Most Revolutionary - Chapter Twenty-One

A Mean State of Torture

Previously: Acting President Alecta O’Roura-Chavez fights off nightmares of the genocide in Palestine. Secret Service Director William Kingsley arrives at the Perez farmstead where he is confronted by Billy “The Moto Kid” Yonkin as an unwelcome outsider from the Deep State. Sabia, Roca, and Jenna drag fugitive ex-FBI Director Maximilian Castelan into the coal mine survival bunker and leave him at the mercy of captive President Kristen Silver and her re-election campaign manager Ellen Lin. Tucker Gere remains bound as Sabia’s fourth hostage.

• MOST REVOLUTIONARY — A SERIALIZED NOVEL

During a killer Iowa blizzard, fearless DAPL militant and radical plant nursery grower Sabia Perez first saves then kidnaps the stranded President of the USA to ransom a better world.

Sabia fights Castelan hand-to-hand through the living room and into the kitchen where he pins her against the counter and shoves his forearm onto her throat. She twists and bites his arm then drops from his grip. He yanks her to her feet, and she grabs a steel pot by the handle and cudgels his skull. He knocks the pot from her hand. She grabs a long serrated knife and slashes his upper arm, the blade cutting into bone. They both scream. Castelan thrashes wildly against the knife, Sabia hangs on and saws deeper. Castelan chokes Sabia—

---

Sabia half wakes in her bedroom in the underground home below the farmhouse.

She gasps. Eyes open, flick around.

When she realizes where she is, she closes her eyes. Sleeps. So weary.

---

In the great room, Jenna and Roca stand over Tucker Gere. He is bound to a rough-hewn oak post. The duct tape gag is off, and Tucker wonders who on Earth can hear him now.

“Thank you for getting rid of the gag,” he says, hoping they will be empathetic and throw it away.

“What the Hell do we do with this guy?” Roca looks to Jenna.

Jenna shakes her head. “Wait for Sabia to wake.”

“He’s totally innocent of anything.”

“Sabia’s decision. She doesn’t hope for the best. She acts against worst possible outcomes.”

“How many different laws can she break and get away with?”

“To uphold higher law, Roca, you know that.”

“It doesn’t feel like higher law to me,” says Tucker. He strains against the rope binding his arms and chest. “Let met get this straight. Castelan in disguise — ex-FBI Director — he goes incognito because he's a fucking homicidal traitor, and he kills me for my car, he thinks, and he stuffs me in the trunk and drives halfway across the country to Iowa, because he’s on to Sabia and maybe the location of President Silver? And then he gets here and you capture him? How?”

“We fight back, that’s how,” says Jenna. “Good thing you dressed warm, Tucker. That trunk must have been beyond ice cold.”

“My work gear is the only reason I’m alive.”

“We’re the only reason you’re alive, Son,” says Roca. “Me, Sabia, and Jenna.”

“Okay, so do the right thing now and free me.”

“Sabia makes the call,” says Roca. “You owe us, so you can wait. How’s your neck after Jenna worked on it?”

Tucker flexes, side to side. “Everything still attached. I guess.”

“Good. See? We do what we can. Let’s see what Sabia says before we do anything more. Except — first we eat. You like eggs?” Roca moves around the kitchen, chopping onions, garlic, green peppers and preparing eggs by the stove.

Jenna settles cross-legged on the floor facing Tucker.

“You heard of the Dakota Access Pipeline, Tucker? The Bakken pipeline. It's world-ending. Oil,” she says. “It goes from North Dakota, near Canada, to Nederland, Texas, near the Gulf of Mexico. It's owned by the rich who profiteer off the death of Earth. Carbon emissions, climate collapse, I'm sure you've heard, right. These guys don't care whose water they ruin, whose air they poison, who they kill. I tried to destroy it, the pipeline. In multiple states. Me and Sabia. And another young woman named Jasmine Maldonado. We burned shit up. Tens of million of dollars.”

“Eco sabotage. Good for you. It’s crazy and hopeless but it can’t hurt.”

“Read your fucking history. It works. Right place, right time. Maybe not every time. But you haven’t heard of us. That’s because the news buries people like me and Sabia — the saviors of the world basically. Those who fight hard for a livable future. So that's who I am when I’m not nursing at the clinic. And that’s Sabia outside of school and her orchards. And that’s Jasmine when not teaching. And there’s other fighters working other problems. Not enough fighters. Not yet.”

“There’s too many problems, that’s why,” says Tucker. “I got nothing against Eco Warriors. I admire that shit.”

“Good, then. Sorry you gotta stay tied up. We're in the middle of an action here. Not to mention a revolution. It’s not like we have a choice.”

“You do have a choice.”

“Not anymore. Not for a long time, really.”

Tucker strains against the rope. “I saw Sabia on TV. That snowball fight, when she was on the big pile of snow. No one knows it was real, her revolutionary talk. I thought she was just siding with the ransom demands — not actually making them.”

“Now you know.”

“So Castelan shows up — you kidnap him. Ground Force One — blown up close by. President Silver — not onboard in the moment — somehow. And Silver is Sabia’s captive? Really?”

“If you’re good, we might show you.”

“Oh, how kind of you. Sounds like a Hell of a story though. A little sketchy. I mean I can hardly believe it.”

“Believe it like you believe that rope around your chest, Tucker.”

“So you’re holding President Silver — and she’s still alive?”

“Very much so,” says Roca without turning from the stove. He peels garlic and onions, his back to Jenna and Tucker. “There’s this saying, ‘Take no prisoners’ — but taking prisoners is all we do around here.”

“So far, so good,” says Jenna.

“No one is killing anyone,” says Roca. “No one is going to die.”

“And you did this all on your own?” says Tucker. “The three of you. Like, what — The Three Amigos? The Three Musketeers? The Three Blind Mice?”

“This guy is almost funny,” says Jenna. “Just Sabia, really. She got lucky. Silver and Lin sheltered here with Sabia and Roca when their bus got stuck in the blizzard. Then a mix-up put all the Secret Service in the vicinity of Ground Force One when it was bombed. And then — Sabia went full-blown Sabia. The real question is, Why did she do it?”

“Because she’s crazy. There’s no other explanation. Or, oh, wait, don’t tell me — ‘for the Revolution’.”

“And for one other reason too.”

“This should be good.”

“Her fucking temper. Sabia’s sweet. The sweetest. Except when she’s not. Then she’s really not.”

Roca turns from the stove and looks at Jenna. “Sabia didn’t get that temper from me.”

“It’s not your fault, Roca,” says Jenna.

“It’s not to my credit,” says Roca.

“So Sabia’s a hothead,” says Tucker.

Roca turns his back to Jenna and Tucker. He glances down at the knife and the onion in his hands. “She got it from her mother,” he says quietly. “My daughter.”

“And where is she?” says Tucker.

Roca says nothing.

“She’s dead,” says Jenna. “Sabia’s mom was trying to save money by not going to the doctor — and it cost her. Sabia never forgave the government for that. And she never will. That’s why she vows to never release President Silver.”

“Ever?”

Jenna nods. “Now you know why you’re tied up. And why we wait for Sabia to wake. And why you may be tied up for a while.”

Tucker stares past every object in the room to the far plank wall. It’s a nice room. Rustic. Plank walls. Potted plants and grow lights. Wooden furniture. Cushions. Jars of seeds, nuts, and dried herbs. Contemporary Native pottery. A television. The smell of good food from the kitchen. A nice room still makes for a lousy prison. “I’m collateral damage — two times over,” he says. “Just lucky.”

---

Still dressed in their sleeping wear of tee shirts and sweats, in the coal mine survival bunker far below the Perez farmhouse, President Silver and Campaign Manager Ellen Lin loom over the bound, gagged, and desperate Ex-FBI Director Maximilian Castelan who lies flat on the cold cement floor.

Head up, Castelan surveys the bunker as much as he can. He tries to understand the situation. He hopes to survive to do something about it. He looks for a way out.

“What can we possibly do with him alone in here?” says Lin.

“Whatever we wish,” says Silver. She contemplates the bound former official at her feet. “What do you do with your attempted murderer?”

“Throw him to the police.”

“Not an option. Let’s find out what he knows about the assassination and coup attempt.”

“He will lie.”

“Every hostage does. And he’s a double hostage now. Sabia’s and ours.” Silver pokes Castelan with her foot in sock. “We won’t torture him, Ellen. That’s not who we are.”

“Who said anything about—”

“Anyway, it doesn’t work, torture — according to Sabia. And who are we to doubt her? Sabia says the fable of torture works for movies and random idiots on the street and in the fantasies of the sadistic and cruel motherfuckers of the world.”

“She meant the CIA. And the military. And the police.”

“I know. Torture was no official US policy until Iraq and the George W. Bush administration. Supposedly. You know that, right? But I don't torture, you don't torture, we don't torture.”

“Sure,” says Lin. “Not outside of prisons and police actions and war — and God knows what else. Remember, I’m a realist, Kristen. And so are you.”

“There’s a broom in the utility closet, Ellen.”

“So?”

“I’ll use the soft end. I promise.”

Lin retrieves the broom for President Silver, who jabs Castelan in the ribs with the hard end of the stick. Castelan flinches, grunts, and covers up. “He deserves this,” Silver says to Lin.

“No.” Lin grabs the broom from President Silver. “We’re not monsters. He is. Leave him alone. Come on. He’ll talk on his own. I bet he wants to.” Lin throws the broom toward the treadmill.

“Fine.” President Silver kneels and unwraps the duct tape from around Castelan’s head and peels it off his mouth.

Castelan nods at the broom. “That’s torture,” he says.

“Fuck you,” says Silver.

“As you know so well,” says Lin.

“That’s not who we are, Kristen,” says Castelan. “Isn’t that what you believe? I guess not you and Roca. He popped me pretty good.”

“That was revenge and grief in the moment,” says Lin. “You brutalized his granddaughter. It’s wrong but understandable.”

“You tried to kill me, Max. Why?” says Silver.

“I did not,” says Castelan. “I was framed.”

President Silver retrieves the broom. Lin steps in front of her. Silver elbows her aside. Silver jabs the handle hard again into Castelan’s ribs. He yells and turns to the base of the wall.

Silver studies him. She jabs again.

“What do you want to know?! I’ll tell you anything you want to know!”

“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t,” says Silver. “Unfortunately for you, Max, I want you to know something too. I want you to know exactly how I feel about people who try to kill the President of the United States of America. That would be me.”

“And me,” says Lin. “And all our colleagues.”

Silver drives the long solid broomstick into Castelan’s ribs and leans on it with all her weight. Castelan writhes free. Silver hits him again.

---

The next day at noon, at the far end of the greenhouse, Sabia skips rope on a hemp mat above the packed pea gravel below. She is dressed like a boxer in training — hooded gray sweats with hood up, well-worn sneakers. She jumps rapidly in high-intensity intervals. She takes brief breaks, then goes fast again.

Sweating, she strips to sports bra and boxer shorts. She slips off her trainers and socks, then continues the workout — colorful power fist tattoos prominent.

She takes a longer break. She resumes the workout, filling her mind and eyes with the brilliant snow and stark orchard outside.

Roca and Jenna come into the greenhouse from the underground home. They follow the slapping sound of the rope and glimpse Sabia through the plants.

“Muhammad Ali of the greenhouse,” says Jenna quietly.

“She needs to work it all out,” says Roca.

They watch briefly.

“Come on,” says Roca. “Leave her be.”

Roca and Jenna go back the way they came.

Sabia finishes her workout, tosses the rope aside, raises her arms high as if in praise to the sky.

Sabia holds her palms facing each other, forming an open vase shape with her arms. She turns her palms forward, then outward, then inward again.

She cradles one hand in the other and brings her arms slowly to her chest. She meditates. Some might call it prayer. She thinks of a bright point of light, only of light. She is singular of mind. She is all-expansive. Warm and bright. The light grows, intensifies in her mind, in the blood of her brain. The top of her head lifts off, as if she were reading a brilliant poem.

---

Hemp rope bound to the rough oak beam in the great room, Tucker Gere sits in a chair and savors a bowl of cabbage stew.

Jenna has slackened the rope and freed his hands to eat. Roca fusses over the stew in pot on stove, adding garnish — chives and parsley.

Jenna relaxes on the couch nearby skimming through horticultural books.

Sabia pads in from her bedroom, her hair wet from showering after jumping rope and meditating. She goes to school almost when she wants to now and stays home when she does not. She is all but graduated, and the school seems to understand that her situation is special — though in a very different way from what it actually is.

“How’s the stew, Tucker?”

“Boiled cabbage. Amazing. Who knew?”

“Cabbage is killer,” says Sabia. “Heals your guts. All the cruciferous are good, brassicas — broccoli, cauliflower, brussels sprouts, kale — but cabbage especially. Kills cancer. Digests into amazing chemicals. Only more potent if you eat it raw. Or fermented.”

“Will it heal my aching neck?”

“It's anti-inflammatory. You’re so lucky. Castelan’s a real killer.”

“Everyone keeps telling me how lucky I am. And here I sit, chained to a post.”

“You gotta start somewhere, Kid,” says Jenna.

“Wonderful, thanks. I’m so lucky to get traded from a murderer to a kidnapper. Next maybe — if I’m extra lucky — to an organ thief.”

“We're not kidnappers, really,” says Jenna. “Not at heart.”

“So comforting. What are you then? Good Samaritans?”

“Revolutionaries. I told you,” says Jenna. “To the good.”

“Crime fighters,” says Sabia. “We fight the worst crimes of all. The crimes of the civilized. The so-called civilized.”

Tucker considers the stew — not just cabbage. Carrots and potatoes, turmeric and garlic, ginger and onions, a touch of honey, salt. All but the salt and honey from the Perez greenhouse and root cellar. “Good soup,” he says. “Mutineers can cook, I guess.”

“It’s stew. Way more hearty than soup. If it was just me, I would throw in some seeds and nuts too,” says Roca.

“Nuts. I can see that,” says Tucker.

At the stove, Roca stirs the pot, adds more parsley. “Our secret is not in the sauce. We’re good cooks because we’re great growers.”

Jenna holds up a book on permaculture cropping. “There’s too much to learn.”

“He’ll teach you everything you need to know,” says Sabia. She puts her arm around Roca. “I’ll eat when I get back, Abuelo. I’m going out.”

Roca ladles stew into a bowl and extends it to Sabia. “Not to the last hour of school.”

“I just need to get out, Roca. I’m sorry that only I get to go. I’ll stop by Yonkin’s and get some eggs.”

“Do it now while Billy’s in class.”

“I’m not afraid of Billy. His day’s coming.”

---

Dressed for the elements, Sabia steps onto the porch and braces against the cold. She blinks into the bright white then walks to her truck and notices a dark SUV crawling down the road. It slows further and pulls into the farmhouse drive.

Secret Service Director William Kingsley parks behind the Perez pickup truck with the snow shovels in the bed. Sabia walks toward the SUV as Kingsley gets out.

“I can see you coming a mile away, Kingsley. Do you remember when we first met?”

“You mean the few weeks ago that seem like years? I was hoping to catch up with you.”

“You’ll never catch me.”

Kingsley is thrown.

“Catch you at what?”

Sabia shrugs. “At whatever. Living large. What do you want, Bill?”

“There's new developments, Sabia. They concern you.”

“Did the Secret Service run out of memos? Lose my contact info? Because I’m always available.” She holds up her arms and gestures to the farmstead. “I don’t go very far. And yet here you are.”

“There’s a lot to investigate in Iowa, as you might imagine.”

Sabia glances around. “The sun is brilliant, the wind is breezy, the air is cold. Investigate what? The weather? All seems calm and peaceful to me. This is Iowa. You can read weather reports now, I hope.”

“Mock on, Sabia.”

“Glad to.”

Kingsley slams the SUV door shut.

“Sabia, I’m here to tell you that ex-FBI Director Castelan remains a fugitive. Indications are that he may be headed this way.”

“Oh.” Sabia shakes her head. “He may be headed this way. Really?”

“It's likely, I think.”

Sabia kicks a clump of snow with her boot. “Thanks for the warning, Bill. You’re here to protect me? You’re so helpful. Always so helpful.”

“Listen, I’m pushing the FBI to get its guards back here. I wanted to tell you myself. I think it’s necessary.”

“Never a cop when you need one. Always a cop when you don't.”

“That's not fair.”

“Tens of millions of black and brown people and plenty of poor whites say it is. Hundreds of millions, if we're thinking international. Are we thinking international, Bill?” Sabia puts her hands on her hips. “What would that monster Castelan want with poor little me? Why would he come here? To learn how to farm? Grow eggplant and celery?”

“Can we talk, Sabia? Are you headed out? I thought you might be home from school soon. And here you are.”

“Fuck school. I passed all the tests I ever need to.” Goddamn. She’s increasingly pissed. “You need counseling, Bill. Chasing after a girl like me. Iowa is no place for a city boy like you. Not out here in the countryside. Not with your high and mighty job. Your ice-cold official ways.”

“Okay, Sabia. Look, I have a lot to learn about Iowa, right? So tell me.” Kingsley steps up to the side of the truck. “What’s with the shovels in the bed here? You have another farm you take these to? Some property I don’t know about?”

Kingsley grabs a handle of one shovel. Sabia launches a kind of death stare. “Don’t,” she says.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t touch my shit.”

“What are you doing with two shovels?” Kingsley has no sense that the shovels are relevant to anything but there’s no reason not to needle Sabia, since she’s always hammering him. “Do you play tennis, Sabia?”

Sabia knows exactly what he means, of course. She’s amazed it took him this long to get to it. Did she go too far with the tennis ball in the ransom video? There’s no way it could be connected to her, not for real.

“Not exactly,” she says.

“Not exactly?”

“No. My friends fool around on the courts at the park sometimes.”

“You don’t?”

“Sometimes.”

“It’s good for the brain,” Kingsley tells her. “Tennis, ping pong, pickle ball — hand-to-eye coordination.”

“Is that a fact,” says Sabia. “Natural EMFs are good for the brain, blood, and bones — grounding — being in direct contact with earth. Skin to dirt, skin to leaf. Digging, planting, harvesting, going barefoot.”

“I was just wondering, Sabia—”

“Hey, Bill.” Sabia needs to regain control now, this time, every time. “Do you like Mexican food?”

Kingsley wonders if this a test of some too-obvious sort. “Always have. Sure.”

“There’s no other way you could answer, though.”

Kingsley shrugs. “Genuinely, I do. Nachos, salsa, beans, rice — what’s not to like?”

“Pico de gallo is to die for. There’s this place in Des Moines. All-day breakfast. Great migas. I get it every time.”

“I’ll check it out.”

“Ride with me.”

Kingsley hesitates. “How’s that?”

“Let’s go eat. I just worked out. I’m hungry. And I know you’re obsessed with me. If you already ate, you can get coffee. Mexican diners have the best coffee. Go figure.”

Kingsley is more than willing, especially since he’s operating on nothing more than a continental breakfast snack at his hotel. “Okay, so what is this — anarchist sits down with a cop day?”

“Come on, I’ll drive. You sit still and try to do no damage.”

Kingsley follows Sabia to the pickup truck without the shovels. He gets in the cab, and as he does, he moves and examines a large pair of winter gloves on the seat.

“These gloves look too big to be yours.”

Sabia snatches the gloves of Tucker Gere. She throws them behind the seat. She avoids Kingsley’s gaze. “I have friends, you know.”

Kingsley considers. “Nice big gloves. Heavy duty. Must be a big guy. A boyfriend?”

“I'm hot-blooded, Kingsley. Don't doubt it.”

“Who’s the lucky guy? Probably I met him. I investigated so many around here.”

“That’s none of your goddamn business.”

Sabia backs furiously out of the drive. She points the truck north toward Des Moines and goes hard on the gas.

Kingsley remembers meeting Avery Yonkin in the first days after the attack while following up on an inspection at the Yonkin farmstead. And now thanks to Billy he knows that Avery and Sabia are close. But Avery is anything but a big guy.

So who belongs to the gloves?

And why is Sabia taking him to eat, in Des Moines? To get him away from the farmstead? Kingsley turns in his seat and looks back to the farmhouse. It seems so small from even a short distance away.

“Big land, Iowa,” says Kingsley. He glances behind the seat at the gloves. “Cold land. People need to be tough. Prepared, well-equipped. To settle and survive here, no?”

“The toughest,” says Sabia, never taking her eyes off the road.

---

In the bunker, President Silver and Ellen Lin stare down at Castelan huddled on the floor, bound foot, hand, and mouth.

Silver leans over Castelan and rips the duct tape off his mouth. “Why’d you try to kill me, Max?”

“I need to piss,” says Castelan.

“Fuck you,” says Silver.

“You don't want me to piss on the floor. I guarantee it.”

“I told you,” says Lin. “Hostages are a pain in the ass. We should know, right? It’s non-stop babysitting. And Sabia is to blame.”

“We need to drag him to the toilet,” says Silver. “We need to figure that out.”

“I’m not dragging anyone anywhere.”

“Jesus Christ, Ellen.” President Silver slaps the tape back on Castelan’s mouth. She paces. She walks past the treadmill, she walks back. She stops and stares at a blank television screen on the wall.

She smiles.

“Tell me,” says Lin.

“Let’s make him our slave.”

“No. Kristen.”

“Hell yes.”

“To do what?”

“Whatever!”

“It’s campaign season! Things leak. Even from holes deeper in the ground than this. You are not going to enslave him — whatever that means. And we need to watch what we say. Like, right now.”

“Oh, come on, Ellen. We’re fucking prisoners of fate. There’s no cameras recording any and every damn thing down here. We can speak and act like real adults for a change. And imagine if this were a reality TV show, the fucking stars we would be! Anyway, l would deny everything. And no one would believe this psycho on the floor.”

“We’re not slavers, Kristen. And we’re not hostage takers. We need to defend ourselves in this cave against this man who tried to kill us both. Remember?”

“You got to admire his having the stones to try.”

“To assassinate? He killed our colleagues. No you do not.”

“All I’m saying, Ellen — let’s put Castelan to good use.”

“To do what? Clean our dishes? Wash our clothes? Mop the floor? We’re the ones who need shit to do around here. And Castelan needs to be an object lesson to the country behind bars. Or possibly be executed for treason. Not enslaved.”

“I bet there’s state secrets we can work out of him, Ellen. You don’t know. Let’s make him earn his keep for once.”

“Let him rot.”

Silver glances down at the ex-FBI Director. “I don’t imagine he’s much of a conversationalist.”

“Exactly. There’s no needs we have that Maximilian Castelan can ever fulfil now.”

President Silver touches the tips her fingers to the base of her neck. “Maybe,” she says. “Maybe no needs that you have, Ellen.”

“What?” Ellen stares at Lin’s fingers tracing her neck. “No. Oh, no. Kristen. Don’t be disgusting. That’s not even funny.”

“It’s the way of the world, Ellen.”

“No. No, it’s not. You’re not a sicko.”

“It is,” says President Silver.

“You’re still the President, remember,” says Lin. “You should act like it.”

“I know exactly what I am, Ellen. And no one dares contradict me. Not here. Not anywhere.”

President Silver pins Castelan and Lin, each in turn, with her gaze.

Then she smiles. She may be getting used to captivity. “Cheer up, Ellen,” she says. “The campaign won’t last forever, and neither will our time as hostages. And just think what you get out of it — not one memoir but two! The first will burnish my legacy. And the second — when you are old and I am dead — you can tell the unvarnished truth of it all — what really went down in the bunker. You can even make shit up for all I care and for all anyone can know. See, I give you two books instead of one — and both are pots of gold. The feel-good story that makes me sound good, and the real story that makes you the toast of the town. Decades from now. You’re welcome.”

Lin appears to age a decade in the moment. “Do not degrade yourself with this assassin, Madame President.”

“Relax, Ellen. I’ll do as I please.”

“Ma’am—”

“Shut up!” Silver seethes.

President Silver storms over to the TV and powers it on directly. She taps the volume high. Two news moderators stare back at her as they listen to a recording of Acting President Alecta O’Roura-Chavez.

President Silver is stunned by what she hears — Alecta’s voice, recorded, the audio imperfect, distant. A chyron below the moderators’ tense faces scrolls in continuous loop: This is the voice of Acting President Alecta O’Roura-Chavez.

“Mountainview Credit Agency — founded in this terrible time of national, global, and planetary emergency — will pay for the needed goods and services of all people: health care, housing, education, debt relief, childcare, climate care, food care, animal care, basic living expenses and more. Dire needs, long since neglected. Mountainview money will go to workers and producers and especially to those in the most difficult circumstances to create a land that is healthy and equitable, civil and prosperous, comprehensively so, for the first time in history.”

The recording audibly cuts off and then continues:

“I appoint all the financial regulators. At the Federal Reserve. At the Treasury Department. At the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency. At the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation. At the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. I also appoint the directors at the federal agencies that will use and distribute most of these funds. Of course, I appoint all the officials of the Cabinet that direct the Environmental Protection Agency, and the Departments of Education, Housing, Health and Human Services, Labor, Commerce, Transportation, Defense, Interior, Justice, Energy, Agriculture, and more. These Directors will go along to get along, for the People, or they will be replaced by those who will. All the financial regulators will make an exception for this public-oriented private bank. Mountainview.”

“And there you have it, Folks,” says the lead news moderator. “There’s a reason we listened to this leaked piecemeal tape three times over, in quick succession. It’s mind-boggling. The implementation of these unprecedented fiscal measures would represent a tectonic shift in the policy of the United States of America. The Acting President was not elected to the top office; instead—”

“Well, she was on the Presidential ticket — by name,” says the other news moderator. “Still, we must wonder what other policy blockbusters might be found on this anonymous tape. Everyone is anxious to gain access to the original and complete recording. Back after the break with a panel of officials and pundits to break it all down.”

President Silver Screams.

“What the fuck! What on Earth is ‘Mountainview Credit Agency’ and ‘Mountainview money’? It’s outrageous. And how dare Alecta threaten to replace my Cabinet and my other appointees? Those are my people. This is my government. And massive new spending programs— Who on Earth does she think she is?”

Lin’s smirk is subtle and pointed. “Well, Kristen, Alecta thinks she is the President, and so she acts like it. If in her own very sappy and hopeless way. We’re not exactly in a position to object. Now are we?”

Castelan is all but thrashing on the floor — trying to speak.

“Ellen, take the tape off his mouth.”

“Why me?”

“I did it last time. And the time before.”

“I’m not touching that guy.”

“Christ.” President Silver kneels down and tears off the tape. “Why’d you try to kill me, Max?”

Castelan licks his lips. “See — Alecta is the one doing the coup — not me. It was never me. I did not do what you think I did.”

“Bullshit,” says Lin. “Shut the fuck up.”

“So what are you then, Max, my Guardian Angel? What did you do?” says Silver.

“Not that. I was framed. Together, you and me, Madame President, we could escape, and then I could end — I mean, I could — we could rein her in. Alecta.”

“You would ‘end’ her?” says Lin. “Alecta? That’s what you were going to say. You would ‘end Alecta’. You’re such a piece of shit, Max. You can’t help us, and we don’t want your help. You can’t even help yourself.”

Castelan and Silver lock eyes for a long moment. Then President Silver glances up at the television, still on commercial.

“I really need to piss,” says Castelan.

“You will ‘end’ no one,” says Lin. “No one else.”

Lin steps up to Castelan and, with the heel of her right foot, stomps his ribs. He rolls into her, trying to knock her down, but she is too nimble.

“That’s not who we are,” she says. She kicks and stomps again.

President Silver does not think to interfere as the news returns with the voice and image of Alecta all over it.

Exhausted, out of breath, Lin collapses to a kitchen chair. She leans on the table. “That’s not who we are,” she says.