by Lis Wiehl
Mary points to a handsome older man standing along the wall. Neal Clark raises his hand in a modest wave and beams at Mary, who beams back. Is Erica the only one who senses that their relationship transcends natural gas?
“All revenues generated by this enterprise will be used for the benefit of the citizens of the Homeland. We expect the number to be in the trillions over the next decade.
“I would also like to speak to all Americans. Over thirty-five thousand pioneers have been welcomed to the Homeland. Please know we have room for many more. I have signed an executive order turning Camp Grafton on Devil’s Lake into a processing and temporary housing facility. Camp Grafton will remain under the authority of its current commanding officer, General Floyd Morrow.”
There’s another gasp from the room. Bellamy points to General Morrow, standing along the wall. He looks too intense, his eyes are darting, his jaw clenching, a light film of sweat glistens on his brow.
“General Morrow has renounced his allegiance to the United States of America and taken an oath of allegiance to the Homeland of North Dakota. He will make sure that all our new pioneers are well taken care of. We think of Camp Grafton as the Ellis Island of the Great Plains. Every American who believes in our cause is invited to make the Homeland your home. I will now take questions.”
Erica’s hand shoots up. Mary points at her, a slight, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Erica?”
“Have you spoken to President Winters?”
“I have not. But I welcome her call. The people of the Homeland have made their decision. I hope she will respect it. Gregory?”
“Yes, do you really think the Pentagon will allow you to commandeer one of its bases?”
“We have already taken control of Camp Grafton. Including its weaponry. In addition, the Homeland is going to establish a self-defense force—the Great Army of the Homeland. General Morrow has formulated a training protocol that will be initiated within a week at Camp Grafton. It is capable of training a thousand citizens at a time in all aspects of combat. The first thousand recruits have already signed up.”
“What about the North Dakotans who didn’t support you and want to remain part of the United States?”
“They are welcome to leave. If they stay, we expect them to show allegiance to the Homeland and to obey all of our laws.”
As more hands go up, and more details of Mary Bellamy’s mind-blowing power grab emerge, Erica’s mind races over the murders of Joan Marcus, George Lundy, Freddy McDougal, Cathy and Dennis Allen, and Pete Nichols, and Gloria’s suicide. The scrap of photograph showing a missile. A missile capable of carrying a nuclear warhead. Erica realizes that Joan Marcus’s desperate attempt to contact her had nothing to do with toxic chemicals and environmental crimes. No, she was on to something much, much darker.
When the press conference ends and Mary Bellamy leaves, the journalists sit there in collective shock, trying to grasp the ramifications of what they’ve just heard. Erica has to get downtown to the temporary studio and deliver an update. It’s 2:00 p.m. now. If she can get it written and on the air by three she’ll still have plenty of time to get to Camp Grafton before dark.
CHAPTER 70
PRESIDENT LUCY WINTERS IS IN the Oval Office with a half dozen of her top aides and advisors. She’s leaning against the side of her desk, dumbfounded by Mary Bellamy’s press conference. Winters picks up the remote and mutes the bank of televisions.
“You know, when I ran for president I imagined all sorts of difficult decisions, crises, emergencies. ISIS, climate change, the economy, gun control, the list goes on and on,” Winters says. “I never in my wildest imagination thought I’d be dealing with a state that wants to secede from the union. And a neighboring state to my own, no less.”
Winters is a fifty-six-year-old farmer’s daughter from Minnesota who worked her way up the political pole the old-fashioned way. Volunteering for her local GOP, getting elected to the state legislature, then Congress, then the Senate, and finally the White House, which she won in a landslide after her Democratic opponent, Senator Mike Ortiz of California, was revealed to have been brainwashed while a POW in Iraq. She prides herself on her strength, integrity, fairness, moderation, and commitment to unifying the country. And now this.
“What are my options?” she asks her aides, who are all people she trusts explicitly.
“We could reach out to Bellamy and start negotiations,” Dave Burrows, her chief of staff, says.
“A military response should definitely be on the table,” says General Maria Sanchez, her top military aide.
“I hate the idea of negotiating with a woman who has just thrown down the gauntlet and expressed her disdain for the United States of America,” Winters says. “As for a military response—contrary to what Bellamy may believe, the citizens of North Dakota are still Americans. I can’t imagine going in militarily.”
“Madame President, Bellamy has fired the first shot,” Paul Adams, her chief national security advisor, offers. “She is establishing her own military force. If you let her get away with this, even in the short term, it will embolden copycat movements across the nation. We know they are burgeoning already in South Dakota, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming. I can envision a regional confederation of former states. This must be nipped in the bud. And nipped forcefully.”
“We could do a strategic strike—moving in with a small stealth team—and take Bellamy and her closest aides into custody,” General Sanchez says.
“That would trigger such outrage from her supporters, not only in North Dakota, but across the nation. It would be instant martyrdom. She was elected fair and square,” Winters says.
“She was elected governor of North Dakota, not premier of some quasi-nation. And she may have won fair and square, but her actions today violate federal law,” Elise Manning, the president’s chief counsel, says. “And announcing that pipeline deal with Neal Clark was a piece of work. She’s got cojones, I’ll give her that. The pipeline will certainly provide her vast financial resources with which to fulfill her agenda.”
“General Morrow, of course, should be court-martialed. And will be as soon as this is over. The man has well-documented temperament issues,” Sanchez says.
“Then why did the army put him in charge of Camp Grafton?” the president demands.
“Because it is—or was—a low-risk, low-priority appointment. He’s made some influential friends over the years and this was his reward,” Sanchez explains.
“I need a little time to think about all this,” Winters says. The president prides herself on making considered decisions, and those take time and thought.
“We have to make some sort of statement. The press is clamoring and the nation is waiting,” White House press secretary Josh Holden points out.
Winters stands up and begins to pace. She walks over to a bowl of apples on a sideboard, takes one, polishes it on her sleeve, and puts it back in the bowl.
Then she turns and looks into the expectant faces of her staff. That’s the thing about being president—the buck really does stop with her. She welcomes advice, even—especially—contradictory advice, but in the end it’s her call. And this is the biggest crisis of her presidency. She sits back down at her desk and starts to write on a legal pad. Within five minutes she looks up and says, “How about something like this: ‘Today the newly elected governor of North Dakota, Mary Bellamy, took illegal and provocative actions that threaten the unity, integrity, and future of our nation. We are the United States of America. And we shall remain united. My administration will deal with her actions in a timely and appropriate manner. In the meantime, residents of North Dakota—and indeed the whole country—should be aware that any actions taken in support of Governor Bellamy are also illegal. I urge all Americans to stay calm during this difficult period. We will prevail.’”
“I think it’s strong, and it buys us a little time,” Josh Holden says.
“I think you need a little more
big stick. Remember, she has asserted control of Camp Grafton. Her so-called pioneers are going to receive combat training,” General Sanchez says.
“I think there’s a degree of bluster. She has to show her supporters she means business. Bellamy may be soft-spoken, but many of her supporters are loud and angry. They’re going to demand that she make good on her campaign promises,” Chief of Staff Burrows says.
“I don’t think she would actually engage militarily. It would be suicide,” Paul Adams says. “I think we need to concentrate on infiltrating her inner circle. We want to know what their plans are in real time.”
“Good point, Paul. I authorize the immediate use of covert action to gain information on Mary Bellamy’s administration,” Winters says, standing up.
“Okay, people, let’s get this statement out in the next ten minutes,” Holden says. “I’ll take a few questions from the press. I don’t think the president should have a news conference, it will only give Bellamy more oxygen.”
The president’s staff make for the door—then General Sanchez’s military phone rings. She answers, listens, and then hangs up. “Bellamy has just deputized the first thousand soldiers of the Great Army of the Homeland and issued them weapons.”
The room falls silent. Finally, the president says, “She’s escalating.”
She turns to the window and looks out at the Rose Garden—the roses are blooming, but all she sees are the thorns.
CHAPTER 71
ERICA LISTENS TO THE PRESIDENT’S statement as she races across the state on I-94. She thinks it strikes the perfect balance of tough and measured. She’s glad that someone of Winters’s caliber is in the Oval Office. Still, she feels her anxiety skyrocketing. Things are intensifying quickly. A standoff seems to be inevitable, especially considering Bellamy’s defiant arming of the first thousand recruits for the Homeland army. How far could it go? Does Bellamy really think she could take on the American military?
Then she replays Gloria’s final message on her cell phone, spoken in the last minutes of her life: I have to tell you something else though, they’re bad people, worse than me even, and they’re . . . and then that deafening honk, completely obscuring her final words.
Erica says, “Call Moy,” into her phone. The number rings.
“Erica, wow, what is happening out there?”
“A lot.”
“Are you safe?”
“No, but I wouldn’t be safe anywhere. Listen, I got a last-minute phone call from my producer, Gloria Washburn, before she jumped off the bridge. But her final words are unintelligible because a car was honking right next to her. Do you know a forensic audiologist?”
“LAPD has one, Momar Neezan. I’ve interviewed him. Smart guy, they say he’s the best. I’ll call him right now.”
“Thanks, Moy.”
“Stay scared, old friend.”
Erica hangs up and puts a little more pressure on the accelerator. The landscape around her is so flat and featureless, endless grassland and tiny towns visible from the highway, just small, random collections of buildings. Who lives in them? Why would anyone? There’s something unsettling and frightening about the vastness of it all. It’s so lonely. No one would hear you scream. No wonder people huff meth or eat ten thousand calories a day or get hooked on Oxy. There’s more than one way to die.
Erica is troubled by the fact that Canadian billionaire Neal Clark was at Bellamy’s press conference. He’s from Winnipeg, which raises her suspicions. That pipeline alliance has clearly been in the works for some time. Announcing it on her first day was a stroke of brilliance on Bellamy’s part, serving notice that she can handle the former state’s economy, that she can bypass adjoining states and go directly to Canada, and that she has a ready market for the Homeland’s oil and gas that will only increase its prosperity and stability.
At Jamestown she heads north on 281, past Pingree and Edmunds and Carrington, all of it spooky, flat, and deadening. She feels as if she’s driving into uncharted territory, another world. She read somewhere that North Dakota is the least visited state in the nation. She understands why.
It’s staggering to think that the Bellamys actually pulled it off. Secret planning had to have been going on for years. It’s all blatantly illegal. Was that why there were so many murders, to keep things under wraps? Well, the wrapping has been torn off and the prize revealed. It’s power. And lucre. North Dakota is sitting on gas and oil worth the ransom of a thousand kings. It doesn’t need federal largess. As for the murders, clearly they’re all links leading up the food chain, just as they were with Nylan Hastings and Lily Lau. Right now, she’s at Gloria Washburn and Freddy McDougal—and she has to peel the next layer of the onion.
Erica drives into the enormous Spirit Lake Native American Reservation, which stretches right up to the southern boundary of Devil’s Lake, the largest lake in the state. She turns right on Route 57 and speeds past small clusters of mobile homes, blank and desolate, with dead cars and plastic toys strewn around—you can almost smell the despair. She passes Spirit Lake Casino, a depressing dollop of gaudy awful in the midst of the monotony. She crosses the lake and there, to the west, is Camp Grafton. The traffic starts to pick up, and many of the cars have bumper stickers reading Bellamy 4ME or Heading Homeland.
Erica gets off the road and joins the traffic heading to the base entrance. There’s a gate and a guardhouse. A soldier is checking identification. Erica waits in line, noticing how young many of the pioneer families are. I guess it’s easier to pack up your life and move when you’re young. She reaches the front of the line. The soldier is also young and sturdy, wearing a dark blue uniform with Homeland of North Dakota embroidered on the chest. They even had the uniforms ready. The soldier narrows his eyes in recognition.
“I’m here to see Corporal James Jarrett.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“Yes,” Erica lies.
“I’ll need to see some identification.” Erica hands him her driver’s license. “Okay. I know you. Don’t like you, but I know you.”
Erica holds her tongue as he goes into the guardhouse and picks up the phone, returning a few moments later. “Go down and take your first left, the corporal’s house is the third one on the right. Don’t go wandering around.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Guess so.”
“Are you a native or a pioneer?”
“I’m a pioneer. Been here two months. From Iowa.”
“What drew you?”
“Hatred of the federal government.”
“And you believe in the Homeland?”
His face sets and darkens. “I would die for the Homeland.”
The base is a beehive—killer bees—of activity as it welcomes the first pioneers who are making it their temporary home and recruits who are going to undergo combat training. Supply trucks are making deliveries, cleaning crews are power-washing barracks, volunteers are carrying tall piles of sheets and blankets, grounds crews are trimming shrubs and repairing walkways.
Erica doesn’t see a soul taking a break, having a smoke, chatting with a coworker—the focus and energy are palpable. When people’s eyes do meet, they exchange big bright-eyed smiles that speak of unquestioning, cult-like devotion. This place is a lynchpin of the nascent Homeland, and it feels ominous and eerie, like an episode of The Twilight Zone. Soon thousands of young men and women will be subjected to rigorous training, to marches and gunfire and barked orders and lessons in the art of killing.
Erica feels her blood pressure spike, a fear rat scurries across her shoulders and she has an urge to turn around, to drive out of here, back to Bismarck, to get on a plane home, to let someone else cover this story. Save yourself. Instead, she takes a deep breath and pulls to a stop in front of James Jarrett’s ranch house.
He comes out of the house, and Erica is struck by how handsome he is, how lithe, what incredible presence. No wonder Gloria fell so hard. He walks down to her car as she gets out and extends his hand
. “James Jarrett, what a pleasure.”
His smile is heartbreaking, knee-weakening, and too practiced by half. Erica doesn’t trust him. He’s a movie star, no doubt, but it’s a creepy movie. She’s never liked creepy movies. Life at home was chilling enough.
“A lot going on around here,” she says.
James looks out at the base and all the worker bees doing their jobs. “We’re getting ready for big things. I thought Mary did an amazing job today.”
“She was certainly forthright and forceful.” Erica looks him in the eye and sees dry ice.
Jarrett grows grave, and again it feels too polished. “I’ve been expecting you. I’m sorry it’s under such sad circumstances,” he says.
“It’s a loss. For both of us.”
“Please, come in,” he says, leading her into the house. “Can I get you a cup of coffee, water, a glass of wine?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Erica says, looking around. The house is immaculate and ordered. Sunlight is blaring through the picture window, and the living room feels close, even claustrophobic. They stand there silently for a moment. There’s an enormous fly buzzing against the window, trying to escape.
“Please, have a seat. I don’t have a great deal of time, for obvious reasons.” He waits for Erica to sit on the living room couch and then he sits in a chair. There’s another pause, the only sound is the buzzing fly, the desperate flapping of its wings.
“You must be devastated by Gloria’s death,” Erica says. She wants to tread softly, ease her way in.
“Gloria was a wonderful woman. And she worked so hard to get where she was.”
“She was responsible for the success of Spotlight.”
“Terrific show. It was very helpful to Mary and Sturges.”
“Was it?”
“They came across as the reasonable people they are. Were, in his case.”
Clearly this “reasonable people” label is strategic. Breaking away from the republic and forming your own army hardly seems reasonable.