Richard Stephenson - Resistance

“Yes, my mother wanted to name me after him but my dad insisted on Joel. They compromised and made Oliver my middle name.”

“How delightful! Joel Oliver Everton. I admire namesakes, I really do. If I’d ever had children of my own, their names would’ve had meaning.”

Thank God you didn’t reproduce.

“Now, we have one more bit of nastiness to contend with before we can proceed. Megan, my dear, I don’t want you to be afraid. My associates here are going to escort you into the next room.”

Megan’s muffled screams went nowhere.

“Now, now. I simply want to have a word with your husband in private. I promise my associates will be perfect gentlemen.”

Once they were alone, Joel closed his eyes. “Please don’t kill my wife. I’ll do whatever you say, and I won’t try anything stupid.”

“Mr. Everton, open your eyes and look at me. Have I lied to you in the short time we’ve known each other?”

“No.”

“Then you know, sir, that I mean business. Would you agree?”

“Yes,” Joel whispered.

“I have no interest in harming your wife so long as you successfully complete your mission. I have one last truth to share with you, something I hope you’ll find motivational.”

Joel couldn’t imagine anything more motivational than keeping his wife and family safe from this madman. “What is it?”

“This is perhaps the most unpleasant part of my job. I really do hate the lack of civility in my profession, I really do. Mr. Everton, please understand, sir, that I absolutely abhor having to discuss this, so I’m just going to come out and say it. If you get cold feet during your mission, my two associates are going to brutally violate your wife before they kill her.”

Joel began to weep. “I won’t get cold feet, I promise. P-p-please don’t hurt my wife. I’ll do whatever you say, I promise. I won’t let you down…”

“Shhh. There, there. Let’s not get carried away.” The polite man reached into his suit coat for his handkerchief and tenderly wiped Joel’s face. “I have all the faith in the world that you’ll complete your mission. Your dear wife will be just fine. You’re a smart man, Joel, very smart. I know you desperately want to believe your wife will be safe from harm. That being said, I also know you can’t escape the fear that, successful or not, we plan to kill your wife. While I am a facilitator of violence, Mr. Everton, I myself am not a violent man. I don’t want to kill your wife, and above all, I certainly would not want to be party to such a violation should you fail.”

“You were right when you said I’ve accepted my death. Since I’m not long for this world, may I ask a question?”

“You want to know why.”

“Yes. I just want to know what I’m dying for.”

“I wish I could share the intimate details with you, Mr. Everton, as your life is surely worth at least an explanation. I wish it was that simple. I’m under strict orders forbidding me from ever disclosing that information. Suffice it to say, advance knowledge of the horrific violence you’ll be instigating would only make the task more difficult for you. You’ll be aiding us in our efforts to bring this country back to her former glory. And you, Mr. Everton, will soon be directly responsible for showing the world just how determined we are to do so.”

“Okay, Maxwell, why couldn’t we bring my son with us? He’s constantly nagging me to get out amongst the people. Now that I’m actually doing it, he can’t come along? What gives?” Howard Beck was sitting in a fancy restaurant in Seattle with Max and Elizabeth Harris. They’d spent the morning at the Port of Seattle touring the cruise ship that had been commandeered by squatters. Howard never mentioned to any of the residents that they would soon be leaving; that would come soon enough.

Maxwell Harris had started out as the constable of Beck Castle, responsible for the security of the massive underground bunker and its residents. The job also entailed providing protection for Howard, making Max a one-man Secret Service detail. Maxwell’s duties grew until Howard appointed him director of security for the entire PSA.

“Howard, your son is the vice president of the Pacific States of America. The two of you cannot be at the same event. Should something happen to you, God forbid, your son needs to assume the presidency. Basic stuff, Howard. I know I’m just a cop, but I’m pretty sure I saw that on television.”

Elizabeth Harris loved to tease her husband. “Honey, we’re all loving what you’re doing here. Just think of a Secret Service movie or two and you’ll be a shoe in for director.”

“Whoa! Where were you? Didn’t get the memo? I am the director of the Secret Service.”

Elizabeth’s smile was like a drug to Max. “Are we giving ourselves jobs now?”

“Whatever you want, my love.”

“Hmmm…This could be fun. Any job I want? Okay, I officially appoint myself assistant director of the Secret Service.”

“Not gonna aim higher?”

“And leave your side? You know I could never do that.” Elizabeth ran her fingers through her husband’s hair as she planted a kiss on his weathered cheek. Howard was learning to tolerate the couple; before long, he might even be comfortable around them. However, their overt physical displays of affection would make anyone with Asperger’s feel awkward.

“Howard, you poor thing, are we making you uncomfortable?” Elizabeth couldn’t resist the chance to tease her friend, though he tried is best to ignore her.

Max winked at his wife. “Honey, we’ve talked about this, and it’s time we both started addressing Howard as Mr. President.”

Elizabeth tried again, her serious tone less than genuine. “I’m sorry. Mr. President, would you like me to stop kissing my husband?”

“You two are picking on me, aren’t you?”

“Only because we love you so much! Lighten up, Mr. President.”

“Fun seems to always be at my expense. I was hoping my son would be here to give some fancy-pants speech so I wouldn’t have to.”

Max appreciated the return to a weightier topic. “Marshall told me he wrote a speech for you. Don’t you have it?”

“I do. I’d just rather not give a speech at all.”

“You ran a multi-billion-dollar corporation, and you didn’t give the occasional speech?” Elizabeth asked.

“My dear, I owned a multi-billion dollar corporation which meant I didn’t have to give speeches or anything else that didn’t suit me. Senator Wilson keeps pressuring me to revise my speech.”

Max could tell Howard was getting upset. “Howard, you don’t have to change anything! You’re the president, for crying out loud.”

“Wilson’s not asking me to change anything; he wants me to add a few things. Can’t stand politicians. That man drives me insane with all of his fast-talking nonsense.”

“What’s he wanting to add?”

“He wants me to drum up support for a diplomatic solution with the UAE, try and broker a peace agreement.”

Max looked puzzled. “Can’t exactly discuss peace when Richard wants to go on the offensive and invade California.”

Howard’s hearty laugh surprised them both. “Arthur Wilson won’t be kissing my ass for much longer. The good senator will probably announce his candidacy for president.”

Elizabeth loved seeing Howard in a good mood. “Speaking of that, when’s the next election? I think I’d be a kick-ass congresswoman.”

“I’d vote for you.” Max winked.

A heavy pall settled over the group as Senator Arthur Wilson entered the restaurant. Having spent over thirty years in politics, Senator Wilson had been one of Howard’s strongest advocates when the PSA was established.