Chapter Four

Ashlee

 

The push-ups were getting easier now, the TV buzzing in the background. She exercised to stop herself from thinking, but it wasn't working. Not today.

There had been no statement from Hammersmith, other than the normal political claptrap about defeating terrorism and not letting fear of Muslims destroy this great country and blah, blah, blah. The planned protest had gone ahead. All over the country, groups gathered, organized by cells, attracting public attention. Shouting and demanding democracy, elections, freedom. And all were shut down. Police with water cannons, tear gas. A state of emergency had been declared; the police were well within their rights. Or so the news channels stated.

And so Matt had been right. As always. They needed to go further, to act more dramatically. To disrupt things, show that the new government was not perfect, could not control them, had to give in to their demands. And he'd been almost satisfied by this, as he began to outline plans to take out power stations, take over the media, to hack into databases and wreak all the havoc they could.

Somewhere inside, though, Ashlee still knew that the answer lay in the truth, whatever that truth was. But try as she might—and she spent long hours on the phone and online—she couldn't figure out what exactly was going on. There were no answers, or no one was giving her answers. And she was getting to the end of her contact list, the end of ideas of what the hell to do, who the hell to ask. It was beginning to look more and more like Matt was right, that turning to domestic terrorism was the only way to get their point across.

A rapid beeping from the television caught her attention. A red banner slid across the bottom of the screen, and she turned up the volume, frowning. What had happened now? The news anchor had a blank face, the kind of face used to announce the death of someone important, the kind of face he'd had when he'd spoken of Silva's assassination. And his voice was smooth as honey. . . .

“. . . the governor will be making a speech later this afternoon. However, there seems no doubt in the announcement that, as of midnight tonight, the state of California will officially become the Republic of California. Joining us here by link is Columbia's professor emeritus of political science, and government advisor to the Clinton administration, James K. Black. Welcome, Professor Black. Can you tell us the legalities of the situation at hand?”

A short, portly figure with glasses balanced on the end of his nose appeared in the top corner of the screen.

“Thank you for having me. The bottom line here is that this is a legal act as long as the secession bid was run through the appropriate procedures, the precedents for which were, of course, set by the Southern states during the Civil War. It appears that the Republic of California . . .”

Ashlee turned the sound down again to think better. But she still stared open-mouthed at the screen, reading the red banner message again and again. California had seceded. Left the Union. Gone. Declared itself a republic, just like that. Or not, perhaps, just like that. Perhaps this had already been a part of the plot. Perhaps California, the most liberal of states, had already had procedures in place to do exactly this should the situation ever warrant it. And yes, apparently, the situation did warrant it. And assuming that the government of California knew something she did not—a fairly safe assumption, she thought—then the situation was even worse than she'd been thinking.

“You've heard?”

Matt walked in. She hadn't heard him come through the front door.

“Yes.”

“Incredible, isn't it?”

His face was flushed, and he looked ecstatic, excited, happy.

“Is it?” she asked.

“Of course it is! Can't you see? If California is seceding, then others may follow. And more to the point, it proves that we are on the right path. This government needs to fall; it's wrong, unjustified, and California knows that. Did you hear the official declaration?”

Ashlee shook her head.

“They said that 'The Great State of California, in keeping with the ideals of democracy, freedom, and liberty on which it was founded, refuses to bow to any military leader, whether that leader be foreign or American.' The military isn't planning on leaving power, Ash; that's why California is going.”

“And do you think the government is going to let them go?” she asked.

Matt shrugged. “Who knows? I suspect that for now, yes, they will. The government has other fish to fry at the moment. They're pouring troops into Iraq, pulling them out of Egypt, trying to renegotiate the oil pipeline with Canada, and doing a thousand other things. If I had to pick a time to secede, it would probably be right now.”

“And then what?”

“And then other states follow. It only makes sense. As the truth becomes clearer and clearer, other states will realize the same as California, that they're better off alone. Or even join up with California to form a new union.”

“But what is the truth?” And she knew she sounded like a child.

“Still found nothing?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Keep working on it. You'll get there. Someone, somewhere out there knows what's going on here.”

His eyes lingered on the screen, where Los Angeles was being panned over by a helicopter camera. Then he laughed.

“What?”

“I was just wondering,” he said, “how much our friend Blake has to do with all of this. He's still over there, remember?”

Ashlee rolled her eyes. Knowing Blake, he'd be right in the middle of things, pushing buttons and throwing Molotov cocktails if necessary.

“Let's hope that he gets out all right,” she said.

“Blake always comes out on top,” said Matt with a grin. “Now I've got work to do, as I'm sure you do. I'll leave you alone.”

She sat on the floor, back against the couch. Did she really have work to do? Her cell phone was lying on the coffee table, and she spun it, letting it circle on the glass. There was only one person she could think of calling right now, and she wasn't sure she was doing the right thing. Kishanna's political views were secret, or secret enough. She saw both sides of the story—that was what made her such a great journalist. And the chances of her knowing something and actually spilling what she knew were low. But there was no one else.

“Kishanna Hanson.”

Ashlee had dialed the number before realizing what she was doing.

“Hey, it's me, Ashlee.”

“Hey, Ash, you doing okay? Haven't heard from you in a while.”

“Ah, just, you know, busy. Um, weird question—well, not really weird. Just, I was wondering, wanna meet up? I got a few things I wanted to ask you and . . .”

“Sure,” Kishanna said immediately.

She reeled off the name and address of a bar and said she'd be there at eight, and Ashlee heard the dial tone as she hung up. Only then did she remember that she wasn't supposed to go outside. Screw it, she thought. She was sick of being in here. Going out to a meeting wasn't going to get her killed. Matt was being overprotective. She was going.

 

***

 

“Nothing?”

“Not a thing,” Kishanna said. “We're getting the same thing from all our usual government sources as everyone else is. Terrorism, Muslims and Mexicans, Hammersmith has an unblemished reputation, et cetera, et cetera.”

“And do you believe it?”

“Not a word,” Kishanna said, grinning. “California's gone for a reason, and we all just haven’t figured out what that reason is yet. Besides, this is the military, remember? And I'm well acquainted with how the military works and disseminates information. Everyone's being very closed mouthed at the moment.”

“Not surprising,” Ash said, enjoying the feeling of being among other people.

“The fact of the matter is, though, that other than being in power, the government actually hasn't done anything wrong. And there is a good argument for having the military in power to restore peace after something like the assassination. They're pulling troops out of places that Silva illegally sent them, and they're talking to the Canadians about that oil pipeline. They seem to be doing everything that should be done.”

“Except for arranging for the return of a democratically elected government,” Ashlee said.

“Yes, except for that.”

“Which does, now that we mention it, seem pretty damn important.”

Kishanna sighed. “I know it does; it is. It's just that everything is in so much of a flux right now I don't think that anyone knows what's going to happen. There is a leadership, and it's a strong one, which is what we need right now. But then . . .”

“But then, what happens when the military refuses to leave power?” Ashlee finished. “It's all very well of them to do the decent thing and step in when they're needed, but what when they don't step out again?”

“And I'm not buying this whole terrorist plot thing either,” said Kishanna. “This was something more than that. This was personal. Muslims and Mexicans, my ass. But as much digging as I've done, I haven't found anything else.”

“Me neither,” Ashlee said.

Kishanna drained her glass. “Look, I gotta get going. I haven't seen my kids in so long that they've probably forgotten what I look like. Stay in touch, yes? I'll let you know if I get anything interesting. But for now, I think we're all . . .”

“Just waiting,” they both said at the same time.

Ashlee laughed. “Fine, go on, get back to the family.”

And after Kishanna left, Ashlee waited, then walked alone back out into the evening. She was glad to have seen someone, glad to have had someone to speak to, glad that nothing had happened. But what Kishanna had said bothered her. If even she, a world-class political reporter, didn't know what was going on, what the hell chance did Ashlee have of finding out?

She was doing all she could to postpone the more direct and serious actions that Matt was all in favor of. But she was running out of excuses. On the other hand, she was finding it tough to justify going further in their political activities in such a way that people would get hurt. She groaned. She wished she had answers.