America Libre (18 page)

“Until the Relocation Communities are ready for occupancy, the bill calls for the creation of Quarantine Zones around Hispanic
areas within our cities. This will help quell the domestic violence running rampant in many urban zones in our nation.

“These are dire times; they call for dire measures. I urge all patriotic Americans to join me in support of this resolution
to restore the peace and tranquility of our nation.

“Thank you and God bless America. I’ll take your questions now.”

On the day following Congressman Bates’s press conference, the headline of the
Washington Post
read, “Ethnic Cleansing in the U.S.?” It was the first salvo in a massive barrage of media coverage. By week’s end, Bates’s
proposed “Quarantine and Relocation Act” had sparked a heated national debate.

Opponents saw the relocation as a clear violation of Hispanics’ First Amendment rights. Supporters countered that Hispanics
had become enemy aliens, no longer entitled to constitutional protections.

The proposed resolution was hardening positions on both sides of the Hispanic issue. Any middle ground was rapidly disappearing.

Two months after Melvin Bates’s public proposal, opponents of the resolution readied a massive protest in the nation’s capital.
Orchestrated by a broad coalition of Latino groups, the event would be labeled the “Forum for Justice.”

Mano reached high above his head, groping blindly through the clothes and blankets stacked on the top shelf of the closet
until his fingers recognized the familiar stiff canvas of his Army duffel bag.

Retrieving the carryall, he noticed the dank smell of mold.
Dammit
. He’d have to buy a new travel bag now. He dreaded spending the money, but was certain Jo and Ramon would find it embarrassing
to fly with a security chief carrying worn, smelly luggage.

He stared at the khaki duffel bag wistfully. The last time he’d flown was on the way home following his discharge. He’d worn
his fatigues on the plane, although Army regs said he could go civvie. The airlines offered discounts to soldiers flying in
uniform and he wanted to save the money. This flight would be quite different. Jo and Ramon had chartered a private jet for
their trip to Washington, and all his expenses would be paid.

Mano was refolding the duffel bag when Rosa entered the room.

“What are you doing with that?” she asked. Mano’s presence in their bedroom in the middle of the day had piqued her curiosity.

“We need to throw it away. It’s moldy.”

“All right. But why did you get it out?”

“I’ve got a business trip next week.”

“Business trip?” she said warily. “Where are you going?”

Mano knew he could not hide his involvement with the DDP any longer. Rosa would find out soon enough anyway. News of Jo’s
high-profile role in the Forum for Justice would spread quickly in the media. Thankfully, the threat of vengeance from the
local vigilantes was no longer a factor.

“Rosa, it’s time I told you what I’ve been doing,” he said, sitting down on the bed. “Come here. Sit with me,” he said, patting
the mattress beside him.

Rosa remained standing, frozen with apprehension. “It’s that woman. I know it,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion.

“Yes, Jo is involved.” Mano nodded calmly. “But it’s not what you think.”

“What is it, then?”

“I’m the security director for an organization Jo founded with Ramon Garcia—La Defensa del Pueblo.”

“Dios mio, Mano! That’s one of the crazy groups making all the trouble,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought anything you knew might put you and the children in danger.”

“I don’t understand you, Mano,” she said, wringing her hands. “If you thought it would put us in danger, why did you join
up with these people?”

“To protect you.”

Rosa’s eyes began welling with tears. “That doesn’t make any sense, Mano. You’re lying to me. What are you really doing with
that woman?”

“Stop it, Rosa! Stop inventing things and calm down,” he said, rising to his feet. “What I’m doing is helping the DDP protect
our community. I can’t say anything more without endangering other people. Can’t you understand that?”

Rosa stiffened, drawing her arms against her chest. “I see,” she said, sounding unconvinced. “That’s very convenient.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“What you’ve told me is not very easy to believe. You’re not political, Mano. You’ve always said people like Josefina are
troublemakers with nothing better to do. Now you tell me you work for her as a… what is it?”

“Security director.”

Rosa laughed bitterly. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means that I’m using my military training to help people here at home.”

“How? By stirring up more trouble?”

Mano clenched his fists, frustrated by their impasse. “I’ve told you all I can, Rosa. But what I’ve told you is the truth.”

“Even if it is the truth, what you’re doing is wrong, Mano. You said it was foolish to riot. But this DDP of yours is constantly
stirring people up.”

“No, Rosa. You don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. “Besides, this job is giving our family a chance to get ahead.
Do you want me to quit?”

Rosa moved closer. “I know Josefina pays you well, Mano. But look what it’s doing to our family. You can find another job,
mi amor,” she said, her voice pleading. “You always have before.”

Mano rubbed his temples, considering her words. He knew the chance for a job with the pay Jo provided would probably never
come again. All the same, what Rosa said was true. Their family was falling apart. “I’ve promised Jo I’d go on this trip,”
he said. “When I get back, we’ll talk about this again.”

“Is the destination of this trip a secret, too?”

“I’m going with Jo and Ramon to a rally in Washington, D.C. We leave next Thursday.”

Rosa stared at her hands for moment. “I’ll pray for your safe return,” she said coldly and then left the room.

L
ooking out from the grandstand, Mano was edgy and tense.

Although the first speech of the Forum for Justice was still two hours away, the area in front of the brightly painted podium
at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial was already packed as early arrivals pressed impatiently for choice vantage points. Behind
them, around the six-hundred-meter-long Reflecting Pool, surged more people.

The bodies in the restless mass roiled like a turbulent sea, banners and placards snapping in the brisk May breeze. Responding
to the call for Relocation Communities, an angry chant rang spontaneously through the crowd: “Hell no! We won’t go! Hell no!
We won’t go!”

Mano knew the buildings lining both sides of the Mall held law enforcement officers monitoring the agitated crowd. However,
in the great open space at the Mall’s center, the police were noticeably absent—and Mano understood why. If trouble broke
out, any officers in the middle of the crowd would be cut off and surrounded.

Mano turned to look for Jo and spotted her at the rear of the grandstand, preparing for the ceremonies. She was engrossed
in a flurry of logistical details and ego tussles with the staffs of the celebrities and politicos who would occupy the podium.
As they traveled together, his attraction to Jo had reached the point of delicious discomfort. He relished following her with
his eyes, yet was stung by guilt when his gaze lingered. Despite himself, there were times when he imagined—

“Mano!” Margaret Zane called out, drawing closer. “Have you got a minute?” Ramon’s wife asked.

Margaret was a striking presence, striding confidently in a sheer peach gown that streamed in her wake, her bright orange
hair piled precariously in the “Tower of Pisa” look that was the rage on Rodeo Drive. Mano knew Margaret was largely responsible
for the demonstration’s immense turn-out. She’d sweet-talked or strong-armed most of the celebrities into attending the demonstration,
then cajoled her studio’s top publicist into sending out a blitz of press releases on the event.

Walking alongside Margaret was a tall brunette in a tight metallic-gold jumpsuit.

“Hello, Ms. Zane,” Mano said.

“Oh, Mano, you are so gallant. I just love it! But please, call me Maggie,” she said with a gleaming smile.

“OK, Maggie. What can I do for you?”

“Manolo Suarez, this is Estelle Clark,” Maggie said, gesturing toward her companion. “Estelle is an executive assistant for
Ben Torres, and she has some concerns about security. So I thought we should talk to you.”

Mano didn’t watch much television, but even he knew Ben Torres was the star of
Salsa on the Side
, a hit sitcom about a Latino detective in New York’s posh East Side. Mano also understood why Torres might be worried about
security—he was the event’s opening speaker.

Estelle stepped forward, flashed a perfunctory smile, then got down to business. “Ben is going to be escorted by his two security
regulars, but he’s never done an event like this before and he has some concerns. To begin with, what precautions have you
taken to protect the speakers?”

Mano waved his arm toward the buildings lining the Mall. “There are federal officers in every structure you can see from here,
Ms. Clark. The chances of a sniper using any of them are very small. And the podium is bulletproof. The level of security
for the speakers here today matches the president’s.”

Estelle’s face warmed slightly. “Ben also wants to know what’s being done about crowd control.”

“There are probably more than two hundred thousand people out there already, ma’am,” Mano said, turning toward the crowd.
“There’s going to be a lot more by the time Mr. Torres starts to speak. Nobody can control a crowd that size. But you can
assure Mr. Torres that we have an evacuation plan in place. If there’s any trouble, our contract guards will form a corridor
behind the grandstand and escort the dignitaries toward the river. We have a number of boats waiting there to get everyone
away safely.”

“Isn’t Mano wonderful, Estelle?” Maggie said. “I told you we’re in good hands. Ramon goes on and on about how carefully Mano
plans these kinds of things.”

“Thanks, Mr. Suarez,” Estelle said, this time with a genuine smile. “I’ll let Ben know about your arrangements. It sounds
like things are under control here.” Her business concluded, Estelle turned and began a sensuous walk back across the grandstand.

Maggie sighed after Estelle was out of sight. “That’s a relief. I’m glad we didn’t run into Ramon. He thinks Ben’s show is
trash and exploits Latino stereotypes—I’m sure he would have let Estelle know it, too. By the way, you handled her quite well,
Mano.”

“Thank you, Maggie. All I did was tell the truth.”

Maggie seemed suddenly nervous. “Your plan is just a precaution, right, Mano? You don’t really think there’s going to be trouble?”

Mano glanced at the mass of humanity on the Mall, their number swelling by the minute. He couldn’t put his feelings into words,
but Mano’s defensive instincts were aroused. “We all need to stay alert today, Maggie. With this many people in one place,
I don’t know what to expect.”

Even on an overcast afternoon in May, the Forum for Justice event drew more than one million people to Washington, D.C.

Thanks to a podium studded with celebrities, the demonstration was broadcast live by every major network. An array of camera
towers normally used to cover golf tournaments loomed over the crowd at key locations on the Mall while a specially approved
blimp provided aerial views in the normally restricted airspace of the capital. As the broadcast began, the network anchors
were calling it the largest public gathering in the history of the nation’s capital.

Minutes after television star Ben Torres began his speech, shots rang out. On a side street near the Vietnam War Memorial,
a counterdemonstration by members of the Ku Klux Klan and the American Nazi Party clashed with the outer edge of demonstrators
on the Mall. Many in both camps were armed. Both factions would later claim the other side fired first.