by Frank Zafiro
Nathalie let out a frustrated sigh. “Security,” she said. “As long as they tie it back to that, they can get away with anything.”
Ryan didn’t reply.
The reporter continued. “Moments ago, NAP received this exclusive response from the White House.”
The image shifted to the Oval Office, and the President of the United States peered directly into the camera. “My fellow Americans,” he said, then held his hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “Was there any doubt that the Supreme Court would agree with me that this is a perfectly legal way to protect true Americans? I’m not surprised. No one who is smart is surprised by this. The Justices understand that we have to control our own borders. Look, I’m not saying that all foreigners are a threat. Some are very, very fine people. But we have to be careful.”
“I hate him,” Nathalie murmured. “I really do.”
“So, I’ve made another decision that I believe will continue to protect the American people,” the President continued. “I’ve decided to shorten the grace period for non-citizens to get out of our country. Effectively immediately, this grace period will end the first of July of this year.”
Ryan and Nathalie exchanged a surprised look.
“At that point,” the President said, “it will be a violation of federal law for anyone who is not a citizen to remain in this country unless you have applied for and received a blue card. And folks, trust me – we are not giving those cards out like candy. You have to be something pretty special to get one, and even then...” He shrugged again. “Remember what I’ve been saying for years now...America First. Thank you, and good night.”
The video switched back to the reporter, who opened his mouth to comment, but Ryan cut him off.
“Miri, turn off the TV.”
“Turning off television,” Miri replied.
Ryan and Nathalie stared at each other for a long while, neither one saying anything. He knew what was going through her mind. It was the same thing that was going through his. Finally, he gave voice to it.
“Maybe we should just go,” he said.
“Go where?”
“Greece,” he said. “Or even Canada.”
“Shall I search for flight times to either Greece or Canada?” Miri asked.
“No!” Ryan snapped. “Miri, suspend operations.”
“Sleep mode or Power Off?”
“Sleep,” he said. Powering off affected most of the home appliances.
“Sleep mode initiated,” Miri pronounced.
They waited in silence for a few moments, then Ryan leaned forward. Nathalie followed suit. In a hushed tone, he repeated, “Maybe we should go.”
She shook her head. “They might let me go as part of this initiative, but they are making international travel hard for U.S. citizens. You might be unable to go. And Melina...”
“I could sneak across the border,” Ryan said.
“With our daughter?” Nathalie shook her head. “It’s too dangerous.”
Ryan felt like some degree of danger was inevitable, but he didn’t say so.
“I’d rather Melina was here with you and safe, even if I can’t be,” Nathalie said. “Her safety is the most important thing.”
Ryan agreed, but he added, “All of us being together is the most important thing.”
Nathalie shook her head. “No, amour. It isn’t. She is, and you know it.”
Ryan didn’t argue. Instead, he went a different direction, and lowering his voice another notch. “What if we got a false identification for you? One that shows you as an American citizen?”
“How would that work?”
Ryan considered. “I’m not sure. I guess we’d set up the identity somehow before you leave. Then you could comply with the law. Leave, and then come back into the country. After that, you just assume the new identity.”
“You’d have to divorce me,” she said. “To make it look real.”
A lump rose in Ryan’s throat. “I suppose that’s true.”
“And move away from St. Louis.”
“Yes. But wherever we went, we could be together, and out from under this issue.”
Nathalie thought about it for a long while, but finally shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. All that must happen is for one thing to go wrong, and both of us would be in prison. Then what happens to Melina? Foster care?”
Ryan scowled at that. “What, then?”
“We could move to California,” she suggested. “It’s a sanctuary state, and you have a brother there.”
Ryan nodded. “That’s an option. Maybe a good one.”
“We should sleep on it,” Nathalie said.
“Yes. For about a week.”
She smiled. “We have a little time. Let’s use it to think things over. We have to make the right choice.”
She squeezed Ryan’s hand and then leaned in to put her head on his chest. He draped an arm over her and held her, staring at the dark, blank television and trying to see something of their future.
Chapter 15
In spite of all of the emphasis upon historians, journalists, and celebrities to provide some sort of barometer of the times in which they live, or to examine the past, one sometimes finds particular insight in unexpected places. Comedians and humorists can be particularly perceptive, perhaps because the very core of their work necessarily leads to a study of human nature. This has been true for millennia, as evidenced by the comedies of Aristophanes. Comedy essentially allows one to say things that might otherwise be censured by the government or the prevailing majority. Cloaking these ideas in humor makes them seem less threatening, and permits the thought to pierce the collective mind. Jan Veselý is an more contemporary example than Aristophanes. When faced with the oppressive Communist regime in 1970s Czechoslovakia, one that featured a powerful government official named Čepice, he played on the fact that čepice is also the Czech word for ‘hat.’ At the beginning of each performance, Jan Veselý ceremoniously and dramatically hung his hat on a hat stand on stage before saying, “There. Now that I’ve gotten rid of my hat, we can talk.”
Along those same lines, but conversely, it is curious that Tom Holt, a British humorist, may have been prescient in 2012 when he wrote, ““Human beings can get used to virtually anything, given plenty of time and no choice in the matter whatsoever.”
— From An Unlikely Phoenix by Reed Ambrose
RYAN HELD OUT HIS PHONE to the door usher at the HSA Arena, who quickly scanned the screen for his tickets.
“To the left, the seventh entrance,” he said.
Ryan needed no directions. He’d been coming to this arena since he was Melina’s age, back when it was still the ScottTrade Center. He guided his daughter past the swell of the crowd at the entrance, and veered left.
“Hockey dogs!” Melina said excitedly. She loved the arena hot dogs, and had informed Nathalie earlier in the day that she would not be eating dinner that night to save room for one.
They waited in line briefly, and Ryan bought a pair of dogs, one for each of them, and a drink for Melina. Normally, he kept her away from caffeine and sugar, but for hockey games, he made an exception. A Coke ranked only second to hockey dogs as the early highlight of the night for Melina. Ryan went with a cold beer.
Their section was on the first level, slightly off center ice and about half way up from the ice. Ryan settled into his seat just off the aisle, and Melina took the seat next to him. The aisle chair remained empty.
The two of them munched their hockey dogs and watched the build up to the game. Years ago, he and Alexander used to come early enough to watch the players skate in the pre-game warm-ups, but he hadn’t tried that yet with Melina. Maybe when she was older. As it was, he was happy that she usually made it to the end of the game without falling asleep. Right now, seeing the Zamboni finish cleaning the ice and cheering for Louie, the polar bear mascot in a Blues hockey jersey was more than enough to get her revved up. She sat, taking it all in with her half-eaten hot dog perched i
n her left hand, occasionally leaning down to where her soda rested in the cup holder to sip from the straw.
The player introductions and a bevy of other announcements preceded the national anthem. He and Melina stood for the anthem, and both put their hands over their hearts. Ryan noticed a significant number of fans who held a salute instead, and he heard a concerted rumble of “MAGA” when the anthem singer’s long held “brave!” trailed off to applause.
The game began and was a spirited affair from the start. The opposing team, the Houston Renegades, had become a bitter rival in spite of only being in existence for six short years. The two teams had met three times in the playoffs in the last four years, and such meetings often gave birth to a healthy hatred between hockey clubs.
The period ended in scoreless tie. Both he and Melina headed up the stairs to find a family style bathroom. The wait wasn’t long, and they made it back to their seats a few minutes before the announcer boomed, “Ladies and gentleman, back for the second period, here are...your...St. Louis Bluuuuuuuuuuuuuues!”
Houston got an early second period power play, and managed to blast a shot from the point past the Blues goalie.
Melina groaned, just like he’d taught her.
“I agree,” said Wayne, sliding into the seat next to Ryan. “Mooner should’ve had that one.”
Ryan smiled, holding out his hand for a firm shake. “I think he was screened a bit.”
“Still.” Wayne leaned across Ryan to hold out his hand to Melina. “And how’s my favorite hockey fan?”
“Fine, I guess,” Melina said, shaking his hand politely, still pouting about the goal.
“Well, don’t let that get you down. I’m betting that Lucky will get it back.”
Melina brightened at that. Lucinda “Lucky” Conway was her favorite player. Only the third woman to crack the NHL, she was a pure sniper.
Ryan agreed with Wayne. “She just might. Besides, there’s a lot of hockey left.”
Melina focused on the ice, obviously not wanting to miss the beginning of the promised comeback. Ryan and Wayne settled back in their seats, watching the game.
“How’re things?” Wayne asked. He spoke without looking at Ryan, keeping his eyes on the players.
“They’ve been better,” Ryan replied, following Wayne’s lead and following events on the ice. At the same time, both men turned their heads slightly toward the other, directing their voices. It was an old habit for them, whether they were at a hockey game, in a desert landscape, or an urban battleground. You don’t need your eyes to hear me, Wayne had stressed to Ryan not long after the young Marine reported for duty. Use your eyes for what they were meant for and watch for the fucking enemy.
“I heard the news on the immigration law,” Wayne said. “I’m sorry.”
“So are we.”
“Her grandfather clause appeal?”
“It’s a no go.”
Wayne nodded, tracking the play and clapping distractedly when one of the Blues players landed a heavy body check in the defensive zone. “So you’re looking at options, I’m guessing.”
“Yes.”
“There aren’t many. You realize that, right?”
“I do.”
“Compliance is the most obvious,” Wayne said.
“Not an option.” Ryan lowered his voice. “We can’t be separated. Our family stays together.”
“That’s a difficult proposition, since she can’t stay and you two can’t leave.”
“That is a problem,” Ryan agreed.
“What about your brother?” Wayne asked, and Ryan knew he meant moving to California.
“We’re considering that. It might be our best option.”
“It might be your only option.”
“Our only onside option, yeah.”
In his peripheral vision, Ryan saw the corner of Wayne’s mouth tick up in a hint of a smile. It was an old code they’d used during their time in the Corps after they’d discovered their mutual love for hockey. Anything onside was by the book. Things deemed offside were not spoken of again after the mission.
“You’re thinking of divorcing her?” Wayne asked. “Marrying another woman?”
“I might have to.”
“Thing is, you’ve always had a type, Derrick. I don’t imagine wife number two would look much different than wife number one.”
“You’re probably right. But she’d have a different name. And she’d be an American.”
“Second marriages are tough to come by. Successful ones, anyway.”
“I’m confident you could help me.”
Wayne sighed. “Maybe But things are getting tougher, brother.”
Ryan turned to look at him, violating their conversational norm. “Everything all right with you?”
“I’m getting by. But federal service is coming with more and more pressure these days. It’s not what I expected when I signed on.”
“What do you mean?” Ryan wasn’t sure which intelligence agency Wayne had gone to work for once they’d both left the Marines. As a First Recon operator with intelligence training, he had initially been able to write his own ticket, or so Ryan thought. This was the first he’d heard any indication of dissatisfaction from his former lieutenant.
Wayne didn’t reply. Instead, he took out his wallet and removed a card. He handed it to Ryan.
Ryan looked down at the dark gray plastic identification. Wayne’s face stared up at him with a professional expression. To the right of the photo were the deep red holographic letters N.A.P. and beneath that, the word, “Member since 2028.”
His stomach fell. An incredible sense of disappointment and betrayal settled over him, followed immediately by a spike of concern. If Wayne was...
“Relax,” Wayne said, taking the card back and replacing it in his wallet. “It was a necessary evil to keep my access.”
“Your security access is based on whether or not you’re a party member?” Ryan asked, his tone hushed. “Are you kidding me?”
Wayne shook his head. “Technically not my clearance. But you know as well as I do that clearance to know is only half of the puzzle. The other is a need to know. And there’s a whole lot of latitude these days where compartmentalization is concerned.” He glanced left and right, then at Ryan. “It’s a card. It’s bullshit. Necessary, evil bullshit, but bullshit all the same. You savvy?”
Ryan stared back, wondering if he could still trust him. After all they’d been through, he wanted to believe so. But he knew how pervasive the party pressure was in the Metro, and could only imagine how much more amplified it was in federal intelligence circles. Pressure like that could change a man, did change men, every day.
Was Wayne one of them now?
“I know what you’re asking yourself,” Wayne said. “And the answer is no. I’m still me. The fuckers haven’t gotten me yet, and they won’t. But it is getting harder, brother. Harder to find a way to separate what we’re doing on behalf of the country, and what is on behalf of the party. But I can still find a way.”
Ryan said nothing, but turned his attention back to the ice. A Blues forward knifed between a pair of defenders, cutting toward the Houston net. Ryan would have recognized the player by her stride, even without the number nineteen clearly emblazoned on her back. “Lucky” Conway deked, faking backhand, then snapping a forehand shot over the goaltender’s shoulder and just under the crossbar for a goal. The red light went on, the deep goal horn bellowed, and the arena exploded in cheers. Melina leapt to her feet with the rest of the crowd, jumping up and down. Ryan stood and clapped, and Wayne did the same.
As the goal horn gave way to the loud music of the Blues’ latest goal song, a re-mix of a Taylor Vera hit, Wayne leaned in close to Ryan’s ear.
“You can still trust me, brother. I hope you know that.”
Ryan nodded that he’d heard. They stood clapping for a little while longer before settling back into their seats. He and Melina high-fived, and Wayne flashed her a smile.
“Told ya so,” he said.
The game resumed, but the energy of the crowd remained electric. Ryan didn’t say anything for several minutes, and Wayne gave him the space to think. When he finally glanced over at his old lieutenant, he saw the same man he’d always known. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be sorry for being cautious,” Wayne said.
“I’ve been through a lot,” Ryan found himself saying. “We’ve been through a lot.”
“I know.”
“But I should know better.”
“You should. It’s a whole new, strange world, though. Your safest bet is to trust no one, so I understand.”
Ryan nodded his thanks. “It feels like things are coming to a head.”
“That’s because they are. We’re just about to a point where people who want these changes are going to see the country they want, and those who have been hoping it wouldn’t happen are going to realize it already has.”
“That’s depressing.”
“That’s real. Things are not what they used to be. These changes have worked their way into every aspect of our world.” Wayne waved slightly, indicated the HSA Arena. “Look at the name of this arena, man. It used to be named after the community where it’s built. Then a couple of corporations bought the naming rights. And now?”
“Now it’s named after a federal government agency,” Ryan finished.
