On Deception Watch

by David H Spielberg

  Tentatively, cables were sent. Then dispatches. The tide rose to a flood until the cacophony rose to its crescendo on the second day of the fighting, when Alliance forces threatened military action of their own if the fighting did not stop immediately. Their own forces were placed on the highest level of readiness. French, British, Chinese, Indian, Israeli, Brazilian, Egyptian, Iranian, Pakistani, and South African forces also placed their own tactical nuclear forces on their highest level of military alert.

  Far from being able to play host to the congress of the United States, the United Nations was crushed by the burden of emergency sessions of the Security Council and special sessions of the General Assembly. Worldwide demands were voiced for a cessation of the fighting and a removal of all US nuclear armaments from foreign soil. Calls for sanctions against the United States, if the fighting continued, rose to a near unanimous chorus.

  84

  James Marshall was brooding and not really attentive as Sylvia introduced her friend, Barry Whitcomb. James shook hands and slid over to make room for him at the table. Whitcomb was a tall black man with a firm handshake and steady eye. He had a thin mustache and smiled easily, not letting James’ distraction discourage him. He slid in next to James catching the table cloth momentarily until he settled himself.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said, leaning over the table to kiss Sylvia on the cheek.

  “Barry and I know each other from Columbia,” Sylvia continued. “We met in school but we’re almost family. His parents and my parents came from the same little town in North Carolina.”

  “That so? How long have you lived in North Carolina, Barry?”

  “James, Barry’s parents live in North Carolina, not Barry.

  “Sorry.” James looked sheepishly at Whitcomb and shrugged his shoulders apologetically.

  “I guess all this business is getting me down,” James explained. “I’m not really sparkling entertainment tonight.”

  “I know what you mean. It gets so I don’t know how things can get much worse and then it does. Sometimes I get so sick of hearing about it, I just can’t watch any more. But then I have to. I mean, history is being made. Who knows where this is all going to end.”

  Barry signaled to the waitress.

  “I don’t know, Barry. It’s a little too much history for me. I’m not a big fan of change and uncertainty and we’ve had nothing but and I just want to scream and have it all back like it was . . . what? . . . six months ago?” Sylvia said.

  Barry ordered dinner and a glass of white wine, catching up with James and Sylvia, who had already ordered and were waiting for him before tasting their drinks. Marshall had a glass of cabernet. Sylvia ordered Dewars and water.

  They toasted each other tentatively after Barry’s wine arrived.

  Sylvia leaned back in her bench and took another sip of her drink. “Just a few days ago James and I were afraid we were next in line—you know, with these killings. Because of our association with AJC Fusion. Barry, it’s been such a nightmare. I think we’re okay now. I’ve called most of the people at Nova also and they all seem to be okay. For now anyway. Actually, I’m a little shaky being out tonight, but James and I were going crazy hiding out at my place. It didn’t seem like all that great a hiding place anyway. If anyone wanted to get us, they’d know where I live. We just had to start getting back into life.”

  Whitcomb took Sylvia’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Don’t worry. It’s got to be working itself out somewhere. And your smiling face is gonna be right there when it’s all over.”

  He turned to James. “Sylvia tells me you’re a journalist.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “Well, what do you think of the military taking over everything? I mean this is America and we just don’t have all this military presence at the civilian levelunless it’s a hurricane or a forest fire. It’s not a good sign, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know. Surprisingly, I just don’t know. My gut reaction is always to mistrust the military. Except they did such an exceptional job getting Washington and the other cities under control. And there’s been really exceptionally few—what do I want to say?—excesses. Brutality. Unnecessary clamping down on rights and all that.”

  “I expect the Congress will get things put to right once they can find a place to meet before it blows up. What do you make of the vice president’s charges against General Slaider?” Barry asked James.

  “Well, and here’s where the journalist in me will come out, you know, taking every point of view and side. Slaider is a hero. But so is Stoner. Latimer is a great public servant. But so is Llewellyn. And we know in the heat of politics a lot of things get said that when the counting is done everyone forgets about and moves on. On the other hand people are dying our military is at war with itself. Who do you blame for that, and how do you fix it? We must get a civilian government as quickly as possible and with Llewellyn and Whittaker—they certainly form a more legitimate team than Latimer and a renegade Air Force general. As far as I can tell they’re just in a high-stakes pissing contest with each other—the general and the vice president, I mean. But I guess there’s enough smoke that Latimer shouldn’t just make himself president without the Congress involved somehow. It’s just the amount of time that this is all taking. Congress is in a shambles. It seems that half the leadership is missing or dead, at least from the neck up. Maybe Senator Paxton is right. A plague on both their houses! Let the Congress declare Llewellyn president. The constitution says Congress shall decide the issue. It doesn’t say between whom. Llewellyn makes sense to me and the other cabinet members, while loyal to President Drummond, don’t really have any strong bond with Latimer. They seem to be swaying more and more to Llewellyn, if you can believe anything that comes out of Washington. Give Llewellyn the nod. We only have a year-and-a-half before the next election. Then the voters can decide the whole thing once and for all.”

  “Just the same, it makes me nervous to see the military getting in so deep into civil matters. You know, getting so heavily involved with political issues. General Slaider should be heard from a lot less, I think.” Barry said.

  “Okay, but there’s an honest-to-god military insurrection going on. Slaider’s trying to reassert central control over the Air Force. That seems reasonable to me.” Marshall looked at Sylvia for confirmation, but she said nothing.

  Barry took another sip of his wine. “I suppose. Unless the central control shouldn’t have central control. What about firing a rocket at the vice president’s plane?”

  “Slaider denies that.”

  “Then why did the Air Force take out that missile battery?”

  “That’s another thing that bothers me, Barry, about the vice president,” Sylvia interrupted. “How do you order the Air Force to fire on our own men? I mean these are American boys that were killed. If he had a case against them, or Slaider or somebody, you go to court, the police, the Congress, somebody. But he killed American boys. The press has been pretty hard on him too.”

  “Slaider killed American boys when he took over Andrews Air Base. Didn’t he?” Barry responded.

  “Yes, but it seems different. It was all out in the open. He ordered the base placed under his jurisdiction and they refused. It seemed more like a police action than a revenge killing. What do you think, James?” Sylvia asked.

  “I think we’re missing the whole point here. This issue isn’t who shot at whom first or who the bigger traitor is or who’s defending and who’s subverting the constitution. That’s much too intellectual, too much head talk. We’ve got a reality here that is goddam frightening. Our military is at war with itself. The question isn’t the constitution anymore. It’s how do we stop this from getting to be a real disaster of historic proportions? I guess, for me, I have to go with the Executive Council and with Alexander Llewellyn. They seem to have the best chance of getting everything stabilized quickly. The longer we have conflict here, the better the chances of this thing getting completely
out of control about who’s in charge. So long as someone is in charge pretty damn quick I’ll be happy. We can sort it out afterward.”

  “I don’t know.” Barry looked at Sylvia. “You know, sometimes stability isn’t the most important thing. Process can be more important. We’re a nation of laws, I’m told, and due process is an important principle. I just don’t trust the military to give up all this power once it has it.”

  “But the Congress will rein in the military once it decides the succession issue,” Sylvia said. “There’s no real permanent harm done even if we act ‘un-Constitutional’ for a little while—so long as things settle down. And what’s so legal about the vice president taking the law into his own hands, killing those boys?”

  “You want to give me your guarantee on that—that there’s no permanent harm?” Barry asked.

  Sylvia laughed nervously and clicked glasses with Barry. “Once the Congress reconvenes . . . ” she repeated.

  “If the Congress ever gets to reconvene,” James said and, clicking their glasses with his, he downed the rest of his wine. “And if they do reconvene, their leadership is broken. It will take weeks of wrangling to figure out if they can legally appoint Llewellyn president or whether they must appoint Latimer and then impeach him if there is sufficient evidence as Slaider claims.”

  “What are you suggesting,” Barry asked, “that we keep a military government?”

  “Hardly. Actually, I’m not suggesting anything. I just don’t see any quick way out of this mess and that’s what’s getting me depressed and making my head hurt.”

  “And that’s why the Executive Council was formed,” said Sylvia, “to provide a nonmilitary head for this camel of a government we have temporarily created. It could work.”

  “You think so?” Barry asked Sylvia.

  “Yes. Maybe. I hope so.”

  “I don’t know,” said James.

  “I don’t think so,” said Barry.

  Sylvia, James, and Barry noticed almost simultaneously a sudden quieting of the background noise of the restaurant. A hush seemed to have enveloped and slowly overtaken the room. All eyes were looking at the telescreen screens hung from the ceiling about the room. The tennis match that was being shown to the indifferent patrons gave way to the banner and the solemn face of a reporter standing outside what looked like an aircraft hanger. Somewhere the volume control was being adjusted on the sets and the voices became audible. The camera image shifted to a small cluster of people surrounded by camera men and photographers. An array of microphones was in front of the obviously central figures in this drama. Paul Latimer was standing next to a woman and had his left hand placed on a book and his right hand held up in the classic posture of oath-taking.

  Over the scene, the reporter was speaking. “Let’s wait a moment so we can hear the oath of office administered by Justice Louise Stanforth.” There was a shift to a closer shot of Latimer and Stanforth.

  “Repeat after me: I do solemnly swear . . . ”

  “I do solemnly swear . . . ”

  “ . . . that I shall faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States . . . ”

  “ . . . that I shall faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States . . . ”

  “ . . . and will to the best of my ability . . . ”

  “ . . . and will to the best of my ability . . . ”

  “ . . . preserve, protect, and defend . . . ”

  “ . . . preserve, protect, and defend . . . ”

  “ . . . the constitution of the United States . . . ”

  “ . . . the constitution of the United States.”

  Paul Latimer shook hands with Justice Stanforth.

  85

  The next morning the reaction of the world and national press was largely favorable to Latimer’s speech. By evening, Washington time, a tactical nuclear weapon was detonated in the Netherlands. It was unclear whether it was a nuclear-tipped Air Force missile fired to slow an advancing, heavily armored Army brigade or whether an Army weapon had triggered accidentally. Estimates placed the death toll at more than one thousand. Both the Air Force and the Army denied using the weapon and each side blamed the other side for the introduction of theater-level nuclear weapons into the conflict.

  Simultaneously, British, Italian, Turkish, Lithuanian, and Japanese forces moved to isolate the American positions within their countries by blocking all land, air, and sea transport of personnel and materiel to either the US Army or Air Force facilities. Heavy weapons deployments were made to enforce the blockade.

  The next day the secretary of state announced the imposition of martial law throughout the United States. Constitutional government was suspended for six months. The governors of every state were instructed to establish a liaison office with their regional military commander. All state militias and national guards were mobilized and placed under the authority of the local military district commander. General Slaider would assume the temporary role of supreme military commander. All executive functions of the United States would fall under the jurisdiction of Secretary of State Llewellyn.

  All government workers were instructed to remain at home until called back to service by the appropriate military authority. Certain federal operations necessary for the health and safety of the country would be exempted from this order. All broadcasts from radio and telescreen were temporarily suspended until appropriate military supervision could be put in place. Only the emergency stations would be permitted to broadcast in the interim. Newspapers likewise were to temporarily suspend operations while awaiting military supervision. Pamphlets regarding what to do in the event of an air raid or a nuclear attack were to be distributed to every household within a few days using the US Postal Service.

  86

  The sun had reached its zenith for the day when the personnel carrier arrived in front of Sylvia Carlyle’s apartment in Brooklyn Heights. The men quickly jumped from the vehicle and took up positions along the street facing the front door. The officer in charge rang the bell several times but there was no answer. Finally, he motioned to two men standing to the side of him. They quickly marched to the door carrying the battering ram. Quickly they disposed of the lock and door frame, allowing the officer, pistol drawn, to enter the apartment followed by several other armed men.

  Within minutes, James Marshall and Sylvia Carlyle were being escorted to the military vehicle. Neither was in handcuffs but it was made clear that they had no option but to follow the directions of the escorting officers.

  87

  For Teddy London, it had been a dream come true. Yale University! One of the preeminent institutions of higher learning in the world. And New Haven, a delightful provincial city in Connecticut. And the day, a magnificent spring day. The trees were beginning to burst with life. The cherry trees bordering Wooster Square were in full bloom. Students like him were walking the streets everywhere, enjoying the sun and the relief from the seemingly endless gray skies of winter.

  Teddy left the Wachovia Bank on Church Street. He had deposited his scholarship check and decided to take a walk to the Beineke Rare Book Library on Wall Street. He crossed Church to walk along the perimeter of the New Haven Green to College Street. There were young people skateboarding and rollerblading in the park. There were also the inevitable bums ruffling through the trash barrels for empty soda cans and bottles. Teddy hardly noticed them, so common a part of the scene they were simply there, like the twigs and branches that fell from the overhanging treesthere but not noticed as you walked among them as they worked their “territory.”

  Seated on the benches that bordered the Green were secretaries and receptionists dressed for business but still taking advantage of the burst of warm weather to leave their coats and jackets at their places of work to soak in the sun and give the male passers-by a pleasant view. Teddy enjoyed the view. As he got to the northwest corner of the Green he stood waiting for the light to change so he could cross Elm and head up Church to Wall. The traffic
was light so he decided to cross without the benefit of the light. Next to him was a tall, well-dressed black man holding the hand of a young girl, perhaps seven or eight years old and evidently his daughter. The man decided as did Teddy to take advantage of the light traffic and cross Elm at that moment. As they stepped into the street, a black Mercedes sedan coming down College turned left on Elm in front of them as they were crossing. Teddy and the black man quickly stopped to let it pass. The car was decorated not with chrome trim, but with gold colored trim that stood out gaudily against the black finish of the vehicle. As the car passed the two men they could see the driver was a black teenager who looked barely old enough to drive. He wore a Yankee baseball hat, on backward. Loud music was coming from the car and the driver was oblivious to Teddy and the tall black man and his daughter as he continued on down Elm Street.

  Teddy, turning his head to follow the vehicle, caught the eye of the tall black man as he once again looked ahead to continue crossing the street. For a moment he and Teddy locked eyes. The black man turned to follow the Mercedes briefly one last time, turned back to Teddy and shrugged his shoulders. Teddy never forgot that shrug. “Drug money,” it said. What else could it be that would gain so young a black man so high-priced a car. “Another wasted life,” it said, enjoying the money while he could before his life was cut short, on the receiving end of the gunfire one heard almost every night coming from the depressing areas surrounding Yale.

  The connection between Teddy and the black man lasted only a moment, and taking his daughter’s hand firmly in his, he hurried across the street. Teddy continued on up College to Wall, then a left on Wall to the Beineke. He never took books out of the Beineke. He wasn’t even sure if you could. He just loved the building. It was built of translucent marble that on a bright day clearly showed the light from outside through the faintly yellow stone. Teddy thought the Beineke was amazing and typical of what he expected from Yale.