“It may be,” Walker continued, “that the road to the stars crosses this ridge. Some people are disturbed by the discoveries made here. They fear them. And we know that when change comes, no one is more adamant in holding on to the past than those in power. They know change is inevitable, but they would, if they could, parcel it out in measured pieces. Grain for chickens.
“We are told by your government,” he continued, “that we must leave. If we do not comply, we will be turned out. And those who have the temerity to remain on their own land are threatened with jail. Or worse. I would ask you, if these persons can seize our property because they are afraid, whose property is safe? If they can lay hands on our future, whose future is secure?”
(Producer’s voice: “Great, Carole. The guy is great! Try to get an exclusive interview when it’s over.”)
“This will not be the first time we have been called on to defend our land with our blood. But I would speak directly to the president of the United States.” Chang moved in. “Mr. President, only you have the power to stop this. The people who will die tonight, on both sides, are innocent. And they are idealistic, or they would not be confronting each other. They are the best that we have, willing to sacrifice themselves for a cause dictated by older men. Stop it while you can.”
Tom Lasker’s ID had done him no good at the roadblock, and he had been turned away without explanation, just like the hordes of tourists. His first reaction was to use the cellular phone to call Max, but he got only a busy signal, the kind of rasping two-tone that usually indicates a trunk line is down.
He had been listening to the news accounts, and he knew about the ultimatum. It had not seriously hit home until now, however, that there was going to be shooting and that people might get killed.
He hesitated, not knowing what to do, feeling he should talk to someone but not knowing who could help. He called Ginny and told her what was going on. “Come home,” she said. “Stay out of it.” Moments later she called him back. “One of the people from the reservation is trying to reach you.” She gave him a number. “Be careful,” she added.
William Hawk picked up on the other end. “Tom,” he said. “We need to get a message through to the chairman.”
April had been unusually quiet. Max wondered whether she was disappointed in him or whether she was simply frightened. They’d returned to the control module and sat moodily, not talking. The air was heavy, and Max, at least, could not say what was on his mind.
It hurt. “April,” he said, “you’re sure you want to stay?”
She looked up at him and needed a moment to focus. “Yes,” she said. “I feel the same way Adam does. I can’t walk out of here and just let them take everything.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Max got up.
She nodded.
“Good luck,” he said.
31
It is an unbecoming thing to wince before the menacing shot.
—Montaigne, “Of Steadfastness”
As soon as it became apparent the Sioux would not back down, Elizabeth Silvera began listening in on telephone conversations. She was aware of Walker’s question to Adam, How far are you prepared to go? and of the response. She also understood from his phone conversation with Walter Asquith, the Pulitzer Prize-winning writer, that Walker planned some sort of demonstration by outsiders. She had no concrete information. She had listened to other conversations before they shut down communications, intercepts during which the Native Americans reassured their families not that they would be okay but that they could be relied on to defend the birthright. She wondered if they had guessed she was listening and if the remarks were being made specifically for her benefit. And finally she had listened to Max’s conversation with the president. Max’s refusal to take a stand had elicited her indignation and simultaneously persuaded her that force would be necessary. If the Sioux were going to accept a settlement, that would have been the time to do it.
This was not an assignment she was happy with. Not that she had moral or political reservations. But the situation was explosive, with a lot of risk professionally and relatively little to gain. If she got everything right here, she would simply pass the package on to SOG, which would get the credit. In the meantime, if she screwed up anything at all, it would be her career.
She had officially turned the operation over to SOG during the late afternoon. Horace Gibson, the group commander, had arrived to take charge of things personally. Considering how high-profile the case was, she’d expected no less. Elizabeth had met Gibson once before, and she didn’t care much for him. There was a little too much bravado in his manner. Gibson thought highly of himself and made no secret of his opinion that his people were special, the organization’s elite. He made Elizabeth feel like a peasant.
On this occasion, though, she could almost feel sorry for him. She knew what his instructions were: Take the Roundhouse quickly, to avoid a prolonged media circus; do it without losing anybody; and if possible, do it without hurting any of the Indians.
Good luck.
She knew Horace well enough to conclude that the Indians better look out.
NBC’s Special Edition, interview of Attorney General Christian Polk by Tom Brokaw
Brokaw: Mr. Polk, we’ve just watched the plea made by James Walker for restraint and his charge that the government is trying to steal land that belongs to the Sioux. How do you respond to that?
Polk: Tom, we sympathize with Chairman Walker and the Sioux. I would like to make it clear that the action we have taken is, we feel, in everyone’s best interest. Let me reiterate that we are not stealing the property. We are only asking for oversight.
Brokaw: What precisely does oversight mean, Mr. Polk? Who will actually control operations at the Roundhouse?
Polk: Why, the Sioux, of course. The only reason we will be there is to ensure that—Look, Tom, this is a unique situation. We’ve never seen anything like this before. We have a duty to see that appropriate safeguards are maintained. We just don’t know what we’re dealing with, and we owe it to the American people to stay on top of this. There’s nothing unreasonable about that.
Brokaw: Exactly what sort of threat worries you?
Polk: The first thing we want to do is to reassure everyone. There have been stories that something came out of the Roundhouse—
Brokaw: You don’t really believe that, do you?
Polk: No. I personally do not. But that’s not the issue. A lot of people do. And we have to reassure them.
Brokaw: So you plan to take Sioux property by force because some people in North Dakota are getting nervous?
Polk: There are other factors. We don’t know what hazards there might be. Disease, for example. That is a primary concern. We have to control these ports.
Brokaw: It appears that the Sioux will not comply with the court order.
Polk: That’s not really an option for them.
Brokaw: That might be their call rather than yours. Mr. Polk, are you prepared to use force?
Polk: I’m sure it won’t come to that.
Brokaw: But will you use force if you have to?
Polk: We have every confidence this can be settled peacefully.
Brokaw: Thank you, sir.
Polk: Thank you, Tom.
Horace Gibson sat in his temporary command post on a hilltop several miles north of Johnson’s Ridge, going over the latest pictures from the target area and the weather updates. He’d done his homework on Adam Sky and did not look for any mistakes in the defense. He was also not sure what kind of weapons Sky might be able to deploy.
The Sioux would dig in, using the mounds as cover.
Gibson’s preference would have been to drop black smoke on them and follow up with concussion grenades. Blind them, shake them up, and use the choppers to move in before they could regroup. But winds of forty miles per hour were blowing across the top of the escarpment and were expected to worsen during the night. So there would be no smoke to cover an assault. The wind conditions wouldn’t help chopper maneuverability, either, but he could manage.