“Peter, there is some news I must give you. Is your wife there?”
“She stopped off at the ladies’ room. She’ll be here in a moment.”
“You may not want to share this news with her immediately. It will be announced to the public in the morning. You might want to spare her until then.”
“My God, what is it?”
“This afternoon, a resistance group attacked the U.S. Congress. The Capitol building was bombed and severely damaged. Even worse, many members of Congress were killed or wounded.”
“My God!”
“And General Samanov, who was addressing the Congress, was himself slain. It was a great tragedy for all of us.”
Peter slumped on the edge of his bed, unable to comprehend this terrible news. Instinctively, he looked to Andrei for guidance. “What… what should I do?”
“Peter, listen carefully. It is imperative that Heartland be perceived as a success and that the other regions quickly form independent nations. You must work for stability in these dangerous times.”
“Yes, of course,” Peter said numbly.
“One other thing, Peter. An attempt was made on Devin Milford’s life as he was being transported to Omaha. Several of my men were killed in saving him.”
“Who—” Peter started to ask.
“We suspect the party intelligence agency.”
“Marion? We had a deal—” Peter protested.
“I think you should consider the advantage of releasing him. There is no purpose served by his death, and that is what will happen if he remains in custody.” Peter didn’t know what to say. Too much was happening too quickly. All he could think was that if he tried to save Devin he might have one hell of a fight with Marion, and he was too stunned to face that dilemma now.
“Of course, it’s up to you,” Andrei added smoothly. “Now, perhaps I should pay my respects to the first lady of Heartland.”
Amanda was standing across the room, studying her husband’s pale, pained face with concern. Peter handed her the phone, then stumbled into the bathroom, where he started to sob, hoping no one could hear him. It all suddenly seemed so hopeless; he felt as if he was a general, trying to fight a war without weapons, not even sure who the enemy was.
Behold the governor-general, he thought bitterly. Andrei was all charm when Amanda came on the line. “I saw you on television,” he told her. “You were lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“Please listen to me and try not to react. Devin Milford is in the hospital in Omaha. He is in great danger. I have warned Peter, but—you must find a way to influence him.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” she said, and it was the first time she had truly liked Denisov. Perhaps he was only playing games, but she thought he was genuinely kind.
“Mrs. Bradford—I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said the other day—about the consequences of our actions. Even if we try to do the best thing, we can’t always control the outcome, can we? Something may come along and upset even the best of intentions.”
“Is that happening?”
“I’m afraid it’s always happening. Goodbye, Amanda. And good luck.”
“Goodbye,” she said softly. As she hung up the phone, Peter came back into the bedroom. She looked steadily at him, his face still pale and shaken. “He said that Devin is in danger,” she finally said.
Peter sighed. “Devin has always been there, hasn’t he?”
“I’ve always loved you for you—separately, not through Devin.”
Peter shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t matter. He’s still with us.”
“He’s a part of us,” she said gently.
He threw himself into an armchair, staring at the floor. “You know, today in the stadium, in front of that crowd, I felt comfortable. I didn’t feel afraid, or in second place. I didn’t wonder what would Devin say, what am I doing here. I knew. And it felt right.”
“Yes, I know.”
He stood up abruptly, smiling lightly. “If you don’t mind leaving this shindig, maybe we’d just better get back to Omaha.”
Amanda, relieved by Peter’s good qualities winning, went into his arms. “Thank you,” she said.
“For Devin?”
She stood back at arms distance. “For you.”
The Milfords were huddled together in the old root cellar, beneath the remains of their kitchen. Alethea could not sleep, so she climbed the ladder to the burned-out shell of their home. Ward was standing in the yard, smoking a cigarette, his thatch of white hair bright in the moonlight.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she announced.
He put his arm around her. “How you holding up?”
“Not bad, I guess. Know what bothers me most?”
“What’s that?”
“Not losing the house. Not even them having Dev again; I figure he did what he wanted to do. No, what gets to me is I haven’t done a damn thing. Devin did his thing. Even Peter Bradford is doing what he thinks is right. Jesus, if only I’d killed Helmut when I had the chance. That might at least have justified a misspent life.”
“You couldn’t kill anybody, Ali.”
They grew quiet, the sounds of night enveloping them. Finally Alethea spoke, thinking aloud. “I wonder what’s happening in town.”
“The report I got said the SSU locked up a lot of people, when they couldn’t find Billy. Herb Lister was out with Gurtman, fingering anybody he had a grudge against. The jail’s probably full by now. They’ve even got the sheriff’s office doing their dirty work for ’em.” Alethea stared at what remained of the house. “It’s not right, Ward,” she said softly.
“I know.”
“They push people and push people—don’t they know people will finally push back?”
They fell silent again. Ward followed her gaze to the house where they both had been born. Now it was just a charred memory.
“Before we went to bed,” Alethea stammered. “I probably shouldn’t have done it—but I was looking for blankets in the back of your patrol car. You know what I found?”
Ward was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah,” he said finally. “A riot gun that nobody thought to take away from me.”
She nodded and turned to her brother. “Why don’t we take a little ride into town?” she asked.
He extended his arm to her.
“Madam, your carriage awaits.”
Amanda decided not to return to the reception after her discussion with Colonel Denisov, but Peter had one more official appearance to make. One that he had said little about, but one that he looked forward to most of all. Peter thought back to the day when his father gave him his first shotgun, the pride that came when entrusted with an instrument that could kill. Tonight Peter would be trusted again, this time with far greater power.
The auditorium was packed with Area National Guard commanders—captains, majors, and colonels. General Sittman addressed the group, as Peter listened from his seat of honor on the stage.
“You have been selected from your Area National Guard units to become part of the new Heartland Defense Force. You will be responsible for selecting the best men from your units. They must be willing to follow any command against the enemies of Heartland, from within or without. The remainder of the national guard units will be disbanded.” Sittman paused, looking the assemblage over carefully, as though checking for flaws of character or courage.
“Are you with me?” he boomed. The officers roared in response. “Are you with me?” the general demanded again, provoking an even louder response.
Slowly, Sittman nodded his satisfaction.
“And now let me give you the man who is ending this occupation. The man who is liberating us from Soviet domination. The man who stands between us and the domination of our land by the Communist party. Your commander-in-chief, governor-general of Heartland, Peter Bradford.”