex shook his head.
“Me, either,” Gregory said. “But they’ve been cropping up all over the state. From all kinds of musicians. Rap, country, rock, techno, even that new Japanese style. What’s it called?”
“I don’t know.”
Gregory raised a finger. “I remember. They call it Giru. You ever listen to any of it?”
“No. I’ve been busy.”
“It doesn’t matter. Point is, after that thing in St. Louis, people can’t seem to get enough of these concerts, giru or otherwise.”
Alex nodded. Gregory was right. At least in California, the concerts had been allowed to happen. He’d heard rumblings that in many states, the events had been suppressed. Government agencies refused to authorize permits in some places. In others, a contingent of counter-protestors showed up, threatening violence and giving police the excuse to shut down the show. But the government wasn’t able to stop them all. Some promoters had taken to using private property for the shows, even large farm properties, a move that hearkened back to Woodstock.
“People value freedom,” Alex said. “You know that.”
“I do. And this is why you think the referendum will pass?”
“Yes.”
Gregory thought about it for a moment, eyeing Alex all the while. Then he said, “I will support you, Alex. But I have a condition.”
“What is it?”
“The Mexico option has to die.”
“I can’t promise that. I don’t have that measure of control. And Héctor has a lot of support.”
Gregory narrowed his eyes. “Let’s be real. Mexico is a poor country. A union with Mexico isn’t us joining Mexico. It’s Mexico joining us.”
“That’s a little ethnocentric.”
“I know it’s not PC, but it’s true. Joining Mexico is a step backward, and absorbing Mexico into our new nation would be a financial disaster.”
“I don’t think it’s quite that simple.”
“Alex, I’m being kind
. There are those who argue Mexico is a failed state, and has been for decades. The drug cartels own and run the country.”
Alex didn’t immediately reply. There was an element of truth to what Gregory said. He wasn’t in favor of the Mexico option, either, but he couldn’t speak for the Governor. Carefully, he said, “Here’s what I can tell you, Gregory. The Governor is not in favor of petitioning any nation for annexation. Not Canada, not Mexico, not anyone.”
“Not now, sure. But what about two years from now, once we’re free and clear of the U.S.? Like you said, Héctor has a lot of votes. And there’s a whole lot of brown people living in California. Way more brown than black.”
“All of your constituents aren’t black.”
“Nor yours all white,” Gregory replied. “Most are, though. And most of mine are black.”
“So what?”
“So it doesn’t do any of us any good to join Mexico, that’s so what.”
Alex considered. “I can promise you that I won’t actively support a move to join Mexico. And I’ll both advise and vote against it. Beyond that, I can’t promise you anything.”
Gregory deliberated for a long minute. Then he held out his hand. “Senator, under those terms, I am happy to support the Governor if she should decide that secession is the best course of action for the people and the great state of California.”
Alex shook his hand.
That’s one more, he thought.
But was it enough?
Chapter 17
In the previous century, Science fiction author Robert A. Heinlein wrote that “secrecy is the beginning of tyranny.” The political argument that springs from such a statement is a straightforward one: the more open a government is, the freer its people tend to be. Conversely, the more secretive a government is, the more restrictions placed upon its people.
While there are those who will heartily argue against this maxim, most academics will concede that it is generally accurate. And while the level of governmental secrecy within the United States during the 2020s appears to have spiked considerably, that secrecy was masked with propaganda and other forms of white noise that often served to distract most citizens. While distracted, they did not notice or pay sufficient attention to those actions that they may have otherwise found disturbing.