Eric Lustbader - First Daughter

"How about you scrambling the eggs?"

Once again, it was a suggestion rather than a command. Alli knew she was free to say no. But she didn't want to say no. She opened the carton, broke six eggs one by one on the rim of the bowl, poured in a dollop of milk, then began to whisk the mixture.

"I don't know how anyone can eat those Eggbeaters," she said idly.

"Or an egg-white omelette, for that matter," he answered.

Quite quickly her arm began to tire. But she rested it briefly, then began again, bringing a pale yellow froth.

"Ready," she said.

Kray took the bowl from her, added three twists of salt, two of pepper, then tipped the contents into the skillet. He stirred the eggs a bit with a white plastic spatula.

"White bread?"

"Whole-wheat today, I think," Alli said.

"In the pantry." He put down the spatula, went into the small room. Immediately he turned around, stood watching her from the shadows. She rose, one hand supporting herself on the tabletop. Then she walked over to the stove. Her hand passed the knives in the wall rack, picked up the spatula. She stirred the eggs in the skillet. She hummed to herself.

Satisfied, Kray found a fresh loaf of whole-wheat bread, tucked it under his arm. Then he reached up, opened the cupboard. Carrie was curled and winding in her dark cave. Her red eyes stared at him enigmatically.

He put a finger across his lips, whispered to her, "Shhh."

Kray closed the cupboard door, returned to the kitchen.

Alli turned her head. "Almost done," she said.

Was that the ghost of a smile on her face?

They ate, sitting across from each other.

"I was right about you," he said at length. "Despite your hothouse upbringing, you're not a fool. You despise privilege."

Alli swallowed a mouthful of egg and bread. "Fear and loathing."

He nodded. "Hunter Thompson."

She looked up, not for the first time surprised by him. "You've read him?"

"Because he's a favorite of yours."

A shiver went through her-of pleasure, not fear.

"Tell me what you liked most about Thompson."

Alli didn't hesitate. "He was a subversive. He thought civilization was hypocritical, he loved to show how good people were at rationalizing their actions."

Kray bit off a piece of bacon. "In other words, he was like us-you and me."

"What do you mean?"

Kray wiped his mouth, sat back. "From my point of view, the civilization Thompson was writing about is inextricably entwined with religion. And what is religion, after all, but totalitarianism? The strictures god presented to Adam and Eve, that both the Old and New Testaments describe, are nothing more than a series of laws so extreme, so prohibitive, they're impossible to adhere to. In the so-called beginning, in the garden of Eden, god tells Adam and Eve that he's provided them with everything they could possibly desire or ever will desire. The only thing is, see that tree over there? That's the Tree of Knowledge. If you want to find out what's really going on, you need to eat the fruit. But hey, wait a minute, eating the fruit is forbidden, so forget that knowledge thing, who needs it anyway when I've given you everything you want. So, in essence, religion insists we live in ignorance-but that's perfectly okay, because we have our priests and ministers to tell us what to do and what to think.

"Shall I go on? Okay, how about 'Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife.' The commandment doesn't say don't screw another man's wife, that would be doable. Instead, it gives you an impossible task: It forbids you even to think about screwing another man's wife!

"You see what's happened here? Religion was invented by men in order to create sin. Because without sin there can be no fear, without fear how do you control large numbers of human beings? Add to that an elite theocracy that periodically issues edicts as it sees fit, in order to keep itself in power, and the definition of totalitarianism is complete."

Alli took a moment to absorb what Kray said before replying: "What about the totalitarianism of Hitler and Stalin?"

A knowing smile spread across Kray's face. "The Vatican acquiesced to Hitler. In fact, it rushed to knuckle under in 1933, signing a treaty with Hitler forbidding German Catholics to participate in any form of political activity that criticized the regime. After the war, it provided documents, false passports and the like, enabling Nazis to flee to South America, and no German was ever excommunicated for war crimes. The historical connection of the Christian churches with fascism is undeniable and a matter of public record. Hardly surprising, when you think about it. Totalitarianism attracts totalitarianism. Its members are absolutists-by definition, they cannot apologize for their transgressions. Think about it for a moment. Totalitarianism whether it be religious in nature like the Christian church or political in nature like history's fascist states is all faith-based. Absolute faith in one's infallible leaders.

"At least we secularists have the freedom-and the duty-to admit our mistakes, and to correct them."

Alli, eyes turned inward, was lost in thought. She was absorbing everything, like a sponge. "It's true. I see things that frighten me," she said at length. "A group of people with tremendous power and inflexible views, everyone else afraid to speak up, more limits put on personal freedoms." She pursed her lips. "What does it mean? It's unthinkable, but could it be that we're inching away from democracy?"

"The very fact that you're asking the question is cause for celebration." Kray pushed his plate to one side. "Now you tell me. Your opinion is as important as mine."

Her lips curled in an ironic smile. "Even though I've lived a life of privilege?"

"Precisely because you've lived a life of privilege," Kray said seriously.

She rose, gathered the plates and cutlery.

"You don't have to do that," he said.

"I'm stronger now." Her hands full, Alli walked over to the sink with decidedly less difficulty. Her back to him, she began to wash the dishes.

Kray stood. "Alli?"

"Yes?"

"You're free to go any time you want."

Alli scrubbed a plate free of yolk and grease, placed it with great deliberation on the drainboard rack. "If I go home," she said without turning around, "I'll stop learning."

STOP 'N' shop," Armitage said, "what's that?" He was even more jittery now. His face was as white as the sleet bouncing off the car's windshield.

Jack turned down Kirby Road about five miles from Claiborne. "It's when you intercept a perp-a suspect-grill him about where he's going, why he's in the area, what he's got in his vehicle."

"Where's your probable cause?"

Jack pulled out his gun. "Here's my probable cause."

"You can't just-"

"What are you, an ex-priest and an ex-lawyer?"

Armitage fell silent. While he tried to gather himself, Jack said, "Give me the BMW's tag number."

Armitage showed him the pad, but Jack's emotions were running too high, he was under too much stress for him to be able to get to the mental place where he could concentrate enough to make sense of what Armitage had jotted down.

"Read it to me."

Armitage looked at him quizzically.

"I can't take my eyes off the road," Jack lied. He'd never get over the shame of his disability.

Armitage read off the license tag.

Jack called Bennett back. "I need a check on a gray late-model Five series BMW, tag number two-four-nine-nine CXE. Right. Thanks."

Jack closed the connection. They drove awhile in an uneasy silence.

At length, Armitage said, "I didn't sign on for this."

"You want out?"

Armitage looked at Jack, seemed abruptly ashamed.

"Tell me more about the FASR."