Foreign Enemies and Traitors

by Matthew Bracken

  “You don’t need to tell me, Jamal. I’ve dedicated almost fifty years to the people’s struggle. Since before you were born.”

  “Yes, and it was you who said that if my natural charisma was ever fully harnessed, I could be a world-changer. Well, now I have the Kosimos Foundation’s money behind me, and that dream can happen! It can finally happen!”

  Waylen sighed. “I’m truly happy for you…but at the same time, it makes me feel so old. I remember when we were bumming gas money just to get a few buses to Washington for the Moratorium in 1969. More than forty years ago… Oh, it’s been a long march, a very long march just to get here…”

  “And I honor your contribution, Robert! You were always the pioneer. You led the way. You weren’t afraid to take risks, to get your hands dirty, even if it meant that—”

  The screen went blue for a moment, where someone had edited something incriminating out of the original video recording. Then Tambor continued abruptly, in mid-sentence.

  “—you will always be remembered as one of the Founding Fathers of global government, of the new socially conscious global government.”

  “Thank you, Jamal. And I accept your compliment in the spirit it was given, but don’t buy the marble for our statues just yet. Don’t make the mistake of being overconfident. The reactionaries won’t roll over; they won’t go down without a hard, hard fight. Even now that they’re in the minority, they won’t surrender. You’ll have to be very careful. Always keep your eyes on the horizon, but don’t be afraid to tack with the wind. Take the two steps forward when you can, and don’t worry about the one step back, as long as it’s only a tactical retreat.”

  “Oh, I know how to do it—you were my best teacher. I’ll spout the right patriotic slogans; I know them all by heart. I’ll wave their imperialist flag. I may even have to denounce you, if the extent of our friendship is uncovered. But please know, from the depth of my heart, that I’ll always do everything, everything that I can to promote our common dream. That will never change, no matter what you might hear me say for public consumption.”

  “The reactionaries will come after you, no matter how circumspect you are. The ocean may appear calm around you on the surface, but beware of the hidden undercurrents. The sharks will be all around you, waiting for just one drop of blood in the water.”

  “I’m aware of that,” said Tambor. “I’ll be ultra, ultra careful.”

  “You know, Jamal, sooner or later you’ll have to…do something about the reactionaries.”

  “When the time comes, I will. I’ve studied revolutionary history. I know that if we’re going to cement our gains, if we’re going to make the move to socialism irreversible—we’ll have to eliminate our enemies. Through reeducation if we can, but by…other means where that fails. But it may not happen on my watch, even if I become president.”

  Robert said, “You mustn’t be squeamish when that time comes. Revolutions fail due to showing softness and taking half-measures. Never forget Salvador Allende in Chile: there is a General Pinochet waiting in every barracks! When the time comes, strike with an iron fist! There’s a reason Fidel’s revolution lasted for more than half a century, and that reason is the firing squad. Che eliminated all of the potential counterrevolutionaries; it’s a simple as that. He was utterly ruthless, and because of that, the Cuban revolution lasted for generations. When the time comes, don’t forget that lesson! Don’t be weak like Allende, or you’ll share his fate. Find your own Che Guevaras, and turn them loose with a vengeance! Harden your heart to exterminate the reactionary forces, and the revolution will last for a thousand years.”

  “Well, I’d prefer to use carrots rather than sticks. Social incentive programs. Structured voluntarism, community service, reeducation…all of those tools. But I’m sure that there will still be thousands of incorrigibles that will have to be removed for the good of society.”

  “Not thousands, Jamal—millions.”

  Tambor took a long drag on his cigarette, looking directly across the table at the unseen Robert. After he exhaled, he said, “I understand that you can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs. Even a surgeon has to remove diseased cancer tissue for the good of the patient. Sometimes they even have to amputate limbs, but it’s for the overall good. If you don’t remove them, then they can infect the healthy parts of society, and chaos results. And above all, the new socialism will be about order. Equality, fairness, social justice…and order.”

  “But guided from above by the socially conscious intelligentsia.”

  “Of course,” said Tambor. “Always guided by the intelligentsia, the vanguard of the proletariat. The masses don’t understand what’s best for them. They’re not yet socially mature. They haven’t sufficiently evolved toward a higher state of human consciousness. They must be led. You taught me that twenty years ago, Robert. I’ve never forgotten. I’ll never forget. But I’ll have to use terms the people are ready to accept. I’ll have to use the languages of religion and patriotism. I can’t run too far out in front of the mob.”

  “Yes, be deliberate, be measured, but don’t be seduced into accepting half-solutions, or the reactionaries will be able to roll back all of your gains at the next election. When the time is right, you must strike with Che’s iron fist. Never forget the lesson of Salvador Allende: weakness and mercy always lead to defeat.”

  ****

  In Corinth, Mississippi, Lieutenant General Marcus Aurelius Mirabeau had been near a television most of the morning, awaiting developments. As usual, the uniform of the day for the general and his troops was ACU camouflage. He was in a tan humvee being driven from the new helicopter flight line at the Corinth regional airport back to his relocated mobile headquarters, when he was informed by his command sergeant major that something was up. The CSM had been monitoring AM radio stations with an ear bud when, at 11:04, the programming abruptly switched to somebody talking about the Mannville massacre, and he informed his general of this development.

  Army helicopters had been flying into Corinth from Georgia and Alabama around the clock for two days, in small, well-dispersed groups. The helicopters were not arriving empty; they were combat armed and full of troops. Fuel trucks, troop trucks and other logistical support vehicles had also been streaming into Corinth. Numerous tent cities were being erected, under the guise of preparing for increased refugee flows from Tennessee.

  By ten minutes after the hour, General Mirabeau was watching the massacre video and still pictures on the television in his headquarters RV. His mobile headquarters had been moved again, and now it was located among tall pine trees not far from the airport, concealed beneath camouflage netting. Again he heard Jenny McClure’s deposition, which had been filmed in this very same RV. He watched with rising anger when the massacre images cut to Jamal Tambor, filmed sometime before he was elected president. Tambor called the American people dumb-asses and said that he would use the Holy Bible as a stage prop to fool them. He even profaned the sacred cross, and laughed about it. General Mirabeau could hardly contain his growing anger, but he forced himself to show only steadiness and outward calm. He knew that his staff officers were watching him almost as carefully as they were watching the television.

  When Jamal Tambor and the unseen Robert began openly discussing the murder of thousands or even millions of conservative American “reactionaries,” Mirabeau had had enough. He stood and clicked off the TV with the remote control. An instant after the general rose, all of his officers and senior NCOs stood as one and came to attention. In a grim monotone he said, “That’s enough, gentlemen. It’s happening. Lieutenant General Armstead, the commanding general of NORTHCOM, has initiated the Emergency Broadcast System. The next step is ours.” He looked at his watch. “We will commence Operation Righteous Anger at 1200 hours—high noon. Pass the word, and make it happen. I will move to the flight line at fifteen minutes before noon, and as you know I will lead the helicopter assault. I will be here until then. We will secure the massacre site first, and if the
foreign enemies resist in any way—then we shall spare them not!”

  ****

  On millions of televisions, another line of cocaine disappeared up Jamal Tambor’s nose. He sniffed a few times and said, “You know, Robert, twenty years ago you told me that I had a special destiny. That I was born under a star of destiny, that’s how you put it. And just think about the perfect timing of it all! From meeting you when I was just a university freshman, until even now, the timing has been uncanny. It’s been like gears turning inside gears, all my life. Even this recession has been a blessing in disguise. Think about it—when will we ever have a better opportunity to advance the cause? Their faith in so-called free-market capitalism is almost gone.”

  “Do you think this recession will turn into a depression?”

  “I have no idea,” said Tambor, “but I know that it would help our cause if it did. You should never let a good crisis go to waste. An economic depression would allow us to push society forward in great leaps, instead of taking small steps over many years.”

  “Tell me something,” Robert said. “What do you think is really behind the crash? Do you think that what’s happening is just part of the normal capitalist business cycle? Or do you think there are other forces at work, forces deliberately trying to wreck the global market economy?”

  Tambor replied, “I’m afraid that’s way above my pay grade. Economics was never my strong suit. Well, except for Marxism.” They both laughed. “But seriously, I don’t know the answer to that. I do know that the Kosimos Foundation has done all that it could to promote our common vision, and sometimes that’s meant intentionally destabilizing regimes and currencies. Peter Kosimos told me that himself before he died. And he did tell me that the world needed a ‘good depression’ in order to make the final push to global government. Once all of the national currencies have failed, the masses can be made to believe that a global central bank and a single global currency is the only solution. Of course, once that happens, all of the national governments will become irrelevant. Peter Kosimos taught me that too. Once we have the power to create the world’s money, it won’t matter who is elected in this or that country.”

  “ ‘Give me the power to create a nation’s money, and I care not who makes its laws’.”

  “I know the quote,” said Tambor. “Supposedly, the first Rothschild said that three hundred years ago. But whether he said it or not, it’s still true. The power really is in the purse strings. Once we control the world’s purse strings, once we can create the world’s money and decide where it will go, we’ll control the world. But this time, we’ll use that power to enforce equality and social justice, instead of just to enrich the bankers.”

  “The Kosimos people might have something to say about that, since they’re bankrolling your campaign.”

  “I’m not naïve,” said Tambor. “I understand that we’ll need their expertise at the new global bank. But this time we’ll control them, not the other way around. There will be enough new money sticking to their fingers for them to be more than satisfied.”

  “Many have tried to control the bankers, down through the ages…”

  “This time we will. I understand the mistakes that were made in the past, in walking that fine line. We’ll use their greed, but we’ll control them.” There was a pause while Tambor took a long drag on his cigarette, looking rather smugly across the table toward his unseen host.

  “I just can’t believe it,” said Robert, his voice becoming emotional. “You’ve actually brought me hope, hope that real change is coming. For the first time in…in many years, I actually have hope that we’ll finally be able to bring communism—”

  “Yes, yes, but I won’t use that word,” Tambor said abruptly. “Never. Not even socialism. They’re trigger words, hot buttons. They’re too difficult for Americans. I’m going to call it ‘the movement for social democracy.’ Or social justice. That’ll be easier to sell to the American people.”

  “Well, whatever you call it, it’s the same thing.”

  “Of course.” Tambor sighed. “I only wish that Peter Kosimos would have lived long enough to see our dream come true…but I guess it wasn’t meant to be. Like Moses, he saw the panorama of global justice on the far horizon, but he just didn’t make the final mile.”

  “You know,” said Robert, “I introduced you to Peter Kosimos.”

  “What? No, I don’t think that’s correct. I met him at an international students’ forum at the U.N., more than twenty-five years ago. I remember it quite clearly.”

  “Yes, a students’ forum. And who do you think arranged it? I made sure you were on that panel representing Columbia, and I made sure that Kosimos took note of you. I arranged it all.”

  “You did?”

  “I did. How many undergraduates do you imagine get to meet someone like Peter Kosimos, one on one? Lucky star or not, those kinds of connections don’t ‘just happen.’ No, I spotted your face in the crowd, Jamal. I knew you were a diamond in the rough from the first class you attended. You were always my bright shining star, my hope for the future, the one who could change the world. And I opened some of the first doors for you, on that long hallway of opening doors that you have been walking through your entire life. Many others along your path have been opening those doors in front of you, preparing your way, for the last twenty-five years. Now it’s the Kosimos Foundation’s turn to open the last doors, the doors to the White House. Trust me, Jamal, none of this just happened.”

  Tambor’s brow was furrowed, his eyes narrowed in deep thought. He took a quick puff on his cigarette and stabbed it out in his ashtray. “Well, thank you then, I guess.”

  “No, none of those opening doors just happened, Jamal. Those gears inside of gears that you mentioned, they don’t simply line up by accident. None of this just happens. And not only on our side, oh no! I mean, do you still believe that Peter Kosimos died in a car accident in Colorado? Many people think that he was killed by our enemies in New Mexico, and the ‘accident’ in Colorado was staged to cover it up.”

  “Oh, come on, Robert! That video was faked, that airplane video. Everybody knows it was faked. That whole thing with the lake and the model airplane. CBA News did an exposé on it. They proved that cheesy video was made on a computer. It was done with a video game, on a computer. Peter Kosimos died in a car wreck in Colorado.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Robert, I might be stoned, but now you’re starting to sound like one of those paranoid conspiracy nuts.” Both men laughed again, Tambor becoming almost hysterical, unable to stop himself from giggling, then leaning forward and coughing hard.

  ****

  Jenny was in the female enlisted soldiers’ tent when Zack ran up to its flap doors and yelled, “Come on, come on, it’s happening! You were on TV! Boone’s pictures were already on—everything is on TV right now!”

  Hope had her own crib, improvised from a cot, using the posts that fit into the corners to hold up mosquito nets. Jenny reached in and scooped up the infant, wrapped her in a blanket, and hurried outside after Zack. It was a cold and clear day, and she was wearing jeans and her thick green wool military sweater.

  “It’s on in the Casualty Receiving tent, it’s on right now,” he said as they ran the few hundred yards past the other tents of the mobile field hospital. Zack and Jenny had been informally attached to the medical company. The general himself had given the orders yesterday, before his headquarters had been moved. The military presence all around Corinth was growing by the hour, with helicopters buzzing overhead and long truck convoys on all of the roads. General Mirabeau himself had told them, “Jenny McClure, your job is to take care of that baby. Zack’s job is to listen to Sergeant Amory and help them to set up the field hospital, and look after Jenny. And Sergeant Amory, your mission is to look after all three of them. Am I clear on that?” He had given these commands in front of his chief staff officer and his command sergeant major, so they had the force of law from that moment on.


  Casualty Receiving was inside an enormous modern military tent. Zack and Jenny rushed inside; it was already packed with medical staff in their ACU uniforms. They were all watching a small television mounted up near the top of a pole. As newcomers entered the tent with questions and conversations under way, they were immediately shushed to silence by all of the viewers already staring up at the television.

  Sergeant Amory spotted Jenny and Zack, and moved through the crowd to welcome them. He placed his hand on her shoulder, then gently caressed Hope’s wispy baby hair and said, “Did Zack tell you? You were just on TV.”

  She looked into his face and nodded yes.

  “You were great, Jenny, you were just great. You and Hope.”

  Jenny placed her hand over his, tears streaming down her face. She had no words.

  ****

  On television, Jamal Tambor lit a new cigarette and took a long pull. “I know, Robert, I know. America as it exists today will always be the greatest barrier to global social progress. That’s why the Kosimos Foundation has been working so hard for the North American Union. Full global integration can’t happen until after America is permanently and legally woven into the North American Union. That’s the first step. You can’t eat an apple in one bite. We can’t get to global government in one jump. Like they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day. American sovereignty has to be carefully and methodically diluted, diminished, and then finally eliminated.”