by Frank Zafiro
The Latin word registered in his mind, but he brushed past it. “The concert,” he said. “You were there to report, but not for The Archway.”
“I did a piece for them, too,” she said, then shrugged. “It ran, but the editor toned it down, and let’s be honest. Our readership is small, and don’t need to be convinced about what is happening in this country. The shadow blogs reach a larger audience, and one that is more moderate, still undecided.”
“You reported from the concert on one of these...what did you call it? A shadow blog?” A growing sense of disquiet had settled over him as she confessed.
“I did,” she admitted. “I even interviewed Springsteen briefly.”
“Who else is part of this group?” he asked, but his mind was catching on the term shadow blog.
“I told you, I don’t know everyone. Just a few local journalists are in my group. There are other groups, but all of them are kept separate from each other.”
“Compartmentalized cells,” Ryan said quietly.
“Yes, exactly. Like they do in the intelligence field.”
Or like terrorists, he thought darkly, but said nothing.
“Where are these broadcasts, Nat?”
“We use the dark web,” she said. “I...I don’t know all of the technical details. The handlers set up the technology. As journalists, we just use it.”
“The dark web,” Ryan repeated, unbelieving.
“Yes. It’s the only way to get the message out while protecting our identities.”
“I saw another message on the deep web,” Ryan said, feeling his jaw clench as he spoke. “Gleeson showed it to me during one of our interview sessions.”
Nathalie looked at him, uncomprehending. She gave her head a small shake. “I...?”
“It was posted by a group that called themselves The Bastards of Liberty,” he told her, grinding his teeth with every word.
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“Their message took credit for shooting Marcus and me. It was very patriotic.” Dark sarcasm filled his voice. “Or so they wanted to seem.”
“Oh, amour. I’m so sorry.”
“These men, Nathalie....these terrorists...they used the dark web. They use the same tactics you’re describing. And these are the men who murdered Marcus.”
Realization swept over Nathalie’s face. “You don’t think we are—”
“The same?”
“We’re not!” she said sharply. “We are not terrorists. We’re journalists. We get the truth out there, that’s all. We don’t harm people.”
“You yourself said you don’t know all of the people involved. Maybe your cell just doesn’t know—”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“You didn’t tell me!” he shouted. “You lied to me, Nat.”
She lowered her eyes. “I know. And it hurt to do it. But it really was for your own safety.”
“I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to be honest with me. And you weren’t. Instead, you were mixed up with...” He waved his hand, looking for an adjective but unable to find one that fit.
“With patriots,” Nathalie said quietly. “With people who believe in truth. People who are opposed to this...regime.”
“That,” Ryan said, his tone matching hers, “is exactly what I would expect to hear from a Bastards of Liberty broadcast.”
Nathalie shook her head. “I know you are angry with me. And I know I didn’t tell you the truth about all of this. That was wrong of me. I should have known better. And I also know you are still grieving for Marcus. But amour, please...you have to see the difference between what I do and whatever insanity these radical elements have done.”
He stared back at her for a long while. Beneath his anger and hurt, he knew she was right. But he couldn’t bring himself to say that out loud. The sense of betrayal felt too immediate, too strong. So he said nothing.
“Ryan...”
He got up, and went to bed, and left her there on the couch.
Chapter 18
It has been said that, in history, the ringing cries of dissent are often drowned out by the convenient memories of those who were not there, or who wish they weren’t. This cynical remark is usually met with distaste by most historians at first, followed soon after with grudging acceptance. The myths of unanimity are legion when it comes to successful revolutions. The United States, for instance, saw as many as a third of its potential citizenry remain loyal to the British crown, while another third were neutral on the subject, but this was not the ‘truth’ that most Americans eventually believed about their war for independence. The one third that were revolutionaries slowly swelled in the retelling to include nearly every American, and as it is also said, victory had its thousand fathers.
This highlights three important, relevant facts that also apply to the events of the 2020s. One, that a strong, vocal minority can dictate the course of a nation. Two, that there will always be some dissension, and some apathy. Lastly, three: the ensuing myths are created by the victor.
— From An Unlikely Phoenix by Reed Ambrose
ALEX SAT PATIENTLY while Héctor lectured him.
“This is a country of law,” Héctor told him stridently. “And, as such, the majority rule of the people is what should drive all of the decisions of the people’s representatives.”
“You’re right, of course,” Alex said.
“California is fifty-two percent Latino, Alex. And those numbers are from the 2020 Census! Most estimates put us at nearly sixty percent by now.”
“I know.”
“Then give me one good reason why, if we truly do secede from the United States, why we shouldn’t rejoin Mexico.”
“Héctor, this question isn’t the one we need to be answering right now. The Governor is focused on our relationship with our own country, and whether or not we should sever that relationship.”
He waved away Alex’s point. “We’ll secede. The immigration issues alone will ensure that.”
“It’s more complicated than that. There are a lot of issues to consider.”
“Is it?” Héctor leaned forward. “Imagine you’ve come to this country for work, but were forced to leave part of your family behind until you can save enough to bring them to live with you. How big of an issue is immigration to you then? How much does it matter to you? Alex, it is the only issue that matters.”
“I’m not denying that it is an important issue. But I’m talking about something else.” Alex said. He tried an analogy. “Try to see it from my perspective. I feel like we’re trying to make a marriage work here, Héctor, but instead you’re already thinking about who should be our next wife.”
Héctor laughed. “Well, it’s an easy thing to consider when the woman has been your mistress for decades.”
Alex had to smile. Héctor had nicely hijacked his own analogy. He tried to take it back. “Fair enough. But can we at least agree that we need to remain single for a little while after the split? Find ourselves, figure out what’s best, that kind of thing?”
“Maybe. But who’s to say Mexico will wait for us?”
“Sixty percent of California,” Alex said. “And growing.”
Héctor considered. “I see your point. All right, Alex. In the interests of showing Washington, D.C. a united front, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll tone down the urgency of our message. We won’t back away from this course of action, but we’ll acknowledge that we have to get our own affairs in order first and foremost. After all,” he smiled graciously, “it would be unfair to our future fellow countrymen to do any less.”
Alex held out his hand. “Gracias, Héctor.”
“You’re welcome, Alejandro. But make no mistake – California is inexorably bound for reunification with Mexico.”
“But not today.”
“No,” Héctor agreed. “Not today.”
FOR SOMEONE WHO SEEMED to be perpetually non-committal, James Mallory was remarkably steadfast.
“I think th
e Governor is being rash,” he told Alex.
“You think we should capitulate with the new laws Congress is passing?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just not convinced we should be entertaining the idea of secession as a response.”
“What should we do, then?”
“That’s exactly what we should be discussing – a wide variety of options. Instead, we have people jumping onto one bandwagon or another, and then the entire discussion is about why it’s the right bandwagon. No one is actually listening.”
James had a point. Discussions about the future of California had become more polarized in recent weeks, both in political circles and in the public sector. Even on some local mainstream radio and television shows, open discussion about the possibility of secession had grown. The already loose grasp on the California media that federal pressures through the Internal Security Act once had seemed to be slipping one degree at a time.
“I agree,” he told James. “But things are coming to a head. You can sense that, right?”
“That’s probably true. But that’s all the more reason we should be having a reasonable discourse instead of all this squabbling.”
“I’ve already spoken to Héctor Chavez and Gregory Bell. Both of them have agreed that we need to show a united front. They’ve put their petitions for annexation on hold.”
“What about August and the reconciliation crowd?”
Alex shrugged. “I have a feeling the good senator wants to remain the leader of the loyal opposition.”
James grunted. “That’s my part to play.”
Alex realized that James was serious. He really saw himself in that role. For a moment, he didn’t know how to reply. Didn’t you have to oppose something to be part of the opposition?
“The problem with August is that he cares more about being the leader than being concerned about what exactly he is leading,” James continued. “If the Governor and the majority of members were preaching conciliation, he’d be on the secession stump, all fire and Southern drawl.”
Alex kept his expression neutral, but his mind was racing. This was the first time he had any indication that James didn’t care for August. In fact, for most of the last year, he’d assumed the two were natural allies. August wanted to reconcile with the federal government, and James didn’t want to commit to anything, which was essentially the same action.
How could I have missed this?
He realized that James Mallory was cagier than he thought.
“You may be on to something,” he said carefully. “But let me ask you a different question. If the people’s referendum comes back in favor of defying the immigration laws and in favor of secession, how does that impact your position?”
James considered the question for a long while. Finally, he said, “Well, I guess that we’d have some difficult discussions ahead of us, wouldn’t we?”
Alex resisted the urge to sigh. He pressed James with further questions, but it was painfully clear to him that the senator steadfastly intended to remain neutral. He wondered if James had already decided on a course of action and if his neutrality was serving as a mask for that decision. He tried to suss out any hints of that during the next half hour of discussion, but ran into dead ends each route he took.
When he finally rose and offered his hand, he had to admit that meeting had been unsuccessful. Despite that, James shook his hand congenially, and said, “Thanks for coming by. I look forward to our next conversation, Alex.”
Alex wasn’t, but he said that he was, and left the office.
Two out of three ain’t bad, he thought, as he got into his car and headed to the Governor’s mansion.
His phone rang while he was still en route. The screen told him it was Carl Young, probably one of the last people he wanted to talk to today. Or any day.
He punched the answer button, knowing that Young would track him down if he didn’t take the call. Part axe man, part messenger boy, Young was good at his job because he was relentless.
“Senator Derrick,” Alex answered, playing the formality card.
“Senator,” Young greeted him back. “How are you?”
“Busy.”
“Ah. Straight to the point, then. How are your efforts going?”
Alex didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “I’ve convinced a couple of the more vocal senators in favor of annexation petitions to soften the urgency of their positions.”
“Soften?” Young clucked his tongue. “Senator, that’s not really progress. Progress would be if all this reckless talk about states’ rights and secession were to stop.”
“Well, I can’t help you there. I can’t tell the people what to talk about.”
“Don’t be naïve, Senator. The people look to you and your fellow politicians, as well as a few ridiculous celebrities, to decide what they should be talking about. Now, trying to convince these so-called artists to be patriotic is a bit like trying to herd a bunch of beatnik cats, isn’t it? But you and your colleagues are another matter. You all should be able to show some more discipline, and support for your country.”
“I can assure you that every one of us believes what we’re doing every day is to support our state and our country,” Alex said.
“That is precisely the problem. The Party doesn’t care what you believe you’re doing. The Party cares about what you actually do. And frankly, Senator, you’re not doing jack shit.”
The profanity surprised Alex a little bit. Young had rarely strayed from the role of elegant, refined strong-arm.
“I’m doing everything I can,” he said. “But as long as we’re speaking frankly, let’s talk about the other calls I’ve been getting.”
“What calls?”
“That’s funny. You tell me not to be naïve, and then deny knowing about your counterpart’s anonymous calls?”
“I’m not sure what you mean?”
“Hell, Carl. Maybe it’s you making the calls with a voice filter.” The possibility only occurred to Alex as he spoke the words. His gut told him he was probably right.
“I don’t know what—”
“Let’s pretend that’s true. In that case, suffice it to say that some deep, dark voice has called me more than once telling me that if I don’t get the job done – the same job you’ve been pushing me to do, by the way – that something bad might happen to my brother’s wife. Now, does that ring any bells?”
“No,” Young answered easily, but Alex caught the slightest hesitation that told him he was right. “It must be someone with parallel interests to our own.”
“It was clearly someone within the federal government. They offered to help or hurt Nathalie’s immigration status.”
“Curious,” Young said. “I will have to look into it.”
“You do that. In the meantime, Nathalie is subject to the new immigration law and her grandfather clause appeal was denied. My sister-in-law is facing deportation.”
“That’s very sad.”
“It’s very wrong. And quite honestly, it makes me wonder how motivated I should be pushing for some of the things you want me to push for in the Senate.”
“You’re playing a very dangerous game,” Young warned. “The needs of the entire nation should not hinge on the needs of any one person.”
You mean the needs of the Party, not the nation, Alex thought.
“I want peace,” he said. “I want security. But I also care what happens to the people I love. Now, I’ve been taking your calls and your meetings for years. I’ve listened to your concerns, and I’ve strived to reach fair comprises within the Senate. I’ve treated you with respect. And what do I get in return? I get the functional equivalent of blackmail.”
Young was silent on the other end of the line, an uncommon response for him.
“From now on,” Alex said, “if you want my help in conveying moderation to any of my colleagues, I want your help with Nathalie. Otherwise, I might have to just sit back and let things take their course.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Do you think we haven’t noticed the frequency of your meetings with the Governor? We’ve been suspicious of your relationship with her for a while now, Alexander.”
For a moment, Alex heard echoes of Gregory’s insinuations. He clenched his jaw.
Before he could reply, Young continued. “I suppose all of those meetings could be about the difficult task of governing the state, but there are those in the Party and the Administration who are wondering if the two of you are contemplating something far less noble. Something downright treasonous, if you want to know the truth.”
“I’m certain we’re not,” Alex said through gritted teeth.
“Well, you’re there and I am not, so I guess I shall have to take your word for it.” Young’s words were spiked with sarcasm. “Just like you’ve taken me at my word that I don’t know about these frightening calls you have been receiving.”
“Are you going to help my sister-in-law or not?”
“I’m not familiar with the situation,” Young said. “But if I were to guess, I would say that anyone who is not already a true American, much less an American citizen, is well beyond help.”
“Then you no longer have anything to blackmail me with,” Alex said. “So stop calling and threatening me.”
“I can’t stop doing what I’ve never done.”
Alex broke the connection, then immediately dialed Ryan. His brother picked up on the second ring. Alex greeted him and quickly relayed his call with Young and the mystery caller he suspected was Young.
“You should have told me,” Ryan said.
“I know. But I didn’t want to risk it. Not while there was still a chance that things would work for Nathalie.”
“We didn’t ask you to do that. You should vote your conscience.”
“Family doesn’t have to ask,” Alex said. “And relax. I never voted against my conscience. The whole thing was just a delaying action on my part. I endured some bullshit meetings and some photo ops, that’s all. But now, I don’t see the sense in doing even that.”
