We arrived to see that about one thousand survivors had picked up our message and traveled to our destination. Almost all of them are soldiers and they are celebrating new faces. Something is wrong though; the men outnumber the women at least ten to one, if not more. The general seems confident more will come, but it seems to me the only people who survived this poisoning are people who were not present.
—The journal of Isaac Ryland
The Mission was becoming a second home to Grant. He didn’t appreciate being summoned at Ian’s beck and call but was getting used to the building. He knocked on the door to Ian’s office and let himself inside. He couldn’t wait until this room belonged to him. Ian was behind his desk and waved Grant over. The old man was on the phone.
“Splendid,” he said. “Please keep me up to date on their travels.”
Grant sat down and smoothed out his striped shorts. They were black and white with small red lines. He wore a light red sweater to match. Grant leaned back in the chair and brought his foot up to his knee. He noticed a scuff in his black penny loafers and tried to rub it out.
“Did you look into the backstory?” Ian asked. “Remember, these people are our allies. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about as long as everything checks out all right. Some information may get lost in translation.”
The scuff was coming out and Grant was glad to have a way to hide his interest in Ian’s conversation. He wondered what problem the grand commander was overlooking now.
“Thank you,” Ian said. “Good-bye.”
He set the phone down and wasted no time engaging Grant in conversation.
“Our international guests are starting to arrive.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No,” Ian said. “A typo on one of the forms. Three of the nine countries have arrived. They will be here by the end of the week.”
“Could I take a look at who is coming?” Grant asked. “I would like to memorize their information.”
“You only have to worry about the countries’ leaders,” Ian said, “not their escorts.”
“I want to use everything at my disposal to charm them,” Grant said.
This was the third time he had made this request. Grant was pleased when Ian opened his desk drawer and pulled out a flash drive.
“Since you’ve asked so nicely,” Ian said. “Is your home coming along?”
“Everything will be perfect for the wedding,” Grant said.
“Tamara is excited,” Ian said. “It’s all she’ll speak of.”
“Is that why you called me down here today?”
“Of course not,” Ian said. “I scheduled another taping of The Greg Finnegan Show. You haven’t been in public for almost two weeks. He is going to interview you about the wedding.”
Grant smiled through his teeth. He hated Greg Finnegan and his television show. It was the most watched program in all of America and the people regarded Finnegan as their nightly source for the most important news. The man was a flake though, and Grant wished he could limit their interaction.
“You could have phoned to tell me that,” Grant said.
“The last time I did that you had an excuse why you couldn’t come down,” Ian said. “This way you’re already here. Besides, the taping will take place in the Mission. The people will become comfortable seeing you here. Trust me when I say this may appear minor, but we want the transition as smooth as possible.”
“Instead of worrying about our citizens,” Grant said, “I was hoping you could tell me more about the position itself. What do I have left to learn?”
“Everything else you will learn over the next few years,” Ian said, “watching me.”
“What about the security codes?” Grant asked. “I think I’ve earned your trust.”
“I am the only one who knows those,” Ian said.
He raised a white eyebrow at Grant.
Grant smiled politely and nodded. “My concern is about an accident though,” he said. “What if you meet an untimely death? What would happen then?”
“I have thought about that before,” Ian said. “I hope you would create a copy of the information the public uses before a group of renegades have the chance to hack those. You would have the authority to create a new master list and I hope you would act quickly.”
“But those are vulnerable to attack,” Grant said.
“Nothing will happen to me,” Ian said.
Outside of Grant’s wanting control he could see that Ian’s belief that he was infallible was a mistake. There was no use trying to talk sense into the man. Grant changed the subject.
“I see you are still wearing the American pin our French guests sent you,” Grant said.
“I do like it,” Ian said.
Grant let the smile linger on his lips, but he could not draw his eyes away from the pin. It represented everything Ian was doing wrong: accepting gifts from outsiders, caring too much about keeping the status quo instead of making America a better, stronger country. As soon as Grant had those codes he would rip that pin off of Ian’s shirt and shove it down his throat.