Chapter Eighteen

Ashlee

“The basics are there,” Matt said. “We have the underground railroad working at full capacity. We're getting people out of danger wherever we can. Our cells are prepared for the states they're in to go independent. And if a state doesn't choose to, we have sabotage missions planned; we have weapons and foods stockpiled. We have brochures and leaflets printed, for God's sake. The question is, how long will it take for other states to decide to secede?”

“There will be a tipping point,” said Ashlee.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, Matt pacing around the room.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that states may secede, one by one. The closer a state is to the east coast, to Washington, the more difficult it will become, simply because of proximity. But sooner or later there has to be a point where the US government decides enough is enough. So far we've been lucky. California and Texas are big states, but they're also quite far removed from the heart of government. A lot of other stuff has been going on. But the more states that join us, the more pressing the issue becomes. The US government has already declared war; it's only a matter of time before they follow through with the threat.”

“Which in very basic terms means there are two key problems,” Matt said, analyzing as he always did. “The first is that we need to persuade states to join us, to secede. We need to provoke revolution.”

“A silent revolution,” Ashlee said. She had told him of her plan. “A peaceful protest. It will get results; it always does.”

Matt shrugged. “If it doesn't, we can always proceed to more violent methods. But I actually tend to agree with you. This silent revolution idea of yours is a good one, it could be very effective, and at least will grab attention. I'm behind the idea.”

“Good,” said Ashlee.

It had been brewing for some time now, an idea she could truly believe in. An idea that hopefully would harm no one, or few at worst. A true Gandhi-style revolution. She could live with herself far better promoting ideas like a silent revolution than she could with more violent methods.

“The second problem is the government itself. The only way we're going to prevent a civil war is by bringing the government down completely.”

“Agreed,” Ashlee said.

And she knew that this time she would be the one to say it. She had to be the one to say it.

“We need to assassinate Hammersmith,” she said.

Matt stopped pacing and looked at her.

“That seems . . . fast,” he said. “I mean, with Silva we had exhausted all other avenues; it was a natural conclusion. Here, I'm not so sure.”

“I am,” Ashlee said.

“And what about your non-violent means?” asked Matt. “What about fighting morally, ethically?”

She frowned. “Hanson told me that in the military they teach you that sometimes you have to kill a few to save many,” she said. “I'm not saying I like the idea, but I see the sense in it. Assassinating Hammersmith, who, after all, is rapidly proving to be a military despot, could potentially save a lot of lives. And a lot of suffering.”

“This is true,” Matt said, and he started walking again. “It would be an expedient way of dealing with things.”

“But?” asked Ashlee.

“But how the hell are we going to get close enough to a man who constantly travels with a full military guard and who confines himself to a city that's on the other side of the country?”

Ashlee shrugged. “Assassination was originally your game plan,” she said. “I kind of figured we could work on the details. But it needs to happen as quickly as possible.”

“Do you think it will work?” Matt asked, coming to sit beside her.

She felt the heat of his body, smelled his cologne. But she didn't touch him.

“I think so,” she said. “You kill a snake by chopping off its head. And something gives me the feeling that Hammersmith is the snake's head. You've seen how many servicemen are defecting, coming over to our side. That tells me the military isn't necessarily behind Hammersmith anymore. At least not a hundred percent. Maybe they were behind the coup, but I think Hammersmith has taken his brief too literally, and taken it too far, and I think that the military doesn't necessarily like what has happened. They've created a monster, and they don't know how to control it.”

Matt put a hand on her knee, but the gesture was casual, almost without meaning.

“You could be right,” he said. “But this is going to take a hell of a lot of planning. On both counts. Give me a couple of days to think about this. In the meantime, you can get started working on your silent-revolution idea. We'll send info to the cells, obviously, but we'll need as many people as we can to take part. It'll be the smallest towns that have the biggest impact, the ones that make the best TV shots. We need to figure out a way to handle that.”

“On it,” Ashlee said.

Matt got up. “To work then,” he said.

She grinned and got up too. There was an awkward moment when they were almost face to face, and she wanted to kiss him. But there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they wouldn't pursue their feelings, not until things were solved. Or perhaps she was making that up. Perhaps he wasn't interested in her at all. She turned in a rush and went out of the room, almost bumping into Min-Seo, who was walking down the corridor.

“Sorry.”

“Don't mention it,” Min-Seo said, continuing on her way.

 

***

 

She found Kishanna at the kitchen table, which she seemed to have adopted as her office space. Her laptop was open, papers were spread out, and the woman herself was busy typing. Ashlee got a nod of acknowledgement and a raised finger, which she took to mean that she needed to wait a moment. So she made a new pot of coffee as she waited.

“Done,” Kishanna said.

“And how's it going?” asked Ashlee, pouring them both cups of coffee.

“Well, I think,” said Kishanna. “I'm getting a lot of page views. I started out by dumping all the information I had into a few posts. Now I'm going back and analyzing things. I'm getting the word out; I'm reaching people; I think that's what counts.”

“Getting the truth out is what counts,” Ashlee said, pulling up a seat.

She glanced over at the screen, seeing the blog analytics on display.

“Wow, Jesus, Kishanna, you're getting exponential rises in page views every hour. If this keeps up, you'll have the entire country reading your stuff by the end of tomorrow.”

“Well, I'm pretty good at my job,” Kishanna said. “And to be honest, it helps that my name is already known. I'd don't think I'd be getting half of these views if my name hadn't been attached to that last story they printed in the Post.”

“It was pretty incredible,” Ashlee said, referring to the story.

“And now there's some kind of fatwah out on me,” said Kishanna.

She clicked onto another tab, and Ashlee saw a news report showing Kishanna's picture.

“I'm being hunted,” Kishanna said. “I'm to be prosecuted for treason should the government ever get their hands on me. And since we're—well, not us right now—but the rest of the country is under martial law, treason is punishable by death.”

“Nice,” said Ashlee.

She glanced over. Kishanna was smiling. She was proud of all she had done, and had the right to be. The thought of execution obviously didn't bother her at all.

“So how about we put all this exposure to work?” Ashlee said.

“Huh?”

“I think what I mean is that I need your help. You have the ears of the people. Well, the eyes of the people, I guess. And I need to get a message out. Do you think you could help me?”

“Your wish is my command,” Kishanna said, her grin growing wider. “Tell me what you need to do.”