Most Revolutionary - Chapter Twenty-Four
Breaking Bounds
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.
Previously: Secret Service Director William Kingsley recruits Sabia’s farm neighbor Billy “The Moto Kid” Yonkin to spy on Sabia. Kingsley photographs possible evidence in the cab of Sabia’s pickup truck. Ex-FBI Director Maximilian Castelan endures captivity in the coal mine survival bunker beneath the Perez farmhouse with President Silver and Ellen Lin. Sabia has a heart-to-heart with Myra Yonkin and sets up Kingsley. Acting President Alecta O’Roura-Chavez pushes to meet the demands.
Chapter Twenty-Four — Breaking Bounds
Jenna Ryzcek feels she is hibernating through the revolution.
She sits on the floor across from Tucker Gere who remains bound and tied to a post, in the great room of the Perez underground home.
Roca moves gently in his rocker nearby reading a seed catalog.
Tucker Gere is the victim of Castelan’s brutal attack, so it hardly seems fair to keep him tied up, but if freed he’s an obvious threat to Sabia’s great transgression. Jenna thinks the least she can do is keep Tucker company. Anyway, she’s glad to have a new presence on this long winter day.
“I don’t believe you,” says Tucker.
“Which part?” says Jenna.
“The part where Sabia kidnapped President Silver and her campaign manager Ellen Lin. No one could plan that, let alone a girl in the countryside.”
“Sabia pulled you off the street at gunpoint, remember? She put your face in the cement. And you call her a girl.”
“Sweet Sabia,” says Roca.
“Am I even in Iowa?” says Tucker. “Who knows where Castelan dragged me? I could be anywhere.”
“You’re in Iowa, Kid. And in Iowa is where you’ll remain. This is exactly where you need to be right now — trust me,” says Jenna.
“With this rope around my neck.”
“We need to do this.”
“No you don’t.”
“This ain’t your Baltimore, Kid. Sorry. Welcome to Iowa.”
“So show me President Silver, if you actually did kidnap her.”
Jenna gets up and walks around the post. She smacks it and looks down at Tucker.
“Do you think Castelan dragged your frozen corpse all the way to Iowa to hang out with the cows? He came for Silver. And Sabia. He knew what he was doing. He was bad at it. And bad in general. That’s the reality.”
“Show me the President.”
“That’s up to Sabia. Prepare yourself.” Jenna crouches in front of Tucker. “The coal mine bunker is probably your new home.”
“So Sabia’s the boss around here? You do what she says.”
“There’s no boss in this house. Unless it’s Roca.”
“Sounds like Sabia is the boss,” says Tucker.
Roca looks up from the catalog. “Jenna, show him Silver — why not? We're too deep into this to not keep diving further down. Center of the Earth, here we come.” Roca flips a page and pores over it.
“I don't want to piss off Sabia, Roca. Maybe she has a plan for Tucker we don’t know.”
Roca smacks the seed catalogue onto his lap. “There’s no plan, Jenna. None of this is planned. Sabia literally threw me to the ground to start this whole thing — her own abuelo — twice. Pissing off Sabia is part of the day now. You adjust your socks and move on.”
“So there it is,” says Tucker. “Sabia is the boss — your boss, Jenna. And she’s a pisser.”
Jenna leans forward and pushes Tucker in the chest. “I’m your boss, Tucker.” She stands up and walks away. “I hope you enjoy Iowa.”
Sweat-soaked, President Silver runs on the treadmill in the bunker.
She faces the couch where Castelan lies flat, tied in place. Silver watches him. It’s strange to have a third presence in the bunker. A former colleague. A subordinate. An assassin. Her assassin. Would be.
Ellen Lin stands in front of the TV on the wall watching cable news.
Lin can hardly stand Castelan’s presence. What cruel punishment is this? None that she deserves.
Silver runs. She cannot stop staring at Castelan — fugitive, prisoner, former FBI Director. Maybe this is where they both belong. Deep underground. Sabia thinks so, in her own twisted way. President Silver wonders what real power she has over Castelan now, and what it’s worth.
The power to do what down here? And how to forget — Castelan tried to kill her.
Silver runs. She watches Castelan slumber on the couch. The man would see her dead.
There’s power in payback, she thinks, and she has some increasingly warm ideas of how that payback might be administered.
Billy and Avery’s mom, Myra Yonkin slides one hand over the hard maple butcher block countertop in the kitchen of her farmhouse. She loves the solid sleek feel and the creamy light look of the sugar maple wood. Modern marble is nice if you can afford it, which the Yonkins can, thanks to longstanding grain subsidies, but Myra likes the natural feel of the wood. It looks good and lived in, like the whole house, six generations strong. She takes the cash for eggs from Sabia and pockets it.
“I'll tell my husband what's going on with Avery and Billy, Sabia. Both.”
“Good. Avery’s great. Billy — no. Tell Mr. Yonkin about Avery's shotgun. It’s mine now. Tell him about Billy spying and trespassing and bullying. Tell Mr. Yonkin what Billy does to me. Ask him if he wants Billy to go away for good. Because I’ll send him there if I need to.”
Ms. Yonkin’s face is pinched, her tone understated. “I’m sorry Billy has been in your face, Sabia. We heard about Avery's gun. And the drone. Did you shoot down Billy’s drone or did Avery?”
“Ask him.”
“He says you did.”
“Then that's what happened.”
“Is it, Sabia? Did you tell Avery to say that? He's not a great liar. Not yet. Boys lie for girls they like though — don't they. Boys like Avery. And girls — well — girls lie to survive.”
“It's my gun now, Ms. Yonkin. My gun shot down that drone. Billy needs to watch his ass around me.”
“I’ll talk to Billy. So will his father. Him and Director Kingsley.”
Sabia scoffs. “Amazing how much energy, time, and attention needs to go to certain boys and men to keep them from being just plain bad.”
Ms. Yonkin considers it. “It’s better than the alternative, Honey, not paying attention. Billy is so stubborn sometimes.”
“It’s because he gets away with shit. He doesn’t get away with shit around me.”
“Well, I’m glad you have the shotgun rather than Avery. He doesn’t need a gun. He’s not that way. Just don’t shoot Billy with it.”
Sabia shakes her head. “I’ll grow Billy up quick if I need to. Don’t leave it to me and Avery to mind Billy’s ass — or he may not have one.”
Ms. Yonkin stares hard out the window of the door. “I’ll talk to Billy. Be careful, Sabia. Live and let live, right? Especially Billy, I know.”
“Thanks for the eggs.” Sabia stacks the cartons, takes them from the counter. She would buy more but it would look suspicious — one girl, too many eggs. She shops in multiple places now — often with cash.
Ms. Yonkin reaches out and grabs Sabia's arm, which rattles the eggs in the cartons.
“Be careful with Avery most of all.”
For a moment, Sabia almost pities Ms. Yonkin. Her boys are half out the door, half on their own at this age. Going, going, gone. These Yonkin boys are Sabia’s boys to deal with now. To know and to fight. To love the one, as she likes. To fend off the other, as she must. What more can Ms. Yonkin do with her boys now? Seems like it’s all on Sabia to deal with what is and what must be.
“Take care, Ms. Yonkin,” say Sabia, on her way out the door.
Sabia drives Director Kingsley back to her farmhouse, the short stretch, in silence. She parks the truck, turns off the engine. The cartons of eggs sit between them. She needs Kingsley to leave.
“What’d you tell, Billy,” she says. “Grow up? Get lost? Go home and die?”
“I told him to back off.”
“Really.”
“Yes.”
“You’re trying to catch me, aren’t you, Director. So you use Billy. You would be a fool not to. You even have the same goddamned name as him — William. To both of you, I’m prey. And you’re predator. Billy thinks he has the right to thug me.”
“I told him to back off, Sabia.”
“Billy’s a convenient tool of big predators like you,” says Sabia. “You won’t catch me at anything, Copper. You and your spies. I’ve got my own spies. Alecta, for one. She looks out for me.”
Cheeky, confident, overconfident. How hard should Sabia and friends be to catch if they really are involved in the disappearance of President Silver? Maybe there is nothing to it after all.
“Look, Sabia. I’ll be in the area for the next few days—”
“Come over for dinner, tomorrow night.”
Kingsley is speechless.
“Is that a yes, Kingsley? The better to spy on me.”
“I’m not spying on you, Sabia.”
“Oh, okay. Come to dinner and tell me what’s it like to work with Alecta. The media keeps hounding me about doing an interview — maybe you can give some advice on that too.”
Kingsley studies little Sabia, puffed up in her winter coat. He glances around at the farmstead. He realizes that he has never truly been welcomed to this countryside. He doubts that Sabia is welcoming him now.
“Make them pay you, Sabia. Really pay. That’s good news for you.”
“Media folks can be tricky shit,” says Sabia. “I know. I’m one online myself. You better have your facts straight if you come at me.”
“It’s the slam-bang sound bites that get you,” says Kingsley. “You don’t control anything when you go on air.”
“So let’s talk about it. And look around, Director.” Sabia nods outside at the ice and snow. “It's fucking winter in Iowa. Cold. Dark. It ain’t Hawaii. It can be lonely and depressing. Bring a little social for once in your life. I’m not cooking. Get takeout from Des Moines. Whatever you like. As long as it’s vegetarian. For you and me both. My kitchen, my rules. Actually, make it Indian. Not stupid hot, not boring mild.”
Kingsley considers. “Indian takeout. Medium spice. And bring advice about the media, also news of Alecta. Anything else?” He nods down at the cartons. “You’ve got eggs.”
“You don't like Indian?”
“I love Indian.”
“You don’t seem enthused.”
“It’s fine.”
“Good. Not that I care. It gets dark early still, Director, so don’t be late. Six o’clock.”
“This is dinner for two? None of your friends?”
“Show up, if you dare, Kingsley. I’m not gonna take a shit deal with the media. They’ve been throwing money at me constantly. When I finally take it, I’ll really take it. Play it for laughs, maybe, and bank it. You’ve been interviewed, right?”
“They will treat you very differently than they treated me.”
“Only at first. I’m not stupid. These guys are pros at interrogation. Like you. And I’m not. They’re pros of the format. They manipulate it, they try to manipulate whoever they interview.”
“You will know exactly what to say, Sabia. I think you will.”
“They’re practiced predators like yourself, Kingsley, and I'm their fresh prey. So is it a date, or not?”
Of course. “Six o’clock tomorrow. I’ll be here with Indian food. It’s not a date though. More like—”
“A professional obligation? I know you’ll try to interrogate me.”
“Who’s being interrogated now?”
“It’s a date then,” says Sabia.
When they exit the truck, Kingsley pretends to get caught up in the seat belt while halfway out the door. Sabia doesn't notice. So Kingsley grabs one of the gloves from behind the seat. He tucks it in his coat.
This is the second time in the day that President Silver has joined Castelan on the couch, where he remains bound and tied. She snores lightly on his shoulder.
Castelan looks at Lin who glares from her notebook. This has been going on for an hour.
Silver opens her eyes, takes a moment, realizes where she is and who she leans against. She puts her hand on Castelan’s leg, pats him.
“You’re a strong man, Max. Morally depraved. Mentally deficient. Utterly lacking a heart. But you are strong. I like having a man as a backstop.”
“He’s a fucking asshole,” says Lin.
“I’m tired of being couped up, Ellen,” says President Silver. “When do we get out of here?”
“You know the answer better than I, Kristen.”
“How’s that?” says Castelan.
“As soon as the cavalry arrives,” says President Silver.
“Well, there he is, the cavalry.” Lin points at Castelan. “Hog-tied and horrible. Is that who you want to save you?”
Silver studies Castelan. “He may prove useful.” Silver pats Castelan on his chest. Then she slaps his wounded shoulder.
“How you feeling now tough guy?”
“That’s torture. Technically.”
“Oh, for real,” says President Silver. “And that’s what you cops are all about making ever more legal. And practicing. Anyway, I’m the President. Feel free to file a complaint with my Attorney General.”
“Don't poke the bear, Kristen,” says Lin. “What if he gets loose?”
“Our would-be killer? That will never happen. The real bear has already been poked.” Silver slaps Castelan's shoulder again. Castelan flinches and pulls away. “Best case scenario, this guy barely survives.”
Sabia returns to the great room with the eggs from Myra Yonkin. She looks and feels exhausted.
Tucker sits alone on the floor, bound to the post. Sabia walks past him. She puts the eggs in the refrigerator, then turns to Tucker.
“Lonely much?”
“I’m on your side, Sabia. Don't keep me tied up.”
“You’ll live — thanks to me, Jenna, and Roca. We saved your life — it’s what we do, right — save lives. We’re the good guys, Tucker. You know that? Where is everyone?”
Sabia pours herself cold herbal tea from a glass pitcher in the refrigerator. She squeezes lemon into the cherry wood of her mug.
“They’re working in the greenhouse, I guess. Said they wouldn’t be long.”
“Thirsty?” She offers Tucker the tea. “It's spearmint.”
“I’m all cramped up here.”
“Do you want the tea or not?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Is Maryland warm this time of year, Tucker — the part you live in?”
“Depends who you're with.”
Sabia acknowledges the idea. “You’re a smart boy, Tucker. Maryland is warmer than Iowa, I know. By the coast.”
“Sabia!” Jenna comes in from the greenhouse to the kitchen. She washes her hands in the sink.
“How's work?” says Sabia.
“Done,” says Jenna. “How are you?”
“Still beat,” says Sabia. “Like I was in a fight I lost but actually won. I need sleep. Guess what.” Sabia toasts Jenna with the tea. “I have a date tomorrow night.”
“Avery?”
“Secret Service Director William Kingsley. Top cop. I invited him over for Indian takeout. He delivers.”
“That's very funny, Sabia.”
“Six o’clock. His phone will give away his location to the authorities, so we can’t kidnap him. Not this time.”
“Wait — you’re serious? Kingsley is the enemy.”
“Look at her,” says Tucker. “Is she ever not serious?”
“You don’t know me, Tucker,” says Sabia.
“How did you even— When did you see him?”
“Showed up when I left the house today. Acted like he was in the know and like he was gonna bust me first chance he got. So I drove him out of here, to Des Moines. We got Mexican. I love migas.”
“For fuck's sake, Girl. You took Kingsley in your truck? No more hostages, Sabia.”
“I told you. It’s not that kind of dinner.”
“Dinner with the Devil, it’s dangerous.”
Tucker claps his hands. “Oh, this is good. Better than Netflix. If only I wasn’t kidnapped, nearly killed, and tied to a post on the floor to watch it all.”
“Fuck Netflix,” says Sabia. “Colonizing pap. Fucking Money Heist — La Casa de Papel — that was the only good show. It didn’t go near far enough. Pose was good too. A few others. Dead To Me was funny because of how pissed that girl was. I kind of like pissy girls.”
“Kind of?” says Tucker.
“Tangerine was good. And The Florida Project,” says Jenna. We should go to Florida for the fucking palm trees. And the sand, the warm sand. If we weren’t, you know, totally—”
“Outlaw?” says Tucker.
“Busy,” says Jenna. “Sabia, if you take another hostage, we’ll probably never go anywhere ever again.”
“Billy fucking Yonkin better watch his back. I’m starting to get good at this,” says Sabia. “Anyway — first things first — we need a Castelan ransom video. Then squirrel away more volunteers in the bunker if we need to — our little nest of nuts for the winter. Billy would fit right in.”
“They’re not volunteers, Sabia.”
“Seem like it to me. Reluctant volunteers, maybe. I would take Billy’s mother too, if I had to. And Kingsley. And Alecta. Everyone is fair game if they cross the line. Ask Roca.”
“I’ll remember that,” says Jenna. “Would you throw Avery into the bunker?”
“He might be next. He better watch it.”
Jenna stares hard at Sabia. “Avery is not worth anything as a hostage.”
“You two are crazy,” says Tucker.
“Avery would never cross me, Jenna. He would never dare.”
“You don’t know that. This can’t go on forever, Sabia. How does it end? The fewer in the bunker the better.”
“Works so far,” says Sabia.
“I'm on your side, Sabia,” says Tucker. “A lot of people are. It’s not you against the world like you think it is.”
“It is,” says Sabia.
“Maybe you can't trust me,” says Tucker, “but you can trust me.”
“Sorry. You stay put.” Sabia looks around the kitchen. “Roca's got booze in here somewhere. I'll try to work it on Kingsley tomorrow. Loosen his lips. Get some leverage. But I need to sleep now or die.”
“Sabia, Kingsley is an investigator — you’re not.”
“Keep your enemies closer, Jenna.”
“If you blab the wrong thing and Kingsley finds out anything—”
“We’re fucked. He already knows about you, Jenna. Fugitive from justice. He probably suspects you and your friends for kidnapping Silver more than me and mine. So what if you were under house arrest at the time. You’re older, you’ve got a bigger network.”
“My sentence keeps getting longer.”
“Full pardon or bust, Girl.”
“Do they still hang traitors for treason?” says Tucker.
Sabia makes a left power fist at Tucker. “Do you want my fist in your eye?”
Tucker rubs his neck. “I already survived a killer — and whatever you are.”
“Keep trying,” says Sabia. “You’re not saved yet. None of us are.”
Roca returns to the kitchen from the greenhouse. He hugs Sabia.
“Mi hija.”
Sabia manages to set her tea on the counter without spilling it. “You smell like citrus and figs, Roca.”
“Your specialties.”
“And pawpaw, black elderberry, blackcaps. Black currants. Gooseberries. If so many different types of figs weren’t so easy to grow in pots, I might be the Pawpaw Queen instead of the Fig Girl.”
“Sabia is going to dine with the Devil tomorrow night, Roca,” says Jenna.
“Silver? As long as Sabia is healthy, happy, and safe, that’s all I care about.”
“I need sleep,” says Sabia.
“Bueno, bueno. Go to bed.”
“Sabia, wait — I forced Tucker to confess his sins when you were out,” says Jenna. “You should know who he is. And what do we do with him?”
Sabia looks at Tucker dubiously. “Typical normal guy looks like to me.”
“No current relationship. Talks with Mom and Dad once a week. He’s 29. Contract welder. His boss will miss him.”
“Not that much, I bet,” says Sabia.
“Former standout high school athlete. Decent shape now.” Jenna pinches Tucker’s arm. “And Tucker, how do you feel about kidnapping the President of the United States of America? To meet the demands of the people? How do you feel about the American Liberation Army?”
“You’re looking at it,” says Sabia. “All three of us.”
Tucker sighs, shrugs, shakes his head. “I survived Castelan. I’m just glad to be alive.”
“Send him to the pit,” says Sabia.
“Sabia wants to know if you’re on her side for real, Son,” says Roca. “Say, 'Yes'. It'll go easier on all of us.”
“How could I prove it?”
“You can’t,” says Sabia.
“Castelan's face was all over the TV news in that bar. Right in front of us. That disguise of his — what a creep. He bullshitted and called you a terrorist, Sabia — 'a little terrorist.' I called you a 'hero’.”
“Killers come in disguise,” says Sabia. “The Head of the FBI, though — not much of one — see history.” Sabia pats Tucker on the head. “Silver is totally unbearable, but you probably need to go in the bunker with her.”
“I'm good right here, thanks.”
“Let’s keep him at hand for now,” says Jenna. “I'll watch him. I’ll heal him.”
“And leave Silver and Lin alone with Castelan? Not for long,” says Roca. “Why not give Tucker his revenge on Castelan in the bunker?”
“I bet Silver castrated him already,” says Sabia.
“I’m a welder, not a guard,” says Tucker. “I don't want to get anywhere near that guy.”
“I don’t care,” says Sabia. “We get Castelan on video soon — dead or alive. Show the world the power of the American Liberation Army. We should do it right now, but I'm beat. We need more demands met. Alecta needs to get off her ass. And so do we. Tomorrow.” Sabia makes a power fist and taps Tucker again on the head. “You’re with us now, Kid,” she says to the man a decade older than her. She goes to bed.
“How long can someone like Sabia survive?” Tucker says to Jenna, after Sabia leaves and Roca steps out. “How long can you?”
Jenna thinks a minute. “Sabia might live forever,” she says finally. “But me and Roca, we might be fucked.”
At the Resolute desk in the Oval Office, Acting President Alecta O’Roura-Chavez reads an endless stream of national security documents. She jots notes on a legal pad. Her aide Malcolm Xavier steps through the door.
“Sorry to disturb you, Ma’am. It’s Director Kingsley. He said you would want to take the call.”
“About the investigation? Okay.”
“Yes, Ma’am, he said it is.” Malcolm gestures to the blinking phone on the desk.
Alecta answers as Malcolm withdraws and closes the door.
“Bill. What have you got?”
Kingsley is freezing. He stands outside his car at the temporary FBI center near the bomb site. He watches the Perez farmhouse. “Madame President. I’m having dinner with Sabia Perez tomorrow evening. At her invitation.”
“I thought she hated you, Bill.”
“Probably does. But she insisted on driving me to her favorite restaurant in Des Moines today.”
“Did you get the migas?”
“You know it? It lived up to the hype.”
“Sabia got us to deliver her favorite plate all the way from Des Moines when I was there. She knows how to get what she wants, I guess. So what does she want, Bill?”
“She’s snowing me, feels like. Like she’s trying to recruit me to her own private rebellion — here in Iowa.”
“You’ve been snowed before, Director.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Kinsley listens to the silent reproach of the connection. “Sabia said she’s going to accept media interviews — for a lot of money. She said she wants my advice. I told her not to bullshit. I said she knows what she will say already.”
“She wants to name-drop you and your meals together on live TV. Is that a great look, Bill? And she will try to make a big statement about injustice and inequality. The demands. Always the demands.”
“Madame President — allow guards on her farmhouse. Her neighbor, Billy Yonkin, The Moto Kid, you know, he's harassing her now. And we've got an unknown, potential out-of-state car parked in her drive recently. The Kid spotted it. Castelan could slip in at any moment if he thinks Sabia knows something. There are things going on here that no one understands, I think. Sabia's in the middle of something, I really believe that. She may be the key. I mean, if there is one. Has to be something more here at the point of impact.”
“Go ahead with the guards, Bill. But make them invisible from Sabia.”
“Cameras at a distance. And new site workers. Can do.”
“And your dinner with Sabia—”
“She told me to bring Indian food from Des Moines.”
“Followed by popcorn and a movie, or what?”
“She will either bullshit me or tee off again. Or both.”
“Or seduce you.”
“I thought of that, mainly to dismiss it. I don’t think she's — I mean, it would be absurd.”
“I wouldn't put it past her.”
“That or anything else, Ma’am. But also — she’s a kid out here all alone on an island. Middle of a harsh winter. Abuelo gone. But I think you’re right she wants to use a dinner against me on the news. Hype herself. Protect herself.”
“So where is the President, Bill? Any real progress?”
Kingsley thinks better of telling Alecta about his recruiting Billy The Moto Kid to watch Sabia.
He also withholds from the Acting President that he has a glove newly into evidence. Checking for DNA. It’s nothing until it’s something.
“I’m thinking Jenna Ryzcek now. Who knows? She may be the real key. She’s missing too, the local DAPL bomber. Ryzcek and Castelan. Missing. Silver. Missing. If we knew where Ryzcek was, we might know a lot. And Castelan. Local activist Jenna Ryzcek goes missing, Castelan goes missing, the President goes missing. Fucking Bermuda triangle. Sabia could be somewhere in the middle of it — or on the edge. I mean, maybe an international conspiracy, instead — we don’t know if we're pissing up the wrong tree with Sabia and Jenna and Iowa. I don’t see Castelan going international. But nothing solid yet.”
“My guess is this is homegrown, Director.”
“Mine too.”
“Local as local can be.”
“Maybe.”
“Follow up with me, Bill — I want to hear about your dinner with Sabia. Even if it's bullshit, give me the sense. I mean if Sabia truly is a little girl all alone in a big bad world, she may be thrilled to keep a top cop on a string — whatever her angle — pull you around and see what happens. Let her. And find this Jenna Ryzcek. Find the President. Find Ellen. Find Castelan.”
“That's the plan, Ma’am.”
“You'll have company soon. Priama Steiner and her new FBI team are headed your way. I told her to get shit done.”
“Ma’am, you're the President now. It's no secret that you and President Silver had real differences. You're doing things now for the country that Silver would never do. You're remaking the social and political landscape. Why push so hard for her return?”
Alecta leans back in her chair. “Who says I am, Bill?”
Kingsley holds the phone in silence. Is Alecta toying with him? “So you don’t really believe that I can get this done, or do you? Priama?”
“I don’t believe anything, Bill. You and I should both know too much to believe without knowing, okay? No offense, but what success have you had? Who was it again who threw President Silver to the wind, to the blizzard? What's changed, Bill? Show me the President.”
“I see.”
“Our new FBI Director, Priama Steiner — interim — but she’ll be confirmed — she’s a hotshot in her own way. But she believes her own press clippings, it seems. Which I don't. Still, I like her. I almost trust her.”
“I get it, Ma’am. Lot of egos in this line of work.”
“Here's the thing, Bill. I'm doing what I’m supposed to do. You're looking. Priama's looking. We're all looking. If it was me who was kidnapped, I would want everyone to go find me too.”
“And we would find you.” Alive or dead, Kingsley thinks, very much to himself.
“Do what you need to do, Bill,” says Alecta. “And I'll do what I need to do. And we'll see how it goes.” Alecta ends the call.
She stares at the opposite wall. Something new and big has been set in motion, for once, by her. By the demands. Find President Silver or not — Alecta wonders if very much of what is now in motion can be stopped.
She folds her hands on her lap behind the Resolute Desk.
“What choice do I have?” she says to the empty Oval.
She stares across the office at a collection of Native American pottery. She stares at the bust of Martin Luther King. She laces her hands behind her head and stares at the Presidential Seal on the ceiling. Her gaze lingers on the olive branch and the arrows clutched in the talons of an eagle. Forever armed, forever fierce.
What’s the point of the olive branch beside the arrows?
Pax Americana?
Fuck that.
Alecta bites her nails. She stares at the eagle — eye-to-eye combat that she can never win. It bothers her. That fucking armed eagle.
Sabia told Alecta that contrary to myth it is possible to outstare a raccoon in a tree. Sabia did it. Took a half hour of constant eye contact but she did it. The raccoon looked away first. Alecta thinks the impossible — maybe one day she too can stare down a creature, the eagle with the arrows on the Oval Office ceiling.
Sabia said the racoon did not seem to mind in the slightest to lose.
Alecta thinks the eagle would be pissed.
Outside the new FBI building across from the Perez farmhouse, in the snowy windswept parking lot, Director Kingsley pockets his phone. Unconsciously and compulsively he walks toward Sabia’s home. Then he catches himself.
“What is to be done?” he says to the wind.
The austere land offers no response. No judgment. The cold and the snow near the disaster site, in Iowa, near the Perez farmhouse feels like the right place for Kingsley to be in the moment. A feeling. Feelings can deceive. You're not your feelings. You don't need to be. Your ideas — your ideas can change. And you can change them.
Your situation though, your situation can be a hammer.
What's the best Indian restaurant in Des Moines?
Kingsley worries that Sabia will jab him if he selects the wrong one.
He wonders that he cares.
He examines the neat rows and the dormant wood of the Perez orchard that stretch nearly all the way to the blast site of Ground Force One — a yawning snow-filled gap in the gut of America. Death site. An endpoint of Empire. The snowy last known point of President Kristen Silver and her trusty campaign manager Ellen Lin. And Roca Perez.
What are the odds?
What are the odds that Sabia Perez does not know what is going on around here — on the wind-burnt prairie, in this remote bit of ice and land, in Iowa? What are the odds that Sabia is even the tiniest bit innocent of anything that has to do with President Silver? Innocent seems the very last thing that Sabia wants to be.
Kingsley tries to place himself on the map of where he might better be right now.
Seems out of his hands. Sabia compels him to be at the Perez farmhouse at six o’clock sharp tomorrow evening, food in hand. Alecta too. Kingsley feels the Acting President will be there in the farmhouse with him and Sabia, watching.
When does he get to be Director again? He is nothing now but bossed by his great mistake of sending Silver into an Iowa blizzard to meet an assassin’s storm of missiles. Here he is in this place called Iowa in winter, which is really more like an endless bomb of cold and ice squeezing the life and light out of everything high and low. If not Sabia — who seems to burn at a thousand degrees, day and night, in this brutal tundra called America.
