PREMIER MARY BELLAMY WALKS INTO the state capitol’s pressroom, followed by a half dozen aides who line up against the wall as she walks to the podium; one is in a military uniform. The room is thick with journalists, charged with anticipation. Erica sits in the third row, her legs crossed, her upper leg bouncing.
“I’m going to make a short statement and then I’ll take questions,” Mary says. She looks smart and pulled together in an expensive wool suit, her hair done, her lips red. “First, I have written a declaration of independence to President Winters, informing her that the Homeland of North Dakota is now a self-governing entity.” There is a collective gasp from the room. “We are no longer under obligation to obey federal laws or edicts or to pay federal taxes. We are ready and willing to work with the president and the federal authorities to make this transition as seamless and painless as possible. But our status is nonnegotiable.
“This morning I signed an agreement with Neal Clark, president of Trans-Canada Energy, to jointly build a pipeline that will carry the Homeland’s oil and natural gas to Winnipeg, where it will be processed, stored, and sold to the world.”
Mary points to a handsome older man standing along the wall. Neal Clark raises his hand in a modest wave and beams at Mary, who beams back. Is Erica the only one who senses that their relationship transcends natural gas?
“All revenues generated by this enterprise will be used for the benefit of the citizens of the Homeland. We expect the number to be in the trillions over the next decade.
“I would also like to speak to all Americans. Over thirty-five thousand pioneers have been welcomed to the Homeland. Please know we have room for many more. I have signed an executive order turning Camp Grafton on Devil’s Lake into a processing and temporary housing facility. Camp Grafton will remain under the authority of its current commanding officer, General Floyd Morrow.”
There’s another gasp from the room. Bellamy points to General Morrow, standing along the wall. He looks too intense, his eyes are darting, his jaw clenching, a light film of sweat glistens on his brow.
“General Morrow has renounced his allegiance to the United States of America and taken an oath of allegiance to the Homeland of North Dakota. He will make sure that all our new pioneers are well taken care of. We think of Camp Grafton as the Ellis Island of the Great Plains. Every American who believes in our cause is invited to make the Homeland your home. I will now take questions.”
Erica’s hand shoots up. Mary points at her, a slight, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Erica?”
“Have you spoken to President Winters?”
“I have not. But I welcome her call. The people of the Homeland have made their decision. I hope she will respect it. Gregory?”
“Yes, do you really think the Pentagon will allow you to commandeer one of its bases?”
“We have already taken control of Camp Grafton. Including its weaponry. In addition, the Homeland is going to establish a self-defense force—the Great Army of the Homeland. General Morrow has formulated a training protocol that will be initiated within a week at Camp Grafton. It is capable of training a thousand citizens at a time in all aspects of combat. The first thousand recruits have already signed up.”
“What about the North Dakotans who didn’t support you and want to remain part of the United States?”
“They are welcome to leave. If they stay, we expect them to show allegiance to the Homeland and to obey all of our laws.”
As more hands go up, and more details of Mary Bellamy’s mind-blowing power grab emerge, Erica’s mind races over the murders of Joan Marcus, George Lundy, Freddy McDougal, Cathy and Dennis Allen, and Pete Nichols, and Gloria’s suicide. The scrap of photograph showing a missile. A missile capable of carrying a nuclear warhead. Erica realizes that Joan Marcus’s desperate attempt to contact her had nothing to do with toxic chemicals and environmental crimes. No, she was on to something much, much darker.
When the press conference ends and Mary Bellamy leaves, the journalists sit there in collective shock, trying to grasp the ramifications of what they’ve just heard. Erica has to get downtown to the temporary studio and deliver an update. It’s 2:00 p.m. now. If she can get it written and on the air by three she’ll still have plenty of time to get to Camp Grafton before dark.