Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Rise

 

At 12:00 on September 3rd, the New American Republic was founded. California, Texas, Wyoming, and Montana rejoined the union at the same time. Fifty states, and only one leader. California Governor James T. Merriweather acted as interim president and signed the Republic into being. Although unelected as the president of the United States, Merriweather was given special dispensation by Congress to sign the declaration.

At the same time, a general amnesty was called for all charges relating to protesting the former military government, during what the media was now calling “the three-day war.” A full presidential election was also called for the November of the following year, allowing all parties an appropriate period for campaigning and fundraising.

 

***

 

The wedding was small, the media banned. And the small chapel reminded Hanson of Callahan's funeral. It was a morbid thought on what was supposed to be a happy day, but it couldn't be helped. They'd all attended the funeral, and they'd been the only ones. No family, no friends. Callahan had lived for his work, and his work had depended on being popular and successful. Going to California had not been a smart career move for him. The Washington movers and shakers had avoided the event like the plague, something that made Hanson hate them even more.

“Just in time.”

Kishanna slid into the pew beside him with a sigh. She smelled of perfume and creams and looked beautiful in her simple, pale blue dress.

“Work?”

“As hectic as you'd imagine,” she said, rolling her eyes.

But he knew she was loving every second of it. Though the Washington Post had reopened its doors after the repeal of the censorship acts, Kishanna hadn't gone back. Merriweather had instead offered her the position of White House Press Secretary, a job that, as she put it, she could really sink her teeth into.

“Merriweather's here?” she asked.

“Yeah, up there at the front, see?”

He pointed out the man. It seemed odd to refer to him as president, so for the most part, they didn't. Nor did he himself. He hadn't wanted the job in the slightest and had initially turned it down. Hanson suspected it had been Granger with his “those who want responsibility don't deserve to have it” speech that had finally persuaded him. True to his word, though, Merriweather's first act had been to arrange the forthcoming election. The thought made Hanson squirm in his seat. He needed to tell Kish but had no idea what her reaction was going to be.

The music faded, then came back, and as the congregation recognized the tune, they stood. Hanson turned to see Ashlee, her cheeks flushed, her hair perfect, her dress skimming her curves. She looked truly beautiful. But she deserved to. It had been a long road to get her here, and he knew that she was still in therapy, still learning to deal with what she had done. But she seemed to be improving and was back at work, hounding Merriweather on his policies. Of course, Matt had helped. He'd become her rock and was the only other person who could completely understand what she'd done.

So it was probably just as well that it was he standing in front of the altar, a grin big enough to split his face shining toward his bride. Hanson reached for Kish's hand and squeezed it, swallowing down his emotion. It was a happy day, and he wasn't going to cry.

 

***

 

It was, perhaps, the strangest wedding she had ever been to. Her own wedding had been a big society affair, and so had most of those she'd attended. She had only once been to a small, family wedding, but that had been her sister's in Korea and was vastly different from this. Min-Seo watched others, to make sure she was behaving properly, but still wasn't entirely sure.

“Hors d'oeuvres?”

A silver tray appeared in front of her, and she was about to say no until she saw Hanson's grinning face.

“Where did you get that?”

“Stole it from a waiter,” he said solemnly. “It takes a lot of these little things to fill a man's stomach, you know.”

She laughed, and he came to sit beside her at the small, round table. Hanson and Kishanna were good people. Not really friends, despite all that had happened. But she liked them.

“So, how is life?” Hanson asked.

What a strange question. Americans, she found, often asked vast questions like that, expecting a generalized answer that couldn't possibly cover everything she wanted to say. How was life? Frustrating, better, interesting—she couldn't settle on a word, so she shrugged.

“Fine,” she said. The appropriate answer.

“Is Jake here?”

“Yes, he's busy schmoozing, I think.”

Hanson smiled. “And how's all that going?”

It had been an odd offer, her stepson asking her to live with his family. Not something she'd expected. Not something she'd wanted. But she gave him credit for asking. It showed that he was a better man than his father had been. Min-Seo had been intending to return to Korea, but the offer had sparked something inside her. She wasn't done here yet. She wanted to stay in America. But this time she wanted to stay on her own terms. So she'd negotiated them.

“It's going well,” she said. “The job is demanding, and I'm learning every day. But it is satisfying.”

And it was. Jake had given her the position he'd promised, perhaps seeing it as something that could assuage some of the guilt he carried from his father. But she hadn't taken it as nepotism. She worked hard, determined to prove herself.

“Glad to hear it,” said Hanson. “Listen, try and find Kishanna, will you? She desperately wants to invite you over for dinner, and the kids would like to see you. But I'm terrible at arranging things like that, especially with Kish's horrible work schedule. She's been trying to find you all afternoon.”

“Of course,” Min-Seo said with a smile.

Hanson stood. He looked at her for a second as though he were about to say something else, but then shook his head.

“You can keep the hors d'oeuvres,” he said, grinning at her.

Perhaps, she thought as he walked away, she would one day find a man like that. Honest, truthful, moral. Perhaps not. But it was a nice thought.

 

***

 

“Snuck out here all alone? That's not really fitting for a bride, is it?”

Ashlee jumped as Hanson's voice rang out. She was standing in the corridor outside the reception room. She'd just needed a little space. Not that she wasn't enjoying herself—she was. But sometimes these days she found she needed to be alone for a while. Thank God Matt understood that. When those moments came, he'd disappear off to do something alone.

“Congratulations,” Hanson said, coming and kissing her on both cheeks.

“Thank you.”

“It's been . . . a long journey,” he said. “But you deserve this.”

“Do I really?” Sometimes she wondered.

Hanson looked at her with his clear eyes, and she felt a stab of fondness for him.

“Ash, we changed the world. Us. Me and you and Matt and Kish and Merriweather and Min-Seo and Callahan even. If anyone deserves to be happy, it has to be us. Are you happy?”

She thought about the question carefully. It had been tough. The days following the killing, the nights, dreaming and seeing the faces and bodies. But the bad days were coming less often now. And she had Matt. And something else had changed. She'd never realized before, but she'd been anticipating the worst. Always. From when she was a little kid, and definitely once the Freedom Group had begun. And now the worst had already happened, so there was nothing to anticipate. It made her feel strangely light to think about it.

“Yes,” she said with great certainty. “Yes, I'm happy.”

“Good,” said Hanson.

He held out his hand, and she took it, feeling how warm and strong he was.

“Now, let's get you back inside before people miss the blushing bride.”

She laughed and allowed him to lead her back to the reception.

 

***

 

People were beginning to leave. The happy couple had departed long before for their honeymoon. Ties were undone, shoes kicked off under the table. Kish settled down onto a chair next to him with a groan.

“About ready to go?” she asked.

He held up his half-full glass as an answer, and she nodded.

“But that's the last drink,” she said.

He had to tell her; he knew he did. And suddenly now seemed like as good a time as any. She looked tired but happy, her makeup smudged a little. He put his hand on her leg and stroked it, feeling her warmth.

“Kish, I've done something,” he said. “And I should have told you first. I'm not really sure why I didn't. But I'm telling you now.”

She looked at him, her eyes tired, her smile widening.

“Are you about to tell me that you've put your name down as an independent candidate for the presidential election?” she asked, calmly and still smiling.

He frowned. How the hell had she known?

“Kel, I'm a press secretary. A journalist. This is what I do. I've known since last week, about half an hour or so after you did it. I was just waiting for you to make your announcement. I figured it's your news, not mine.”

“And you're not angry?”

“Why would I be?”

He thought for a second. Why wouldn't she be?

“Because of the situation I could potentially put our family in? Because of the work and campaigning it'll require, not to mention the work required should I actually get elected? Because of the potential impact it could have on your job?” The reasons were endless.

She was still smiling.

“The kids are almost grown,” she said. “And they're more than capable of handling themselves. You're a hard worker, and frankly, I've been worried about what you were going to do ever since you refused to go back to the navy. And as for me, well, there are no rules that say that your press secretary can't be your wife, assuming you offered me the position.”

He grinned back. “I wouldn't dream of having anyone else.”

He drained his glass, got up, and held out his hand, pulling her out of her seat. Still holding hands, they slowly made their way out of the room, down the corridor, through the foyer of the hotel, and out into the night.

The lights of Washington gleamed through the darkness. Behind every closed door, every shuttered window, plans were being made, campaigns hashed out, secrets being made and kept and divulged. Hanson squeezed Kishanna's hand. He had no wish to be president. But then, as Granger would point out, that made him the ideal person for the job. And he knew it was a job he could do well. Very well.

Their car drew up, the valet jumping out and handing the keys to Hanson. He opened the passenger door, and Kishanna slid inside. Then he walked around and got into the driver's seat. There'd be plenty of time for planning and plotting and thinking. For now, they were going home. He pulled away from the curb and drove out into the streets of Washington.

 

The End