The Distance Beacons (14 page)

"I think she probably also has the same kind of attitude toward her goals," Gwen went on. "She can't tell the difference between what's good for the country and what's good for her, because she's so convinced of how indispensable she is to her cause."

Stretch, of course, jumped to President Kramer's defense. I wasn't interested in what he had to say, however. I was too busy thinking about Gwen's little speech. I didn't necessarily disagree with it; I too had sensed that odd mixture of artificiality and sincerity in the president. But it worried me that Gwen, normally so laconic, had so much to say about Kramer. Maybe it was just a reporter's interest in an important public figure. Or maybe it was a woman's irrational fascination with a potential rival. And I didn't feel like having to deal with that.

One more day, I thought. The president would be gone, and the case would be over. Just let me make it through one more day.

"What did you think of the president, Walter?" Gwen asked me.

I had learned my lesson. "Oh, I'm with you a hundred percent, Gwen. She's slick. Shifty. Paranoid."

"But is she as attractive in person as she is in her photographs?"

"Absolutely not. The
Globe
must have retouched those photos to make her look younger. The poor woman's almost in her grave."

Gwen smiled. "But you seem to have made an impression on
her.
"

"That was just more of her slickness. She found out I was undecided about the referendum. Every vote counts."

"Did she persuade you?"

"Not at all. I can see right through someone like that." Stretch started to remonstrate with me, but he didn't get very far before we all heard the noise. He fell silent, and the three of us sat tensely, listening.

A car had pulled up outside our house. We heard the car doors slam, then footsteps. Gwen clutched my hand. Had TSAR returned to punish me for ignoring its threat? There was a pounding on our door.

Stretch looked at me. "Don't answer," he whispered. But what was the point? We couldn't keep them out if they were determined to get in. I extricated my hand from Gwen's and went to the door. I took a deep breath and opened it.

"Hi, Walter. We're back."

It was Danny Smith and Gus Ziegler.

"Well hi there," I said. I had never been so happy to see Federal troops. "What can I do for you?"

"The p-p-president wants to see you," Gus said. My happiness faded. The soldiers didn't seem to notice. Too excited by their lofty responsibilities, I suppose.

"Bolton told me I didn't have to go to that formal dinner," I said. "She'll be safe until the speech tomorrow."

"The dinner's over, Walter," Danny said. "This doesn't have anything to do with the governor. President Kramer just told us she wanted to talk to you. Privately."

"Oh. Right." The three of us stood there while I tried to think.

"Um, Walter?" Danny said.

"Right." Thinking seemed to be difficult. "Well, I guess I don't have much choice, then."

Danny and Gus just looked at me. What was there to choose? It was an order from the commander-in-chief.

"I'll just go and get my jacket, okay?"

"Sure, Walter."

I got my jacket and went into the parlor. "You, uh, heard what's going on?"

Stretch and Gwen nodded. Stretch looked very impressed.

I've seen Gwen look happier.

"I imagine I won't be long," I said.

"Stay as long as you want," Stretch said.

"We'll be here when you get back, Walter," Gwen reminded me.

"Right." There didn't seem to be anything else to say, so I put on my jacket and went back to the soldiers. "Take me to your leader," I murmured, and we walked out into the damp night.

Chapter 10

"Any idea what she wants?" I asked Danny and Gus as we got into the jeep.

"We're just soldiers, Walter," Danny replied. "No one tells us anything."

"But you must be p-p-pretty important, right, Walter?" Gus asked.

"I'm just an independent local subcontractor. Is she staying in the compound?"

"Uh-huh."

The government compound is an old-time apartment complex called Charles River Park, a short walk away from Government Center. Keeping the Feds in one place makes protection easier. I recalled that Governor Bolton was one of the few Feds who didn't live in the compound, preferring his own home in the Back Bay. I wondered if TSAR had caused him to think twice about that. "Has Bolton moved into the compound, what with all the threats going around?"

Danny shook his head. "They've asked him to, but he won't."

"Isn't he worried that they'll come after him? He'd be an easier target than the president, after all."

"I dunno, Walter. I think he likes being a little different from the out-of-state people."

"Does he think being a local will protect him from TSAR?"

Danny considered, and then shook his head. "He knows that folks don't much like him around here. Maybe someday they'll respect him, though."

So Bolton had his dreams too. I let it go. If TSAR came after Bolton in the Back Bay, that was his problem, not mine. I looked out into the night. There was no traffic, of course. For once I felt safe driving after dark. TSAR might attack an individual soldier, sneaking back to the compound before dawn, but no one was likely to mess with the three of us. One of the benefits of working for the government.

I wondered what President Kramer wanted with me. Despite Gwen's unspoken fear, I thought it highly unlikely that the woman had an uncontrollable desire for my body. I'm just an average-looking guy, not the kind women hunger for at first sight. But what then, if not that?

Maybe, for all her brave talk, she'd decided she needed more security, and wanted my advice. Or she wanted to give me a medal for having been beaten up. That would be okay. I could handle that.

"What do you guys think of the president?" I asked.

"She's a lot better-looking than her p-p-predecessors," Gus said with a grin.

"Yeah, yeah. But what about her policies? As far as I can tell, this referendum has just stirred up a lot of trouble for the Feds."

"But she's the president," Danny pointed out. "A soldier is supposed to obey the president."

"You're not always gonna be a soldier," I pointed out in turn.

Danny shrugged. "Then ask me again when I'm a civilian."

Gus came to a stop in front of the compound's gates. The guards checked us over, then let us pass. Gus parked the jeep in front of a big high-rise. There were more guards to inspect us—and frisk me—before we could go inside. "Pretty good security," I said.

"Too bad it won't be like this at the speech," Danny muttered.

The lobby was as fancy as anything I had seen in England. Plush carpeting, indirect lighting, a floral arrangement on either side of the elevator. The elevator came right away, and Danny pushed the button for the top floor. "She's staying in the p-p-p-" Gus tried.

"Penthouse," Danny said.

"It's spectacular up there," Gus added, with no difficulty this time.

"I bet."

When the elevator stopped, we stepped out into a softly-lit foyer, where one of Kramer's bodyguards stood facing us. "You're Sands?" he asked me.

"Uh-huh."

He turned away and muttered into an intercom by a door. A few moments later, the door opened, and President Kramer was smiling at me. "Hello, Mr. Sands. Thank you for coming."

"My pleasure."

She held the door open for me. I went inside. She closed the door on Danny and Gus and the guard.

She was wearing gray slacks and a white cashmere sweater.

Same jewelry as this afternoon. Same perfume. She had a good figure, and I was sure she knew it. She led the way into the penthouse. It too was dimly lit, with white walls, thick gray carpeting, low couches that looked too soft, and chrome chairs that looked too hard. Piano music wafted to us from hidden speakers. A silver vase of flowers sat on a glass-topped coffee table.

It was strange to think that a place like this still existed in Boston; stranger still to be in it.

"Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Sands?"

"Um, no thanks. Call me Walter, um, Madam President."

The president walked up a couple of steps into a gleaming white-and-black kitchen and poured herself a glass of white wine. "Are you sure, Walter?" she called out. "It's French. I doubt you get anything like it around here nowadays."

"I don't drink," I said. For once this felt like a vice.

"Ah. Good for you." The president returned from the kitchen. She had the self-confident stride of the doubt-free; she was the kind of person who would have been successful even without a nuclear war, I realized. Her bracelets jangled. She joined me in front of a large picture window. There wasn't much to see—no panorama of city lights to admire, just darkness speckled with an occasional dull glow. "The whole world is dark," the president murmured in her soft voice. "Will it ever be bright again?"

"I was in England once," I said. "Plenty of electricity there." I didn't feel like getting philosophical.

She smiled. "At the dinner tonight Governor Bolton told me about your adventure. You must be a resourceful fellow to get over there."

I shrugged. "'Stupid' is the adjective most people use. Stupid to come back." Why was she talking about me with Bolton?

"I don't think that's stupid. I think it's admirable."

"Why?"

"Because you cared about your country. You couldn't leave it behind."

I shook my head. "I cared about my friends. My country had nothing to do with it."

"Well, your friends are your country. Don't you think that's true?"

"I don't know." And what business was it of hers?

She seemed to sense my impatience, because she smiled again and turned away from the picture window. "You probably want to know why I asked you to come here."

"Take your time," I said. "I'm in no hurry."

She went over and sat on a soft couch. I sat on a hard chair. "Remember this afternoon I told you that you were one of the people I was here to convert?" she said. "Talking about you with Bolton tonight made me feel that even more strongly. You came back. For your friends, you say—all right. But still, you came back. And yet you're not sure about the referendum, not sure whether you support the government. I wanted to see if I could convince you."

"But why?" I said. "I'm just one vote. I have a friend who's a reporter—she was at your press conference this afternoon. Why don't you talk to her? You could reach a much larger audience."

President Kramer shook her head. "Reporters aren't interested in listening; they're interested in writing stories. You seem like a person who'll listen. If I can convince you, perhaps I can convince the rest of New England in my speech tomorrow."

"So I'm a test case?"

She smiled and sipped her wine. "Something like that, Walter."

"But what makes you think I'm representative of the rest of New England?"

"Oh, I don't know. A certain independence of spirit, perhaps. Combined with a certain loyalty. I could be totally wrong, of course."

I thought about it. I hardly considered myself a typical New Englander. Or a typical anything. But maybe I was wrong too. And anyway, it was her problem if she had picked the wrong guinea pig. "Okay," I said. "Convert me. Madam President."

President Kramer put her glass of wine down on the coffee table and leaned forward. "Tell me what you don't like about the government, Walter."

I laughed. "Where should I begin? You know all that stuff about taxes and the draft and so on. But I suppose what really bothers me is the way you people invoke the old government—you know, you're the successors to Washington, D.C., and therefore we owe you our support. I mean, maybe you are the successors, but so what? Look what the old government helped do to the world. It seems to me that after a nuclear war all bets are off. We should be looking for change, not continuity. Let's see if we can do things right this time around."