by Tom Kratman
And Juani was right, as she had been right about limiting the violence, about resting her cause on the backs of the people. As she had been right and Jack had, often enough, been wrong. There were nuts in the audience and nuts at the convention. But there were also governors, legislators, academics. There were people of note and people unknown. Most of them were definitely not "nuts."
The governor, who was the chairwoman for this convention, looked out again over the sea of faces. Most seemed friendly, pleased, and supportive. The ones who were not? Well . . . there are a number of states that are hostile.
Juani began, "I would like to think that most of us know why we are here at this historic event. Nonetheless, for clarity's sake, we ought to restate it now. We are here, constitutionally assembled, to write or rewrite a Constitution for the United States of America. Perhaps it might be better to say that we are here to amend our existing constitution. I say 'amend' because everything I have learned since this convention assembled and everything I am told by the people of my own state says that few people, if any at all, really want to get rid of the Constitution that we have lived under and cherished for more than two centuries.
"I don't want to dispose of it myself. And I will, for whatever my own vote is worth here, vote and argue and filibuster and do whatever I can to keep from losing that magnificent law of our land."
Juani gazed out over the crowd. No real reaction to that. Does that mean they agree with me? Disagree? Aren't sure yet? Well . . . on we go . . .
"What I propose then is that we, as our first order of business, go over the current constitution and vote yea or nay on each line and passage, that we then do the same with the existing amendments, and only then should we open up debate on further amendments and changes."
Juani's face turned determined. "And we must be so very careful that we do not throw out the good with the bad, the baby with the bathwater.
"Because not everything the federal government has done is bad. Much of it has been so completely necessary that we could not exist as a country without it."
They didn't like hearing that too very much, did they? she observed. Well, they have to hear it.
"Let me explain.
"You do not like, most of you, some of the things the federal government has done with . . . oh . . . say . . . the commerce clause to the Constitution. Fine, I agree with you; I don't like some of them either. So let's say we get rid of the commerce clause at this convention. How long will it be before Louisiana enacts tariffs on Midwest food coming down the Mississippi? I give it a year. Maybe less.
"You don't like federal taxation? Fine, I agree with you. Do you like having a secure supply of oil? Well, how do we get that without an army to secure the Middle Eastern oil fields? How do we pay for that army without taxation?
"How do we build and maintain highways? Control flooding? Coordinate legitimate anticrime efforts that cross state borders? Keep up the railroads? Keep the ports dredged?"
"Ah, but 'The feds interfere too much,' I hear you say. Fine. I agree with that, too. But while Louisiana is enacting those tariffs, once we dispense with the commerce clause, how long before every state north of there dumps every kind of trash and pollutant into that same taxed Mississippi River . . . because there's no higher authority to keep them from doing that?"
Casting her eyes to the left center of the assembly, Juani caught sight of what she assumed, from their signs, was the National Rifle Association contingent.
"You do not like the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, many of you. And I agree wholeheartedly that it was a branch of government that went completely out of control along with most of the Treasury Department. But consider just what you do want. Do you want anyone, anywhere, to be able to have any kind of weapon they want, no matter how destructive? Chemical weapons? Nuclear weapons?
"Of course, you don't want that. Nobody does. How are you going to draw a sensible line, though? These are the kinds of questions this convention must answer."
Juani tapped delicate brown fingers on the podium, keeping time with her next words, "And it must answer them, as did the original Constitution, for the ages!"
She paused, reached for a glass and took a sip of water before continuing.
"The last thing I want to address to you is how we got to this point. No, I don't mean the slow steady growth in federal power that overwhelmed the states and individual citizens in time. No, I also don't mean the cultural changes in the United States.
"I mean the worst mistake. The one that made it impossible for a political party in power to accept losing. The one that former President Tavern made when he let his predecessor, Thomas Gates, be prosecuted for his malfeasances in office.
"Was Gates a swine, a rapist, a panderer and philanderer? He was all those things and worse. Did he deserve jail? Oh, yes.
"But was anything he did worth what prosecuting him did to us, eventually? It was not.
"For this reason, and though it pains me to the core, and even though I hold her responsible for the deaths of my brother, my husband and my son . . . and even though she brought rack and ruin to my home state, I am going to ask you for one special amendment to the new—hopefully also the old—Constitution. I am, in fact, asking you now for an amendment that will prevent a former President from being found criminally liable for political acts committed while in office.
"Fine her, if you wish. Exile her, if you wish. But do not let anyone send Wilhelmina Rottemeyer to jail lest you build at the same time, as President Tavern did, a jail for us all."
She closed shyly, "Thank you."
* * *
New York, New York
Rottemeyer glared at the television, furious. "That bitch! That cunt! That miserable wetback twat! How dare she be magnanimous to me? How dare she?"
Feldman merely shrugged. It seemed like a pretty good deal to him.
The President stood and began to pace the room. "Killed her brother," she mimicked. "Killed her son. Killed her illiterate fucking husband, did I? When I think about what that bitch cost me . . ."
She turned a cold, harsh gaze onto Feldman, one so cold and harsh he actually shivered. "Fine. Tell the chairman I'll go speak to this . . . damned . . . treacherous . . . convention."
Once again, Rottemeyer glared at the television screen where Juanita was receiving the ovation that in her world was rightfully due only to herself.
* * *
Houston, Texas
Elpi had been staying at a house of some friends of Minh. She was comfortable there, physically. Emotionally though it had never seemed quite right to her. The house was arranged differently. The furniture was different from what she was used to. The smells of cooking were—yes—pleasant, but also different, and a little unsettling.
The owners and her hosts, Madame and Monsieur Truong, certainly tried to make her comfortable. But their Spanish was poor and Elpi's French nonexistent. Communication in English was a trial for all concerned.
The girl found herself watching a lot of television. That also helped her refrain from worrying about her future.
For the governor had never sent for her. Or even communicated. Elpi was certain that Juanita was overwhelmed by events; she attached no blame. Elpi also had a sneaking suspicion that, whether the governor actually thought that way or not, the association with loss—Father Jorge, Mario, and Mr. Seguin—just might have caused Juanita to push the girl as far from her consciousness as possible.
On the television Juanita was speaking in English to the crowd. Naturally, Houston being Houston and the cable channels reflecting that, the speech was subtitled in Spanish.
The Governor looks so worn and tired on the TV, thought the girl. She looks so sad, too.
Elpi resolved to have a talk with Colonel Minh.
* * *
Kansas City, Missouri
Mr. Smythe was a simple man, in his way; an undistinguished one, also, to all appearances. Medium short, with a slight paunch, crowned by thinning blond hair
tinged with unremarkable gray.
He lived simply enough, alone, in a two-bedroom condo between the city and nearby Leavenworth, Kansas. His needs were few and his job, though he was rarely called upon, more than met them.
Carroll had met Smythe before, once. As he had then, Smythe pushed across the table a piece of paper with a number, a rather large number, written on it.
Unnecessarily, Smythe added, "My fee is not negotiable."
"I understand that," Carroll answered. "You will be needing credentials?"
"Yes. I will list my requirements later."
Though a cold man, Smythe couldn't help a warm shiver of anticipation. He had his own standards of achievement. Two major figures in one lifetime. No one has ever gotten two in one lifetime.
Chapter Twenty-One
From the transcript at trial: Commonwealth of
Virginia v. Alvin Scheer
DIRECT EXAMINATION, CONTINUED
BY MR. STENNINGS:
Q. So you went to Virginia Beach, Alvin?
A. Yes, sir. I already said so, didn't I? But, Lord, it was a nightmare. I couldn't find a cheap room and I couldn't afford a good one if'n I could have found it. I ended up sleeping in my old truck. Moving from one rest area to another. And the nights were pretty chilly, too. Cold . . . and that wet breeze off the ocean? Well, it was bad.
I drove around a lot during the day. Wasn't too hard to figure out where everything was going on. And, too, I listened to my radio. That's how I found out where the President was staying. . . .
* * *
Hotel Cavalier (Hilltop), Virginia Beach, Virginia
There was not, technically, a presidential suite at the Cavalier, though there was one in the nearby, and much newer, Cavalier Oceanfront. Normally. In fact, the old building, the Hotel Cavalier, was not usually open after the end of the normal season. These however, were not normal times. Sensing vast profits accompanying the convention, management had moved Heaven and Earth, calling back seasonally laid off employees, rushing to hire fillers, and even calling back some retired personnel to fill the remaining gaps.
Even in the Oceanfront, the Presidential Suite was nothing more than an ad hoc joining of four normally independent suites. Absent a President, these had already been rented individually.
The next best thing, and even Wilhelmina Rottemeyer had to confess that next best was very good indeed, was the Cavalier Suite in the old hotel. Not that it pleased her, precisely. Nothing could really please her but a long, peaceful contemplation of Juanita Seguin's corpse, well embalmed and neatly laid out.
But, sigh, that was not to be. Or, if it was, it was not going to happen as a result of anything Wilhelmina Rottemeyer could do, one way or the other.
If she believed in a God she would ask for that one little boon. Since she didn't believe . . .
* * *
The Secret Service, the real Secret Service, not the bastardized political army Rottemeyer had created and now lost, still took its duties seriously. They didn't like her, they could hardly wait for her disappearance from office, but they had—by God—a duty to defend her and they would meet that duty come hell or high water.
Among the precautions that the Secret Service had taken were the posting of countersnipers on the roofs of both parts of the Cavalier—Hilltop and Oceanfront, plus on the roof of the Ocean Tower, a different hotel south of the Oceanfront and southwest of the Hilltop. These were not on duty twenty-four hours a day, but they would be on duty at anytime the President was in or around her hotel.
Smythe noticed this, of course, and wrote them off. The Secret Service was essentially irrelevant to his plans.
* * *
Alvin was having a difficult time of it. He drove the length of road fronting the beach over and over. He simply could not see any way to do what he intended to do. Dressed as he was, with a rifle that he could not very well hide, with little money and no expectation of actually getting inside of one of the hotels without being noticed . . . well, the task seemed hopeless.
Finally, the tall steeple of a red brick church caught his attention as he drove past the Cavalier for the fourth time. He read the sign: Galilee Episcopal Church.
Would the good Lord above forgive me for using a church for what I intend to do?
Then he considered his late wife, killed by the system. He thought of his state, now free but recently attacked.
Would the Lord forgive me for not using a church, if that's all I have?
* * *
Willi gave the church a short glance as her limousine pulled away from the main entrance to the Cavalier on its way to the convention center. She gave a much longer glance to the southwest lawn of the hotel where Carroll, so she presumed, was busy overseeing those themselves overseeing the setup for her post speech press conference. Trusting Carroll and his abilities implicitly, she turned her mind and thoughts back to the speech she was on her way to give.
* * *
Alvin's hands were trembling slightly as he left his truck to walk around the church. He noticed the setup of speakers, podium and chairs on the lawn between the big old hotel and the church. Was the President going to give a press conference? He couldn't know for sure, but it seemed to him that was the way to bet it.
He walked back to his truck and drove up right next to a more or less hidden side entrance. Again leaving the truck, he tested the door, only to find it locked from the inside.
Alvin then walked around, once again, to the front. This door was unlocked. He entered the church openly. Once inside, it was no great feat to find the door by which he had parked his truck. Opening it from the inside, he went to the truck and retrieved the rifle he had rolled up in a tarp in the bed.
* * *
Convention Center, Virginia Beach, Virginia
Willi had never before in her life faced so hostile an audience. They didn't boo, hiss, or throw things of course; it was a well-behaved hostile audience. But the sheer psychic venom emanating from the visages of well over half the convention attendees would have been enough to overwhelm a lesser woman.
She was not a lesser woman, however. Surrounded by her Secret Service agents, she boldly strode the aisle-way and on up to the podium. She spared a few smiles for the delegations she was certain were friendly: Massachusetts, California, New York and a few others. For the rest she projected nothing warmer than an icy glare.
Standing behind the podium, that icy glare turned, if anything, more frigid still.
"So you think you can change things," Rottemeyer sneered. "You have come here to make up a new set of rules, have you?
"You're pathetic. You're also hopelessly beneath the challenge. I can see that by the silly amendments you are already proposing. Let's look at some of them, shall we?
"You want to repeal the income tax and the social security tax? Let me assure you; it is too late. This country's economy would collapse almost overnight from the disruption or cancellation of all those federal procurement contracts and the loss of spending power on the part of those working in the federal bureaucracy. What's more, I see very few young faces out in the crowd, mostly older people. What are you going to do when you get older and find you haven't saved enough for your retirement? And find further that your kids, like yourselves, don't want to be bothered taking care of their parents? I'll tell you what you'll do; you'll vote yourselves federal relief that might not be called social security, but will be the same thing, perhaps not half so well organized and run, under a different name.
"And who takes care of the people already retired? Their social security savings? Nonsense. They don't exist, not in the sense that the money exists in such a way that it can be paid back in full."
Rottemeyer shook her head as if scolding naughty schoolchildren. "At least one of the lunatics here has, apparently, some legal training. This idiot wants to re-create the old nondelegation doctrine the Supreme Court repudiated in the 1930s. Not a chance. There's simply too much. Too many of you want—or will want—the federal governme
nt to do for you that which Congress cannot hope to do."
"And speaking of the Supreme Court, are you all really so enthusiastic about castrating it? Creating some governor's council that can overturn its decisions? Hmmm. So, when Alabama decides to reenact some Jim Crow laws and the rest of the South follows right along, you really don't want anybody who can say 'no'? I don't believe it for a minute."
Rottemeyer paused briefly, scanning her audience with boundless contempt. "And you want term limits? Well, you've always had them. All you had to do was not vote for someone for another term.
"No federal interference with religion? Oh sure . . . and when Utah decides on polygamy again?
"Now let me tell you why none of this will work. You—all of you—want the federal government to do things for you. The things you want done may vary, but you all want something. And so you, and people just like you, will demand that the government give you those things you want. And so, no matter what you do now, you'll be racing each other beginning about two weeks after this convention closes to give the government back whatever power it needs to give you what you want."