Orson Card - Empire

“They did this using government budgets?”

“I don’t know whose money I was using. I was a middle man. An errand boy. I had to be smart because sometimes the assignments were dangerous. Guys who’d rather take what you delivered and keep the money, which meant killing me. Sending me helped assure that things didn’t get ugly.”

“How did you prevent it?”

“I recognized the problems going in. If it looked bad, I aborted the mission. Phillips joked that that’s why I was getting the big bucks—for knowing when to walk away from the deal.”

“Big bucks?”

“It was a joke,” said Reuben. “I drew my salary, period.”

“I bet you were a good boy and didn’t keep any records.”

“I wasn’t that good. Encrypted files on my PDA.”

“What’s your password?”

Reuben couldn’t believe he asked. Then he realized Cole was right. “I guess we’ve got a new system of classification now. Top Secret. Eyes Only. Coleman Only.”

“You could have died today,” said Cole. “They could arrest you or kill you at any time. You need that PDA out of your possession and someone else needs to know the password. If you think it has evidence.”

“I never even told Cessy my passwords,” said Reuben. “To protect her.”

“It only protects her against a rational enemy,” said Cole. “An irrational one won’t believe she doesn’t know it till she’s dead.”

“I think these guys are trying to play by some version of American rules.”

“Those bullets pouring into the Chinese restaurant at us didn’t know who was behind those walls.”

“Maybe they had software that recognized our faces. Maybe getting us was worth some collateral damage.”

“Password,” said Cole.

“And maybe you’ve been my shadow the past few days just so you could get that password before you kill me,” said Reuben. “Maybe you’re working for these clowns. They accepted that you might have to kill a few of their guys to earn my trust. You get my password, then you take my PDA and kill me. I don’t know you, Cole.”

“No, you don’t,” said Cole. “For a minute there you trusted me, though.”

“I did.”

“How’s it working out so far?” asked Cole.

“I asked for you to be assigned to me,” said Reuben. “Then again, I chose from a list. They provided the list.”

“We don’t know who they are,” said Cole. “But hang on to the PDA for a while yet. I’m not going to try to force the issue. It’s foolish. But I understand the paranoia.”

“Thank you,” said Reuben. “I still trust you, Cole. I’m taking you home to my family.”

“I know,” said Cole.

“They didn’t know where we were, but they’ll figure it out,” said Reuben. “Where else would I have gone on the Jersey side of New York City? A little research and they’ll be at Aunt Margaret’s. Maybe before we even get there.”

“So let me out before we get too close,” said Cole. “So they don’t get us both.”

“I keep the PDA at home, or I’d give it to you right now.”

“But not the password.”

“No, not the password. You’d be my off-site storage.”

“Who’s trying to arrest us?” said Cole. “Is it the guys who just invaded New York—the ones who are working inside the government to subvert it? Or is it the good guys, who figure it can’t just be coincidence that we keep showing up right where the crisis is?”

“All that planted evidence,” said Reuben. “They can’t ignore it.”

“Is it just coincidence we keep showing up?”

“It’s only happened twice,” said Reuben. “First time, they watched us. Not coincidence. Part of their effort to pin it on me. On an American soldier. But today—no, they had no way of knowing we’d decide to take a five a.m. drive to Ground Zero. They certainly weren’t going to time this invasion to fit our whims. The second day after the assassinations. Still within the time of maximum chaos. Who’s in charge? Nobody’s established the chain of command again. What will this President want? How long will he wrestle with the problems before he acts? Ideal time. Nothing to do with us.”

“Except that I don’t care who did this,” said Cole. “They were killing cops. They were killing uniforms. They may think they’re saving the Constitution, but they’re saving nothing. It’s all about imposing their will on unwilling people.”

“But Cole,” said Reuben. “Don’t you understand? When you have the Truth, then anybody who opposes you is either ignorant or evil. You rule over the ignorant and you kill or lock up the evil. Then you can make the world run according to your perfect Truth.”

“On the Left and the Right,” said Cole. “Same thing.”

“The English Civil War,” said Reuben. “On one side, Divine Right of Kings, patriotism, the status quo, the cool long-haired Cavaliers. Oh the other side, the Puritans, guardians of God’s word, short-haired, Bible-carrying perfectionists. Most people couldn’t care a rat’s ass either way.”

“The Puritans had Cromwell.”

“So they won. For a while,” said Reuben. “But as soon as they had power, they started trying to enact their program. No Christmas, no sports, can’t twitch on Sunday, lives of unrelenting work and prayer. No playing, no plays even. No bear-baiting. No heresy tolerated, and that includes the familiar trappings of religion. Ten years of that and the people were ready to bring back the kings—even if they might have Catholic sympathies.”

“So you’re saying that people will get sick of the excesses of whichever group of perfectionists just took over Manhattan.”

“Eventually,” said Reuben. “But that doesn’t mean they can get rid of the Puritans that easily. Cromwell died without a strong successor. Castro flat out didn’t die. Hitler and Stalin were too ruthless to be overthrown. Pol Pot just killed everybody. Whenever the fanatics take over, it’s a crapshoot whether you can ever get rid of them, at least without a long and bloody struggle, or decades of oppression. Generations.”

“So you’re saying you have limited optimism about the future.”

There was nothing to say to that. They drove in silence for a while as they took some back roads to avoid sirens and Cole studied the state map that Charlie O’Brien carried in his car.

Reuben knew Cole was right about the password to the PDA. The information on there might be the key to finding out where these weapons originated. There was that series of shipments that were going to the Port of New York, ostensibly for overseas shipment. But what if they only got to the port and sat on the dock waiting for the command to take over the city? The trouble was, Reuben wasn’t sure where the shipment originated. Again, it seemed much of it was coming from the Port of Seattle. But did that mean it came from overseas, or somewhere else on the West Coast, or maybe it originated in Washington, or maybe it was paperworked out of Washington but in fact was shipped from Mexico. For all he knew.

Still, it was a start, that link to Seattle. If he really had helped to arrange shipment eastward.

These bastards, plotting to take over New York City, and using government money to pay for it and government agents to handle the paperwork and payments.

Could Phillips possibly be clean? There he was in the White House. He had to be the one who notified the terrorists!

No, no, Reuben told himself. No leaping to conclusions. If they were smart—and so far they’ve been smarter than me—they’d never have the same guy working on shipments of weapons and serving as the inside guy to tip off the terrorists. They’d use two different people.