Jon pointed to a reporter in the front row who said, "Jim Huffman, New American Press. So we're to believe that the military is just going to hand over control of the government?"
Several beads of water collected on Huffman's glasses. Like half of the reporters in front of the mansion, he did not have an umbrella to combat the sudden sun shower. The VIPs-Brewer, Godfrey, and the rest-spoke from the mansion's covered front porch.
Jon glanced at Evan who stood next to him at a bland podium. The President politely nodded as a signal that the General should respond. Indeed, the two came across as positively chummy on the porch that morning; a morning two days after Jon decided that the first thing he should do as Emperor was to end the existence of the Emperor's position.
"Well, the military was never completely in control of the Government. Trevor focused on fighting the war, but he dealt with all aspects of running the nation. I think what's happening here is that we're getting better organized and trying to change over to a full-blown democracy. I feel this is the best way to go about things because there is no way myself or anyone could fill the shoes of Trevor Stone."
Another reporter blurted, "Are you doing this because you're afraid of all the problems you faced three years ago?"
Evan Godfrey marched to the microphone with focused eyes radiating indignation.
"Jon Brewer has never been afraid of anything in his life. It takes courage to embrace change. It takes courage to plot a new direction for our great nation. Speaking for myself, I am humbled by his bravery in this."
Evan then selected the next question from the press pool. The wind blew a curtain of drizzle across the stage.
"Could you recap the major changes again? Is the new office of the President simply a new word for Emperor?"
"Not at all," Evan smiled as if teaching simple children. "Jon felt that the easiest way to make the first steps toward change was to morph my position as President of the Senate into a new executive branch. His last batch of orders as Emperor made this official. As such, I have resigned my position as Senator. While we are still working out the finer details, we will use the old American presidency as the model. The legislative branch will have the responsibility of introducing legislation and the President will either veto or sign off on those bills."
The reporter followed up, "Aren't you concerned that having a new 'President' without a constitution defining the position could lead to despotism? What checks exist on your power?"
"I resent the implication of that question. No one has worked harder for democracy than I. Yes, there are plenty of gray areas right now but I will work with Jon, the old Imperial Council, and the Senate to answer those questions."
The reporter would not let it go: "So you will be Commander and Chief? Does that mean Evan Godfrey is in charge of the armed forces?"
"As I mentioned, one of my first acts was to appoint Dante Jones Secretary of Defense." Dante, standing behind Evan, waved. Evan went on, "General Jon Brewer is the most experienced of our officers. He will maintain operational control over the military. However, the army is now under civilian control, just as it was in the old days. But, as I said before, Dante was a lifelong friend of Trevor Stone so you can trust that the oversight of military matters by the administration will be done in a manner consistent with Trevor's vision."
"Do you mean to say," another reporter joined in, "that the war will continue?"
Evan answered, "We remain at war. As President, I will give the military all the support and resources they require to fight for victory, although as the new system is developed I will need the Senate's help through a declaration of war and other legislative mechanisms."
Huffman, from the New American Press, asked another question: "Mr. President, how do you reconcile the policy you just articulated with your past, anti-war stance?"
"I have never been in favor of alien forces occupying American lands or enslaving human beings. These conditions are unacceptable. I have, on many occasions, protested the manner in which the war was prosecuted or offered counter-proposals on how to achieve our strategic goals. But we will fight this fight until we achieve victory. With Jon Brewer leading our armies and Dante Jones overseeing the military, I know we will finish the job Trevor Stone started."
"Doug Coates, Atlanta Times. If Dante Jones has been promoted to Secretary of Defense, who will oversee Internal Security?"
"Ah, yes, well here is another example of how Trevor Stone's influence will be seen throughout my administration. The new Director of Internal Security is Ray Roos, the man who served as Trevor's personal Chief of Security. Ray isn't here right now, I'm afraid, but I spoke to him by phone and he expressed his commitment to carrying on and even improving the fine work Dante did. Also, Jim Hutch will occupy the position of Labor Secretary. He's not here today, either, but you know him from his work in the unions. That alone should help fix this economy."
Coates followed up, "So you're just appointing your secretaries? If your Presidency is to be modeled after the old American presidency, shouldn't your advisors be subjected to congressional review? In this case, wouldn't that be the Imperial Senate?"
Evan shifted, a little, but found an answer without skipping more than a beat.
"We are in an unusual situation. With the economy in shambles and a war to fight, we thought it important to streamline the process. It should be noted that I am actually an interim President. The position I have accepted is a midway point between what used to be the Emperor and what will soon be an Executive Branch elected by the entire population and subject to many checks and balances. One of my first jobs, in fact, is to begin selecting a committee of Senators who will start research on the parameters that will outline the initial stages of a new constitutional convention."
A journalist shouted, "Is there a time table for that?"
Evan raised his hands and assured, "We're working on that. This is going to take time, people. The first order of business is to stabilize the government then we will begin work on all the nuances that will turn us into a full-fledged democracy. Now, I think that ends today's announcement. More information will be forthcoming over the next few weeks. We ask the public to bear with us and have patience. I promise you, everything will work out just fine."
– Omar Nehru originally started tinkering with alien gadgets during the first year of the invasion using a lakeside garage as a laboratory. With the expansion of his department and the constant influx of captured extraterrestrial gear, his operation ballooned. In fact, Omar Nehru's Science and Technology Division operated dozens of locations including test ranges in South Dakota and Tennessee, warehouses in each of the liberated states including a temporary facility in northern California to catalog all the Witiko devices, and auxiliary units for theoretical studies attached to four of the Empire's thirteen functioning universities.
Nonetheless, Omar maintained his lakeside garage. He and a small staff used it to handle special projects or personal work for members of the council.
While Evan and Jon Brewer finished their press conference to announce what Gordon Knox thought to be the worst decision since the Bay of Pigs, the Director of Intelligence paid a visit to Omar's personal laboratory.
Mr. Nehru sat at a work bench wearing a pair of safety goggles, dressed in a white lab coat and-of course-smoking a cigarette. Omar wore something else that day; something he had been wearing often since receiving one vote during the council meeting last week: a smile.
"Hello, Mr. Gordon Knox," Omar stopped playing with some small gadget. "What is it I may be of doing for you today?"
Knox eyed the garage. Two technicians gathered in one corner playing what might be a video game and another closely examined a Witiko jet pack. Lockers, cabinets, display cases, and trunks contained all manner of co-opted gear.
"I need the item you were working on for me, Omar."
Omar's smiling face changed to a confused expression. "I do not understand. The war with California ended. There is no use for the device. Besides, it was only a prototype." "But it worked, right?" "Yes, Mr. Gordon Knox, it worked during the only test we ran." "Give it to me." "Um…well…if I were to speak in official terms then I would be needing a requisition from you to…to…"
Gordon's narrow eyes and red face convinced Omar he would not require an official requisition. The engineer removed his safety goggles, walked away from the work bench and retrieved a leather pouch from a storage cabinet. The small bag appeared to hold something about the size and shape of a baseball. Knox zipped open the carrying case and glanced inside.
"This is it?"
"Yes, yes, this is it. But I am confused as to why you need to have such a thing? The Witiko are all but gone from here, are they not?"
Gordon considered the fifty Witiko officers waiting to testify before the Senate. He wondered if those aliens would ever pass through the runes.
"I'm not so sure about that, Omar. And if the Witiko are going to hang around a while longer, something like this could be rather valuable." "You are a confusing man, Mr. Knox." Gordon told Omar, "I'm a big believer in insurance." Omar's good mood re-surfaced as he quipped, "Auto policy, Mr. Knox? Home and fire?" The Director of Intelligence considered the change in power. He thought about an Empire with Evan Godfrey atop the pyramid. Knox told Omar, "Personal injury insurance." — Jon Brewer undid the top of his dress uniform and threw it over the couch. He then plopped onto that couch himself. Lori sat in the adjacent easy chair in their small living room watching the end of the special news bulletin.
A broadcast summed the day's events: "To those who have been watching the tug of war between the Emperor and the Senate over the last several years, it appears that match up has been settled, and Evan Godfrey is the big winner. There are many questions about the scope of his powers, but in the short term the most intriguing question is whether or not he can reach out to the pro-Imperial elements he has clashed with in the past and still maintain the fractured coalition of labor, peace activists, and political idealists that serves as his base." Lori switched off the channel and snorted in disgust. "So you handed everything over to Evan, just like that." Jon placed a hand over his eyes. "Not you, too. Not now." "Okay, you did what you wanted to do. You handed off the responsibility. Now what?"
He kept that hand over his eyes and answered, "Now Evan becomes President. He and the damn Senate spend months coming up with big long documents and papers that turn our government into a republic, like it used to be. The rest of us go on fighting the war."
"And you feel okay with Evan in charge?"
"Evan isn't in charge by himself. He has to work with the Senate, and he's got Dante advising him and he'll have a bunch of others doing that, too, as he gets settled."
"But-"
"No buts, please. I never wanted any part of it. I'm not Trevor Stone, nobody is. No one could take his place and do the things he did. I'm a soldier. I get to keep on fighting, now the people who want to play politician can do that."
Lori stood and walked to him. He still would not return her gaze. She spoke in a tone between sad and angry.
"Trevor fought all the time, too. One fight was out there on the battlefield against the things that came here to wipe us out. The other one was at home. Every day was a fight for him to keep us focused on the goal of winning this war. No matter how tired people got, he managed to keep us looking forward. So yeah, Jon, you're a fighter. But today you chose not to fight; today you chose to run away. Sooner or later you're going to either have to fight this one again, or surrender. Truth is, my husband, since the day the aliens invaded there hasn't been a middle ground. Trevor knew this. You do, too, you just don't want to deal with it." He finally pulled his hand away from his head and met her eyes. "I love you Jon. But today you let a lot of people down, Trevor Stone most of all." — Evan Godfrey slid open the top desk drawer and rifled through the pens, scrap paper, and notebooks inside.
He had trouble believing the day had finally arrived. There he stood in Trevor Stone's office on the second floor of the mansion and while he may not be Emperor, he might as well be.
He would be President of The Empire. No, eventually they would hold a vote and he would be President of the reborn United States of America. Between now and then he held nearly as much power as Stone had wielded, only poor Jon Brewer did not realize as much. Trevor had ruled with an authority derived from his actions since the invasion. People saw him as a savior and his initial bunch of lackeys pledged an oath of complete devotion.
Evan knew his authority came from a different place. He wielded the power of uncertainty. With only the vaguest of guidelines and parameters on paper, he could expand his authority as far as he cared. Oh, there were a few bumps in the road that needed smoothing, but as the reporter had suggested the title "President" might as well be "Emperor."
Trevor, Evan thought, used his power to create a cult of personality spiced with the fervor of a crusader. In contrast, with Evan Godfrey in charge, the people would not be wasted on some foolish crusade. Instead, he would help them build a utopia, of sorts. While perfection could never truly be achieved, Evan knew his vision of government and society would come as close to the ideal as any man dared to dream.
A 'normal' President in the old days might achieve one or two initiatives of note. But not Evan. Through the cloak of uncertainty he would command the authority to mold the new world to his liking; in his image.
Evan chuckled and played the past few weeks over again, enjoying the memory of each scene, of each victory, of each piece falling into place.
His fine mood spoiled as in walked Gordon Knox. The Intelligence Director paused at the doorway between the two Doberman Pincher dogs guarding inside the room, locked eyes on Evan, and then strolled forward in careful steps.
Evan, feeling the strength of his new position, did not let his stare waver. For the first time ever, he held the advantage over Knox. He planned to enjoy every moment of what few moments of their rivalry remained.
Knox spoke first, "Well, looks like you're moving right in."
Evan kept his voice calm, cordial, yet the glare in his eyes carried much darker overtones.
"I feel it's important to get right to work. There are so many…so many projects I'm looking forward to completing. Things I think are long overdue."
A grin flickered at the corner of Knox's mouth. "I wish you the best of luck, Evan. With everything you're contemplating, you're going to need it."
"I believe we make our own luck, Gordon. In fact, I'd say that luck is when preparation meets opportunity. I've been preparing for this for a long time, and now I have the opportunity to do the things I've dreamt of."
"Just be careful, Mr. President, that you don't bite off more than you can chew. People who do that have been known to choke."
"Rest assured, when I put my mind to something I complete the task."
Gordon asked, "Is that a fact?"
"You can count on it. And let me say, your contributions over the last several years have been much appreciated. In fact, I feel a debt of personal…personal gratitude to you. Alas, with the restructuring I envision, I think your services will need to be terminated."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Evan. You know, Trevor came to rely on me. He could always count on me to get the job done. He knew what I was capable of."
Godfrey reminded, "Trevor Stone is gone."
Gordon grew a big, sadistic smile. His tone dropped and he spoke in a slick and smooth voice that could have been a wizard casting a spell: "Trevor is gone? Is he really, Evan?"
Gordon walked over to one of the dogs guarding the entryway. The perfectly black and impressively muscular Doberman sat rigidly in a Grenadier's version of military attention.
Knox glanced at the stoic dog then to Godfrey and warned, "I don't think Trevor is gone at all, Evan. Look close now. Look into the eyes of each of the K9s. Can you see him, Evan? Can you see Trevor Stone looking back at you? Watching you?"
Evan licked his lips and, on impulse, glanced at the canine. He saw the dark, obsidian eyes of the mysterious beast. He saw the power Trevor held over the animals; the way they did his bidding without question, the way Trevor had been able to communicate-somehow or another-with the creatures. And in those dogs he saw all the things about Armageddon he tried to ignore: Trevor's jaunts into the woods, nuclear weapons that would not detonate, the mystical runes.
Evan's eyes wavered for a split second but that split second gave Gordon a victory.
Before Godfrey could recover, Ashley stormed into the room in big steps. Gordon's evil grin disappeared immediately; he felt a woman of Ashley's stature should not be exposed to his dark side. She glanced at Knox quickly but reserved her anger for Godfrey. "Get out of here." Evan's mouth hung open for a moment before he replied, "But my dear, my new duties require that I-"
"I said get out of my home. This is Trevor's personal office. My family lives on this second floor. I will go through the desk and forward to you anything of relevance."
Between Gordon's disturbing remarks about the K9s and the ferocity of Ashley's indignation, Godfrey realized he held a weakened hand. He bowed politely and made for the door. He stopped when Knox said, "See you around, Mr. President." "No, Gordon, you won't." With that, Evan Godfrey left the lakeside estate. He would never return. Ashley and Gordon lingered. "I should be going," Knox volunteered, but did not move.
Ashley stood in the middle of the room staring at the floor with her body sort of swaying in a mixture of relief at Godfrey's departure and unease at being alone with Knox.
"Gordon, you were always a good friend to Trevor. He counted on you a great deal."
"He counted on me? Isn't that funny. All these years I really think it was me counting on him. He gave me purpose. You know, I spent a lot of my years in the old world working some dirty jobs in the intelligence community. At first I did it because I believed in the 'home of the brave' and all that. Over time, I just did it because it was all I knew."
Gordon stepped closer to Ashley. She kept her eyes on the floor.
He continued, "But when aliens invade your world, enslave and murder children…well then you know you're on the right side. You learn that maybe there is a time when the ends do justify the means. That's my time, you understand? That's where I live. Trevor let me be who I am and still feel like one of the good guys."
She said, "You are one of the good guys."
He did not know how to respond and she did not have anything more to say. An awkward silence screamed through the room. Outside a car or truck or something drove around the lake; the chop-chop of distant helicopter blades echoed.
Gordon's hand slowly rose in the air and gently reached to her cheek. She closed her eyes and stood as still as if I hunter's knife touched her throat. For him-for one moment-no glass separated them. He felt the warmth of her life and knew her to be flesh, and blood, and real.
She trembled in what could only be fear.
He told her, "We each have had our bit to play in all this. The only difference is I've enjoyed what I've had to do. I think that makes me a bit of a monster."
"Gordon," she stumbled her words without pulling her eyes from the floor. "You're not…you're not a monster."
He felt that to be very nice of her to say. She trembled at his touch, yet she still maintained the front. Still played the role.
Gordon said, "I loved Trevor, do you understand? I would have done anything for him. With him gone I want you to know…I want you to know that if you ever need anything…"
He stopped, unsure how to finish the thought without sending the wrong message. Ashley was a work of art far beyond his station. To feel her warmth for that moment was as close as he dared ever get. Monsters did not deserve so much. "Gordon…" His hand retreated. "It's okay. I can be very scary." "I'm not afraid of you," she lied. Again, he thought it very nice of her to try so hard.
"It is good to be afraid of monsters, Ashley. Fear is a basic, fundamental response to danger. It's healthy. But Ashley, Trevor sometimes needed a monster to do the jobs that others…that others should not be polluted by. The time may come when you need just such a monster. If so…well, if so, then just come catch a game."
Gordon pulled a small slip from his pocket and held it to her. Ashley examined the paper before accepting the mysterious gift. It was a ticket. More specifically, a ticket voucher for 'any event' at the "Miami Orange Bowl." "I don't understand. You'll still be around. Evan will need an Intelligence Director." Gordon shook his head. "I think Evan has enough of his own monsters." "Where will you go?" Gordon's eyes glazed and he waited several seconds before answering. "I'm going home." — Ray Roos strolled the first floor of the mansion. He had already packed his bags and shipped off to D.C., his valuables from his home on the far side of the lake. He had also cleared out what few files, equipment, and paperwork he kept at the mansion and handed over all his important stuff to Tucker, who would handle security for the Stones for as long as Ashley and her boy would need security. Roos expected that that would not be long at all.
Nonetheless, one bit of business remained.
He waited until Lori Brewer left for lunch. The Chief Administrator of the Empire-who would soon serve in a greatly diminished capacity-left the mansion with her husband and General Jerry Shepherd, who had come to town for a week of meetings with the other brass. That brass, Roos knew, would soon be operating out of the Pentagon building in D.C., just as President Godfrey would soon occupy the re-opened White House.
In any case, he walked into Lori Brewer's office, moved to her desk, bent over, and removed the small silver eavesdropping device he had affixed there months before.
He stood and examined the electronic bug. He considered how one tiny little listening device changed things so much.
Ray smiled to himself, stuffed the bug into a pocket in his sport jacket, and marched out of the room. He had a plane to catch.
13 — The Day They Tried to Kill Gordon Knox
Three helicopters buzzed across the Potomac River moving northeast. The merchants and customers doing business in the ad hoc marketplace on the Ellipse south of the White House recognized the lead chopper as Marine One, an H-3 Sea King that had served the last President of the old world and now served the first President of the new world.
Two Internal Security UH-1 "Huey" helicopters flanked the lead bird as the trio flew for the south lawn of the White House. An elated Evan Godfrey rode onboard Marine One accompanied by his wife Sharon, Dante Jones, Ray Roos, and a handful of bodyguards.
Evan took in the view from a starboard window. He saw the Washington monument-still scarred from Hivvan energy weapons-reaching into the sky. His skin tingled.
Roos, sitting in a high-backed chair, asked, "What's the first order of business, Mr. President?"
Evan answered the new Director of Internal Security, "We have a reception tonight and I'll be interviewing candidates for the positions in Agriculture and Science."
Dante had been sitting with his head hung low but the discussion piqued his interest.
"What about Eva Rheimmer? Or Omar? They've been pretty much doing Agriculture and Science all along."
Evan shook his head. "Yes, they've both done a great job. But like we discussed, Dante, we need to start fresh. Remember what we talked about; about not going half way."
"Yeah, I know. Just I thought it would be easier and all."
"I appreciate that, Dante. Let's just stick to our playbook, shall we?"
Roos said, "Well now, along those lines let me say that our man Tucker is all set to get Ashley out of the estate and down to their summer home. Then again, I guess you knew that."
Evan wished Ray had not brought that up in front of Dante but, then again, Roos had a way of trying to make Evan feel uncomfortable now and then, as if keeping his boss on his toes.
Dante jumped, "Ashley? JB? We never spoke about anything happening to them."
Evan calmed, "Easy, Dante. We're just moving them to their summer place in New Jersey. Like we talked about, we have to erase the estate from the public's mind. The new center of power is Washington D.C., where the Senate is, where the Presidency is. It's psychological."
Dante chewed on his thumbnail and stared out a window.
"Anyway, boss, that should be taken care of by the end of the week," Roos continued to aggravate the situation. "Seein' as to all the threats and stuff we've been getting against the Stones, I figure it's best for security reasons."
"Oh look at all the people," Sharon exclaimed as the formation of choppers flew over the marketplace on the Ellipse.
"Okay then," Godfrey adjusted his tie. "Now listen, we want smiles on everyone's face. Not big smiles because this is still a solemn day, but expressions of content and confidence."
Dante did not respond. Roos looked to his boss and smiled a big, man-eating grin.
"Okay Ray," Evan conceded. "Maybe you shouldn't worry about smiling."
Marine One descended to the south lawn while the escorts circled and then flew off. The big blades of the heavy helicopter created a small whirlwind rippling over the lines of press filming and photographing the arrival of the new President and his entourage. Internal Security officers dressed in policemen's garb stood alert both across the grounds and on the roof of the White House. Doberman Pinscher K9s with spiked silver collars sat rigidly among the building's pillars and entryways.
Evan Godfrey emerged from the helicopter and crossed the lawn toward his new home with his wife at his side and his closest associates trailing behind. That evening's news broadcasts would describe his gait as 'self-assured' and that Mr. Godfrey appeared 'at ease in his new role', exactly 'what the people needed in these turbulent times.' Questions came from the press. He picked only one to respond to. "How do you feel, Mr. President?" "Like it's morning in America." — The flurry of activity that began that morning with Evan's arrival continued for hours with press conferences and ceremony after ceremony. At last the media ran off to catch early suppers and file reports, taking advantage of a few hours respite before the inaugural reception scheduled for later that night.
Godfrey planned to change into a tuxedo and write a speech for the night's activities. However, Sharon had taken a bottle of something bubbly with her upstairs, suggesting the time had come to break in the Lincoln bedroom. Based on Sharon's disposition, he guessed they'd be breaking in just about every room in the White House. Evan wondered what would occupy his wife's time after the excitement of her victory over Trevor Stone dissipated. She might, in fact, become a problem.
Problems of other kinds occupied Evan's mind as he walked the red carpet along the Cross Hall on the first floor of the White House with Ray and Dante. With the press gone, only security and Evan's trusted associates remained in the building. That would change in a few hours, giving him a small window to address a few things that needed addressing.
Evan spoke to Dante first, "This is for you," he stopped and handed Jones an open envelope filled with a paper receipt and a key. "It's a little vacation for you, my friend. After all you've been through I figure you deserve it."
Dante read the receipt aloud, "Bryce Resorts. What's this?"
"You did well, but I know you feel bothered by all this. I won't go into that because we've been over it a hundred times. This is my way of saying thank you. Get away for a couple of days. I hear the Chrysaor is at the Pittsburgh shipyards this week for repair."
Dante's eyes grew wide.
"It's okay. Most people know you and Captain Kaufman have had an on and off type thing ever since that reconnaissance mission to Binghamton that first year. Take her to this place. It's the only high-class resort operating these days. Go horseback riding, get a massage, and enjoy some fine dining. It's all taken care. You deserve it."
Dante returned his attention to the receipt. "I don't know what to say."
"Then don’t say anything. Dante. I can't tell you that you're ever going get over this, but you did the right thing. In the long run, you will see this to be true. Now go, enjoy yourself, there's nothing going on here that can't wait for a couple of days."
Dante hesitated then, after a second, found a small smile. He shook Evan's hand and walked off in search of ground transportation.
When he left earshot, Roos asked, "Is he going to be a problem?"
"Huh? Oh, Dante? No. He thinks of himself as an idealist. He'll survive for a while telling himself what a great sacrifice he made for the greater good, he may even enjoy a certain amount of self-loathing for a time. Of course, some day he might just realize the truth about it, but until then he'll be easy enough to control. Dante has cast his lot; there's no turning back for him."
"And you and I? Why'd we do it?"
"You did it for yourself, Ray. You knew someday I'd get here. What did you say that time? Oh yes, I'm the 'horse you backed'. You're an opportunist. But that's okay because that's the American way. Self-interest is a powerful thing."
"Hmmm, you're the idealist then, is that it? Yes, well, I guess you know that already. I just hope you're right about Dante not becoming a problem. He seems a bit shaky to me."
"Don't worry about him," they walked again, passing marble pillars as he and Ray traversed the rich red carpet. "We have other things to worry about. First off, what about Gannon? It's been over three weeks. When is he getting back out there to check in on things?"
Roos shook his head, "Can't do it yet, not with the Tambourine line going full steam. No sir, we've already messed with that once, can't risk it again."
"Well, we're going to deal with that. Dante already processed orders to turn over two of the Stingrays to Internal Security for border patrol and testing."
"You don’t say? And Brewer didn't get himself all tied up on that?"
"Nope. Didn't even raise an eyebrow. I don't think General Brewer is even on the radarscope right now. He's pretty much back at the estate pushing papers and thanking God he isn't the one in charge. Without Stone, Brewer is fluttering in the wind. We'll keep him and his wife busy with some pet projects here and there while I get settled in. Now, where's our guest?"
"West Wing."
Evan increased his pace and, with Roos in tow, made his way through the grand mansion toward the west wing. Two I.S. guards and their charge waited in the lobby there. Evan quickly dismissed the escort and addressed Chancellor D'Trayne directly.
"Chancellor, I'm so happy you could be here on my first day in the White House."
"Senator-I mean, Mr. President-congratulations on your victory. I hope now that you will follow through on your end of the agreement."
"I believe I already have, Chancellor, in regards to my predecessor. I trust your friends are satisfied?"
D'Trayne-coated in silver cosmetic-answered, "Yes, Mr. President, although I believe Mr. Gannon is serving as the liaison in that regards. As for my people-"
"As for your people, I need to ask a little more of you. However, if all goes as I envision, you will be able to remain here and in a much more…much more satisfying capacity."
The Chancellor's eyes turned lime green.
"What is it you require now, Evan?"
"There are loose ends to be tied, Chancellor. It would be wise to anticipate some bumps along the road, too. Ray, here, will be my point man on smoothing things out, but we could use a few of your officers on board. You know, the kind willing to sacrifice for the greater good."
D'Trayne reluctantly nodded. "Witiko who could be characterized as outlaws or acting autonomously if their activities were discovered. I can provide the names of several such Witiko currently in your custody who will do as instructed and accept responsibility if discovered."
"Good," Evan smiled. "Two of your Stingray cruisers are being transferred to I.S. Then Ray is going to put together a small team of trustworthy associates." "I'll need some of your boys as back up. Just in case, you see?" "Yes, I see," the Chancellor said. "And I appreciate your thoroughness." "Good. Ray, what's our time frame on this?" "I'm thinking in two or three days; Wednesday or Thursday."
"Fantastic," Evan beamed. "Why don't you run along and see to it, then. I have a few things to go over with our guest, you understand."
"Oh, you know me, Mr. President. I'm just a little cog in a big machine."
The Director of Internal Security left Evan alone with the alien leader. The President motioned forward with his arm and the two made their way toward the oval office.
"Thank you, D'Trayne. Together we can finish this up nicely and move on."
"I can be of greater assistance if my people were granted access to the artifact you call the ‘runes.’ I insist that this take top priority."
Evan stopped fast causing D’Trayne to continue three paces before realizing he walked alone. The Witiko leader’s eyes glimmered a darker shade of green.
The President smiled but not in a friendly way.
"There are a few issues we must address. The most important being this…" Evan’s eyes narrowed. A subtle growl lingered behind his words. "…make no mistake, Chancellor, I am not your puppet. I am the President of what will soon be the reborn United States of America."
The Chancellor blinked bashfully and his eyes morphed to a gentle, soothing yellow.
"Of course, Mr. President. I did not mean to-"
"Trevor Stone was right about a couple of things. He was right that the Witiko pulled all the strings in California, that Malloy was nothing but a figurehead. He was also right about something else. He was right that you only sued for peace because the gateways were shut off."
D’Trayne held a pleasant expression but his eyes flashed red.
Evan spoke with the calm strength of a poker player holding all the cards.
"I’m calling the shots, Chancellor. You work for me, understand? If you don’t, then I’m sure the military would be happy to complete purging your kind from this planet. Most of your troops are already gone. I’ve got a feeling- call it a hunch — that the folks on your home world won’t be so thrilled to see you come back. I have a feeling you’ve got a stake in staying here."
D’Trayne’s eyes nearly burned from their sockets. His arms fidgeted. His mouth worked as if to speak…then clamped shut. The red pupils lost some of their glow; a little.
Evan said, "Yes, good, that’s right. The sooner you accept that, the better. Because I can use you, Chancellor. You and I can get some things done. But everyone has to know their place. That’s how you ran California, wasn’t it? Everyone had a place."
The Witiko leader licked his silver-coated lips and answered in a calm, resolved voice, "We have always believed in a ruling class."
"Very good, yes, me too."
Evan’s assertion puzzled D’Trayne. "But you speak of this democracy; of the rights of every person. Do you hide your true feelings on this?"
Evan shared his vision of democracy: "Oh, Chancellor, you may be hot stuff back on your world, but your style wouldn’t last a day here in America. Sooner or later the rabble in California was going to rise up and kick you and Governor Malloy out."
D’Trayne snapped, "The people of California accepted their place."
"Really? Is that why garrisons switched sides once Trevor invaded? Is that why people working on your stealth field generator project slipped us all the info we needed to take it out so fast? No, Chancellor, the people of California accepted their place for a short time, but eventually they would have tossed you out on your silver ass."
D’Trayne’s voice trembled in the slightest, struggling to remain calm as he said, "You speak in riddles, President Godfrey. What is it you are trying to say?"
Evan enthusiastically embraced the opportunity to teach.
"Democracy is a wonderful thing when it’s managed properly. You must give the people the freedom to vote in or vote out whomever they wish. They must be completely vested in the system for only then will they accept the results of that system." "I see. So you paint an illusion of democracy and then control it. A deception, it is?" Evan laughed at the Chancellor’s failure to comprehend. "No, no. There is no illusion. No deception. Real freedom. Real opportunity for all." The alien shook his head in both confusion and frustration. "But you said you believed in a ruling class. Your riddles are no clearer."
"The cream rises to the top, Chancellor. Democracy is like a free market economy. Intelligence and money slowly but surely separate the ruling class from the masses."
"Money? You buy elections?"
Evan threw an arm around the taller Chancellor and they walked again.
"Sort of. You buy marketing and public relations. You fine tune your message. You poll the people to get inside their heads. Along the way the best and brightest rise to the top, not because of deception or illusion but because they reach the people, earn their votes, and do what’s best for them even if those same people don’t know what’s best for them."
"I see."
"No, you don’t. But that’s okay. You just have to do what I need you to do."
Evan led the Chancellor into the Oval Office. The new President had spent an hour there earlier posing for photos and greeting VIPs. Now, with everyone gone, he could truly take possession of the office; to make it his.
An American flag stood in one corner next to a black and silver flag depicting a hand holding a musket, one of the many icons of The Empire and a necessary prop for the photographers, but he knew that flag would not remain much longer.
A pair of Doberman Pinchers stood sentry just inside the door to the office. The President stopped, eyed the two canines, and then ordered, "Get. Get out now. Go."
The confused dogs wavered for a moment before trotting into the reception area. Evan closed the door and circled to his desk. He faced the windows there and gazed out at sunset over the south lawn. He saw much more than the grounds of the White House; he saw the nation he had gained possession of. "What is it you need me to do, Mr. President?" "Ah, yes. Well, it’s not just for me, it’s for both of us. We share a common problem." "And that is..?"
"The Imperial Military, of course. The war mentality Trevor spent so much time instilling in the people remains, despite how wary of fighting the average person is."
"Mr. Stone, it seems, was a great leader."
Evan pivoted fast and lost his composure for two quick seconds before realizing D’Trayne had baited him.
"No! He was full of ego and self-importance. He would do anything to hang on to power! He knew nothing of leadership, only how to wage war."
D’Trayne smiled in the slightest. His pupils flickered green.
Evan turned the tables on the Witiko: "Let us speak honestly, Chancellor. The Imperial military handed you your collective asses with only three dreadnoughts. I am no fool, D’Trayne. I know there are powers out there guiding this invasion. I know how desperately the aliens who are here want to stay here. Like I said, I think this was a one-way ticket for all of you. I think you don’t want to go home because going home would not be good for your career or your life. Whether you face dishonor or death is no concern to me, but I believe the other alien races are in the same situation."
D’Trayne said nothing.
"Imagine, now, a dozen dreadnoughts, or more. That’s what the military wants, you know. And there will be pilots to fly them and crews to man them because our military academies are overflowing with volunteers. Every day that passes our engineers adapt more alien technology for our uses and our economy grows more diverse and powerful."
"And now you command those armies, Evan. I thought you were against the war."
"I look at the map and I see our armies on the west coast, the cities of the north occupied and fortified, and an early-warning detection system along the Atlantic. With the Centurian base in Mexico destroyed, so to speak, the south is secure for the foreseeable future. I see a nation with strong borders and armies capable of defending those borders. America is one nation again." Evan reconsidered and waved a dismissive hand. "Except, of course, for Hawaii and Alaska, but that’s splitting hairs."
D’Trayne asked, "So why is the military my problem and yours?"
Godfrey glided over to an antique globe in the corner and gave it a spin.
"It’s your problem because that military is now capable of projecting power far beyond our borders. I’m sure you heard that General Brewer took the Excalibur to South America last year. What’s to stop the military from sending a fleet of dreadnoughts across the Atlantic or the Pacific or over the North Pole into Russia or China? They could drop an armored division in…" he peered at the globe, "…Siberia or run a massive, sustained air campaign into west Africa."
"Perhaps you over estimate your capabilities," D’Trayne sneered.
"Perhaps. But do you think the military knows its limitations? No, D’Trayne, there are too many Generals who savor the idea of fighting for every square inch of this planet. Tell me now, do the other alien races look forward to facing dreadnoughts and gunships?"
When D’Trayne did not respond, Evan answered for him, "No, of course not."
"How is your own military a problem for you, Mr. President?"
"I told you that the cream rises to the top in democracy. With a well-tuned message, a good campaign, and the proper amount of spending, the right people eventually earn their way into positions of authority. This, of course, is good for everyone. But war changes that, Chancellor. The people rally around flags and bravado, instead of reason and ideals."
"Are you saying, Mr. President, that the people see through the political campaigns when they feel more important issues call?"
Evan gnashed his teeth and responded, "I’m saying that the masses can be distracted. Their blood boils. They make short term decisions and lose sight of the common good."
"And if you are at war you feel your military is a threat to your Presidency?"
"My ascension to power has not been without… controversy. Over the years my… idealism has created unease in the military and intelligence communities. There are those who might feel that the alien threat could justify the removal of civilian leadership."
"Are you not in the process of handling this threat? Is that not why you need the assistance of my officers and ships?"
"For one particular threat, yes, but that does not change the entirety of the situation."
The Chancellor followed Evan’s thinking: "So as long as this war continues, races such as mine will face a human war machine that will continue to grow stronger and you will face the constant threat of being overthrown and replaced."
Evan sat behind the President’s desk and folded his hands on this lap. He felt very much at ease there.
"Now you understand, Chancellor. And if I am replaced the war will go on unchecked, until either the invaders defeat humanity or humanity sends you all back through the runes."
D’Trayne swerved the conversation around a wrong turn: "Of course, with the right assistance, the forces that have come to your world could overrun this ‘Empire.’ Those who help facilitate such a victory would receive great rewards, even governing authority."
The growl returned to Evan’s voice as he warned, "Listen carefully, D’Trayne, I am on the side of humanity. I fought against you invaders in the early days. There is alien blood on these hands. I will do whatever it takes to protect the current borders of this nation and if an alternative solution cannot be found, I will authorize whatever measures are necessary to keep this country secure. Do you hear me?"
D’Trayne bowed his head.
Evan continued, "The question is, does your side want this to continue? Do you want The Empire to reach out across the oceans? Imagine how our armies on the march could unite the pockets of human resistance scattered around the globe. No extraterrestrial would be safe and even if we could not retake the whole planet, we could really upset the apple cart along the way."
"But?"
"But if we reached a negotiated settlement. If we, here in America, agreed to stay within our borders and forget about the rest of the world, would your side be willing to sign a treaty recognizing our right to exist and respecting our sovereignty?"
"You seek security?"
"I seek a solution that benefits us both, D’Trayne. Your friends would no longer have to worry about our military knocking over whatever colonies you have around this world. If the war is over, I can snuff out the fire that powers the Generals, making my position more secure and creating a chance for things to return to the way they were before the invasion." The alien smiled and his eyes glowed a gentle yellow. "You are a wise man, Mr. President." "Blessed are the peace makers, Chancellor." — Gordon sat on the Lanai watching, for the last time, sunset from his house in northeastern Pennsylvania. He liked the smell of the chlorine from the pool mixing with sound of the gentle wisp of the ceiling fan from the master suite just beyond a pair of open sliding doors. For some reason, it made him think of Florida.
He heard a beep-the third one now-broadcast into the earpiece he wore that was, in turn, attached to a pocket device resembling one part calculator, one part remote control.
The higher pitch of the third beep confirmed what he expected: the generator shed would be their first target. At that point, he figured, they would execute a dynamic entry via multiple points, certain to include the front door and most likely either the garage or the Lanai. The fact that they had yet to nail him with a sniper round while he sat there easily visible through the glass confirmed another of his suspicions: the assassins meant to deliver a message, no doubt some sort of glib victory speech, the type of thing one would expect from Evan Godfrey.
The last rays of sun dipped below the horizon. Gordon stood and strode away from the table and into the master bedroom where the ceiling fan turned. He closed the dual sliding doors and knelt next to the wicker dresser across from his bed. There, hidden in a corner, he opened a small electronic box, the contents battery powered for just this type of occasion.
Near the box rested a stack of CDs. Gordon examined the labels, made his decision, and tossed all but one aside. He grinned and slipped the disc into a slot on that electronic box while whispering, "I hope you I.S. pussies like classic rock." Of course the transmitter did nothing; not yet. Like the rest of Gordon's toys, this one would wait for his command.
Next he stood and opened a silver cabinet mounted on the wall above the dresser. From there he pulled a loaded Benelli M4 shotgun. The pouch Omar had given him a few days ago was also in the cabinet. He took it and tied it around his belt.
The ceiling fan stopped, the lights went out, the house went dark.
Game time…
…A wooded knoll rose above the cluster of homes where Gordon lived. On that knoll stood Ray Roos, peering down toward the soon-to-be-ex-Intelligence Director's home through a pair of night vision binoculars. Even with the artificial illumination he could not see much.
A Witiko officer stood a respectful pace behind and to the side of Ray. Further back, two Witiko Skytroops.
Roos did not like Evan Godfrey's order for a message to be delivered to Gordon Knox's dying ears. Still, he would follow the boss' commands as long as those orders did not put his own neck on the line. If that happened…well, Ray always believed in options, particularly when protecting his ass.
Ray did not think Evan realized exactly how dangerous Knox was. Roos, on the other hand, spent years working at the estate, overhearing conversations, and getting to know the people there as part of his role as Evan's mole. He knew exactly how dangerous Gordon Knox was and how well connected. Only Roos' listening devices, the intercepting of intelligence reports, and other acts of cover up had managed to keep Knox from discovering the plot to whack Trevor Stone. Even then, maintaining the secret ranked as a minor miracle, no doubt one Knox could eventually undo if allowed to live.
Roos raised a walkie-talkie and transmitted, "I said go, you boys listening?"
"Copy that, Control. All points entry in three…two…one…"
…The front door to Gordon Knox's single-story home burst open. Two men dressed in black and wearing night vision goggles moved inside with silenced Mp5 machine pistols at the ready.
On the far side of the home, one panel in the glass Lanai smashed and a small object the size and shape of a hockey puck bounced across the tile surrounding the indoor pool. That object exploded in a flash of light that would have blinded anyone in the room.
A second later, more of the glass shattered and a third commando burst into the sunroom with yet another Mp5 searching for Gordon Knox. The three intruders spoke with each other and their 'Control' via headset transmitters. "This is Huey, west room clear, proceeding south to clear next area." "Duey and Louie splitting. Taking garage and master bedroom." "Control copy, boys. Exterior looks clear. Target still inside."
'Duey' turned left from the foyer and cleared the small dining area. From there he reported, "Duey here, clear so far, moving south toward garage."
"Copy that."
At the same time, Louie moved right from the foyer, slowly opening and entering the master bedroom through one of that room's two entrances. His night vision scope saw the open metal cabinet, a neatly-made bed, and closed double doors that led to the inside pool area, but no sign of the target.
"Louie here, master bedroom all clear. Looks like we got a gun cabinet that's empty. Proceed with caution. Moving west to pool area in case target doubled back."
"Copy that, Louie."
The commando who had entered through the Lanai-Huey-moved slowly across a leisure room in the southwest quadrant of the home. He then approached the closed door to the guest bedroom, one hand reaching for the knob while the other steadied his weapon…
…Duey walked into the garage. That area appeared as pitch dark as the rest of the home…until Gordon Knox flicked a switch on his remote control and activated a battery-powered security light.
The sudden glare blinded Duey. He fired his silenced weapon at the glow- thwump, thwump, thwump — shattering one of the two bulbs even as he instinctively turned away from the blinding glow and directly into the barrel of the Benelli. Gordon pulled the trigger. The powerful shotgun blast killed the man instantly, sending him-light body armor and all-flying backward. "All points, check in," radioed Control at the sound of the shot. "Louie, pool area clear." "Huey, in southwest bedroom, no sign tango."
Knox could have exited his home through the garage door and made a clean getaway, but he decided more work remained to be done. He returned inside. As he walked, he balanced the shotgun with one hand while pushing another button on his remote control. He felt a sense of satisfaction that years of paranoia finally paid dividends.
That other battery powered device-the hidden electronic box-sprung to life. This one did not radiate light but, rather, radiated sound…
…Ray Roos stood on the knoll with one hand holding the binoculars, another holding his radio. That radio burst into static then it burst…it burst into…into music.
"In-a-gadda-da-vida, honey,
Don't you know that I love you?
In-a-gadda-da-vida, baby,
Don't you know that I'll always be true?"
…The commando codenamed Huey moved from the extra bedroom into the dinette area with the goal of getting to the garage. He meant to radio Louie to meet him there, but when he activated his transmitter he could only hear music. Rock 'n roll, in fact.
"Control? Louie? Anyone copy? I've got interference!"
Gordon Knox approached the confused killer from behind and drew a hunter's knife across the man's throat. Knox held him up as he gurgled last words, arms flailing as if shimmering to the sound of classic rock playing over his headset.
"Never send I.S. pussies to do a man's job."
The assassin went limp. Gordon thought the fellow might yet be of some use…
…Ray stared at the radio. The music continued to play, overriding any message to or from the entry team. For that matter, the team might already be neutralized.
The Witiko officer leaned toward the radio and questioned, "What is that?"
Roos answered truthfully, "Iron Butterfly," while his eyes focused on the dark and-seemingly-quiet house. At that point, the Director of Internal Security decided to up the ante. He turned to the Witiko officer and nodded. That officer, in turn, waved to his Skytroops.
Both aliens stepped forward and activated their jetpacks. With a hiss of thrust, they leapt into the sky, more jumping than flying across the two hundred yards between the observation point and Knox's house.
The first landed in a crouch on the beveled roof adjacent to the glass-enclosed Lanai. The second went further, dropping to his knees as he landed hard above the front entrance. He hopped down from the roof to the stoop, raised his long alien Gatling gun-like rifle, and stepped through the battered doorway.
The first Witiko smashed through the glass Lanai and dropped alongside the pool. In reaction to the darkness, the alien activated a small visor on his helmet. Instead of seeing the room in shades of light, the Witiko's visor saw the room in shades of heat.
He walked around the pool to a set of closed double doors. While balancing his gun in one hand, the Witiko slid one open. His visor immediately spied the glowing orange and yellow heat signature of a human being. It took a half-second for his gun to whirl to speed and spit a volley of low-caliber projectiles: the Witiko favored quantity of fire over stopping power. The heat signature bobbled side to side absorbing the rounds…but did not drop or flee. Confused, the alien retracted his visor. In the darkness he saw a man standing like a rag doll. No, one man holding another man… BOOM.
Knox's shotgun blasted the befuddled alien, sending his big silver body to the tile floor of the Lanai with a metallic clang. Gordon then let go of the dead commando he had used for a human shield…
…The second Witiko heard the shot. He walked quietly toward the master bedroom's inner door. Meanwhile, the last remaining human assassin-Louie-left Gordon's den and proceeded cautiously into the kitchen area on his way toward the front of the house…
…Roos paced back and forth on the knoll. The Witiko officer eyed him but said nothing.
The Director of Internal Security considered his third and final option if the Witiko team did not complete the job. That third and final option would require a cover story about fuel tank ruptures and a house fire. Thankfully Knox lived in an isolated locale. That would give Roos the time and latitude to paint a picture for any parties who took an interest in the 'accident'.
He tapped his thumb impatiently and waited for a sign…
…There were two ways into the master bedroom, one being through the double doors from the Lanai where the body of the first Witiko now lay. The other a smaller door leading toward the foyer. Gordon crept in that direction with the aim of sweeping through the living room and toward the kitchen.
He opened the bedroom door and took one step. An alien hand slammed down on his shotgun, spinning it from his grasp.
Gordon did not hesitate, but neither did the Witiko, who tried to bring his own weapon to bear. Knox managed to get one hand on the end of the barrel and another near the stock. They grappled in a test of strength between two evenly matched competitors.
First, Gordon pushed the alien into the wall. A framed and autographed University of Miami Hurricanes #55 Jersey with the name "Ross" on the back fell and cracked.
Next, the Witiko grunted and turned the tables, swinging Gordon into the wall. This time no collectibles fell but Gordon saw movement out the corner of his eye: Louie the commando stopped at the kitchen archway and stared across the wide open living room at the struggle.
Knox broke the stalemate with a solid knee to the stomach of the alien. The enemy crunched over but did not relinquish his grip on the rifle. Gordon admired his foe's strength and determination, but the intent had not been to wrest the gun from the soldier. Instead, Gordon wanted access to the Witiko's back.
It surprised the Witiko to feel Gordon let go of the gun. It surprised him even more when Knox pulled a wire on the alien's jetpack. The rockets ignited in a brilliant blast of orange fire and sent the silvery humanoid across the dark living room like a giant bullet. With his arms flailing the alien slammed head-first into the bewildered I.S. commando, pushing him and the Witiko into the kitchen area where they crashed into a counter. The fuel from the jet pack ignited and a small explosion spread through the front of the house…
…Roos saw the sign he waited for: the flash of something big detonating inside Gordon's home. He considered it possible that the explosion meant Gordon Knox just died, but the instinct that had served Roos so well since the onset of Armageddon told him that was not the case.
Writing off both entry teams, Roos waved his hand at the house and told the Witiko officer, "Fuck it. Blow it all up."
The officer sent a signal via a wrist-mounted communicator.
High above the quiet cluster of homes nicknamed "Knoxtown," a ship about twice the size as Gordon's house broke through the clouds with running lights off and its profile invisible to the radar net protecting northeastern Pennsylvania.
Ray gazed skyward until he spotted the shadow of the Stingray descending. He heard the gentle roar of its rocket propulsion and began contemplating a series of cover stories should any witnesses catch sight or sound of the approaching ship. If need be, D'Trayne's people would take the fall by playing the role of renegades seeking revenge. Hopefully it would not come to that, but Roos and the Boy Scouts shared the same motto: always be prepared.
The alien ship dropped to five hundred feet and hovered. Roos watched as a highly focused energy beam cut across the night above the treetops and directly into the home where Gordon Knox made his last stand. The crackling glow of the weapon cast the landscape in a soft illumination next of kin to moonlight. Roos thought it a beautiful sight.
Slabs of roof jumped off the home, walls collapsed, and flames engulfed everything.
If only, Roos thought, Evan had not been so egotistical in his revenge, we could have just done this from the start.
Still, Roos knew the cover story for the explosion would require planting evidence, bribing someone to come forward as a witness, yadda, yadda, yadda. Yes, it would have been better if the team put a bullet in Knox's forehead and disappeared the body. As it was, Roos would have to go in after the flames died down, pull out the remains of his men and the Witiko, and-most important of all-identify Knox's cadaver, because Ray Roos would not sleep until he knew for sure Gordon Knox no longer lived.