Chapter Forty-two
Friday, 1215
(Round-up begins)
—“We apologize to our viewers for being off air. I’m Sam Smith, a producer here. We just had a visit from the Secret Service who arrested Carol Marilee, Joel Smith and the rest of our anchor team. They would not tell us why they were being arrested or where they were being taken, and when our executive producer demanded to see a warrant and to hear charges, she was arrested and taken away, as well.
“We’ve also learned this is being duplicated across the region with dozens of reporters and anchors from other TV and radio stations being taken into Federal custody.
“We want to assure you we’re going to continue to do our best to report what’s going on, so please stay tuned.”—
General Alexander sat silently in a corner, in shadow, his head hanging, his eyes closed, his hands gripping his chair, trying to hold on to what was left of his self-esteem with all the might he could produce. The various stations that had been set up around the common room of Camp David were being dismantled. The mission was a success. They had won, and lost. The members of the team were quietly celebrating: mostly smiles, high-fives and handshakes.
As the last of the associates were exiting, Sanderson, Soleste, and Ryan moved to the center of the room and sat in a semi-circle around a coffee table. Alexander knew he was expected to join them, but he continued to sit in the darkened corner.
Alexander watched President Henry speaking on the large television at the center of the room. He told the country, with the kind of bravado that comes from never being in danger, that he had defeated his enemies and that the people behind the coup attempt were being arrested, jailed, and would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. He reassured everyone that Marshal Law would only be in effect until the threat was completely eliminated. His expression was of someone who was grieving the death of a child, someone else’s child. He spoke in a low grave tone, and in a slow cadence meant to emphasize the seriousness of the moment. He didn’t do it well. He barely concealed his happiness.
Alexander wanted to throw up. The rest of the members of Omilos couldn’t have been happier, Ryan was hopping up and down: “Isn’t he magnificent.”, “Truly amazing.”, “He’s better than I hoped.” They spoke quietly, almost reverently, to each other as they watched Henry spew their propaganda through the speech they had worked on for weeks. The speech was meant to not only be reassuring, but also authoritative: “I will deal with these traitors!”, “All who oppose us will be eliminated!”.
Alexander had to admit it was compelling. Not only because of the speech; it was well-written, not well-delivered; however, the tight framing of Henry’s scowling face gave an aggressive, Big Brother air that was scary; it frightened even Alexander:
“If they will come for me, then what’s to stop them from coming for you?” Henry bellowed, “I’m the only one who can stand between the forces of chaos, murder, and you!”
That last line struck an anguished chord in General Alexander, because he knew the forces of chaos and murder were in the room with him. He was now awash in guilt. He had been maneuvered into participating in the real coup—the quiet coup—the one most people couldn’t fathom was actually happening, out of arrogance and patriotism and pride. He continued out of fear.
So he now sat in the far corner of the room, overcome with shame. Not that anyone could tell. He was making sure to project an image of strength and confidence because he knew he was in a room full of Machiavellian crocodiles who would devour him if he showed any sign of weakness or regret.
###
“Wasn’t that the most magnificent speech you’ve ever seen?!” boomed President Henry as he entered the room. His arms were spread wide and his posture was erect and a large smile stretched across his wide, round, pancaked face. He hadn’t bothered to remove the makeup he wore for the televised speech; he thought it made him look younger. He marched over to the big, center chair, although to Alexander it looked more like prancing.
“Yes, sir!” came the resounding chorus, as everyone in the room stood and applauded. Even Alexander stood, although he did it out of reflex, and self-preservation.
As Henry stepped to the center of the room and sat, Sanderson, Soleste, and Ryan seated themselves on the two couches situated at right angles to the “big chair” that framed the area into a U-shape. Alexander returned to his seat in the corner, immersed in his self-pity and sense of betrayal, hoping to be forgotten.
“Come on over, General,” Henry said almost musically as he waved Alexander over to the group, “You are a big part of our success!” Alexander involuntarily, though subtly, cringed.
He pushed himself up and out of his seat and walked to the end of the couch, making sure his chin was up, his posture straight, and his face stoic. Soleste sat upright, smiling, obviously happy with herself, and full of her own self-importance. Alexander sat at the far end looking straight ahead. Everyone else faced the President with proud moon-faced countenances, beaming their approval and admiration, further feeding Henry’s insatiable need for praise and validation, as they awaited his pronouncements of appreciation.
“I’ve made a good start, but now we must rid the country of those who would undermine the great things I’ve done and the even greater things I will do in the future,” Henry said with smugness flying from his mouth like spit.
They all nodded enthusiastically, with the exception of Alexander, who went unnoticed, obscured by the voluminous amount of fawning and stroking being given to Henry. Their success had given them a sense of invulnerability that propelled them all to behave as though they were immortals. They were certain they could now reshape the country, and the world, into their vision, while at the same time assuming power never before witnessed by humanity.
Alexander trembled at the thought, that they could do it. He was listening, and when anyone looked his way he gave them a slight smile, which was all he could muster, and nodded slowly, all the while feeling dirty.
“I have released the list of journalists who are part of the conspiracy against our country,” Henry began, with a devilish smile. “They are being arrested as we speak.”
“Very good Mr. President!” said Ryan, with a broad smile and a mischievous glint in his eye, “I have my list of judges who have endorsed our opponents and given support for the overturn of your administration and they are being arrested as well.”
He was followed by Soleste who had a list of foreign policy wonks as well as active and retired officials, diplomats and civil service, who had not been sufficiently supportive of Henry, or her, and she was followed by Sanderson’s list of intelligence officers and assets who were ‘suspect’.
After a moment anticipating his contribution and not hearing from him, the group turned as one to General Alexander. He was lost in his depthless dishonor, but was awakened by the silence. He faced the group whose smiles had now turned into puzzlement and concern. Realizing that in the environment of that moment, when the slightest indication of disloyalty would be dealt with harshly, and happily, he hurriedly added, “I’m still putting together a list of those in the military who are part of the opposition, but I positioned many of them to participate in the coup attempt, so they are already arrested. I’ll have the rest later.” He hoped he had spoken with sufficient glee so as to not become suspect himself.
There was a collective pause where they looked at each other for guidance in how to respond.
“Look at this guy,” said Henry, “he’s so overwhelmed he can hardly speak.”
They collectively smiled in agreement with the greatness of their victory.
There was to be a culling. Everyone who had insulted any of them, opposed any of their initiatives, or who was any kind of threat to their hold on power, past, present or future, was now to be considered a co-conspirator—an enemy of the state—and would be part of the roundup. It was a time to exact retribution for all slights, petty and imagined, and they fully intended to wallow in their sense of superiority; they were delirious in the joy of their revenge.