New America 02 - Resistance (11 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Okay, Maxwell, why couldn’t we bring my son with us?  He’s constantly nagging me to get out amongst the people.  Now that I’m actually doing it, he c
an’t come along?  What gives?”  Howard Beck was sitting in a fancy restaurant in Seattle with Max and Elizabeth Harris.  They’d spent the morning at the Port of Seattle touring the cruise ship that had been commandeered by squatters.  Howard never mentioned to any of the residents that they would soon be leaving; that would come soon enough.

Maxwell Harris had
started out as the constable of Beck Castle, responsible for the security of the massive underground bunker and its residents.  The job also entailed providing protection for Howard, making Max a one-man Secret Service detail.  Maxwell’s duties grew until Howard appointed him director of security for the entire PSA.

“Howard, your son is
the vice president of the Pacific States of America.  The two of you cannot be at the same event.  Should something happen to you, God forbid, your son needs to assume the presidency.  Basic stuff, Howard. I know I’m just a cop, but I’m pretty sure I saw that on television.”

Elizabeth Harris loved to tease her husband.  “
Honey, we’re all loving what you’re doing here.  Just think of a Secret Service movie or two and you’ll be a shoe in for director.”

“Whoa! W
here were you?  Didn’t get the memo?  I
am
the director of the Secret Service.”

Elizabeth’s smile was like a drug to Max.  “Are we giving ourselves jobs now?”

“Whatever you want, my love.”

“
Hmmm…This could be fun. Any job I want? Okay, I officially appoint myself assistant director of the Secret Service.”

“Not gonna aim higher?”

“And leave your side?  You know I could never do that.”  Elizabeth ran her fingers through her husband’s hair as she planted a kiss on his weathered cheek.  Howard was learning to tolerate the couple; before long, he might even be comfortable around them.  However, their overt physical displays of affection would make anyone with Asperger’s feel awkward.

“Howard, you poor thing, are we making you uncomfortable
?” Elizabeth couldn’t resist the chance to tease her friend, though he tried is best to ignore her.

Max winked at his wife.  “Honey, we’ve talked about this
, and it’s time we both started addressing Howard as Mr. President.”

El
izabeth tried again, her serious tone less than genuine.  “I’m sorry.  Mr. President, would you like me to stop kissing my husband?”

“You two are picking on me, aren’t you?”

“Only because we love you so much! Lighten up, Mr. President.”

“Fun seems to always be at my expense.  I was hoping my son w
ould be here to give some fancy-pants speech so I wouldn’t have to.”

Max appreciated the return to a weightier topic
.  “Marshall told me he wrote a speech for you. Don’t you have it?”

“I do.
I’d just rather not give a speech at all.”

“Y
ou ran a multi-billion-dollar corporation, and you didn’t give the occasional speech?” Elizabeth asked.

“My dear, I
owned
a multi-billion dollar corporation which meant I didn’t have to give speeches or anything else that didn’t suit me.  Senator Wilson keeps pressuring me to revise my speech.”

Max could tell Howard was getting upset.  “Howard, you
don’t have to change anything! You’re the president, for crying out loud.”

“Wilson’s not asking
me to change anything; he wants me to add a few things.  Can’t stand politicians.  That man drives me insane with all of his fast-talking nonsense.”

“What’s he w
anting to add?”

“He wants me to
drum up support for a diplomatic solution with the UAE, try and broker a peace agreement.”

Max looked puzzled
.  “Can’t exactly discuss peace when Richard wants to go on the offensive and invade California.”

Howard
’s hearty laugh surprised them both.  “Arthur Wilson won’t be kissing my ass for much longer.  The good senator will probably announce his candidacy for president.”

Elizabeth loved seeing Howard in a good mood.  “Speaking of that, when’s the next election?  I think I’d be a kick-ass congresswoman.”

“I’d vote for you.” Max winked. 

A heavy pall settled over the group as
Senator Arthur Wilson entered the restaurant.   Having spent over thirty years in politics, Senator Wilson had been one of Howard’s strongest advocates when the PSA was established.

“Mr. President, I am truly honored by your visit.  We have a formal banquet prepared for you tonight at
the Four Seasons.  Plans for your address to the nation are moving forward without a hitch.  I was wondering if you had a chance to consider my suggestions?”

Howard cut to the chase.  “I’m not giving the speech at
city hall.”

Senator Wilson too
k the news in stride.  “Oh?  What location do you prefer?”

“I’ll
be speaking from the deck of the
Freedom of the Seas.”

“The what?”

“The cruise ship.”

Senator Wilson scanned his keen political mind for an angle.  “Housing
for UAE refugees?  I like it. That works. Nice job tackling one of the hot-button issues.” He couldn’t ignore the wide-eyed, cryptic looks exchanged by Max and Elizabeth.  “What?  Am I missing something?  This is about housing refugees, isn’t it?”

“You could say that.” 
Max cleared his throat to cover the chuckle that threatened to intervene.

Elizabeth covered her mouth to hide a smile and then looked away from the senator.  “Howard, maybe you should tell Senator Wilson what’s going o
n,” Elizabeth said.

Howard had been dreading this moment. H
e was truly grateful that Max and Elizabeth were here to defend him and run interference.  “Senator Wilson, when’s the last time you visited California?”

***

The $800 million dollar cruise ship, the
Freedom of the Seas
—complete with fifteen decks, ten swimming pools, movie theater, ice-skating rink, and rock climbing wall—stood twenty glorious stories above the water.  President Howard Alan Beck stood on a hastily built stage looking out across the harbor.  A year had passed since the election, and the citizens of the Pacific States of America had yet to witness a live presidential address.  He’d recorded his inaugural address to be disseminated to the citizens, much in the manner of FDR’s fireside chats of almost a century prior.  While Howard hated public speaking, he knew the public wanted,
needed,
to hear from their president.  Looking out at the expectant crowd, Howard removed a small tablet from his coat pocket.  “Hal, how many people would you say are here?”

“Good morning, sir.  Attendance is well over one hundred thousand.  I have twelve drones i
n the air monitoring everything. I assure you things are perfectly safe.”

“Hal,
I’m more worried about my speech right now.”

“Of course,
sir.  Simply lay your tablet down flat on the podium and the speech will be projected at eye level.”

“Outstanding! L
et’s get this show on the road.  Senator Wilson, if you please, kind sir.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”  Arthur Wilson approached the podium and began his introduction. 

“Citizens of the Pacific States of America, today marks a milestone in the short history of our nation.  President Howard Beck has given the fine city of Seattle the distinct privilege of hosting the very first State of the Union address.  I could spend the better part of an hour lauding the praises of our very own founding father, but his accomplishments speak for themselves.  We owe President Beck a debt we can never repay.  Democracy is alive and well, thanks to this man.”  Senator Wilson raised his arm towards Howard in a gesture of pride and friendship.  Howard mistakenly thought that was his cue, so he stood and walked toward the podium.  “Well!  I see the president is anxious for me to take my seat.  Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the Pacific States of America.”

For the next three and a half minutes
Howard stood awkwardly at the podium, forcing a smile and nodding his head in thanks as over one hundred thousand people clapped and screamed with enthusiasm.  Men and women wept openly as they tried to process the torrent of emotions overtaking them.  They had spent years living in panic and crushing despair as their country fell to pieces around them.  For the first time in as long as they could remember, they felt pride in their country; the man at the podium was the living embodiment of hope. 

Howard waited until the applause abated and let
the pointed silence hang heavily in the air for a few seconds.  He studied the first line of his speech and surprised Max and Elizabeth by going off script.  “You know, it’s funny.  I’ve read this speech a dozen times, memorized it actually, and it didn’t occur to me until this second just how extremely powerful the first three words are: My fellow Americans.  That phrase means a lot more now, doesn’t it?  Every president in recent memory opened his speeches with it.  We hardly took notice of it, but it means so much more in these dark days.  You see, the madman on the other side of our borders stopped using that phrase early on, and he’ll never say it again. I’ll tell you why:  Simon Sterling doesn’t see the citizens of his nation as ‘fellow’ anything.  They’re not citizens… they’re his subjects. He’s elevated himself to a god-like status—an error made by many dictators and monarchs throughout the course of history—with horrible consequences.”

Howard paused
for a moment to reflect and emphasized every word, every syllable, of the emotion-laden proclamation that followed:
“He. Must. Be. Stopped!”

The crow
d went wild.  Howard had to wait the better part of a minute for the cheering and clapping to subside.  “Our nation is strong, our resources are strong, and our resolve is even stronger.  We cannot continue to live in such comfort and security while our brothers and sisters in the Unified American Empire are being held hostage!  We must rescue them from oppression!  We must rescue them from a power-hungry madman who covets his own supremacy above the needs of his people!  We must unite our borders, Pacific to Atlantic, and make whole the United States of America.  Above all else, we must return our beloved nation to her people!”

Again, the crowd erupted in a deafening display of approval.
  Max and Elizabeth stood in awed silence. Never in their wildest dreams would they have guessed Howard had so much emotion brewing within him.

“The commanding general of our armed forces, General Richard Du
pree, is currently preparing an invasion force that will liberate the former state of California from UAE rule.  Before this historic mission can begin, I need your help.  I will ask for your sacrifice in the coming days.  I’m counting on the good citizens of Seattle to do their patriotic duty and answer the call to protect democracy, to liberate the downtrodden souls from beneath the oppressive thumb of Simon Sterling.  Tell me, Seattle, are you up to the task?”

The crowd exploded
in a roar of unanimous support. They were ready to lay down their lives for their president.

“In order for the liberation of California to begin, we require transpo
rtation to get our troops to her shores.  This magnificent vessel upon which I stand will be needed in the coming battle.  The good people living on this boat will need new homes.  I thank them for their sacrifice, and I’m counting on the good people of Seattle to see to it that they have warm beds to sleep in and food on their plates.  What say you, Seattle?  Will you join me in this noble cause?”

Once again, the crowd erupted in rapturous applause.  Max leaned over to his w
ife.  “You gotta give it to him; the man’s a genius.  Yesterday, Richard said these people were ready to chain themselves to the bulkheads so the military would have to forcefully remove them.  Howard just turned the tables on them.  Now the people of Seattle are going to escort them off the boat like they’re celebrities.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Simon Sterling was standing in the dressing room of the master suite of his Colorado home.  His tailor was taking his measurements so he could set about the weekly task of altering Simon’s dozens of suits.  The Italian had been a master tailor for the better part of three decades and had suffered his fair share of men whose obsession with clothing bordered on psychotic.  Most of them insisted on monthly fittings; the tailor thought they were overdoing it, but took their money just the same.  Simon Sterling’s preoccupation with fashion and appearance took obsession to a new level. He never missed his Monday morning fittings.  The tailor was terrified of the president and lauded him with praises customarily reserved for models about to hit the catwalk. 

Simon curtly waved the tailor back a few steps.  “Stacy!  Stacy, my dear!  Could you come in here, please?”

Simon cocked his ear to listen for his top advisor’s approaching footsteps as he admired his impeccable suit. “Stacy!  I’m in here.”

“Good morning, Mr. President.  I see the new suit arrived!”

“What do you think?”  Simon turned to face Stacy and slowly swiveled left and right to properly model his new duds.

“Handsome as always.  You know how to w
ear a suit.”  Stacy faked a convincing smile for the man she despised.

“My taste for fine clothing has grown increasingly difficult to satisfy these days.  This suit took nearly four weeks to get here.”

“Really?”

“Yes. W
ell worth the wait.”

Stacy did
her best to dismiss the thought of the countless number of Americans going without food, shelter, or medical care while this monster went to outrageous lengths to secure overpriced clothing to compensate for his insecurity over being short in stature.  “Mr. President, the suit is truly remarkable.  It looks great on you.”

“Thank you, my dear.  Once Mr. De Luca works his magic it will look even better.”  Simon smiled at his tailor and nodded, signaling
his dismissal.

Simon
shrugged off his jacket and turned to Stacy. “Mr. De Luca is fantastic at what he does.  He was the most sought after tailor in DC before the collapse.  It was a fortunate turn of events that he was visiting family in the Denver area when The Pulse stranded him here in Colorado.  Once the dust settled, he hitched a ride here to the front gate and insisted on seeing me.  I welcomed him in with open arms. The rest is history. What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Regional Governor Prince is slated
to be here sometime between noon and two.”

“What?  I thought we were having lunch?  Why such a broad window?  Where is she?”

“I honestly don’t know, Mr. President.  I’m sure she’ll fill you in when she gets here.”

Sterling grumbled as he headed to his office with Stacy in tow
.

“Mr. President, I want to discuss something with you, something you go out of your way to
avoid when I mention it.”

“The Silent Warriors.”

“Yes, Mr. President.  I can’t do my job as your advisor unless you bring me up to speed.”

President Sterling studied
Stacy like an overbearing father disapproving of his daughter.  The look quickly faded and he didn’t speak for almost a minute.  “How well do you know Howard Beck?”

Stacy was a master at
the craft of deception, her vacant poker face rivaling that of the best card shark.  She was not, however, prepared for this particular question; those working in tandem with the president knew Howard Beck’s name was taboo.  Stacy cleared her throat.  “Sir?”

“I know Beck
was close to Malcolm Powers. I’m simply asking if you had occasion to get to know the man.”

“Yes, I got to know
Howard quite well during both of Malcolm’s campaigns.”

“I figured as much.  I always knew Ma
lcolm didn’t like me.  The party paired us up and wouldn’t have it any other way.  I spent both campaigns far, far away from the president.  I think Malcolm sent me out to the sticks out of spite.  Said he wanted me to reach the common man in all corners of the country.  I never complained.  When he made it to the White House, I was never at his side. I simply bided my time and waited for his eight years to be up so I could sit in the big chair.  Of course, things changed and here we are.”

“Mr. President, why are you asking me about Howard Beck?”

“I trust you, Stacy.  I trust you more than any of the regional governors.  I’m asking you about Howard Beck because I want to know how deep your friendship goes.  If we go to war with the PSA, will you be comfortable helping me take down an old friend?”

“Mr. President, you are the legitimate rul
er of this nation from coast to coast.  Howard Beck is a traitor; it’s just that simple.  We need to make this nation whole again, whatever the cost.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that, my dear.  I’m going to share with you
two very important things that will help us dethrone that crazy old man.”

Stacy’s mind raced ahead, skimming her mental calendar for the first available ten minute time slot in which to share the forthcoming information with Howard…soon.
  “I’m all ears, Mr. President.”

“Are you familiar with General Richard Dupree?”

“The commanding general of the PSA’s military?”

“Yes.  I h
ave enough leverage to make him my puppet.”

“How so?”

“I have his daughter.”

This is not good.  Howard has to know this immediately
.  Stacy played along, and looked impressed. “Very good, Mr. President!  Well done!  What’s the second thing?”

“
I’ve located Beck Castle.  It’s only a matter of time before we’re inside.”