ReUNION: What if the Civil War had never happened? (16 page)

Sullivan interrupted. "Isn't that a little strong, sir?"

"I'm not sure it's strong enough," Kimball said. "I don't see
how any good can come of it and I think there are all kinds of opportunities
for trouble. Real trouble."

Sullivan raised an eyebrow. "What kind of trouble?"

Professor Kimball paused a moment before speaking. "Riots, strikes, racial
violence—the kind of trouble you get when you involve yourself with the most
corrupt and racist country in the Western Hemisphere."

Sullivan looked into the camera. "Words of wisdom, words of warning,"
he said, as though chanting a mantra.

The two men thanked each other, then it was back to a one-shot of Sullivan.

"Well there you have it,"
he said, "the opinion of our leading expert on President Bourque and the
CSA. When we come back, we'll be hearing from Leigh Wilkinson, the ranking
minority member of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee.

After nearly two minutes of thigh-master and car wax commercials, Jack
Sullivan's face appeared again, full frame. "Welcome back," he said.
"And now let me welcome Leigh Wilkinson, Delaware's senior senator."

The screen split again. Wilkinson was on the left, a handsome woman with
salt-and-pepper hair, sparkling blue eyes and the confident smile of someone
accustomed to power and privilege. "Thank you Jack, always glad to be
here," she said, sounding even more like a TV anchorman than his host.

Sullivan took a deep breath. "Senator, could you tell me what you think
about a meeting between President Callaway and President Bourque?"

"Well, to be frank, I think it's one of the dumbest ideas I've heard in my
25 years in the Senate," said Wilkinson, who had a well-deserved
reputation as a blunt-talker. "But of course, our President is very new to
the job and this is the kind of mistake inexperienced people make."

"I assume that President Callaway sought the advice of the Senate Foreign
Relations Committee before making a commitment," Sullivan said.

"He most certainly did not. No one on my committee had any idea he was
going to do this—not even the members of his own party," Wilkinson said.
"He should have consulted us before making the announcement. We could have
provided wise counsel, I think. But he did not even inform us."

"Why do you think that is?" Sullivan asked.

"I guess he thinks he can do it all himself," Wilkinson replied.
"Don't get me wrong. I like the President. He seems like a very nice
fellow. But he's way over his head here.”

"Ah," Sullivan said, "so you think Bourque is dangerous?"

"Dangerous?" Wilkinson said. "Dangerous? He is the most brutal,
most corrupt, most racist dictator in the Western Hemisphere. Damn right I
think he's dangerous."

Sullivan nodded gravely. "I understand," he said.

"I hope Callaway understands," Wilkinson said, sounding a bit angry.
"I also hope he understands that the Senate will scrutinize any agreement
he makes with Bourque with a fine-tooth comb.”

"So you think this meeting might be the first step toward some kind of
treaty?" Sullivan asked.

"Of course. They're not meeting just to share family pictures. Both of
them have a deal in mind, I guarantee you."

"What kind of a deal?"

Wilkinson threw up her hands, frustrated. "That's the point—no one knows.
I'm just afraid that they're going to hold secret meetings, come to some kind
of an agreement and present us all with a
fait accompli.
"

Sullivan nodded sagely. Then another question occurred to him. "One thing
puzzles me,” he said. “Bourque could have asked Exley or any other President
for a meeting. Why did he wait until Callaway was in office?”

Wilkinson pounced. "You've raised a
very
interesting question,
Jack," she said. "I'll tell you why: He was waiting until we had a
Black
President."

"Interesting," Sullivan allowed. "Why would that make a
difference?"

Wilkinson looked at Sullivan as if he had just gotten off the short bus.
"Come on, Jack—think about it. Bourque is the top dog in a society that
thinks Blacks are in every way inferior to whites. He has contempt for all
Blacks, including Callaway. He expects to dominate him, to intimidate him. He
sees Callaway as an
opportunity
.”

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Sullivan said.

"Neither has Callaway. Callaway lives in a tolerant society and he's had
all of the advantages. He's never been treated like a field hand. He simply
isn't going to be psychologically prepared for Buddy Bourque."

"Well, I think we can assume he's been well-briefed…"

"By whom?" Wilkinson said. "By his advisors? Did you hear what
his closest advisor said on television the other day? He compared the Confederacy
to Canadia.

Can you believe that? How naïve can
you get?"

"I understand your concern Senator, but what can you do about it?"

"I can appear on your show, Jack, and I can shine a bright light on
everything Callaway wants to keep secret. I can warn the nation. I can demand
that the White House consult the Senate. That's what I'm doing right now."

"I'm glad to give you the opportunity," Sullivan said. "Thanks
for coming.”

"My pleasure, Jack."

Then it was back to a one-shot, Sullivan looking directly into the camera.
"We'll be back in a moment," he said.

Two minutes of commercials followed: cashing in your old gold, Log Cabin
steakhouse restaurants, and the Men's Closet, which was offering banker's
quality wool-blend suits for 30% off. The final commercial faded away and it
was replaced by a full-face close-up of Jack Sullivan.

"Welcome back, everyone," Sullivan said. "It's time now for our
weekly newsmaker segment, and today, we have a man who's making news about the
meeting between President Callaway and President Virgil Bourque, leader of the
Confederacy.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please meet Anthony Zolli, President of the IBT,
the International Brotherhood of Truckers’, which yesterday afternoon passed a
resolution asking President Callaway to cancel the upcoming meeting."

The view went to a waist-up shot of Anthony Zolli, a short, stout, jowly man
with a Neanderthal brow, thick black hair that could have benefited from a tim
and a permanent five-o'clock shadow. His dark eyes seemed no bigger than shirt
buttons, as if drawn by a child still learning the proper facial proportions.
The lower half of his face was smiling grandly, while the upper half seemed
hopping mad. He was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt, and a vintage wide
tie, a polyester blend clumsily knotted.

"G'evenin' Jack," Zolli said, grinning and gritting his teeth at the
same time.

"Good evening, Tony," Sullivan said. "Let's start by talking
about your union’s resolution. Why do you want the Callaway-Bourque meeting
cancelled?"

The view went to split screen. "Mainly because it's dangerous. It could
hoit da country," Zolli said from the right panel.

"Hurt? How so?"

"Look, everybody's got it all wrong about dis meeting," Zolli said
bluntly. "Dey all tink it was Bourque who asked for it, because he wants
money or somethin'. But dat’s just plain wrong."

"Really? You think the request came from Callaway? What would he have to
gain?"

Zolli shook his head sadly, jowls flapping. "Jack, I'm really surprised
you dint see it before I did. Ya usually do," he said. "Y'see,
Callaway is a man on a mission—a great, big hu-man-itarian mission. He tinks
he's Moses, born all over again. He tinks God made him President so he could
force da Pharaoh into letting his people go."

"So Bourque is the Pharaoh?" Sullivan asked, enjoying himself.

"Yeah," Zolli said enthusiastically, double chins wobbling.
"''Xactly! And the Blacks are da Israelis."

"I see," Sullivan said, nodding. "But how is Callaway going to
set them free?"

"He's goin' to make a
deal
. What kinda deal, I doan know, but I can
feel it coming. Money, arms—sompin Bourque needs desperately, desperately
enough to tear down dose armed border crossings and let 'em all out."

"Let 'em all out, you say?" Sullivan said, slightly surprised.

"Yes. And wunst deyr out, ya know where deyr goin'?" Zolli asked.

"Where?"

"Here. Dat’s where deyr going. Right here. By da thousands, by da tens and
hundreds of thousands, by da millions," Zolli warned.

"Well yes," Sullivan said, "I can see how that could happen.
They'd want to escape the racism, the oppression, the mistreatment, the lack of
opportunity…"

"Which is all well and good," Zolli interrupted. "We all
understand dat. But tink of what’ll happen here, Jack. Deyr gonna sweep over us
like a goddamned tsunami. Deyr gonna flood our cities. Deyr gonna to pour into
our neighborhoods, our schools and our churches. Dell be a torrent of cheap
labor, takin' our jobs and demandin' more social services dan we can
afford." He was breathing hard now.

Sullivan decided to play Devil's advocate. "Yes, but they'll come here to
make better lives for themselves and their families. They'll come here to be
free."

"Yeah, sure, but at
our
expense," the labor leader said.
"Is dat fair? Is dat right? I mean, I'm all for deyr freedom, but can't
dey have it dere, in dere own country?"

"Won't the influx be limited by the immigrations laws?" Sullivan
asked, leading his witness.

"Laws? Do you really tink Callaway is gonna enforce dose laws? Against his
own people? Do you tink he'll free dem only to keep dem out of da Promised
Land? I say not a chance. I promise you he won't. He'll
welcome
dem wit
open arms."

"You may be right."

"And dell come, great waves of 'em. Dell sweep over da Promised Land
like locusts,
our
land…"

"But it will transform the Confederacy…"

"It's how
our
country’ll be changed that scares me. We're gonna be
poorer. We're gonna have Blacks fightin' white and whites fightin' Blacks.
Crime rates are gonna go through the ceilin'. Unemployment too. His people may
get da jobs, but it's my people dell get dem from. Deyr gonna cost a fortune in
welfare. Da emergency rooms are gonna have lines ‘round the block, 24-7. It's
gonna be a catastrophe, I'm tellin' ya."

"You're painting a pretty grim picture, Tony."

"Da ting is,
we
helped elect dat guy. And what tanks do we get? He
turns his back on us and opens the door for all da poor, oppressed Negroes of
da Confederacy. I mean dats all well and good. But what about us? Da deal
Callaway makes with Bourque is goin' to break da unions, all of 'em. The
Blacks are gonna invade us and dell take $15-$20 less an hour an’ still make
twice what dey do down South."

"Maybe so, if Callaway and Bourque make a deal. But all that's been
announced is a meeting."

Tony laughed, and it turned into a snort. "Ya know better than dat, Jack.
You of all people. Yove made a career of seein’ through deyr lies. Don't be
fooled by dis slick-talkin' new President of ours. He's a nice guy, maybe,
means well I guess, but he's no Moses."

"Do you think he'll pay attention to the Teamster's resolution?"

"I doan know. But we're not gonna sit around and see. We're a powerful
union and we're gonna use our power."

"Political power you mean."

"We'll do whatever we gotta do t’ stop the meetin’. And if da meetin’
happens anyhow, we're gonna do all we can to stop any negotiations. And if
negotiations go ahead, we're gonna bust a gut to stop dem from makin’ a deal.
We're gonna win dis one, I guaran-damn-tee ya."

Sullivan turned toward the camera. "Well there you have it. Tony, thanks
for coming by. You're a breath of fresh air."

"Happy to be here," Zolli said.

The view switched back to a one-shot, a close-up of Sullivan. He had a finger
on his ear and was evidently listening to someone. “Wait,” he said. “Yes.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have the great honor to welcome President Howard Exley
to our show, via Skype Teleview. Mr. President, glad to have you here.”

The camera pulled back, showing Sullivan at his desk, and on a large TV screen,
the unmistakable visage of Howard Exley, complete with orange hair and Steinway
smile. “It’s a pleasure, Jack,” he said.

“Mr. President, I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll keep this brief. What’s your
take on a meeting between Callaway and Bourque?”

“Well, I’m not gonna pull any punches about it Jack,” Exley said. “I think it’s
a terrible idea, like tryin’ to mix oil and water. Won’t work and it’ll make a
mess.”

“The Confederacy and the North American Union can’t help each other?” Sullivan
prompted.

“Oh, we could help them, but it would never end,” Exley said. “We could loan
‘em money, if that’s what they’re after—which is my suspicion—but they couldn’t
pay it back and before we knew it, they’d be knocking at our door again,
pleading for more. They’d drain us dry—if we let ‘em.”

“So you think the meeting…”

Exley finished the sentence, as Sullivan had intended. “Should be canceled,
that’s what I think. That Bourque fella is very shrewd, very dangerous. I’d
like to see our new young President get some experience before he deals with
men like that.”

“I guess that pretty much sums it up,” Sullivan said. “Thanks, Mr. President.
Your opinion carries a lot of weight here.”

“My pleasure, Jack.”

The camera came in closer on Sullivan. "When we come back, I'll have
an
Edge
Editorial about the Presidential meeting."

What followed was another minute-and-a-half of commercials, hawking, for 30
seconds each, a cheap memory foam mattress, a discount buying service and a car
painting outfit,. Then Jack Sullivan appeared again, in a close-up.

"Welcome back," Sullivan said, in his most earnest voice.

"I believe it is my patriotic duty to speak out when I see this country
heading for danger," he said. "And I see danger ahead—danger to our
country. Economic danger, political danger, danger to our social harmony,
danger to the values and ideas that have made our nation what it is.
Grave…moral…danger."