CHAPTER

42

 

When the members of Dallas Four drove up the mountain to the Judge’s retreat at just past midnight, they didn’t know what to expect. None of them had ever met the Judge face-to-face. Few of the rank-and-file Glory Warriors had. But Dallas Base, and later Chicago Base, had confirmed their orders: Take the pages to the Judge. They’d received directions to his house as part of their briefing.

When Gold rang the Judge’s bell, he felt surreal. It seemed an anticlimax, driving up this mountain in the dead of night and simply ringing a doorbell. It took several minutes, but lights came on and the Judge opened the door. Gold felt even more off-balance then: The Judge was old, but even in the middle of the night and wearing pajamas with red stripes under a faded terry cloth robe, he had a certain bearing. The dignity of a soldier, the charisma of a born leader, Gold thought. Even without saying a word, the man communicated strength and leadership and power. Gold had seen video of the Judge in his younger days, at a time when he was in the public eye, and he seemed to have lost very little of his presence.

“Dallas Four, sir,” Gold said. Glory Warriors didn’t salute, but the members of the team stood at attention.

“Come in, come in,” the Judge said. “You must be tired. Would you like coffee?”

Again, there was the faintly ridiculous sensation. The Judge made coffee for all of them and positioned them in the large, open living room. It was rustic, with an abundance of pine and deep leather furniture under a wrought iron chandelier. “The pages,” the Judge said at length as they drank coffee.

Silver handed him the backpack and gave him a precise verbal report on what had transpired in Louisville and at Falls of the Ohio. The Judge acknowledged her with a nod, opening the backpack and slipping the pages into his hands.

He read, a look of knowing and understanding on his face. He smiled; then he sifted through the papers.

“Where’s the other page?” he asked.

“Sir?” Silver said.

“The signature page. It isn’t here.”

Silver looked at Gold. They both looked at Bronze. No one spoke.

“We must have the signature page,” the Judge said. “It isn’t here.”

“Sir,” Silver said, “these are what Journey had with him.”

“No,” the Judge said.

“She’s correct, sir,” Gold said. “We recovered all the pages he had.”

The Judge slapped the pages onto the wooden coffee table. The sudden motion startled Dallas Four. “Then he’s fooled you! He’s put it somewhere else.”

“Sir—”

“Do you understand?” the Judge said, shouting now. “All of this is useless without Lee and Grant’s signatures. It says as much on the first page. All must be here for the treaty to have the full weight of the law.” He leaned forward, a vein throbbing in his neck. “Do you have any idea how many have sacrificed their entire lives for this? Do you know what I have sacrificed for the Glory Warriors? It is within our reach … right now! We are two-thirds of the way to satisfying the conditions on page one. We’ve always known what to do, but we must have the signatures! The people will not accept us if we don’t!”

The team members sat rigid, eyes fastened on the Judge.

The Judge stood and backed away from his chair. “The professor—where is he now?”

“I shot him,” Silver said. “He fell into the river. There were witnesses, and there wasn’t time to clean the scene. We had to—”

“Journey has that page!” the Judge screamed. “He’s alive and he knows where it is. We have to be ready when all three of the conditions of page one are met. As soon as it happens, we must be ready, and that means the signatures. They need to be where people can see them. When I go on TV and radio and the Internet to explain to the American people, they need to know we are real. The cameras must do a close-up of Lee and Grant’s signatures.”

The team members looked at each other.

“Are you completely ignorant of history? America’s history—our history? In 1865, Lee and Grant gave us our authority. With the Lieber Code as the point of legal reference, and with their agreement at Appomattox, the provisions are law. If the people don’t see this and understand it, they won’t accept us. They’ll view us as glorified terrorists. They’ll think we’re some sort of silly militia group. No, the treaty is our legal authority, and the people must see it! Do you understand?”

They were all quiet for a time; then Bronze said, “Sir, we should call Dallas Base to check in.”

“No!” the Judge yelled. His terry cloth robe fell open, and they all saw his chest heaving, as if he were laboring for breath.

“Sir, are you all right?” Gold said.

“Get out of my house!” the Judge bellowed. “You are relieved of duty! Go back to Dallas and do nothing! Do you hear me? You are relieved. Now, get out!”

They left, and the Judge stayed behind, breathing hard. After the taillights of their car had faded down the mountain, he made his way to his study, slammed the door, and picked up the phone.

It took ten minutes for the Dallas duty officer to locate the Dallas Base commander. When he came on the line, the Judge said, “Your team failed. They didn’t get the signatures, and I’ve relieved them of duty. Nick Journey and the woman have the page, or they’ve put it somewhere.”

“We’ll find them,” Dallas said.

The Judge ran his hand through his thin white hair. “See that you do. Team Four will not be involved. Put them on arsenal guard duty or something equally humiliating. They failed.”

“All right, sir,” Dallas said. “I’ll put my Team One on them. We have a new Gold, and Silver is anxious to be a part of this.”

The Judge nodded, feeling his heartbeat begin to slow. He thought he felt a flutter in his chest. “Call the other base commanders. Have each of them put their own Team One on alert. Have all your Bronzes do what they can to track every possible way to find Journey and Tolman. I’ll call my Washington people.”

The Judge hung up, then called Washington Three, who answered with a sleepy “Yeah?”

“You have a green light,” the Judge said.

“What?”

“Wake up! I’m telling you to move forward. You are cleared to move into the operational part of your mission.”

“Sir?”

“Yes.” The Judge planted a closed fist on his desk. “Start looking for your opportunity to enact the third provision.”

The Judge hung up, his heart still pounding, hands shaking. He should not have raised his voice to his subordinates. It accomplished nothing. Showing temper to underlings only displayed weakness.

Now was the time for strength, for control. Soon after President Harwell was dead and the Glory Warriors had secured Washington, he would be addressing not only his troops, but all the American people. Control was paramount. Calm was essential. There could be no more outbursts.

They would find the signatures. They would find Journey and the woman. There would be no more mistakes.

Don’t fail.

The Judge sat back down behind his desk and closed his eyes. But an hour later, his heart was still thundering and his hands were still trembling.