Meg Gardiner - The Liar’s Lullaby

“I’m in danger of being silenced. If that happens, I won’t be the last.”

Her speaking voice was bold, ringing, and rushed. “Searle, my love, my baby boy, Mister Blue Eyes with the silver tongue, listen close. Turn your ear, turn your heart, turn your head. Because I might not make it.”

Jo glanced at Tang. “Lecroix?”

Tang nodded.

“Things have gone haywire,” Tasia said. “I can’t tell you more than that. Telling you more would kill me. But if I die, it means the countdown’s on.”

A chill inched up Jo’s neck. She glanced at the tarp on the field.

“It means time’s running out like a train headed for a wreck. My death will be the evidence.” Tasia inhaled, like a swimmer coming up for air before plowing on. “I was confused, but not anymore. I thought I got away without being followed. But they’re after me. Robert McFarland makes that inevitable.” She paused. “Publish this in the event of my assassination.”

She played a heavy chord on the piano, and began to sing.

You say you love our land, you liar Who dreams its end in blood and fire Said you wanted me to be your choir Help you build the funeral pyre .

The chill crept across Jo’s shoulders.

But Robby T is not the One

All that’s needed is the gun

Load the weapon, call his name

Unlock the door, he dies in shame .

The melody changed up and went into the refrain.

Look and see the way it ends

Who’s the liar, where’s the game

Love and death, it’s all the same

Liar’s words all end in pain .

Tang stopped the playback. “There’s another verse, but you get the gist.”

“That’s the creepiest song I’ve ever heard.”

They stood above the field, silent under the harsh lights and the wind.

“ ‘They,’” Jo said.

“Unfortunately. And no, I don’t know whether it was just a paranoid rant.”

“Did she have a psych history?”

“Manic-depression. But that’s not my point.”

“She was bipolar? That’s huge. It’s—”

Tang raised a hand. “It’s not my point.”

Jo thought about it. “If she genuinely feared for her life and brought the gun for self-protection, it argues against an intent to commit suicide.”

“The stuntman claims she said, ‘He’s out there,’ and ‘It’s life or death.’ Maybe she was acting. Maybe she was delusional. But maybe not.”

“Are you suggesting somebody really wanted her dead? Why—because she was once married to Robert McFarland?”

Tang turned to her. “Will you perform the psychological autopsy? Are you in?”

“You bet I’m in.”

“Good. I need you to find out why Tasia McFarland was carrying a pistol that, according to California firearms records, is registered to the commander in chief of the United States.”

You can take my cash, but if you won’t shake my hand, I’ll light a fire up your ass…

THE MUSIC RAGED THROUGH THE PARKED TRUCK. IVORY TURNED IT UP. “You tell it, Searle.”

The man sang about the hardest life around, Ivory thought—being a white American. Work yourself into the grave, while the government confiscates your wages and an ungrateful world demands handouts or tries to blow you up.

She stared across the street at the ballpark. “It’s time to launch a rocket up somebody’s crack.”

Behind the wheel, Keyes chewed on a toothpick. “Unbunch your panties.”

“Searle Lecroix’s woman just got shot down like a dog. Two choppers got taken out—you think that wasn’t to cover the shooter escaping? You should put on a pair of tighty-whiteys yourself, and bunch them so tight you squeal.”

“Like you know how to fire a rocket launcher?” he said.

“You’ll teach me.”

That finally earned her a look from him.

“Tasia dying wasn’t any accident. It was a government hit, no joke.” Government came out “gubmint . ” “Government brought down the twin towers, Keyes—they wouldn’t think twice about killing McFarland’s first wife.”

Keyes looked away again. He watched the police and media spectacle outside the ballpark with a cool eye. People took that look for boredom, Ivory thought, when really he was scanning the scene for threats, soft targets, weak points in the police cordon. Years of experience, it came as a reflex to him.

“Question isn’t what the government does. It’s what we do about the government.” He turned off Lecroix’s music. “And entertainers don’t have the answer.”

He took out his phone and went online. His face, pale and pocked, looked vivid. His anger didn’t run hot; it was reptile anger—cold and submerged and liable to erupt in ruthless bursts. Being near it made Ivory feel confident. She was in the vanguard, with a man who would be the teeth and claws of the fightback.

She leaned close and saw him load the Tree of Liberty home page. On-screen was a message to the faithful.

Government, even in its best state, is but a necessary evil; in its worst state, an intolerable one.—Thomas Paine

“When did this post?” she said.

“Ten minutes ago.”

Tree of Liberty was the cyberdomain of True America. It was the online outpost of people like Keyes and Ivory, who saw the nightmare of government tyranny darkening the horizon. Tom Paine was their voice crying in the wilderness.

His post began, like all his essays, with a quote from the original Thomas Paine, the American revolutionary. Then it launched.

And so it begins.

Today, in front of a stadium crowd, the Enemy and his legions struck down Fawn Tasia McFarland. And they murdered her in such an audacious fashion because they knew what they’d pull off: a charade.

The circus monkeys of the mainstream media are already spinning Tasia’s death to suit Robert McFarland. It was an accident. Stunt calamity. Boo hoo.

Bullshit. The White House killed her because of what she knew, which was plenty.

The traitor who has seized the Oval Office is a smooth-talking jackal, but he can’t put the rumors to rest. Because, despite his lies, the truth is the truth: He was born in Cuba. Castro did finance his education. Despite the cover story concocted by the Pentagon, he called in the air strike that killed seven men in his platoon, and he did so because they were about to blow the whistle on his sexual deviancy and treason.

Nobody was better positioned than Tasia to know Robert McFarland’s lies. She was once his consort. And she was a patriot. Read her interviews. She didn’t shrink from speaking truth to power.

Now power has shut her up.

Before tyrants launch a crackdown, they assassinate their most dangerous foes: the people who could expose or stop them. Tasia’s murder is like a flare fired into the sky. It’s a signal that McFarland’s troops are moving into position. Time is short.

Robert Titus McFarland must be stopped. Who will do that? The dumb populace, grown soporific on junk food and reality TV? Never. When the government opens its internment camps, they’ll slouch through the gates without complaint, like cattle.

Patriots must stop McFarland. And it’s pucker time, because he has us in his sights. But we refuse to shrink from the coming fight.

His name is Legion, people. Stand up. Rip off his mask.

Rise.

Keyes and Ivory stared at the screen. Nobody knew who Tom Paine was. Tree of Liberty skipped around the Net, changing host sites to prevent the feds from tracing it. Paine was a specter.

“Fuckin’ A,” Keyes said.

Ivory drew a breath. She had chills. “We’re at ground zero. We need to send him photos.”