The Devil's Advocate: The Epic Novel of One Man's Fight to Save America From Tyranny

by Taylor Caldwell

  As they drove through Philadelphia, Edwards pointed out the fine shops here and there which only Army personnel and their families, the MASTS, and the bureaucrats, could patronize. Durant saw the smug wives parading in and out of their shops, waddling under the weight of their bags and baskets. He searched for a hating and brooding face among the shabby women who were hurrying to work in their factories. They were hard to find, for most of them wore the expression of meekness and submission which marked the faces of millions of their starveling sisters. However, like bright flames in a swamp, he saw the eyes of a few of the very older or the very younger women. These flames might light the torch of revolution which had fallen into slave-degradation and docility. After all, it was the goaded women of Paris who had torn the Bastille literally apart with their bare hands.

  Edwards confided that he detested young Grandon, who was always “leaping around.” He suggested that Grandon be transferred. “I’ve had my doubts about him for some time,” said the captain. “He takes too much pleasure in his duties, and adds his own little touches.”

  “I never heard that devotion to duty, and going beyond the confines of duty, was reprehensible,” said Durant.

  Edwards shrugged. Then he became interested in some of the fine homes they were passing. “Wonderful parties we have there,” he said. “Washington was bright when it decided to form the MASTS. In that way, small business was got rid of; you can’t trust small businessmen. They’re too independent, and in the end we found them subversive.”

  Yes, thought Durant, keeping his face blank, great industry and wealth can always manage to strike common ground with Communism, Statism, Fascism and Socialism. In fact, they flourish best when the people are enslaved. He meditated again on certain criminal labor leaders of three decades ago, who had enlisted gangsters and professional murderers and extortionists into their ranks in order to subdue and control the masses of the workers. No wonder the “labor leaders” of today sat in such rich power in Washington and in the industrial cities, the pets of the Administration.

  The flag of The Democracy hung from many windows, and the newspapers bore enthusiastic headlines about the new war and the new “war effort” and the dedication of “the people” to the preservation of their “liberties” and independence. Army bands played here and there; Government-endorsed speakers stood on corners exalting the new “struggle for freedom.” “I’d like to get into action again,” remarked Edwards enthusiastically. “I always hated the South American sons of bitches, with their religion and all those millions of acres still uncultivated. And the way they’ve always refused to help us makes me itch to teach them a thing or two.”

  Durant thought of the strenuous efforts of Washington, fifteen years ago, to establish dictators over the various South American countries. He thought of the direct and indirect force which Washington had exerted to make the positions of the Latin dictators secure. At the last, Washington had been betrayed by its own stupidity. The dictators might be murderers and tyrants, but they had had a profound love for their country, a passion for it, and a very realistic distrust of America. They had refused to engage in any wars to “exterminate Communism,” understanding too well that America had embraced an exceedingly terrible totalitarianism of her own.

  “—the American way of life.” Edwards was saying. “We’ve got to teach them that! It’s either us or them.”

  But never “us” together thought Durant. Never man united against a dangerous, natural universe of disease, unpredictability, want and suffering! Always “them” who oddly seemed to stand beyond the pale of humanity, and who must be killed to “teach them a thing or two.” May God have mercy on our souls! said Durant to himself. Now he understood that when men had failed each man had assisted in that failure, either by silence or by despair, by fatalism or a false sense of importance. It was men, individually, who had betrayed man.

  The hotel in which he had his executive offices seethed with happy excitement. All the officers, young and old, were eagerly exchanging hopes for immediate military action. Looking at their faces, Durant understood another of the atavistic and frightful instincts of man: the urge and desire to kill. What to do about that instinct? Could its extinction be accomplished by annihilating all potential soldiers? He knew that there was a definite soldier personality, and that despite its centuries-old atavism, it continued to be born, like some living and deformed fossil which refused to die. He shook his head despondently.

  He was saluted with respectful curiosity, but he held himself erect and kept his eyes coldly ahead. He found his other executive officers waiting for him, lieutenants and sergeants, and, among them, Grandon. Grandon was still white and grim, and he appeared preoccupied. However, he once glanced at Durant and Durant saw that knifelike gleam on the young man’s face, quickly suppressed as Grandon turned away.

  Durant sat at his fine walnut desk in his fine luxurious office, and regarded the mass of work with dismay. Grandon, in a dull voice, informed him that Captain Alice Steffens of the Department of Women’s Welfare, Section 7 Division, was waiting impatiently to see him, as were numerous other men and women under his jurisdiction.

  “Impatiently?” repeated Durant, frowning.

  “Yes, sir. She’s a very impatient lady, all the time,” said Grandon, and for the first time he smiled. “She always gets in first. Very important job.”

  “I think I’ll let her cool her ass for a few hours,” said Durant. “Or you can tell her that I’ll see her three weeks from next Friday.”

  “Yes, sir!” said Grandon, with some of his old delight. “But she’s quite a piece, Major. Not like some of these old queer hags who like to dress up in uniform, and who probably shave in the morning, and keep young girls on the side. You might like to look at her as a change. You’ll see the old Lesbians regularly.

  Durant thought of the Army women who were as depraved as their male counterparts. He thought of their everlasting and repulsive uniforms, their big boots, their swaggers, their hoarse voices, their mannish ways, their cruel hard eyes, their short hair, and their deadliness. They were a special breed, but an ominously increasing one. Durant loathed women in uniforms, for a uniform on a woman had terrible significance. It was all right for nurses, he had conceded, up to a certain point, for nurses did not engage in murder. However, these strange creatures, this frightful third sex which had appeared during the twentieth century, everywhere, was not interested in saving lives but in taking them. Long ago they had demanded to be included in combat forces, and they had done excellently with rifle and with hand grenade and with bomb. They had, in fact, been as good as men. Finally, they had shown their true and horrible aspects, and had their female companions comfortably ensconced in little apartments. Homosexuality had, oddly enough, decreased among men during the past two decades. It had increased enormously among women, in proportion to the national decay and the national insanity.

  “Send the bitch in,” said Durant abruptly, and he sat back and waited, full of nausea and detestation.

  Grandon admitted Captain Alice Steffens. She entered with a quick and impatient tap of heels. High heels. Durant was surprised at that pleasant and feminine sound. He looked at the small and rapid feet before letting his eyes rise to the very trim dark blue uniform on a very delectable and slender figure. There was no concealment of breast but an artful or unconsciously feminine desire to give that attribute its full measure of display. The white silk blouse was well opened on a very white and charming throat. There was, too, a bunch of purple violets on the lapel of the coat, quite against regulations. Durant, taken aback, stared once more at very seductive legs under the hem of the skirt. They were silk-clad, and the ankles were delicate. Something very pleasing stirred in him. He wanted to retain the illusion of warm, sweet womanhood before having to look at a face which undoubtedly would be coarse and masculine and vicious. However, he was finally forced to glance upward.

  He was extremely surprised. He saw the face of a woman in her early thir
ties, and he told himself that it was probably the most beautiful face he had ever seen in his life. Oval-shaped and rosy-and-ivory tinted, it was absolutely without a flaw of any kind. The mouth might be determined, but it was full and naturally red, the color of Italian poppies in the spring. The chin was soft and dimpled, the nose arched and clear. The eyes, large and blue, looked resolutely at Durant through incredibly long black lashes, and over them were thick slashes of black brows. There was the usual military cap, of course, but it was tilted, and under it waved masses of abundant dark hair touched on the crests with a hint of bronze. That hair had never been cut, again against regulations which demanded that female soldiers’ hair must never be longer than four inches. Here was a real anachronism: a smooth big knob of this wonderful hair on the woman’s nape, as shining as ebony.

  The officers in the room came to admiring attention. But the captain ignored them. She looked only at Durant and she said, with annoyance, and in a most entrancing voice: “I have only half an hour, Major. I’ve come to receive your orders, as I understand that you have replaced Major Burnes. I also thought that I might tell you something of my work.”

  “Sit down, please,” said Durant, quite dazed.

  She sat down with an almost extinct female grace, and Durant saw the straightness of her shoulders and the slenderness of her waist. He also saw that this woman had a most intelligent expression, mobile and aristocratic. She might be all business, but there was a betraying femaleness about her very disarming to a man. She might speak briskly, but there were musical intonations in her voice, and cultured ones. Now, thought Durant, helplessly, how in the hell did a woman, a real, honest-to-God woman, get into such a job?

  “I’m very busy—” she began.

  “Well, so am I,” said Durant, smiling. He pushed a silver box of cigarets toward her, and he stood up gallantly to light one when she put it in her lovely mouth. She gave him an appraising glance as he did so, a purely female glance. She smiled a little.

  “You might tell me what you do, and what you want this morning?” suggested Durant.

  She tilted one black brow indulgently. “Oh, Major Curtiss, surely you know the work of the Department of Women’s Welfare! The Department, though under the jurisdiction of the Army, is distinct from it. In a way, it is almost a civilian department, though we do encourage the enlistment of young girls in the Armed Forces, and we do select the best candidates for officer training.”

  “Very interesting,” interrupted Durant. “Quite aside from anything else, what qualities do you look for in those candidates?”

  The captain studied her cigaret for a moment or two, then in a curiously flat voice she replied: “Leadership, strong physique, the ability to take orders without questioning, ruthlessness, courage, uninterest in—the other sex, determination to succeed, dedication—” She put the cigaret in her mouth and blew out a cloud of smoke which momentarily hid her face but did not conceal the sudden brilliance of her blue eyes. “Emotional stability.”

  “And after you get all the eligible girls into the Armed Forces, what else do you do?” asked Durant.

  “We are concerned with maternal welfare, the encouraging of women who want to have children. Also the health of the women who are conscripted into the war industries. We,” said Captain Steffens, again studying her cigaret, “also work closely with the State psychiatrists to weed out undesirable traits among young girls, such as rebelliousness, emotional difficulties, dangerous independence and subversive thoughts. We have, as you know, special schools for such girls, under the supervision of the State psychiatrists.”

  “Work closely with.” The phrase of the enemies. Durant forced himself to remain silent, to keep his face bland and interested, though he sickened.

  “We also take care of illegitimate children, and abandoned children, and are in charge of the State nurseries which are operated in behalf of the children of mothers engaged in essential industries.”

  “Essential industries!” How the totalitarian phrases rolled off. American lips! But then, one must remember how easily and with what felicity Americans had adopted such terminology, with the help of American Presidents and their administrators.

  Suddenly, Durant became aware that Captain Steffens was scrutinizing him, weighing him.

  “We have as our slogan, the slogan of The Democracy,” she was saying. “‘Unity! Duty! Sacrifice!’”

  Here was a woman, a woman with all the attributes of a woman, yet she was parroting the phrases of tyranny. I must be careful, thought Durant. He leaned back, negligently.

  “How old are the girls whom you pick to be soldiers?” he asked.

  “Seventeen.”

  “Nonsense! Fifteen is not too young. Or even fourteen.” He stared at her. “You know, perhaps, that I have absolute power in Section 7. This is a new directive for you: Hereafter, in Section 7, all girls from twelve on are to be taken from their mothers and sent to State institutions to be indoctrinated in their duties to The Democracy. We must have soldiers! Moreover, the parents of the girls in Section 7 are never to know the whereabouts of their children. The girls, themselves, are never to come in contact with boys or men until they are twenty-five. By that time they’ll be so indoctrinated that no frivolous impulses will occur to them. Unity! Duty! Sacrifice! But, of course, you understand that, Captain Steffens.”

  She regarded him fixedly, and turned very white. “Major Curtiss,” she said deliberately, “you know the mothers would never stand for that.”

  “You’re wrong!” he declared. “The people will stand for anything. And now that we’re engaged in another war, and another war effort, to preserve The Democracy, anyone who dares to object to the conscription of their children for labor and for the armed forces should be fully prosecuted. I understand you are an executive officer. If you hear any complaints you must report them at once to me for prosecution or discipline. We dare have no subversives.”

  She carefully ground out her cigaret, and then regarded the debris with deep thoughtfulness.

  “Of course,” she said, as if speaking to herself, “the children of today are quite fit for industry. I agree with you that the working age should be reduced from fifteen to twelve. We could have barracks for them, carefully segregated from males, of course.”

  “If the mothers object to their girl children being conscripted, they can easily be sent to hard-labor camps. That will increase the manpower pool,” said Durant, with enthusiasm. “A woman, these days, has to work as hard as any man. Too, in the labor camps they will receive no wages, and that is a saving for the national economy.” He continued: “I know you agree with me, Miss Steffens.”

  She said: “Captain Steffens.” But her pretty voice was abstracted. She moved the stub of her cigaret around in the silver tray. “You are very devoted to The Democracy, Major Curtiss.”

  “Unity! Duty! Sacrifice!” repeated Durant.

  She nodded. Her smile was cryptic. “I shall obey your orders at once, Major. As you have said, the masses never rebel against anything, especially not when orders are accompanied by slogans, which take the place of thinking.”

  “You sound very ambiguous,” Durant accused.

  She laughed lightly. “I am not in the least ambiguous. I am merely commenting, and with approval. One can always rely upon the people to follow anywhere.”

  For some reason, Durant felt uneasy.

  “I find you much more understanding than Major Burnes,” said the captain. “He disagreed with almost everything I suggested.” Again, she scrutinized Durant. “I think, now, that we can obtain our objective. For instance. Dr. Healy, who is head of the Public Psychiatric Department of Section 7, is strongly in favor of removing male children permanently from their mothers when they are five years old. He believes these children have no ‘security’ or normal home life while their mothers are working, and he has suggested State nurseries for them where they will be brought up in strict conformity with democratic principles. We’ve heard that working parents s
ometimes corrupt these little ones with subversive doctrines and religious superstitions so that they need stern reindoctrination and discipline when they reach military or employment age. All this is a waste.”

  “I agree with Dr. Healy, and he’ll have my cooperation.” Durant leaned confidently toward the young woman. “Of course, the children of wealthy parents will not come under this directive, if I make such a directive.”

  “Naturally not. No directive is ever issued against our loyal and cooperative Americans.” Captain Steffens stood up, and Durant rose also. The young woman smiled. It was a pale smile and her eyes shone as if touched by lightning. She glanced at the other officers, who regarded her eagerly, and she threw back her shoulders. She saluted Durant gravely, wheeled, and tapped smartly out of the room.

  “Now there, Major, is something special,” said Captain Edwards. “Not available, like Gracie Lincoln, though worth ten of that little slut.”

  Grandon turned to him furiously; Edwards grinned, and Grandon halted. But his face was black with rage, Durant observed, highly pleased.

  “Well, she’s a captain, and I’m her superior officer,” said Durant. “I might have some luck with her, myself. And now, who is next?”

  “Dr. Joseph Healy, of the Public Psychiatric Department,” muttered Grandon.

  “Now this,” said Durant, “ought to be a pleasure. Send the—the gentleman in, Grandon.”

  Durant was well acquainted with psychiatrists. He knew their twentieth century history, their jargon, and the powerful position they occupied in The Democracy. They, more than any other single group, had been instrumental in promoting the awful degradation of the human spirit not only in America but in all other nations. Clever political assassins had used the psychiatrists to bring about the present universal dementia, the facelessness of the populations and their subjection to The Democracy. It was known to the Minute Men that every psychiatrist qualified by the Government was a member of the terrible FBHS, and that it was the particular duty of these psychiatrists to search out and betray any original or potentially rebellious young mind in the Federal schools. It was no accident that these young minds, which might have created a revolution, were soon eliminated, either on the constant battlefields, in distant labor camps from which they never emerged again, or in prisons called “schools of training.” If any of them survived after their frightful ordeals they had become completely mad or completely broken.