IT’S MONDAY MIDMORNING AND MARY Bellamy is in her office at the state capitol, surrounded by a half dozen of her closest aides. There’s an enormous amount to be done, tasks both large and small, including issuing decrees and orders, hiring staff, getting the Homeland website up, changing signage, meeting with legislators—some of whom are recalcitrant about switching their loyalty to the Homeland—and dealing with scores of media requests from the United States and the world. There have been reports of North Dakotans unhappy with her ascension moving away. Good riddance. Having them gone will only solidify her power. The people around her are all veterans of her recall campaign. Dan Lundgren is her chief of staff—he’s young, smart, and she trusts him implicitly. James Jarrett is back at Camp Grafton, overseeing the training of recruits. He has supplied Mary with a half dozen plainclothes bodyguards, the best of the best, all former marines who have volunteered to serve the Homeland as her protectors.
“Are we ready to go out and meet the citizens of the Homeland?” Mary asks. Everyone eagerly nods their assent. Her first stop today is going to be an elementary school. She’s ordered new materials for all the schools that remove any mention of North Dakota as one of the United States of America and detail the birth and growth of the Homeland. And of course she banned the reciting of the Pledge of Allegiance or the singing of any so-called patriotic songs. She’ll commission a Homeland anthem soon. She’s going to use today’s school visit as the venue to announce a competition to design the Homeland’s flag, open to every resident of the nascent nation.
As they leave her office and walk down the halls, the state employees they pass almost genuflect to their leader. She waves and smiles. It’s all going so well. The general’s assassination has generated a deluge of outrage, just as she knew it would. Homeland movements in other states are reporting a big surge in membership. And at the center of it all is . . . Mary. She’s really on her way to becoming a deity, isn’t she? To see the adoration on the faces of the masses is so affirming. They quite literally worship her. And they should. She’s a goddess. Destined to build and lead an empire.
Mary and her entourage walk out of the capitol building and down the front steps. It’s a lovely sunny day, what looks like a media helicopter hovers above the scene, and clutches of tourists and pioneers wave and shout at the sight of her, their faces exploding with excitement. She greets a group of about a dozen people, who squeal and jump up and down and turn bright red. And she’s so gracious in response. Although she loathes it when they touch her. How dare they? Perhaps she’ll issue a decree: anyone touching the premier will have their hands chopped off. Mary smiles at the thought, and the silly shriekers think she’s smiling at them. More of her squealing subjects race over. Phones are held up, filming the scene—they’ll brag about this moment for the rest of their lives. Mary points to her watch and gives a charming shrug. She and her entourage move toward the row of cars that will transport them to the school.
Suddenly eight Navy Seals emerge from around the side of the building and race toward Mary and her aides. In the sky the helicopter swoops down toward the lawn, ready to land. “RAISE YOUR HANDS AND STAND STILL!” one of the Seals screams.
Mary’s bodyguards whip out their automatic weapons and start shooting. The firepower is returned. One of Mary’s bodyguards throws her down to the ground and covers her body with his own. He’s shot in the back and grunts in defeat and then he’s shot in the head and now his blood, carrying bits of bone and hair, is pouring over Mary’s face and scalp. She lies motionless until the shooting stops. Then she turns to see that all eight Seals are lying on the ground, dead. Two of her bodyguards are still standing. Dan Lundgren is lying nearby, clutching his stomach and moaning. The helicopter is about to land, and Mary’s remaining bodyguards turn their fire on it, riddling it with bullets. The helicopter reverses and ascends about fifty feet, then lurches to the side and crashes back to earth, bursting into flames.
Mary struggles to get out from under the dead body. As she crawls away—and just before she goes into shock—she thinks, Thank God it was all caught on camera.