by Darrell Bain
Daniel wasn't able to attend, much as he would have liked to. He wanted the NSA to believe he had gone to ground somewhere and wouldn't be heard from again. Lisa had asked Tyrone to excuse her so that she could keep him company. Now they were channel surfing and watching the news feeds from the proceedings. As they saw the first frames, it looked as if there had just been a victorious conclusion to a football game and the stands had emptied onto the field, covering all but a small area at one end. It looked that way, but the stands were still full. Comphone recorders and expensive webcams were ubiquitous, mostly belonging to people other than Masterville citizens.
There was no way to keep the events from being recorded, even if they had wanted to, and the council never tried. They simply sat at the end of the field reserved for them and waited, while Chief Masters bellowed for quiet over the intercom and finally got a reasonable amount of it.
Daniel and sat on the lounger sipping a scotch with one hand while Lisa was stretched out with her head in his lap, facing the wall screen. His other hand was rested comfortably on her breast, moving idly from time to time.
“I'll bet that's the most people from here who have ever gotten together at one time,” Lisa said. “What must they be thinking?”
“What did you think when you were told?” Daniel responded.
Lisa gave a subdued chuckle. “I thought Tyrone and Marybeth were kidding at first, then when I saw that they weren't, I started thinking, and everything they said made sense. I'm pretty well-read, like most of the folks here, and I had wondered about some things in the valley already, like the lack of violence and hardly any churches and so forth. In a way, it's been like living in fairyland for most of us. This is just such a good place to live compared to most other cities that I think we were subconsciously afraid to know what made it that way. But once I was told, it didn't present a problem; it just made everything I had been wondering about make sense.”
“No qualms about being a mutant?”
“No, of course not. However, everyone isn't as well educated or as well read as me. There will be some who won't want to accept it. And of course there are some who aren't like us; they just live here because they like it.
“The mayor is getting started, looks like. Let's listen.”
* * * *
Eileen Tupper's sharp, penetrating voice cut through the babble like a keen knife through cardboard. The background noise died out and the cameraman on the channel they were tuned to panned in to get a good head shot of her.
Eileen gripped the microphone and referred to notes she had made after conferring with the chief.
“This is America, and we all have freedom of movement for which we're grateful. We do not have freedom to trample over private property without permission nor to create refuse on city streets and parks. The citizens of Masterville have never had a problem with this. Now we do and it is my duty to inform you here who are not citizens that we take our civic responsibilities seriously. Chief Masters asked me to announce that he has already made a number of arrests and stands ready to make more if that's what it takes to enforce the law. Visitors are welcome but not at the expense of citizens, so please behave yourselves.” Heads in the audience nodded or looked back and forth at others, as if accepting a well-deserved scolding from a parent.
“Now, let's get on with the town meeting as we planned. I'll give a quick background then we can open things up for discussion. Some time ago, Tyrone Beamer became aware that there existed some differences between most citizens of Masterville and the so-called normal population of the country. None of the differences are significant taken singly; many people have the same traits. Here, though, many traits are combined in most people. You've all seen the flyers so you know what these traits are.
“After this was discovered, Tyrone came to me and a few others who exercised some authority or influence here, and we formed a sort of informal council to investigate the matter. We never intended to keep it secret for long; we simply wanted to get the facts straight before giving them out and possibly upsetting folks for no good reason. You all know the results of the investigation, again from the flyers, so I won't go into it all over again.
“You've heard many stories since yesterday morning, many of them either untrue or slanted in unfavorable ways. Take anything you see or hear from outside media sources with a hefty grain of salt. My office will be publishing daily briefings from now on which you can get from our web site, from each edition of the Clarion, which by the way will be published daily now, and from postings at the courthouse. You can believe what we say, just as you always have. I can tell you, for instance, that the National Security Agency sent at least three pairs of agents here to investigate us once our differences became apparent from the last census. Why the government thinks we were in need of investigation escapes me, but perhaps they were trying to discover how to govern effectively, something which has so far escaped them.”
The last statement got a huge laugh which Eileen had trouble quieting. When she was finally able to continue, it was in a more sober vein. “The fire at Ruthanne's B&B, in the old Stanton Home, was a direct result of NSA agents attempting to assassinate one of their own people, simply because he turned out to be one of us. Fortunately, the attempt failed; in fact, he managed to kill three of the agents and escape. He did have help there but I won't reveal who assisted him.
“Why agents from the National Security Agency were even here, I don't know, unless it's for political purposes. We certainly don't pose any threat to the nation. And Chief Masters has asked me to announce to any federal agents who are present tonight that most citizens here are lawful gun owners, and they do not appreciate bullying from the federal government for no good reason.
“I could go on and on but let me keep it short. Yes, we're a bit different from other people, just as Hispanics, for instance, have slightly darker skin or Orientals have epicanthic folds to their eyelids. It's nothing more than a simple variance and we are as human as Bobby Lee Smith or the football players you watch in the Super Bowl.”
Eileen paused here for effect, looked over her vast audience, then continued.
“Basically, what we, the informal council you see before you, would like, is for you to appoint us, along with others as you see fit, to help your elected officials cope with this sudden awareness that we are a bit different; to cope and to guide our efforts to remain as we are, a simple, happy valley where citizens can live and love and raise families without hindrance from outside sources. Thank You.”
* * * *
“Talk about throwing the ball back into their court; your-our mayor, that is, makes a good case. And she kept it short and sweet. That's good, too. Shall we watch the debate or not?”
“Let's watch for a while. I want something to drink. Are you ready?”
“Uh huh, but make it a single. I want to stay alert in case something dramatic happens.
Lisa was gone for several minutes. When she did return, she had doffed her clothes and was again wearing her pale green dressing gown.”
Daniel accepted the refill of scotch, set it down and caressed Lisa's body while she stood beside him. “Thanks. Mmmm. I love the way you feel in this gown. Out of it, too.”
Lisa sat down, but snuggled against him. She liked the way he complimented her and showed that he appreciated her. “Anything happen while I was gone?”
“Just that the mayor told everyone to look for representatives with red hats and to funnel their questions through them in order to keep the shebang manageable. I was wondering how she was going to accomplish that.”
“It's still going to be a mess.”
It was, and it went on for three hours before Eileen finally got her agenda approved. The informal council was approved as an official advisory group to the Mayor and City Council, and expanded to include another dozen members, to be elected in one week from each precinct of the city. Before then, though, there were raucous catcalls of “atheist mutants” and “dirty sluts” and the
like, almost all from individuals no one recognized. Those didn't last long. The women of Masterville, in particular, didn't appreciate the epithets and let them know it. Daniel thought it almost had to have been rehearsed. A person would no sooner hurl a derogatory remark at a speaker than he or she would be quickly surrounded by a group of citizens, who then moved as a group toward the exits where a deputy would quietly explain that they could talk if they could prove they were local voters and were recognized by the chair; otherwise it was a misdemeanor offense to disrupt a legally called town meeting and that the offense carried a penalty of 30 days in jail. Period. No fines as substitutes for jail time. If that didn't do it, the suggestion that prisoners took care of potholes that needed cleaning and drainage ditches that had to be cleared usually did the trick. There were very few arrests.
All the while Daniel watched, not the speakers but the crowd, whenever close ups were shown. Once or twice he thought he saw NSA agents he knew, but he couldn't be certain as the cameras panned by so swiftly. He was sure that some were present, though. Once an agency Op started, it was hard to stop, especially when initiated from the top-it took on a life of its own then.
When it began breaking up, Daniel remarked, “It went down a lot smoother than I ever thought it would, especially for such short notice. The mayor and chief really had it organized.”
“She likes to be called Eileen.”
“Oh. What does the Chief like to be called.”
“Chief.”
“Ask a silly question-”
“Yup. Let's see what the talking heads are saying, then get some sleep.”
Daniel zapped the television to another channel. The analysts were already busy. A few were trying to be fair to all opinions, some were playing it for sensationalism, some thought the government was right or some thought it was wrong to investigate the city, but what they all agreed upon was that trouble lay ahead.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Daniel felt increasingly helpless as the days passed. There was simply not much he could do to help. Chief Masters refused to give him permission to so much as show his face in the valley for fear that the NSA would accuse them of harboring a fugitive. He had Lisa for company and that helped to alleviate some of the restlessness and impatience at being confined to Tyrone's apartment, but that didn't cover everything. As he and Lisa followed the happenings, he could almost predict the agency's course of action. He relayed what he thought to Tyrone or to Chief Masters, and over the next few days he was proven right. Not that much could be done about it.
Outsiders continued to pour in. Many of them were paid agitators; hired by the agency, Daniel believed. But there was no way to prove it, even though some of them confessed to taking money to become rabble-rousers. Others were legitimate protestors, sent by groups like Right To Life, Baptist Missionary Outreach, Jehovah's Witnesses, Moslems For America, United Atheists Of America, and a plethora of similar groups, both pro and con, but mostly con.
A small horde of federal bureaucrats suddenly began sniffing around the hospitals and schools, looking for any violation of federal laws or regulations, and finding them, even if some of the “violations” stretched the meaning and intent of the laws and regulations well beyond anything ever intended.
Jeremiah Jones began putting out the Masterville Clarion twice daily rather than once, simply to keep up with an insatiable demand for written news from an unimpeachable source. Subscribers using Enk downloads got a bargain; others had to pay for each edition. Jeremiah used its pages and its web site to refute and complain about the outrages being committed by the government for no other reason than that they were different. He had so many contacts across the country, and was so well respected, that his voice began to be heard over the clamor of religious and moralistic defamation and distortion.
The local television station began feeding its news and comment to other sources across the country, citing facts, figures and reporting every incidence it could find of unwarranted federal nitpicking.
Eileen Tupper invoked some laws on the books which had been very liberally enforced up until then, such as camping overnight in the park or sleeping in parked vehicles. This frustrated the agitators and bureaucrats because they had no place to stay at night and had to drive over congested roads back and forth each day to do their dirty work.
Had it not been for the religious and moral factors, Daniel thought the city could have overcome the campaign against them, but he knew that when it came to religion, logic played no part in people's minds. At the end of the first week after the revelation, Tyrone finally made an appearance back in his home, with Marybeth accompanying him. The four of them had dinner together, cooked by Daniel and Lisa while the other two freshened up and rested.
It wasn't until after dinner, while they were having drinks, that Tyrone revealed what he had come up the mountain for.
“Daniel, do you know whether the NSA had anything to do with trying to track down that radioactive material that got stolen a few months ago?”
Daniel's antenna began quivering. “Yes, we did. I wasn't involved myself, but I know the agency was. Something like that can't be kept secret. What I heard was that the terrorists were caught but killed themselves rather than surrender. The stuff was never found, so far as I know.”
“Right. And the government still tries to quell any mention of it, other than that the FBI is still investigating. Now what would you say if I told you that I was contacted, through several intermediaries, and told that the stuff was in government hands?”
“Now how in hell could you get that kind of intelligence when the government can't?”
“Not everyone is against us, Daniel. And my company does business with companies that do business with the government, especially Homeland Security, building vaccines against prospective biological agents and so forth. We even do a bit of business directly with the government, but I keep it to a minimum because of all the bureaucratic nonsense and oversight. Anyway, what I heard is that a certain small group of highly placed individuals in the NSA have their own little cabal, closed to anyone else. And that they have the material.”
Daniel sighed. “I hate to admit it, but your story is plausible. There are always cliques and gangs in the spook business running their own agendas when they have no business doing so. But this is ... well, if it's true, then this is traitorous; that's the only word I can use to describe it.”
“That's how I feel, too. Anyway, my contact was simply someone paid to deliver a message.”
“And the message was....?”
“The first part was that the material has been found and might possibly be moving in our direction. The second part is that someone wants to contact you. In Masterville.”
“Tell me exactly what the wording was,” Daniel said. So far he couldn't tell whether this was genuine or possibly the agency setting up a sting.
“All right. I'm quoting now: Radio. Big P a player. Heading your way. Beware of use. Meet corner park near fire. Same daytime as embarrassed. Remember pink panties.
Daniel blushed to the roots of his brown hair, causing the other three to look at him curiously.
“The contact is genuine, I can tell you that much,” he said. “The last sentence is a reference to an, um, incident that only me and two other people would know about. One of them is dead. I haven't heard from the other one in years.”
“Could it be a trap? A setup?” Tyrone's face was wrinkled in a concerned frown.
Daniel thought it over. “The other man worked with me on an Op a number of years ago. I heard that he left the agency, but that's not necessarily so. Sometimes names are dropped from the official rolls but the person stays on.” He clenched his hands together. “I'm not doing you any good up here and trap or not, I think I have to meet with him.”
“What do these abbreviations mean? I think I can figure most of it out, but give me your take.”
“The radioactives that were high-jacked are in Murray Phillips’ control. He's the NSA
Director, by the way. He's ordered them to move to somewhere near here. The contact wants to meet me at the corner of the park nearest to the B&B where the fire was, and the date he wants is tomorrow night at eight o'clock.”
“That must have been one hell of an incident,” Lisa said, with a huge grin on her face. “Care to tell us about it?”
Daniel blushed all over again. “Maybe when we have grandchildren. Not before.”
“Well, what do we do about it, Dan?” Tyrone asked.
“I think I have to go. Just the thought of a dirty bomb near here gives me the willies.”
“Is that all that could be done with the missing Uranium?”
“The way I hear it, yes, but a dirty bomb is bad enough. It could cause us to have to evacuate the city.”
“Okay, another question: why would Phillips be sending the stuff here? Never mind, I can guess. He's planning to set the damned stuff off and blame it on us! I agree, Dan, you just about have to meet with the man. I'll call Chief Masters and get you some backup.”
“No, best if I go alone,” Daniel said. “These guys aren't dummies and they're trained to spot a trap. And it's entirely possible, even probable, that someone will be watching Wesley.”
“Wesley?”
“The uh, pink panties guy.”
“Oh. Still, can't we send anyone? They could stay well away, but still keep an eye on you if trouble develops.”
“I'm going,” Lisa announced.
“No!” Daniel and Tyrone said together, then Daniel saw the expression on Lisa's face and wished he could have recalled the word which had burst from his lips without thought.
Lisa put her hands on her hips. “And just how are you two planning on stopping me? Chaining me to a bedpost? I'm not letting Daniel go down there by himself!”
“But Lisa—” Daniel found himself torn between wanting to protect her and the knowledge that women were every bit as good as men in crisis situations-if not better.
