by John Bromley
“Sounds promising,” Angela nodded, “but maybe kind of young for him…”
While the women gossiped, the men had their own discussion.
“So, General,” Buck asked, “what’s the latest on your speech?”
“The people at the White House made a few international calls,” Jim replied, “which is something they haven’t done in ages. They offered it to every country we could think of, and I’m glad to say that they all took us up on the offer.”
“This country led the way in building the damn things in the first place,” Buck commented. “It’s only fitting that we should lead the way in tearing them down.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised to see every one of these ‘female enclaves’ opened up in the next few months,” Jim finished. “That’s where you come in, Mike.”
“Looking forward to it,” Mike said. “And, what’s next on your agenda?”
“Well, I thought I might finish that vacation we were on, before we were so ‘rudely interrupted’. Maybe take Angela to see some of the prettier parts of our country.”
“Heard any news from Philadelphia?”
“Yes,” Jim answered, “Sam told me a few days ago that delegates have been arriving continuously for weeks now. He counted about two hundred already and says there’re still large parts of the country with no representation. He says it’s been quite a job getting them all onto the same page. Some of them have no idea what needs to be done or what choices they have, and others come in with very definite thoughts about how the convention should proceed, and what should come out of it.”
“People have lots of different opinions,” Mike noted, “and, to be fair, I guess they have to consider all of them.”
“If anyone can get that group organized, it’s our boy Sam,” Buck observed, deliberately employing Swenson’s favorite word. “As you said, Jim, these are the second set of ‘Founding Fathers’… and Mothers,” he added, deferring to the ladies present, “and he’s like their Ben Franklin.”
“The man behind the scenes, who got things done at the original Convention,” Mike told the women, who appeared not to know the historical figure.
“Now, all they need is a modern-day ‘George Washington’,” Buck finished his thought.
At that moment, Jim’s cell phone rang. He opened it and saw a set of coordinates, followed by a picture; but this time, it wasn’t a book.
“It’s a bell,” said Angela, looking at the display from Jim’s left side.
“With a big crack in it,” Cynthia added, looking in from his right.
“It’s the Liberty Bell,” Jim groaned, “in…”
“Philadelphia,” said Mike and Buck in unison.
“Looks like Sam needs you,” said General Chambers, who had approached the group unnoticed. He reached into the inner pocket of his tunic and produced an envelope.
“Plane tickets from Winnipeg to Philadelphia, for two people.” He pointed to the north, where a black limousine waited, facing the hole in the Wall. A man stood near the front fender. “Your luggage is all packed, courtesy of Miss Angela, and Sergeant Hendricks has volunteered to drive the two of you to the airport.”
“Isn’t that sweet of him, darling?” Angela asked happily.
“But, we were going on—”
“Your country needs you,” Angela said simply.
“Our country needs…” Jim corrected her; then caught himself. “Hey—whose side are you on, anyway?”
“My mother says Philadelphia is very pretty this time of year,” she said coyly, hugging his arm.
Jim sighed in defeat.
As they climbed into the car, the officers gave them parting words of encouragement.
“Give ‘em hell,” Buck offered.
“Show them how it’s done,” Chambers added.
“Whatever happens, always go with your gut,” Mike said with a smile.
Cynthia kept her thoughts to herself until the car had pulled away.
“Godspeed… George and Martha.”
