by Hannah Ross
He clenched his teeth. His breath came out in a hiss. "What does that mean?"
"Do you really have to ask, Alexander?" He thought she sounded genuinely surprised. "The poor thing has been under tremendous strain. She needs a break. She's going to stay with her old aunt for a few days, in peace and quiet. Nothing to get dramatic about."
"Now is not a good time to take a break. My campaign is in shambles as it is. If Eleanor opts out of the game now, I might as well get up and help Connor to my chair at the White Tower. We have a press conference in two hours, and she must be there."
Daphne seemed wholly unimpressed. "I didn't want to say this, but your glaring selfishness has really become too much for Eleanor. May I remind you, Alexander, that your daughter has disappeared without a trace, and that you have not the slightest idea where she is, though many weeks have passed? It's enough to drive any parent crazy. Damn it, it drives me crazy, and I'm only Priscilla's great-aunt. But you? Oh no, whatever concern you might have expressed about Priscilla is only because of your precious campaign. You've tried to hush up her disappearance, possibly undermining the investigation in the process, because you were afraid you'd lose popularity."
Dahl fought the urge to dash the phone against the wall. "Let me speak to my wife," he began, "or I'll—"
"Or you'll what?" Daphne clicked her tongue impatiently. "Don't make a fuss, Alexander. Your campaign is lost. You know it as well as I and everyone else who matters. Whether or not Eleanor shows up for the press conference today will make no difference. So be a man. Admit you're defeated and concentrate on what is really important – finding your daughter."
Dahl hung up, swearing. The wretched woman! Never before had he resented Daphne's interference as much as he did now. He felt betrayed, like the ground was snatched from beneath his feet. And Eleanor. I thought I could count on her. How could she just up and leave? And now, of all times. How could she do this to me?
* * *
He was not sorry when Andrew arrived an hour later. His brother-in-law was a sensible man. He could talk to him without becoming irritated by irrational stupidity. Andrew also had his two feet firmly planted in the ground, which was evident from his very first comment.
"Our situation is pathetic, Alexander. We are losing the campaign, and that is plain for all to see."
Dahl grunted and took a sip of whisky. "You don't have to remind me. I have half a notion Pearson started packing my things already."
"Well, that is a bit premature."
"Do you think so? Connor is rallying the public with idiotic populist promises, like tax reductions he'll never be able to fulfil without reducing the economy to dust. We are nowhere nearer finding Priscilla than we were when she first disappeared. And to top it all off, your sister deserted this house as if it were a drowning ship and decided to hole up at Aunt Daphne's."
Andrew's mouth twitched. "Don't exaggerate, Alexander. Eleanor only needs a little break. So do you, actually. So do we all. What we need is more time."
"Time!" scoffed Dahl. "But that is exactly what we don't have. The elections are mere days away. According to every survey, there's no chance whatsoever to catch up with Connor."
"Not so soon, no. But if the elections were delayed?"
Dahl gave his brother-in-law a sharp look. "Delayed? That's all good and well, but how? I don't have the legal power to do that."
"No, not in the present state. But if we declare military emergency, a delay of the elections becomes a legitimate move. It will give us time to rethink our strategy, find Priscilla and, hopefully, throw a stone in Connor's path. He can't be all pristine and perfect. He can be implicated and disgraced. We just have to figure out how."
Dahl looked at his brother-in-law with the utmost surprise. "A military emergency? That's drastic, Andrew. And weren't you the one who always warned me against drastic moves?"
"Generally, yes. It isn't good for your popularity to be perceived as a ruthless dictator who seeks to hold the press and public by the throat, not allowing anybody to move an inch right or left from your chosen path. Now, however, a little harshness is justified. It may well be our only chance to win these elections."
"The people will riot. Remember what happened two years ago, at the time of the original NOAGE formula? Speaking of which…"
"Put the formula aside for the moment, Alexander. We'll deal with it later. We still have the original material provided to us by the Source. We'll find another scientist, brighter and more driven than Hernandez, or whatever his name was, and we'll reconstruct his work in a year. Perhaps six months, if all goes well. For now, what we need to concentrate on is keeping you in your White Tower office for the next four years. We need those years. After that, even if you have to step down, we will be powerful enough with the formula in our hands to rule behind scenes, no matter who bears the official title of Mr. President."
"Alright. Let's say we do this. We can't just declare a military emergency out of the blue. We need to have some sort of pretext. A believable pretext."
"We'll drop hints of an overseas missile threat. Make it as dark and ominous as possible, but don't give any details. With any luck, people will panic and accept the delay of the elections as a matter of course."
Dahl shook his head. "Do you really think they'll buy it?"
"Why not? People believe in UFOs and Bigfoot. They're a herd. We have The Observer in our hands and the primary television channels as well. They don't admit to being employed by us, but they would be very, very sorry to lose your patronage, Alexander, and won't bother checking very carefully any information you provide."
The shadow of a smile touched Alexander Dahl's stern mouth. "Yes. Yes. This is our last card, Andrew, and you may be damn sure we'll play it for all it's worth."
41
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Wednesday, May 21
Dahl stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie. This was usually Eleanor's task, and she performed it with admirable skill, but his wife was still away on a visit of indefinite length to her aunt. He managed to snatch a few words of cool, clipped conversation with Eleanor the day before, but this did little to lift his spirits. She refused to come home at once, or even promise to name a deadline for doing so. He got off the phone seething. I did not expect such inconsideration of her.
Thus, he had to choose and arrange his own tie. He viewed his trim, elegant reflection in the mirror. His suit was dark-grey, almost black, the tie likewise dark, with slanting stripes in pearly-grey. Dahl had a vague notion that a spot of color wouldn't go amiss there, but he had no idea which. Deciding not to risk it, he left the tie as it was and ran a brush through his hair. Thinner than it was two years ago. And greyer, too. We are thrown back once more with the NOAGE formula. Will we ever attain it? Or will I have to succumb to that vilest weakness of all, old age and uselessness?
Never! Keller was no prodigy. No more than Miguel Hernandez. Their work can be repeated, reconstructed, even improved by a hard-working, mentally sound scientist who is not afraid of success. And who will be closely monitored. Every document, note, and even fleeting thought belonging to this research will be the lawful property of the White Tower.
He shook his head, reaching for his expensive cologne. The formula will wait. The elections cannot. The declaration of an emergency military state might have bought us a delay of the elections, but at what price? People are utterly unimpressed by the notion of an overseas threat. Nobody seems to believe it. Riots bubble up daily, despite the extinguishing forces of the police, the army, and the media. And there are some small media channels which are completely out of the White Tower's control and naturally, they're surging in popularity now and printing and broadcasting whatever they want. The whole damn internet is a hell-swamp of vitriol and conspiracy theories. Dahl clenched his teeth. We've given them too much leeway for too long.
A phone call interrupted his thoughts. For a moment Dahl experienced a fleeting rise of optimism, hoping it might be Eleanor c
alling to apologize and say she's on her way home. Or the head of the TIO research team, hurrying to tell him they finally located Priscilla. Or Pearson, with a soothing report of his rising popularity and Connor's falling stock of public trust.
Dahl suppressed a sigh. It was none of those. The number displayed on the screen belonged to Andrew Van Wullen. His recent conversations with his brother-in-law were anything but comforting.
"Alexander?" Andrew sounded harried. "Are you in the office yet?"
"No, I'm not even on my way. I had a late night yesterday and slept in a bit. Why? Should I tell the driver to hurry up?"
"No, don't. Actually…" Andrew paused. "It might be better if you stay home today. Handle business over the phone. Pearson's at the Tower, he'll take care of it all."
"Stay home?" The notion was as alien to Dahl as personally handing sweets to trick-or-treaters on Halloween. "Why?"
There was another uncomfortable pause. "You might want to turn on the TV."
Dahl flicked a button on the remote control. The sleek and elegant TV screen in his bedroom lit up. The images that appeared would fit well into one of those historical films about the Great War that blew away most of the civilized world.
It was infinitely worse than anything they had been forced to handle two years ago. The main streets were packed with people, burning car tires, burning cars. Police and soldiers were barely stemming the tide or rioters. Why are there so few out there? Helicopters whirred overhead. The voice of the news broadcaster was agitated and hurried and Dahl was unable to take in any of the words. Not that they were necessary. The pictures spoke for themselves. Automatically, he lifted the phone back to his ear. Andrew was still on the line.
"Damn!"
"I've been told many police and military have refused orders to quell the riots. And most of those who are out there are doing so under protest. It seems our plan has backfired, Alexander. "
"You don't say. May I remind you it was all your brilliant idea?"
"Now, Alexander, throwing accusations won't help. We must decide what to do next."
"I don't understand the mob. Are they really so enamored with Connor?"
"Not with Connor, but with what he represents. For them, he is something like a Messiah. They hate us. We've given them peace, prosperity, and stability for many years, but they feel we've taken away their precious freedoms. Their leaders keep carrying on about the damn Constitution."
Dahl snorted. "They can wipe their arses with that ancient rag, for all it's worth. This country will never be the way it was before the War. Rule must remain in the hands of capable people. Connor is not one of them."
"No, but if he inherits the White Tower intact, with all the systems in place, all the laws in order, all the right people in their proper offices, we might be able to control him much better than if his rule emerges out of chaos."
"Are you telling me to step aside for Connor now?"
There was silence. "Suit yourself, Alexander," Andrew finally said. "This particular stage of the game is over. I'm ready to face it like a man. So should you."
Dahl made some quick inner calculations in his mind. "Connor will displace all our people."
"I don't think so, no. He doesn't have a team well enough equipped to handle the affairs of the White Tower. Throw off the crew, and the ship will sink. Connor is smart enough to know that. Cheer up, Alexander. It's time to think up a new strategy. Have Pearson issue an update saying we've determined the threat was part of a foreign hoax and the elections will be held on the first Tuesday in June, as always."
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"What in the name of heaven does your husband think he's doing?"
Daphne was sitting in her opulently decorated living room with Eleanor, watching the news on the flat screen that stretched across half a wall. "The riots have been going on for twenty-four hours now, and show no sign of abating, despite the police and military forces the Tower unleashed."
"I should have known Alexander would try something like this," said Eleanor. "This is so like him. He's desperate to win."
"Well, he won't win this way. People won't be stripped of their rights and take it in stride. We're on the brink of civil war for the second time in two years. And I'll bet anything that my precious nephew is behind this."
Eleanor nodded. This does sound like something Andrew would conceive, and Alexander act out. Never did she wish so heartily for her husband and brother not to be so thick.
"They're idiots," Daphne said. "The people who wavered between your husband and Ted Connor have by now made up their minds. Connor has that chair in the White Tower practically in his pocket, and serves us all right, you know. Not that I care much either way."
"Neither do I," Eleanor said, surprising herself with the declaration. "We have enough money and power as it is. Nobody can take it from us. Why always wish for more? I just want my life back, my family intact, and my daughter safely home."
"I know you do, sweetheart." Daphne patted her arm in sympathy. "I know you do. It actually does me good to be furious with Alexander. It takes my mind off this terrible worry about Priscilla. But don't despair. I didn't want to tell you this before, but I've been doing a little private investigation of my own."
Eleanor stared at her, incredulous. "You, Aunt Daphne?"
"Well, I couldn't just sit back and count on Alexander, could I? He put the mantle of the investigation in Pearson's hands, and that lickspittle in turn activated the TIO, and much good it did us. Those idiots were more concerned with keeping the investigation secret than actually conducting one. I think it would have been better for Alexander, better for everyone, if he had been upfront and honest with the public from the first. People might have sympathized with his plight and given their votes to the poor father desperate to find the young daughter he loves so much. They wouldn't feel cheated and manipulated the way they do now. But I doubt that ever occurred to him. He's too used to treating everyone like puppets on a string. And so, I'm sorry to say, is Andrew."
"But, Aunt… You were saying something about a… private investigation?"
"Yes, my dear. I have my own man. A tireless, talented, hungry man, which is a great motivator, you know. He both followed TIO's tracks and carved out his own path. I told him to keep out of sight of the TIO, knowing my nephews won't appreciate it if they find out what I've been doing. But other than that, I told him I don't give a mouse's fart about who knows what he's up to."
"Aunt Daphne!"
"My dear, someone had to focus on Priscilla, and I knew you couldn't do this yourself. You are too used to letting Alexander have his own way, which has had some very sorry consequences for your family. My man has been working tirelessly around the clock, and he has some very promising leads. I also did something the TIO would never dream of doing in a million years. I went to speak with Tilly, your former servant."
"Tilly?" Eleanor looked dazed. "I did suspect she might know something back when she first quit. She and Priscilla were always so close. But Tilly wouldn't talk to me. Not really."
"I know, Eleanor. She was very tight-lipped with you, but I wouldn't be shrugged off so easily. I didn't suspect Tilly of any direct involvement, of course. But I went to speak to her, and I wouldn't leave until I gained my point. She was very distressed and cried a great deal, and I admit in the end I turned on the waterworks, too. But I got the essentials out of her. Not that she knew much. But she did confirm what we suspected, that Priscilla ran off on her own."
"But… But why?"
"Because she was sick of it all, my dear. Of Alexander, of what might be called good society, of Silver Oaks, of the White Tower's dirty politics. She knew more than your fool of a husband ever thought she did. She would often creep, shoes in hand, and listen in to what went on in his home office. Prissy is a clever girl, and she was able to find out quite a lot of things that were never meant to get out. About NOAGE. About the Decree of Population Contro
l. About the Boundary."
Eleanor bit her lip and shook her head. "I should have spent more time with my daughters. I used to be annoyed with Priscilla for refusing to be more like Stephanie, but later I realized I might as well wish for two moons in the sky. She must have seen me as such a pain in the neck. No wonder she confided more in Tilly than she did in me."
"Tilly warned Prissy against trying to interfere in Alexander's doings, but she also sympathized, of course. Who wouldn't? I do too, to a certain extent. When I was Priscilla's age, I rebelled too. I wanted to change the world. That's long over, of course. I no longer feel guilty about having so much more money and comfort than most people can ever hope to have. I enjoy the good luck of being born a Van Wullen, with an independent fortune and freedom to do what I like. But you know what? Even if we all – the Van Wullens, the Dahls, the Thorntons, and others – even if we all lost half of our fortune and influence, we'd still have money and power enough to last us ten lifetimes. I can't find it in me to support greedy schemes that involve oppressing the common people. Or obsessively controlling who has children, and how many. Or tossing kids outside the Boundary and leaving them to live or die in the wild."
Eleanor bowed her head in shame. These were all things she always did her best not to know, at least until the riots of two years ago. "I know what you think of me, Aunt Daphne. That I'm weak. That I should have confronted Alexander myself."
"No, my dear, no." Daphne put an arm around Eleanor's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "It wouldn't have done much good. I'm sorry to say, your husband has undervalued your brains these twenty years. He would have gotten far better advice from you than from Frederick Pearson, who hangs on to his every word, or from Andrew, who has grand schemes of his own. That NOAGE thing? I never believed in it, not really. A nice little perk of rejuvenation, yes. Living for many centuries, no. If you ask me, they're deluded. Chasing a unicorn. All those plans of a better society, a better race, the way they see it. It's just too much. I mean, I'm no communist. I know the realities of life, and I know there's no society without class. But we must draw the line somewhere. And Priscilla thought she did. I'm almost sure she ran away because of the campaign. She knew it would be disrupted with her gone. She wanted her father to lose these elections and, I'm sorry to say, he deserves to lose."