ReUNION: What if the Civil War had never happened? (33 page)

“You think that’s inevitable, if we turn Bourque down?” Katz asked.

“If we turn him down, Bourque may feel he has only two choices,” Callaway said.
“Make a separate peace with Garcia and becomes a Mexican protectorate, an
independent nation in name only, or wait for the invasion and try to fight it
off. The result would be pretty much the same, either way, except in the second
alterative, lots of people die.”

At that moment, Veronica Tennenbaum appeared at the door. “Room for one more?”
She asked.

“There’s always a place at the table for you, Veronica,” Callaway said.

She sat, and while the wait staff brought out the food—burgers and fries for
everyone—the President and his Chief of Staff filled her in on the
negotiations.

“So, Veronica,” Callaway said, “what do you think?” He bit into his burger.

“Who me? I think that if you make this deal with Bourque, we’ll have all kinds
of
tsuris
. You’ll be impeached and thrown out of office and us along
with you. And I haven’t even gotten Senate confirmation yet. What am I gonna
put on my résumé, ‘very nearly Secretary of State’?”

“It is going to take some selling,” Callaway admitted. “We’re going to have to
pull out all the stops.”

“All the stops?” Katz said. “How are we going to stop the Truckers’’ Union?
Zolli is threatening to shut down the entire country and I think he means it.
And the Our Country First people and Metzger and the INN? You’re good, Mr.
President, but I don’t know if you’re
that
good.” He salted his fries
and started munching on them.

Callaway responded with an enigmatic smile. “I may still have a few tricks up
my sleeve, Marty,” he said.

“Mr. President, with all due respect, you aren’t Houdini,” Veronica put in. She
took a sip of diet soda.

“You have to admit Bourque’s request was outrageous,” Wang said.

Callaway shrugged. “Compared to what? What should it cost to save an entire
country?”

“There you go again, getting all idealistic,” Katz said. “Haven’t I told you
that politics is the art of the practical?”

“Several dozen times, at least,” Callaway acknowledged. “But that just means we
need to find a way to make this possible.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so set on this, Mr. President,” Wang said.

“Mainly because I believe the Mexican threat is real, and that if Mexico
absorbs the CSA, we’ll be the losers—in power, in influence, commercially and
politically.”

Veronica resumed eating. “So you think making a deal with Bourque is the best
solution to the problem, Mr. President?”

“It may be the only solution,” Callaway said.

She swallowed. “
Oy vey
.”

“How’s he feeling, by the way,” Katz asked.

“Well, yesterday wasn’t good,” Callaway said. “After the TV speech, he was
finished for the day. Today he seems fine.”

“Yeah, I didn’t see him gobbling up Tums this morning,” Wang said. “I was
beginning to think we’d have to order a carload from GlaxoSmithkline. But
today, he’s evidently got his
mojo
back.”

“Okay, let’s say we make a deal with Bourque,” Katz said, and he took out his
cigar case, selected a victim and lit up, “let’s say we make a deal, but it
isn’t enough.”

“Not enough?” Wang asked.

“Yeah, it’s only a temporary solution. The CSA is so weak that after awhile, no
matter how much we try to pump it up, it deflates. Bourque dies. His successor
can’t cut the mustard and Garcia attacks. You know what happens then, Mr.
President?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“What happens is that we go down with him. We try to save the Confederacy and
the rescue attempt bleeds us dry, and Mexico takes the CSA despite our best
efforts. Where do you think they look next? Or do you think Garcia will be
satisfied with one conquest?” He ate another French fry and waited for an
answer.

“Well, Marty, we’re none of us Nostradamus,” Callaway said, casually chomping
down on his own French fry. “We have to do what’s right for today. We can only
look so far into the future.”

*

After they finished lunch, President Callaway excused himself and went back to
his private office to do some paperwork. As soon as he sat down, the telephone
rang. He sighed and picked it up.

“President Bowman is on the line, sir.” The operator said.

“Put him through,” Callaway replied.

“’Morning, Charlie,” said the President of West Canada. “I just wanted to call
you and tell you how impressed I was by Bourque’s TV appearance yesterday. He
certainly made the most of our satellite material—with your help, of course.
Very nicely staged.”

“Thanks, Gordon. I was going to call you today to thank you. Anything that puts
Garcia in his place is good for all of us,” Callaway said.

“That may be more true than you think,” said Bowman.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, that’s why I was calling, Charlie,” Bowman said. “Our photo analysts
have been studying those satellite photos and they’ve found something rather
interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“They compared the satellite images of Mexico’s Gulf coast with some commercial
aerial reconnaissance shots taken a few months ago,” Bowman said. “And they
noticed that in the older photo, there are hardly any boats in Lake Pueblo
Viejo, near Tampico, but now half the lake is covered with shipping.”

“And they think this means…?”

“They magnified the images and they’re convinced the boats are landing craft.
Hundreds of them.”

Callaway was surprised. “Landing craft?”

“Yes, amphibious landing craft. And they’ve also found a big manufacturing
plant on the shore that seems to be cranking them out by the dozen. What do you
make of that, Charlie?”

Callaway was silent for a moment. “I make the same thing out of it you do,
Gordon,” he said, finally. “Garcia is planning something, something big and
ugly.”

“Which is why he faked the tanker sinking,” Bowman said. “He was laying the
grounds for retaliation.”

“This is a very ominous development, Gordon.”

“I know. Is there anything we can do about it?”

“Maybe,” Callaway said. “I’ll get back to you on that. Meanwhile, full speed
ahead on the other thing?”

“That’s been a bit of a bumpy ride, but I think I’m making progress.”

“Good luck.” President Callaway said.

“We’re gonna need it.”

*

At 1:30, Melissa Parker, INN’s midday news reader offered her prettiest smile
and said, “Now let’s go to Andrew Simmons, who’s covering the Our Country First
demonstrations at the White House. Andy?”

The scene cut to the iron fence in front of the White House and the on-location
reporter, microphone in hand: “Not much new to report here, Melissa. The
demonstrators continue to, well, demonstrate—peacefully, quietly,
non-violently.”

“How about the numbers, Andy?” Melissa said, voiceover. “Are they holding up?”

“Hard to tell, Melissa. Some people have been leaving, but others have been
arriving.”

“Well, you keep us informed, Andy.”

“Sure will, Melissa.”

The scene changed, back to the studio shot of Melissa Parker, sitting at a
desk. “Meanwhile, we have an exclusive from our sources inside the White House.
Apparently, the talks between Presidents Callaway and Bourque are on the verge
of collapse. A high-ranking official familiar with the negotiations says that
the Confederacy has made requests that our government is unwilling to grant.
More on that story when we have it.

“Next up: the News-Journal has just released a new public opinion poll. It
shows that national approval of the Callaway-Bourque meetings has declined to
51%, below 55% for the first time. 45% disapprove and the rest don’t know or
have no opinion.

She looked up and smiled winningly, then paused and put her hand to her ear,
evidently receiving information from her earpiece.

“And now we have some breaking news.” She glanced down at a piece of paper
someone had slipped onto her desk. “Just before dawn this morning,
approximately 50 Southern Negroes, all members of a church in Montgomery,
Alabama, that was firebombed last week, attempted to escape to the NAU at a
border crossing in northern Virginia. They were turned back by units of the CSA
Border Guard. Two of those who attempted to escape were shot and killed, while
14 others received non-life-threatening wounds. There were no causalities among
the Border Guards. This is the first border incident in over a decade.” She
looked up, smiling her silly smile. “At least that we know of.”

“I’ll be back at 2 o’clock with a wrap-up of the day’s news. Meanwhile, stay
tuned to the International News Network, where we let you form your own
opinion.”

*

It was ten minutes past 2 o’clock when Buddy Bourque and Roy Pickett steamed
into the conference room, to join President Callaway, Eric Wang and Veronica
Tennenbaum. They all took their seats.

“Ah, Ms. Tennenbaum,” said President Bourque, bubbling over with warmth. “I’m
always happy to see you. Sorry I was late. Urgent business.”

“So we heard,” Wang told him.

“Ah.”

“It wasn’t good news,” Callaway said. He was looking grim.

“It was a tragedy,” Bourque agreed. “The border guards acted against my
specific orders and their officers will be appropriately punished. We also
intend to make generous restitution to the families of the victims…”

“And how about offering free passage to the NAU for the survivors?” Veronica
suggested.

“Yes. We already thought of that,” Pickett said. “All of that is being
announced from Arcadia within the hour. And, if President Bourque could use the
television studio again tonight, he’d like to briefly address the Confederate
nation.”

“Good idea,” Callaway said. “We will be happy to accommodate you, of course.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Bourque said. “I surely appreciate that.”

“We suspect the border incident was staged,” Pickett said.

“Staged?” Wang said, aghast. “Two people dead, 14 injured?”

“By someone trying to sabotage our meeting,” Bourque said.

Veronica nodded. “I guess you got your
mumzers
too,” she said.

“Yes m’am,” Bourque said, “we certainly do, if I get your meaning.”

“Do you have any idea who…” Wang let the question fade out.

“Our intelligence boys are sniffin’ around,” Bourque said.

“Of course, they could be the culprits,” Pickett added.

“Wonderful,” Wang said, meaning the opposite.

“Look, the damage has been done,” Veronica said. “It’s time we stopped
kvetching
and started fixing.”

“I’ll do my best to take the sting out of it,” Bourque said.

Callaway nodded. “I’m sure you will, Mr. President. Now let’s move on to
another subject. There’s been a development.”

“A development,” Wang said, “Since lunch?”

“Yes,” Callaway said, almost too calmly. “A call from Gordon Bowman. He told me
his photo analysts spotted something in the satellite images. Apparently,
Garcia is building amphibious landing craft by the hundreds. They’re filling up
a lake near the east coast that has access to the Gulf.”

It took a moment for Bourque to respond. “My God,” he said quietly, “he’s
assembling an invasion force.”

“It certainly looks that way,” Callaway agreed. “Have you gotten any intelligence
about this?”

Bourque just shook his head in the negative, still stunned.

“We expected he’d take a shot at us—eventually,” Pickett said. “But not this
soon.”

“Actually, we don’t have a clue about his timetable,” Callaway said. “And we
don’t know where he intends to strike.”

“Maybe he’s waiting,” Bourque said, “waiting for me to…”

Callaway’s expression didn’t change. “Which would mean that somehow he’s found
out about…”

“Impossible,” Pickett said. “Nobody in the CSA knows except me and Lester
Cohen.”

Wang gave him a sharp look. “Lester Cohen?”

“My doctor for the last 35 years, who’s never even told his grandmother that he
knows me.”

“One other,” Pickett, said, correcting himself. “Delphine.”

“You told Delphine?” Bourque asked, surprised.

“Didn’t have to,” Pickett said.

“Yeah, she’s country smart.” Bourque said. Then he looked at Callaway. “She
wouldn’t breath a word, you don’t have to worry about her.”

“I’m not,” Callaway said, “but Garcia may have found out somehow.”

The light dawned in Pickett’s eyes. “The writer,” he said. “Pinckney. He was in
the limo when we went to Dr. Cohen’s office.”

“Shit,” said President Bourque. “That’s right.”

“You think that
schnook
could be spying for Garcia?” Veronica asked.

“It never occurred to us,” Pickett said. “But it’s possible, quite possible.”

“I’ll get Hawke on it,” Callaway said. “Meanwhile, we have other business to
discuss and I think it’s gotten a bit more urgent. Where did we leave off,
Eric?”

“As I remember,” said Wang, “President Bourque had just asked us to sign over
almost everything we own and become the Confederacy’s permanent protector. That
the way you remember it, Roy?”

“Pretty much,” Pickett conceded.

Bourque was studying President Callaway. “So, Mr. President,” he said, “what do
you think of our proposal?”

Callaway regarded Bourque with a disarming smile. “President Bourque, I think
you’re trying to pull the wool over our eyes.”

“I don’t know how you can say that, President Callaway,” Bourque protested,
returning the smile unfazed. “I have been nothing but forthright and honest.”

“Uncharacteristically so,” Pickett chimed in, getting a warning looking from
Bourque.

“Mr. President,” said Callaway, with an enigmatic smile, “I don’t think you
really want what you’re asking for.”

“I agree,” Wang said. “That was just haggling. You’re expecting us to offer you
half, and hoping to settle for about two-thirds, which is what you had in mind
in the first place.”