The Regime: Evil Advances (21 page)

She chuckled. “I know you better than you know yourself.” He began to pull away, but she held on to his hands. “Hear me, Cameron. You’re a wonderful, talented person with a lot to offer. And you are in love already.”

“Sorry?”

“You’re in love with your career.”

“I don’t even have a career yet.”

“Of course you do. You’re further along toward your career goals than anyone else I know at Princeton. You’re already working for the
Globe
. In a few months that will be full-time, and you’ll be on your way. That’ll probably be just a stepping-stone to bigger and better things. You’ll probably wind up on television, one of those international correspondents reporting from Tel Aviv, Bonn, Rome—you name it.”

Cameron cocked his head. “I could live with that.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t?”

“No. Cameron, I wish I could hold a mirror to you when you’re talking about journalism. I’d be surprised if you ever love anything like you love that. You get a faraway look, a gleam in your eye. You rhapsodize about it. Whoever winds up with you will compete with that mistress all her life.”

“That bad, eh?”

“That bad. I wouldn’t even want to try to talk you out of it. I wish I was as consumed by someone or something—anything—as that.”

“You don’t think I could change, could examine myself and work on—”

“That’s just it, Cameron. I wouldn’t want you to. You take the purest joy in this pursuit of yours, and I would do you a disservice to ask you to sublimate it to me. But you would be doing me a disservice to try to concentrate on me while pursuing your true love.”

Cameron let go of her hands and thrust his into his pockets. “Wow,” he said. “I could sure use someone like you in my life.”

“I know you could. But it’s not going to be me. I hope you understand, and I hope I haven’t hurt you.”

“I think I understand. Thanks … I think.”

She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Thanks for asking, anyway.”

Irene was fascinated by Chloe’s development. Blonde and green-eyed, she was suddenly gangly—all arms and legs.

She wore braces and glasses that would soon give way to contacts, then laser surgery. But she was also suddenly on the phone to her girlfriends all the time and ferociously protective of her privacy. She stopped talking the moment Irene came within earshot. She would scowl and scold and whisper and turn away.

Irene found this frustrating, of course, and felt shut out more than ever. But it also amused her. Here was this frisky colt, all angular and awkward and clumsy, suddenly aware of fashion. No matter what Chloe wore, she still looked like a newborn animal trying to get its legs under itself. But apparently that didn’t stop the boys from seeing her potential.

That was what Chloe was talking about with her girlfriends. Constantly. Irene heard enough to know that.

Also strange was the sudden change in Chloe’s attitude about going to church. Irene was naturally suspicious. Rayford had all but completely stopped attending, except for the occasional off-golf-season Sunday when he couldn’t arrange to fly somewhere. But Chloe was up early on Sundays, trying on outfits, spending inordinate amounts of time in the bathroom, and emerging eager to go.

She wore the latest fashions and accessories, but it was all Irene could do to keep a straight face, watching the gawky preteen try to look hip and cool.

When Chloe went from whining and complaining about having to go to church at all to where she started attending Sunday school and church and young people’s activities, Irene knew something was up. That something, of course, turned out to be someone. Bobby.

Every time his name was mentioned, Chloe blushed. And when he began sitting next to her during the morning service, Irene saw the dreaminess in their eyes. Ah, first love. Or at least first crush. It was fun to watch and not hard to see what they saw in each other. His hair had a pair of cowlicks competing for wildness. He was shorter than Chloe, and he also wore braces and glasses.

Around each other, both were extremely quiet. They couldn’t hide that their fingers were touching under the hymnal and that they played footsie during prayer time. Irene wanted to caution Chloe about boys, but it wasn’t like they were dating. They probably hardly even spoke.

Bobby seemed harmless enough, and when Irene figured out that he came from an old church family, her mind was at ease. Whatever or whoever was getting her daughter to church every Sunday was fine with her.

Nicolae had never seen Reiche Planchette so clearly shaken. His lips looked thin and pale, and his eyes darted. He had insisted on a meeting with the senior cabinet of Carpathian Trading: Nicolae, Leon, Viv, and himself.

“I was threatened,” he said. “We were all threatened.”

“By whom?” Nicolae said evenly.

“He didn’t give me a name, but it was clear whom he represented.”

“Start from the beginning,” Nicolae said.

“Okay, well, you know I enjoy a late-afternoon aperitif.”

“At The Longshoreman, yes.”

“Well, apparently I’ve been seen there.”

“Only by everyone in Bucharest at one time or another,” Nicolae said.

“I was at the bar when a man approached and asked if I would join him for a moment at his table. I said, ‘Do I know you?’ and he said, ‘No, but I know you. I ask for only a minute of your time.’ Needless to say, I was curious. I took my drink to his table, which was in a secluded area. He didn’t look like a thug. Most pleasant looking and sounding, actually.”

“Get to the point, Reiche, please,” Nicolae said.

“Sorry. He leaned forward and whispered, ‘You and your boss and the other two members of your inner circle and their loved ones are in danger.’ I’m paraphrasing, of course, but—”

“I would not expect you to remember every word, Reiche.”

“Thank you, but I will never forget the import of what he said. I said, ‘In danger of what?’ and he said, ‘In danger for your very lives.’ He said ‘your very lives,’ almost like out of Shakespeare. I said, ‘Why?’ and he said, ‘I think you know.’

“You’d have been proud of me, Nicolae. I said, ‘I don’t know, so if you have a serious message for me, you had better try being more clear.’”

“Good job,” Nicolae said, working to contain a laugh.

“Well, he got more clear. He said, ‘Unless I can assure my boss he doesn’t have to drop out of this race, one of you or a loved one is going to die. You have twenty-four hours.’”

“Tell me,” Nicolae said, “that he was stupid enough to say he would meet you again at the same place. I will have him taken down right there if he does.”

“No. He had quite specific instructions for you.”

“For me?”

“You are to say something during your next speech, which if I am not mistaken is set for tomorrow morning—”

“Right.”

“—about your esteemed opponent, and you are to use those exact words. You are to admit that you would endorse him as a candidate for the presidency and look forward to the day when you might actually be able to do that. Then you are to indicate that you are considering—just considering—actually dropping out of the race and that you will let the public know within another day or two.”

“Dropping out of the race with just days to go,” Nicolae said, grinning.

“Just considering it.”

“Do not be mad, Reiche. If I told the press and the public I was even thinking about something like that, it would end the race for me. Who would vote for someone so wishy-washy?”

“Exactly,” Leon said. “Anyway, we do not fear Emil Tismaneanu and his thugs.”

“Fear?” Nicolae said. “I will meet aggression with aggression.”

“I fear them,” Viv said. “I am not eager to be in danger.”

“Then lie low for a while, Viv. And, Reiche, after tomorrow’s speech, I would avoid The Longshoreman.”

“What are you saying?”

“If you have to ask that, Reiche, you might even consider not going anywhere for a few days.”

“Well, I’m assuming you’re not going to accede to their wishes then?”

“Not allow my opponent to write my speeches, you mean? No, Reiche, I am not going to accede to their wishes. In fact, they are going to accede to mine, which I made clear to Emil when he was here.”

“So it’s come to this?” Reiche said, looking suddenly weary.

“Yes!” Leon said. And he looked energized.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Rayford had never been called on the carpet per se, so he was pretty sure this summons to Earl Halliday’s office was something other than that. And when he saw Earl’s smile, he was relieved.

“I don’t know if it was all the coverage you got for that safe landing in L.A. or your background in
ROTC
,” Earl said, “but the brass at the
CIA
and the Defense Department want to talk with you.”

“Think it has anything to do with my being on the reserve list for Air Force One and Two?”

“No idea, but you can bet they know about that. They probably have a record of every traffic ticket you ever got too, and if you got caught chewing gum in school.”

“Kids still get in trouble for that, Earl?”

“How would I know? Showing my age. Anyway, I’m changing your next assignment so you’ll fly into Reagan,

and you’ll have plenty of time to meet with those boys. They made it clear it would be super classified, confidential, and all that, but you gotta promise me, Ray. Promise you’ll remember every word.”

“Yeah, I forgot. You love all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

“Don’t you?”

“Sure. But who knows what this is about?”

“Not me,” Earl said.

“Let me see the crew list for the original pattern.”

Earl produced it from his computer, and Rayford scanned it. He would have to call Hattie and tell her she’d need another way home.

Nicolae’s morning speech was scheduled for a One World rally at the University of Romania at Bucharest. For some reason the students there, particularly those belonging to liberal cause clubs, had turned on their old favorite, Emil Tismaneanu, and decided he was now too establishment. They had to be aware that Nicolae Carpathia was every bit as much a materialist and capitalist as Tismaneanu, but he was also young—not much older than they—and had charm and energy unmatched by other politicos in their memory.

Besides, Carpathia rarely spoke of business and commerce. He spoke of the poor, the oppressed, the disenfranchised. He spoke of opening Romania to the rest of the world—a message that would go down easily at a rally for globalism.

Nicolae mounted the podium to enthusiastic applause and assumed the students and faculty had seen the latest polls that showed him ahead by nearly ten points. He suspected their motives. Had he been trailing by that much, would that many have shown up, and would they be so enthusiastic if they thought they had thrown in with a loser?

Nicolae felt upbeat and stayed on point. He said what the education crowd wanted to hear, then waxed eloquent on globalism and the need to de-emphasize national borders. He was interrupted time and again by cheering and applause.

“This is where my opponent and I disagree,” he said. “Do I esteem my opponent? No, I do not.”

Wild applause.

“But I will say that Emil Tismaneanu happens to be a close personal friend and, I hope, long will be, even after I defeat him. And I will beat him with your help! Does it come as a surprise to you that he and I are friends? Would it shock you to know I recently hosted a dinner party in his honor? I wonder if the favor will be reciprocated when I am looking for a place to celebrate victory.

“But I tease my friend because we disagree on fundamentals. A sincere man? Yes, he is. One who loves his country? Certainly. But therein lies the rub. He would enclose us, strengthen our borders, keep us from being cosmopolitan. There is a reason Emil Tismaneanu is a successful businessman. He does not like to share the wealth.”

And so there it was. Nicolae had not only not used

the code language prescribed in the threat, but he had also used the opposite. And he had broken his promise to not use the surprise party for political gain. But there was more. Nicolae had sunk in the knife. It was time to twist it.

“I shall leave to my other-than-esteemed opponent the explanation of why his campaign is flagging and why it would not surprise me in the least if he opted out of the race, even at this late date. He actually broached that subject with me recently, and one of his representatives discussed his dropping out with one of my staff members only yesterday. I do not know about you, but I would prefer a man in the Parliament committed to a long-term future, a man who knows his own mind, a man other than wishy-washy about his own future. But that is just me. I am not the one looking at poll figures showing an all-but-hopeless cause.”

Nicolae left the platform to cheering and a standing ovation, having left the ball squarely in Emil Tismaneanu’s court.

“Class elections this time of the year?” Irene said. Chloe nodded, smiling through her complex braces.

“It’s for next school year, but they’re doing it now. I’m

running for president of the seventh-grade class.”

“Really? And what do you feel are your chances?” Chloe looked suddenly crestfallen. “You don’t think I can win.”

“I didn’t say that. Of course you can win. I just wonder how confident you are.”

“Totally, Mom. In fact, the only other person I know for sure is running is a football player. He’s like the male version of the dumb blonde.”

“Careful. You’re blonde too.”

“I don’t mean literally, Mom. His hair is brown. But he’s a jock, beginning and end.”

“Is he popular?”

‘“Course. But this isn’t a popularity contest. This is about issues.”

“Don’t kid yourself. Every election is a popularity contest.”

“Mom! Why do you have to throw a wet blanket on everything?”

“Oh no, I’m not. I just want you to be pragmatic, practical.”

“You don’t think I’m popular.”

“I know you must be.”

“Then why would you say that? You don’t know anything about me!”

Nicolae settled into the expansive backseat of Leon Fortunato’s monstrous black
SUV
. As his driver pulled into traffic, Leon smiled.