This Week: Better Angels.
48 States: Chapters 32 & 33
THIRTY TWO
LATER THAT EVENING, River tried to decide what was more surreal: bedding down for the night in an official presidential residence, or sharing a bed with the President’s son. Both were beyond the realm of what her imagination was capable of conjuring up. For some reason, her thoughts drifted back to middle school study hall, when, like most adolescents, she spent her time answering impossibly intrusive questions passed from student to student in notebooks like who would you marry and how many kids would you have? Who had she chosen? Some popular boy whose name she couldn’t even remember now. She could almost picture him; after graduation, he’d married a local girl and moved one hundred miles south of Hailey to Burly to manage her grandfather’s farm.
“I can hear your wheels turning,” Finn said, rolling over to face her. “Qu'est-ce que c'est? What is it? What’s the matter?”
“I can’t believe I was sitting at a table tonight eating dinner with the President of the United States,” she said.
“She has to eat like the rest of us,” Finn said. “Frankly, I think this may have been the first meal in a long while she actually enjoyed. It’s obvious she hasn’t been taking care of herself. I feel partially responsible. I should have come to see her sooner.”
“No offense, but I think it’s your father who really made the difference,” River said. “I’m surprised she forgave him so easily. I don’t think I could do that.”
“I don’t think she’s forgiven him yet,” Finn said quietly. “But they’ve been together a long time and…”
“And what?” River asked.
Finn was trying to figure out what to say. He didn’t want to scare River off with a bunch of lovesick nonsense. But he also knew in his heart that his parents, despite their conflict, remained deeply in love. Finn wanted that for himself. He wanted the life that kind of commitment brought. “I guess I was going to say that after so many years, they understand one another. They know they let this go too far, and go on too long,” Finn said. “When you love someone, you have to be able to forgive them.”
“I don’t know if I could do that,” River said.
Finn smiled, thinking about all the skittish animals he’d met in the wild; the ones who’d never seen a human before. “You might,” he said softly. “You might if it was important enough.”
River let it pass, but she had a feeling their conversation was some kind of test, one she might fail. It wasn’t that she didn’t want a good life. She did. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be in love; she did. She craved the kind of love that knew the sound of your voice in a crowd, the feel of your skin in the dark. The kind of love that could tell when you were having a nightmare by the cadence of your breath in your sleep. The kind of love that took the baby so you could sleep and brought cold cloths for headaches and aspirin for hangovers and never said, “I told you so.” But she was also afraid that she wouldn’t be able to reciprocate that kind of devotion and therefore would never be the recipient of such a rare and valuable thing.
“Have they always been like that?” she asked. “So intense with one another?”
“Always. They’ve been known to finish each other’s sentences,” Finn said. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. Try to get some sleep.”
River lay there, feeling the heat of Finn’s body, a lump forming in her throat. There it was again. Certainty. “You’ll get used to it.” As if the next chapter was written.
Here was another place she didn’t share his confidence. River wasn’t certain they’d survive, his mother included. The briefing from the FBI certainly spelled out the basics. There was a madman on the loose trying to create his own reality. That alone was dangerous enough, but there was something else. River knew more about Universal Industries than most people. She understood their devotion to the bottom line, their ruthlessness to achieve results. Now their CEO had applied his principles to something far more dangerous than oil extraction. As she listened to Finn drift off to sleep, her soldier’s brain turned on, wondering what was coming next.
IN THE TRAIN car next door, Richard and Elizabeth sat across from one another, feeling like two strangers on a first date. A half-drunk bottle of red wine sat between them, a useful lubricant for rusty conversationalists.
“Do you remember when you first told me you wanted to run for Congress?” Richard asked.
“Vaguely,” Elizabeth said. “It was such a long time ago.”
“It seems like yesterday to me,” Richard said, swirling the cherry-colored liquid around in his glass. “You came running into the kitchen one afternoon and said, ‘Old Pat Barnes has lost his marbles and needs to be replaced by someone who can look after the district.’”
“Oh my.” Elizabeth giggled. “I do remember. As I recall, you didn’t want me to do it. You said it would be tough to beat someone so respected in the community.”
“Yes, I did, but you didn’t care,” Richard said. “You straightened up your spine and looked at me and said, ‘I’ll just have to go out and talk to people and make them understand.’”
Elizabeth smiled at the memory. “I did, and I won the race.”
“You won the next several elections,” Richard said. “And then you became the beloved incumbent until…”
“Until I was appointed Secretary of State,” Elizabeth finished his sentence. “You asked me not to accept that job, too.”
“I did,” Richard said. “I was worried we would see even less of each other than we already did with my teaching at Yale and you being in Washington. But it was more than that.”
“What?” Elizabeth said. “You never mentioned anything.”
“I know,” Richard said. “I was intimidated. You were about to become one of the most powerful people in the world. I was worried you wouldn’t need me anymore.”
“How absurd,” Elizabeth said. “I think I needed you more at that moment than I ever had in my life. Just as I need you now.”
“Why on earth do you feel that way?” Richard asked. “You’ve gone toe to toe with the most dynamic leaders on earth, faced down great evil, and run our country in a time of chaos and peril. What do you need me for? An aging professor steeped in history, something no one cares about anymore. My mind is full of useless details that have no relevance.”
“That’s just melancholy nonsense,” Elizabeth said. “It reminds me of the day you walked out. I need you to resist such impulses in the future. I’ve come to understand that things are not so black and white. Your relevance or irrelevance to this world is not written. You will decide your fate by what you do next. When you left, you took away something precious to me. Do you know what it is?”
Richard felt his throat constrict. “I think I know, but why don’t you tell me?” he said.
“You may have thought you were making a statement to the President of the United States when you walked away, but you didn’t abandon the leader of the free world. You ghosted your wife,” Elizabeth said. “I lost my best friend the day you disappeared. I had no one to turn to for solace or laughter. There was no one to express my gravest doubts to. I have been without my greatest confidant for two years.”
“I felt I had no choice,” he said. “I hate the Territories and all that they stand for. I wanted to be true to my principles. I still do, but…”
“To hell with your principles, Richard. Did they keep you warm at night? Did they bring you closer to your son? It’s the coward’s way to walk out in the middle of a fight,” Elizabeth said. “You could have stayed and lent your voice to the discussion. You could have been the nation’s conscience, played the Devil’s Advocate. No one was keeping you from expressing yourself, except you.”
Richard grimaced. Could it have been that easy, and instead he ran away in a selfish snit?
“I see a light bulb is going off for you,” Elizabeth said. “I may be the president, but I am also a human being, capable of listening. You do not need to censure yourself or walk away just because we disagree. I’ve been furious at you for so long. I’m willing to put aside my hurt because I love you, but I want to know you’ve grown from this and don’t plan on leaving again if things become uncomfortable.”
“I promise. The truth is that not long after I left, I knew I’d made a terrible mistake, but I was too ashamed to return,” he said. “I am sorry, Elizabeth. I will spend the rest of my days trying to make it up to you.”
No,” she said. “I don’t need a martyr for a husband. I need a partner. If you want to apologize, I suggest you get up and come with me now so we can finish this discussion properly and end this sorry chapter in our lives.”
Later, as Richard lay awake listening to Elizabeth sleep the sleep of the exhausted, he reflected on how he’d been given the precious opportunity to understand the value of what he’d left behind. He did not intend to squander his good fortune.
Although clearly worn down, his wife was more beautiful than ever. When he first set eyes on her inside the convention center, he’d been reminded of the day he’d spotted her at college, the confident young woman who’d refused to join a sorority. Captain of the debate team and a volunteer at the battered women’s shelter near campus, she’d declined his first two offers of dinner. Too handsome, she’d said, as if it were a flaw in his character.
Finally, she’d agreed to go out, but not for dinner, only coffee. From there, she’d allowed him to escort her to a photography exhibit and then later a play and dinner afterwards. It had taken him an entire month to be able to spend more than a few hours with her at one time. She was careful with her affections.
When he was finally allowed to visit, he discovered her dorm room was covered with old issues of The Economist and the Paris Review, and with books, some new, some used, all of them scribbled with pen or pencil, maybe a torn piece of paper marking a critical thought. Many of his friends found her too brainy, but he loved it. He wasn’t afraid of her ideas or her energy. She ignored her own beauty, but often complimented others, and it made her lovelier. She was athletic, riding a bicycle between classes and playing tennis on the weekends.
He knew that he loved her early on in their courtship, but was careful not to rush things. Both their families were old money, concerned with expectations for marriage and status, but Elizabeth didn’t seem to care. She wanted to have her own life and be free of the trappings her birthright brought her. And yet she failed to escape the outlines of her destiny, for here she was, President of the United States, preparing to address the nation. He had not handled her ascension to the position as gracefully as he should have. As he lay there, he thought back to how she had carefully allowed him into her life all those years ago. Once she did, she loved him with all her heart, no exceptions. He had not done the same thing for her, and he regretted it. Richard thought about how far he’d drifted from his family, his career, and his life. If there was such a thing as miracles, then he’d witnessed one, certain he would never know why such grace had been bestowed upon him. As he drifted off to sleep, he thanked whatever forces were at play for reuniting him with Elizabeth, for allowing his impulsiveness to be repaired, and for giving him a second chance.
THIRTY THREE
RIVER GAZED across the table as the White House traveling staff served pastries and coffee to Finn and his family. Despite all that had happened, it was obvious that if given the option, they were a family that preferred to stick together. They’d been put through the ringer and were more than entitled to wallow in recriminations, but instead chose to savor their proximity much like a good meal.
She was astonished by how beguiling it all seemed to her as an outsider. No one in her household ate together. She’d gotten up with Ava at the crack of dawn; her mother was usually out the door to open the library up for the morning. Marc never rose before noon. Despite the noise and chaos of three adults and a baby, her home was steeped in silence, a place of concealment and secrecy, with a good deal left unspoken by tacit agreement. This morning, though, River realized she was enjoying the silence. She savored her croissant, reading a printed copy of a national newspaper until a frantic knock at the door interrupted their peace. A member of the President’s security team opened the door, allowing the acting FBI director to burst into the room.
“Good morning, Madam President,” he said.
“Good morning, Michael,” she said. “We were not expecting you until later. What is it?”
“It may be nothing,” he said. “During one of our perimeter searches this morning, we came across a piece of paper containing something unusual. We’re wondering if River could review it for us.”
“Why me?” River asked.
“If you take a look, you’ll understand,” he said.
River took the scrap of paper and looked at it for several seconds, her brow furrowed.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she said, handing the scrap back.
“Do you agree it appears to be a photocopy from a book?” Michael said.
“Yes,” River replied. “But not one that would have been allowed in the United States in the last two years, at least not without supervision.”
“Could you loop the rest of us into this conversation, please?” Elizabeth said.
“Right. Sorry. The scrap of paper is from a poem in Arabic,” River said.
“What does it say?” Finn asked.
“It’s about pledging total devotion to God,” River said.
“Can you tell how old it is?” Michael asked.
“The printing and paper look contemporary,” River said. “Is there a trash dump nearby, or a storage facility? Maybe someone was clearing out an old space?”
“Not that we know of,” he said.
“I don’t want to sound overly dramatic, but this is the kind of thing a martyr would carry,” River said. “A devotional text to bolster their resolve.”
“That was our conclusion as well,” Michael said. “Our agents are investigating.”
“Maybe it’s a trick,” Richard said. “A red herring from Red to throw us off his trail and make us think there’s another threat. He loves to blame Muslims for our troubles.”
“Plausible,” Michael replied. “It’s another angle to investigate. Meanwhile, our satellite images show the bulk of Red’s troops and equipment still parked on his compound in Virginia. He hasn’t made any significant shifts in the last forty-eight hours.”
“What do you make of it?” the President asked.
“We’re not sure, to be honest,” he said. “Cooper Smith arrived last night and is trying to anticipate Red’s next move. He thinks Red may be waiting until after your address, hoping he can use your speech to justify launching his attack.”
“That sounds like him,” Richard said. “He’ll no doubt employ his selective use of American history to try to stir people into a frenzy.”
“The problem is deterrence,” Michael said. “Given the civilians in the area, our military advisors tell us it’s unlikely we can use airstrikes to destroy his base, but our surveillance is incomplete. We have one more pass to make, and then our photography can be compared with maps and satellite imagery.”
“Airstrikes on American soil?” the President asked. “That’s not something I’m ready to sign off on. My God, that would scare our people half to death. I need to speak with the Secretary of Defense, and we’ll have to assemble the cabinet.”
“This is not your typical homegrown rebellion, Madam President. We’re not talking about a bunch of frustrated ranchers trespassing on public land. Red is amassing real firepower. Extraordinary measures may be required….”
“For extraordinary circumstances,” the President interjected. “You’re the not the first person to present me with that argument. I will tell you the same thing I told him: the United States doesn’t abandon its principles in an emergency; that is when they’re needed most. We will not use our troops on US soil, at least not yet.”
“Understood,” Michael said. “But it may be our only option to thwart him before he enters more populated areas like Philadelphia.”
Elizabeth looked over at Richard, wondering what he made of this matter-of-fact conversation about an action that could tear the country into pieces. Not since the Civil War had the country pitted its own soldiers against one another. As Commander in Chief, she would not give such an order. She’d rather see the Russians march down the street in front of the Liberty Bell than ask neighbors to draw arms against one another. The sight of foreign invaders would be an insult, but it would not be a lethal blow to the country's soul. She wouldn’t be the one to inflict such a mortal wound, accomplishing what years of terrorism could not: turning neighbor against neighbor.
“Richard,” Elizabeth said, looking to her husband for his thoughts.
“We must not be enemies,” he said. “We must be the better angels.”
“Yes,” she said. “Quite right. Michael, I understand your position, but we will not pit our armed forces against their countrymen. I will not drop bombs on innocent people. Instead, you will send our best people to infiltrate the compound and deal with this directly. You…they have full authority to stop Red from leaving the compound.”
“Understood, Madam President,” Michael said. “As a reminder, you are expected at the Convention Center in a few hours. We’ll be sealing the facility and doing a security sweep before we let folks inside. You and your group need to be there at least two hours before the speech.”
“We’ll be ready to go,” Elizabeth said.
But in her heart, she wondered. She suspected the rest of the room felt the same way.
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