Devin returned the Russian’s gaze but still did not reply.
“Such a brave man, and such a fool. To let a woman betray you.”
“What do you want?” Devin demanded. “Why are you here?”
“Perhaps to help you,” Andrei told him. “Would you trade your freedom for the return of your son?”
“You should know the answer to that.”
“Do you understand what can happen to you?” “Yes.”
“And you’re not afraid?”
‘Td be a fool not to be.”
“I hope to save your life.”
“Why?” Devin asked.
“Because I see no purpose served by your death.” “I don’t trust you, Denisov. You’re very clever, but you’re still trying to destroy my country.”
“I am responsible for things being much better than they might have been in your country. I am searching for a solution that leaves your country with some honor, some hope for the future.”
“Yes, I’ve seen your hope for the future,” Devin said bitterly. “I see it in my son Caleb.”
Now Andrei’s eyes blazed. “There will never be another America, as you knew it, that’s a fact,” he said. “The only issue that remains is the nature of what is to come.”
Devin shook his head and turned away.
“You could help your countrymen,” Andrei continued. “Your friend Peter Bradford—do you believe he is a good man?”
Devin faced him again, trying to understand the game Denisov was playing and the role Peter might have in it. “He has decent instincts, if he’s allowed to exercise them.”
“I have put him in office because I believe his dedication to his country is compatible with the interests of the Soviet Union.”
Devin waited, skeptical but curious.
“He needs support if he is to survive. Not least of all against the ambitions of your former wife.”
Devin began to understand. “Are you saying I can somehow help Peter against Marion?”
Andrei was leaning against the door now, his hands in the pockets of his flannel pants, his shoulders
hunched forward. “Perhaps you noticed the people outside when you arrived. Quite an impressive turnout. It seems you still have influence.”
“And you want me to express support for Peter?” “Only if you mean it. Perhaps, if you think of it yourself, make some comparison between him and his second-in-command, your former wife.”
The outlines of it were coming clear. Denisov was asking for a testimonial. Devin waited, trying to make up his mind.
Andrei turned to leave, then paused to add, “There is also the matter of your eventual freedom. Perhaps even your reunion with your son.”
He went out, confident that he had found the key to Devin Milford.
The tall bronze doors of the courthouse swung open. A dozen police and security men ran out, forming a kind of beachhead at the top of the courthouse steps. Other police made a line across the bottom step. The crown surged forward—to look, to cheer, maybe even to do battle. Devin Milford was about to emerge.
Cries rang out as he stepped forward into the cold, swirling Chicago air. He seemed oblivious to the security men who encircled him. His eyes searched the crowd, as if he were looking for some lost friend. A current of electricity passed between him and his listeners—the same galvanic spark that had made him such an unforgettable orator in his days as a congressman and as a presidential candidate. That gift of inspiring others flooded back into him now, coming from a place in him he hadn’t felt for a long time.
Finally, from the top step, Devin held up his hand for silence.
He spoke softly, yet his voice seemed to carry undiminished through the humming canyons that were the streets of the captive city: “I pledge allegiance to the flag ... of the United States of America.” Devin turned toward the crowd. They began to join with him in his pledge, and the sound of the forbidden words, spoken solemnly, with great feeling, reverberated through the streets. “And to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
Devin paused for a moment, and felt the expectant crowd, that sea of faces turned up to him. TTien he began to repeat the words again. The crowd gained strength: all tension drained from their bodies and they stood proud, their voices resolute.
When he had finished, Devin was silent for a long moment. It was as if he were summoning something from even deeper within his experience, within his past, within his soul. Instinctively, he wanted to compress all his wisdom and struggle and patriotism into one simple word or gesture. He raised his arms above his head— straight up—reaching.
“America!”
He said it simply and powerfully. Andrei was mesmerized.
“America!” Devin said again, this time almost yelling.
His arms were still raised and when he said it a third time, their arms were raised too, their voices joined with his.
“America! America! America!”
The words thundered through the square; it seemed that the buildings might shake and the walls tumble.
“America! America! America!” The words exploded even louder than before, and then Andrei gave the signal to the security men. They surrounded Devin and hustled him into the van.
For an instant Andrei feared the crowd might riot— they could not have been stopped without a massacre— but they only continued their mighty chant of “America! America!” And that, Andrei knew, was more dangerous than any riot.
Inside the van the sound reverberated. Devin sat forward, intense, suddenly crying. He heard the chant for what seemed like miles, as the van sped through the city. He no longer cared where he was going; all that mattered was that pure, perfect place he had been.
Chapter 11
The next morning Petya summoned Andrei to Washington.
“I have just talked to Moscow, Andrei,” he told him, “and now I must talk to you. Face-to-face.”
But there were matters that Andrei had to see to before departing. Mikel had rushed into his office first thing that day and announced with smug satisfaction that Kimberly had been located. With malicious triumph, Mikel revealed that she’d been cohabitating with a male actor in a south-side slum.
“Have her picked up,” Andrei had said. “Have her brought to my apartment. Don’t hurt her.”
When he went to his apartment—their apartment—a few hours later, she was waiting. She did not look up when he entered; she was sitting at the far end of the living room, rigid with anger. At first he did not understand.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I was until your bullies broke into my Mend’s apartment, beat him up, and took me prisoner.”
“Oh God,” he sighed. “There was not to be any violence.”
“Somehow the message didn’t get through,” she said bitterly.
“Kimberly, I’m sorry, but we must talk and I don’t have much time.”
“Well, that’s surprising,” she said. “When did you ever have time to talk to me? When did you ever think about me except when you wanted sex?”
He opened his mouth to object, but found he could not.
“When you were away, had us raided, did you worry about me? Did you even know what happened?”
“You were under my protection.”
“Well, while I was under your protection, you lost
>1
me.
He sat beside her on the sofa, close but not too close. She wore jeans and flannel now, and no makeup, yet she had never been more desirable. “What do you want?” he asked gently.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, sadly, candidly. “But I know you’re Russian. I just need to be something other than somebody’s mistress.”
He leaned toward her, speaking with rare intensity. “We are special people; people like us live in our work, live at the edge, defining ourselves by the challenges we confront and triumph over. The qualities that unite us go beyond politics
or nationality; we share a state of mind that is universal.”
She wouldn’t look at him. “Being with you is destroying me.”
Andrei’s eyes flashed with anger. “I’m not destroying you. You are frightened because you are weak. You need things outside yourself to flatter you, to make you think you’re desirable or talented. You never think what someone else might need.”
She looked at him tentatively. “What do you need, Andrei?”
“You, perhaps.” He leaned toward her and touched her face gently with his hand.
She sat rigid. “Don’t touch me, please. It isn’t fair.” “Come with me to Washington. Today. Maybe we’ll stay there. My work here is almost finished. We can start a new life.”
“No,” she whispered.
“Why not?”
After a silence, she said, “Something has happened to me.”
“A new romance? The actor?”
She smiled. “No, not the actor. Not romance.” “Then what?”
She threw her head back, gazing at the ceiling. “After you left, after the raid on the club, I needed you. I tried to call, I begged, but nobody would help. I didn’t know what to do. I left here. Ran away. Not sure what I was running from or to. But I was lucky. I discovered something—something bigger than myself.” She broke off. He laughed grimly. “Don’t tell me you joined the resistance.”
“I don’t expect you to take anything I do seriously. But I found something and it doesn’t matter whether you respect it or not. This is for me.”
“All right, Kimberly, I will take you seriously, really. What is your discovery?”
She looked him in the eyes, an odd smile on her face. “I realized I’m an American.”
He frowned, not understanding, thinking he had missed something. “Yes?” he ventured.
“I never understood what it meant before. I always thought it was me against the world. I never thought that all those other people . . . that we were all Americans, all part of the same thing. I never thought I could be disloyal to anything because I’d never been loyal to anything. Some people called me a traitor, because of you, and I thought they were silly. I understand it now. And I don’t think I can be with you anymore.”
“Do you love me?”
“Don’t ask that. It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. I have given it a great deal of thought. In the end, we live for ourselves.”
“I’m not as smart as you, Andrei. I just know I’ve changed; I can’t go live with you in Washington.”
He stood up. Andrei understood the art of strategic retreat. “I want you to think it over,” he said. “Stay here; I’ll be in Washington the next day or two.”
She nodded slowly.
“Good. In the guest room, if you prefer. I put no pressures on you. Except the inconvenient fact that I love you. Perhaps I’d forgotten. Perhaps I needed reminding.”
She smiled at him. “You are very kind, Andrei, sometimes.”
“I will have the charges against your colleagues dropped.”
She stood. For a moment she felt herself surrendering to the old passion. Then she pulled back. “Goodbye, Andrei.”
Her kiss had given him hope, yet he knew not to push. “Goodbye, my little actress.”
* * *
From his limousine on the way to the military airstrip, Andrei put a call through to Peter Bradford at the Palmer House hotel in Chicago. “How goes the Heartland speech?” he asked.
“The rhetoric still throws me,” said the new governor-general with a modest laugh, “but I’m getting there.”
“The rhetoric is the easy part,” said Andrei. “Glory. Prosperity. A brighter tomorrow. After the secession, Heartland will truly be independent, standing on its—”
“Whoa, my friend,” Peter interrupted, “you seem to forget that the word secession has rather negative connotations in this country.”
“Used to have,” corrected Andrei. “But then, so did words like socialism and collective. You seem to underestimate the plasticity of your beloved English language. But listen, I have another matter to discuss with you. Are you alone?”
“My wife is with me.”
“I urge'you, for your own sake, to keep this to yourself. Marion has ordered that your friend Milford be transferred to a hospital in Omaha for psychiatric evaluation. There is, I believe, a special program there.”
“What sort of program?” Peter asked, and Amanda started at the queasy fear in his voice.
“Let’s not turn squeamish at this point in the game,” said Andrei, an unaccustomed steeliness coming into his voice. “Behavior modification. Brainwashing, in your crude parlance.”
“Andrei, please ...” Peter’s tone was suddenly imploring. To Amanda it sounded almost like a whimper.
“Don’t confuse small issues with great ones, Peter. I’m on my way to Washington.”
“What was that about?” Amanda insisted when Peter had hung up the phone.
“Please don’t ask, my dear.”
But she did ask, and Peter Bradford needed her comfort too badly not to tell her.
“What if he tries to bite me?”
“Good God, it’s stupid to be afraid of a dumb animal.”
“For you, maybe . . . actually, I’m the best example of why it was such a bad idea to send people like me to the country.”
“Dammit to hell, Let’s take a break. The damn tractor’s no good anyway. I just hate to give up on it.”
They leaned against the side of the bam, breathing hard. “Gerta was like that,” Dieter said. “Never threw anything away. She said the things you accumulated in your life could tell you how you were going. Or what it was you were doing. I forget.”
Will nodded. “Mary called it leaving a trail. She used to say your kids never appreciated you until it got to be too late to do anything about it. If you left them an attic full of junk to root around in, then maybe they’d appreciate you.”
“We never had children. I often wish we had.” “Yeah, well, they’re not all they’re cracked up to be.”
“You’ve been blessed. Your Devin, such a courageous man.”
Will drew a red bandanna from his pocket and blew his nose noisily. “Well, it seemed to me he was always fighting somebody—me, the government. To me it just seemed that nobody else’s life, what they did, what they were, stood for much unless it fit into his way of thinking. I guess the first time I thought I understood that boy was a few weeks back, at that parade thing, when they wanted him to apologize, or whatever it was. I looked at him and damned if I didn’t see the face of my own father. The look he got when he walked out on a field of wheat that’d been beat to the ground by hail. He’d just look at it, not say anything, but you knew from the look on his face that he wouldn’t let it beat him. I saw that in Devin; it was like looking at my dad up there.”
Will looked away, into the distance, embarrassed by his emotions. He noticed a man and a boy walking up the drive to the house.
Will took a step forward and squinted, watching intently as they drew near. He didn’t recognize either of them—a big, bulky man in his thirties and a slender, dark-haired boy in his early teens. Yet something about them gripped his attention.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, not unkindly, when they 'were a dozen feet away.
Will did not recognize his grandson and namesake, who had changed so much in the seven years since they had been together. But Billy recognized his grandfather; the old man had hardly changed at all. Yet Billy held back, with the uncertain dignity of adolescence. The four of them stared in awkward silence, until the boy finally said, “Grandpa . . .”
Will reacted slowly, as if this was too much to hope for or believe. “What the hell?” he said. “It’s not. .
“It’s me, Billy.”
“I know, boy,” the old man said stiffly. “X know . .
Billy stepped forward cautiously. When they were three feet apart he extended his hand. They shook hands solemnly.<
br />
Will said, “Don’cha think I recognize my handsomest, ugliest grandson from Chicago?”
“Well, I knew my old coot of a grandpa,” Billy said, and their arms went out and they embraced.
Dieter and Clayton watched from a distance as the old man and the boy hugged, laughing and crying at the same time.
“Damn if you haven’t grown up,” Will said, holding the boy at arm’s length.
“You look great, Grandpa.”
The grandfather shrugged. “Still kicking.” He looked around at the others and remembered his dignity. “Now, William, tell me who this fellow is, and what the blazes you’re doin’ here.”
“That’s Clayton. He’s a friend of my dad’s. We came here on the underground railroad.”
“The what?”
“It was neat. We’ve been in trucks, ridden the rails—you know, on trains. All these people helped us.”
Will laughed with amazement. “Okay, you two runaway slaves, let’s go up to the house. Meet my friend Dieter here. Dieter, this is my most handsomest, ugliest grandson, William, and his fugitive friend Clayton.”
Clayton shook both the men’s hands. Then he took Will aside. “Mr. Milford,” he said. “I brought Billy here at your son’s specific request. It was what they both wanted. But the authorities are looking for the boy. I’m sure they’ll come here. I want to warn you, there could be trouble.”
Will pondered the younger man’s warning, then unaccountably laughed. “Mister, us Milfords are close kin to trouble. I reckon we’ll handle it, whenever it comes.”
He threw his arm around Billy and led them into his home.
As they left Soldiers Field, Peter told his driver to drop him at his office in the Federal Building and then take Amanda back to the hotel. Peter wanted some lime to polish the inaugural speech he would give the following day, but once he was settled at his desk with pages of manuscript scattered around him, he found it impossible to concentrate. There was just too damn much on his mind. For openers, Andrei had been summoned to Washington, and that almost always meant trouble.
His problems with Marion gnawed at him, too, compounded now by the news of Devin’s arrest. And complicating everything was Amanda’s demand that she be allowed to visit Devin. She was changing so much, worrying about the Exiles and politics and other things she’d never worried about before; he wasn’t sure he knew h6r anymore.
Amerika Page 24