“You goddamn lowlife miserable son of a bitch!” she cursed him.
Hartline smiled. “Strip, baby. Take it all off while facing the camera. Let's give Lowry a really good show."
Naked and embarrassed and trembling with anger, Sabra faced the mercenary.
He netted his penis. “Kneel down here, baby—on your knees. You know what to do. You probably sucked cocks gettin’ to where you are in the network, anyway."
She took him as the camera recorded it all.
Hartline laughed. “It's just so fucking easy when you know how. Just so easy."
* * * *
“I wonder how many of us really took this thing seriously?” Dawn said, almost as if speaking to herself. “I mean, before it actually touched us?"
Sunday afternoon in the Great Smokies, a time for rest and napping and talking.
“What a strange thing to say,” a young woman from Baker Company said. “Didn't you always?"
“No,” Dawn replied. “Hell, I was a member of the press—practically untouchable. None of us ever really took the censorship order seriously. But when I shot that cop in Richmond, my only thought was to get away. I had absolutely no idea of joining anything. It all had kind of a dreamlike quality to it until I saw and heard all those people beaten to death in Memphis."
Dawn was one of the few who made it out of the safe house in Memphis. She had never talked about it.
“How bad was it?” one of Ben's regular Rebels from the days of Tri-States asked.
It was quiet, very peaceful in the mountains. A light breeze rippled the leaves as summer, sensing the change, began its slow drifting into fall. Nature's coloration was beginning its gradual change; a little gold had appeared among the green. When Dawn spoke, her voice was low-pitched, as if the memory itself was painful.
“I can remember a panel truck or van in Richmond,” she recalled vocally. “And I remember that my head hurt and I was bleeding and my hand and wrist were sore from firing that hand-cannon. I don't remember much about the trip from Richmond to Memphis. I do recall someone saying Memphis was safe because it was a dead city. We stopped several times and there was always someone to change the bandage on my head.
“We made it to Memphis without any trouble. Any of you ever seen that city? God! Dead doesn't do it justice. It's eerie. Anyway, we were all kept in this huge mansion there; our testing period. We were drugged and hooked up to polygraph and PSE machines. We all passed the tests except for this one girl; she was a federal agent working undercover."
Dawn paused in the act of remembrance. “What happened to her?” someone asked.
Dawn shrugged. “I guess someone killed her."
They all waited for her to continue; waited in the stillness of waning summer.
“We had all passed our tests and were waiting to link up with another group before being sent here. Three of us were way in the back of the house—this was another house, not the mansion. We moved several times. We were playing cards. Gin rummy.
“We never dreamed there would be a contingent of Hartline's men and agents in the city. But then we didn't know they had broken some of the people they'd captured in Tennessee. About nine o'clock that night they kicked in the front door and started hammering on people. Just like that—no warning, no nothing. It was ... unreal. The guy who was playing cards with us pushed me and this other girl into a closet and up into the crawlspace of the attic. Then he dropped back down to search for a weapon. The two of us lay there, listening and shaking we both were so badly frightened."
One Rebel paused in the lighting of a cigarette; another looked at the ground. No one said anything. All waited.
“The agents had knowledge that only a few of us would be armed. They killed them first, then started beating the men to death with nightsticks. They had other plans for the women,” she said grimly. “One girl kept screaming: ‘Help me—help me. God, it hurts!’ Over and over. I don't have to tell you what the men were doing to her. It was a pretty grim scene.
“They ... tortured some of the women right in the room under us. I kept thinking: this is not happening. This is America. This can't be happening. Bullshit. It was happening, all right.
“And they were taking pictures of it, still shots and rolling action. Some of the men were laughing and saying how much fun it was going to be to compare this to some of the other films other guys had taken. Jesus Christ. Did the Nazis do things like that? I'm sure they did.
“All we could do was lie as still as possible and pray—if there is a God,” she added bitterly. “And I don't know anymore.
“It seemed like it went on for hours. Hell, it did go on for hours! Then we heard the men leave. We waited for an hour before we slipped down into the ... carnage. It was unbelievable—what had been done to the people. It was something you'd see in some sort of ... sex perversion movie. Really. I'm not going to get into that. But these guys—Hartline's men and some of these agents—they must be crazy; all twisted inside. I don't know.” She shook her head.
“The next day, some trucks came to get us. We all took different routes getting here. I was in the small convoy that wasn't ambushed. I don't know if I could have taken that; I was pretty shaky. We got here that night."
She lapsed into a silence that was loud. Just when it seemed she would not speak of the horror again, she added, “That's when I got involved. That's when I got involved."
No one had anything to add to that.
Seven
“This is it?” President Addison asked, looking around him at the handful of men and women gathered at the presidential retreat. “This is all?"
“I'm afraid so, Aston,” Senator Carson said glumly. “All that I know for certain we can trust, that is."
Fourteen men and five women making up the group of twelve representatives and seven senators.
“It's worse than I thought,” the president said, his voice no more than a shocked whisper. “I was sure Matt would be among the group."
“They got to Matt,” Representative Jean Purcell said.
“They?” Aston questioned.
“Cody and Hartline,” Senator Stayton said. “We didn't learn of this until just a week or so ago, Aston. We just could not understand how responsible men and women could change overnight. Oh, we knew many of our colleagues were the wrong people for the job, but their people elected them ... nothing we could do about that. But we thought we had enough votes to keep you in power. Then we started polling. Quite a surprise."
“Yes,” Representative Linda Benning spoke. “More like a shock to us. Then we found out why. To make it brief, Mr. President, Matt was set up ... a young girl, a very young girl. Naturally, it was Hartline and Cody. Everything was filmed."
“How old was the girl?” Aston asked.
Linda cleared her throat. “Ah ... eleven."
“Jesus Christ!"
“A very mature eleven,” she added.
“The others?” Aston asked.
“More or less the same tactics; some got rougher than others. Senator Borne's wife was raped right in front of him—in their living room!” Senator Milton said. He wiped sweat from his forehead with a large handkerchief and said, “His daughters would have been next had he not agreed to go along with Lowry.” The man sighed. “This is movie stuff, right out of Hollywood. Or, when Hollywood existed, that is. It just doesn't happen in real life. That's what we all thought. Larry Barwell came to me last week, after I confronted him outside the chambers and called him a traitor. He came to my house, crying. They..."
“Goddamnit!” Aston snapped at the man. “Stop using they. Who the hell is they?"
Anguish shone in Milton's eyes. “Cody's men. Hartline's men. Lowry's agents. God, Aston, we're trying."
“I'm sorry, Frank,” Aston patted the man's arm. “I really am. I didn't mean to snap. Go on."
“They ... those men—they threatened to, this is embarrassing ... sexually abuse Larry if he didn't cooperate. You know what I mean, Aston."
> The president sat down in a chair, his face was almost gray. “I get the picture. How did you people withstand the pressure?"
“I guess Lowry's men just didn't need us. They had enough votes to do things their way without us,” Representative Essex replied. “I'm glad they didn't get to us. I'll be honest with you, Aston: I don't know what I would have done."
Aston shook his head. “I can't blame any of the men and women for doing what they did—under that kind of pressure. Well, at least you all have cleared up some matters this afternoon."
“Aston,” Senator Poulson leaned forward. “Let's take it to the military, lay it on the line for them. Ask them to move in and forcibly toss Lowry and his people out."
Aston shook his head. “I thought of that. I even called in the Joint Chiefs and approached them with it. They laid it out for me. And the figures were disturbing. You all know how small our military is. Combining all the services, Cody's FBI, Hartline's mercenaries, and, all the federalized cops more than triple the size of the military. And that's not even counting the National Guard and reserve units, plus the regular units of the military who would be loyal to Lowry or Cody. No, I think we have only one hope."
“And that is,” Senator Henson asked.
“Ben Raines,” the president reluctantly replied.
* * * *
“Ben,” Ike walked up to him, smiling. “I think we got a break in this."
“It's about time. Put it on me, pal."
Both men winced at Ben's use of the noun. Ike sighed. “Yeah, Ben—he was a friend of mine, too."
* * * *
Ben and Juno were in the Ouachita Mountains of Arkansas. Ben had relaxed by fishing in the late afternoon sun, catching more fish than he could possibly use, but having so much fun he was hesitant to quit. He had cleaned them and was about to cook them on his portable Coleman stove when Juno growled low in his chest.
“We're friendly.” The voice came out of the brush. “I have some children with me."
“Come on in,” Ben said, keeping one hand on the butt of his pistol.
A black man and woman with several kids in tow walked up to the cabin porch. The man stuck out his hand. “Pal Elliot.” He smiled his introduction. “This is Valerie. And these,” he pointed to the kids, “in order, starting with the oldest, are Bruce, Linda, Sue, and Paul."
Two blacks, one Oriental, one Indian.
Ben shook the offered hands and smiled at the kids. “Ben Raines.” He sat down on the porch and motioned for the others to do the same. “You folks live around here?"
Pal smiled. “No, just passing through. Like a lot of other people. I was an airline pilot, based in L.A. Valerie was a model in New York City. We met about seven months ago, I think it was."
“Six months ago,” she corrected him with a smile. “We picked up the kids along the way. Found them wandering."
“No children of your own?” Ben asked.
“No. But he did.” She looked at Pal. “Lost his whole family. You?"
Ben shook his head. “I was—am—a bachelor. Lost my brothers and sisters and parents.” He grimaced in the fading light.
“Memories still painful?” Pal asked.
“No, not really. One brother made it out—up in Chicago. Suburbs, actually. We met ... had a falling out."
“Carl Raines?” Pal asked.
“That's the man."
“We passed through that area,” Valerie said. “Very quickly. It was ... unpleasant."
“Well, folks,” Ben stood up, rubbing his hands together. “How about staying for dinner? I have plenty of fish."
“We'd like that,” they said together.
* * * *
“I knew I'd heard that name somewhere,” Pal said. It was evening in the mountains. The air was soft with warmth, the lake shimmering in the moonlight, shining silver with ripples of moving chalk on the surface. The children played Rook in the den of the cabin; the adults sat on the porch, smoking and talking and drinking beer. “'Way you write, hard law and order, I had to think you were a racist—at first. Then you did some other books that had me confused about your reasoning. What is your political philosophy, Ben? If you don't mind my asking, that is."
“No, I don't mind. I ... think I was rapidly becoming very apolitical, Pal; pretty damned fed up with the whole system. I did a couple of books about it. I was fed up with the goddamned unions asking for more money than they were worth—trying, in many instances, to dictate policy to the government. I was very sick of crime with no punishment, weary of the ACLU sticking their noses into everybody's business. Oh ... don't get me started, Pal. Besides, as a young lady once told me, not too long ago, it's all moot now, anyway."
“Is it, Ben?” Pal asked. “What about Logan?"
Ben chuckled. “Our president-we-didn't-elect? Yeah, I know. I gather you folks aren't responding to his orders to relocate?"
“Logan can take his relocation orders and stick them up his nose,” Valerie said. “I never did like that man; didn't trust him."
Megan's words.
“I shall live,” she continued, “where I damned well choose to live."
Ben told them of Ike and Megan; of New Africa and what the government planned to do. And then he told them, just touching on it, of the idea that was in his mind—to get their reactions.
They were both excited. “Are you serious with this, Ben?” Pal inquired, leaning forward.
“Yes, I suppose I am. I know I am. I've been resisting it for months. I didn't believe Americans would follow Logan's orders, falling blindly in line like lemmings to the sea. You two have witnessed it?"
Pal nodded. “Yes. Several times during the past few months. People are being forced to relocate, many of them against their will."
“You were going to tour the country, write about it?” Valerie asked.
“Was,” Ben said. “You people?"
“The kids have to have schooling,” Pal replied, giving voice to both their thoughts. “And I'm told a man named Cecil Jefferys and his wife, Lila, are really doing some fantastic things down in Louisiana."
“I just told you what Logan plans to do about New Africa,” Ben reminded them.
“Maybe it won't happen."
“You can't believe that."
“No,” Pal said quietly. “I suppose not. White people have always been fearful of an all-black nation, whether you will admit it or not. But I suppose we have to try. I have a master's in science; Valerie, a master's in business. They are going to need teachers."
“But I just told you—"
“I know—I know,” Pal waved him silent. “But after all that's happened ... all the horror, I thought perhaps the government would ... let us alone, let us rebuild."
“You know they won't."
Pal and Valerie said nothing in rebuttal.
After talking of small things for a few moments, Ben said, “I'd like to see a nation—a state, if you will—where we teach truth, as supported by fact; the arts, the sciences, English, other languages, fine music—the whole bag. I have this theory—very controversial—that we are, should have to start from scratch. Gather up a group of people who are colorblind and as free of hates and prejudices as possible, and say, ‘All right, folks, here it is; we, all of us, are going to wash everything clean and begin anew. Here will be our laws, as we choose them. We will live by these laws, and they will be enforced to the letter ... equally. Always. This is what we will teach in our schools—and only this. This is what will happen when a student gets out of line. Everything will be in plain simple English, easy to understand and, I would hope, easy to follow.’ The speech would have to end with this: ‘Those of you who feel you can live in a society such as we advocate, please stay. Work with us in eradicating prejudices, hatred, hunger, bad housing, bad laws, crime, etc. But those of you who don't feel you could live under such a system of open fairness—then get the hell out!’”
Both Pal and Valerie were silent for a few seconds after Ben finished. Pal finally
said, “That, my friend, would be some society, if it would work."
“It would work,” Ben defended his theory. “If the government—the central government—would leave the people alone. It would work because everyone there would be working toward that goal. There would be no dissension."
“Don't you feel that concept rather idealistic?” Valerie asked.
“No, Valerie, I don't. But I will say it would take a lot of bending and adjusting for the people who choose to live in that type of society."
“Ben Raines?” Pal looked at him. “Let's keep in touch."
As he drove away the next morning, Ben thought: Now there are the types of people I'd like to have for neighbors, friends. Good people, educated people, knowledgeable people, with dreams and hopes and an eye toward the future...
* * * *
“Yeah,” Ben said, bringing himself back to the present. “But we can't live in the past, can we, Ike?"
“It doesn't hurt to remember, though. As long as someone is around to remember the dead, they'll always be alive.” He grinned. “Some wise dude said that."
“You had some good news for me..."
“Tommy Levant, senior agent with the FBI. He's fed up with Cody and what the man has done with the Bureau. Word is, he wants to work with us."
“Trap?"
“I don't think so, Ben. Levant is one of the old breed of agent: straight and narrow. The Hoover type of Bureau man. One of the few older hands left."
“I wonder if he realizes the risk involved?"
Ike shrugged. “His ass."
“That's what I like about you, Ike,” Ben laughed. “You..."
Ben's remark fell unfinished as Dawn walked past them. Ike watched his friend's eyes follow the movement of her hips and the sway of her breasts. He grinned as Ben shook his head.
“Prime stuff there, El Presidente. You wanna tell me what happened ‘tween you and Jerre?"
“I'll be honest with you, Ike: I just don't know. It's been ... cooling between us for several months. I think she'd like somebody closer to her own age."
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