MARY AND STURGES ARE IN their office at Bellamy Foundation headquarters. It’s evening and the employees have all gone home. A roll-down map of the United States is on one wall. The contiguous states of North Dakota, South Dakota, Idaho, Wyoming, and Montana are outlined in red so as to form one giant land mass, one nation really, one glorious stretch of tomorrow, the ultimate Homeland. Did anybody really think the Bellamys would stop with North Dakota? How small-minded that would be.
The speakerphone is on and Mary is talking. Her voice is a mix of honey and steel. “This has been a very productive chat, as they all are. To review, Wendell Brodsky will be sending you his voter-mining software and protocol. It will allow you to profile and classify every voter from ‘never’ to ‘definite.’ Thus you’ll be able to concentrate on the groups in between, the persuadable. What we’re doing here is just the beginning. We are building what will be the eighth largest nation on the planet. I’m so proud of all of you.”
They all chime in their thanks and their expressions of support and pride. Some of them Mary actually likes. Jason Erickson, the head of the Montana Homelanders, is a particular favorite—he gets it. A couple of the others will have to be . . . Well, let’s just say politics is a blood sport. They’re useful now, but the day will come . . .
“You may have seen some polls that show me behind in the recall. Ignore them. We have a couple of secret weapons.” Oh, indeed they do. Top secret. Mary smiles to herself. “We can deploy them if needed. We’re going to win this. You can count on it. Until next week’s call, stay strong.”
“You were brilliant. As always,” Sturges says. Mary looks at him with that peculiar expression—affection sprinkled with contempt—that has come to define her marriage. He’s her lapdog. Neal, on the other hand, is her wolf.
And Mary hears the call of the wild.