“Just watch me do it, Alfonzo.”
All eyes turned. The former governor of New Jersey, Oscar Dowzall, strode in via the governor’s private entrance, wearing a mask of perfect confidence.
“You’re a lunatic, Dowzall,”. Ortega said with bitter amusement. “A stunt like this will never work here. This is America.”
“This is Her Majesty’s New Jersey Colony. It has been occupied illegally.”
“It’s been independent since 1776!” Ortega cried.
“There’s no statute of limitations on the theft of the properties of the British Empire. Although it was occupied and exploited for almost two and a half centuries by the United States government, it never ceased to be, legally, a colony belonging to the Crown.”
More murmurs. Ortega snorted. “That’s just stupid.”
Dowzall shrugged. “I’ll let you know something just as stupid. You are all criminals. You have served the occupying United States government, allowing this aggressive nation to further exploit and control this territory. As you are all citizens of New Jersey, you are worse than criminals. You are traitors.”
More consternation. “What? Then so are you, Dowzall!”
“Yes. I was. But I repented, and I made an oath to never again commit such acts against Her Majesty. I promised never again to give aid to the enemy.”
“The U.S. is your enemy?” Ortega was getting exasperated.
“This has always been, legally, a British colony. As a knight of England, under the provisions and obligations put forth by the Proclamation of the Continuation of the British Empire of 1655, 1702, 1709 and 1742, I’m reestablishing British control. As the new governor, I’m prepared to offer every person in this room full amnesty in return for your sworn allegiance.”
“You must be kidding,” Ortega said.
“You’ll even get to keep your jobs. Every one of you will be needed to help me make the transition. It’s going to be a big job, scrapping the old government, bringing in British rule. Who’s with me?”
Ortega shook his head. “You’re a freak, Dowzall. You belong in some sort of a mental home for homos.”
Dowzall sighed. This was going to be the unpleasant part of the job—but a necessary one. “Mr. Ortega, does this mean you decline to be a part of my team?”
“Of course I decline!”
Mr. Ortega’s head jerked sideways as his brains spattered the wall and ceiling. The state trooper at the door had attached some sort of a suppresser on his weapon, as big as a can of soda, and they hadn’t heard more than a loud cough.
“Talk it over.”
The wide-eyed governor, the smirking fake governor and the self-appointed colonial governor retired to the governor’s office. One of the troopers dragged out the lieutenant governor and stowed him somewhere.
A discussion among the entire group was out of the question. The troopers were still there, watching them wordlessly. A small knot of senior officials gathered in a back corner and had hasty words together. When Dowzall reappeared after ten minutes, he folded his arms and waited.
“Can we discuss this with you privately, Mr. Dowzall?” asked Senator Mercer, strolling causally toward him.
“No.”
“Will you at least sit and answer our questions?”
“No.”
Mercer, a former Navy SEAL, had hoped for a better advantage when he made his attack, but he made the attack anyway. He lunged for Dowzall. He’d get the son of a bitch in a headlock and threaten to snap his neck.
But he never touched the colonial governor of New Jersey. The bullets slammed into his side and dropped him hard. Dowzall knew about Mercer’s military career and his Special Forces successes, and he’d warned his bodyguards to keep a close eye on the man.
Dowzall shrugged at the quickly dying state senator. “Poor choice, Mercer. Anybody else want to take a shot?”
Nobody else did. Mercer died. Dowzall smiled. “So, who’s with me?”
Everybody else was with him.
Chapter 15
With very few exceptions, every high-level state official was present at the ceremonies.
It was billed as a free concert by New Jersey’s favorite rocker. Bruits Sprigstern had been off the touring circuit for two years, but out of the blue he announced a free show in front of the state capitol building—and it would be that very day. The stage was being constructed. Apparently, the State of New Jersey had given its go-ahead for the show.
The stage was built on the steps of the capitol building, and the plaza became crowded with fans. Governor Hermani, looking boyish and exuberant, did quick news spots asking New Jersey employers in the vicinity of the capitol to let their staff off to attend the show.
The crowd rocked and rolled. Bruits was going back to his roots, performing the fast, upbeat street anthems. Rock critics calls these songs his “Great” period, from 1978 through March 1981. He ignored all the morose, unpleasant material from his “Suck” period, from March 1981 to the present. When he performed “Made To Move Fast,” he drew out the jam for an extra four minutes and the crowd was cheering for more. To the side of the stage was a special set of VIP bleachers. The people there looked quite official.
“All right, Jersey!” Bruits bellowed. His mike was turned down, the levels were cranked to their stops, and his speech was garbled beyond recognition. They did understand the word “Jersey” and cheered wildly.
“New Jersey’s a colony again!”
They heard “New Jersey” and began to chant. Some chanted “Jersey.” Some chanted “Bruits.”
Jersey City TV was provided a direct sound feed. They understood the words, even if the crowd did not. “Uh,” the soundman asked the video technician, “what did he just say?”
“The British Empire is back!” Bruits pumped his fist in the air.
“Did he say ‘British Empire’?” asked the soundman. “I think he said ‘Bruits something something is back,”’ said the reporter, a pretty, pale blonde who had put on headphones.
“I don’t think so.”
“The sun is never gonna set on this party! Are you with me?”
The crowd heard the word “party” and they could tell from his tone of voice that Bruits was asking them a question. Twenty thousand of them answered, “Yeah!” Bruits belted, “Hail Britannia!”
Nobody understood a word of that, but still they answered, “Yeah!”
“Weird,” the pale blonde reporter observed.
“Yeah,” said the soundman.
“You gonna swear allegiance to Her Majesty the queen? Raise your fists and say yeah!”
They heard the “yeah!” part and they answered, “Yeah!”
“You swear?”
“Yeah!”
“You’re the greatest!”
‘Yeah!”
“You’re all a part of the colony of New Jersey!”
Yes! They understood some of that! He said New Jersey! And that’s where they were! New Jersey! The crowd went wild. “Yeah!”
“Get the cameras going now,” the mousy blonde said. She was on the air in eight seconds.
“… reporting from the Bruits Sprigstern concert in front of the capitol building in Jersey City, where Bruits Sprigstern has apparently repatriated twenty thousand fans to what he is calling the British colony of New Jersey.”
By the time the local station had rerun the minutes-old tape of Bruits’s odd message to the fans, the concert was paused for a message from the governor of the colony of New Jersey.
“I believe the man we’re seeing on stage is Oscar Dowzall, the former governor and current star of several extreme gay pornographic videos. Governor Dowzall was also knighted by the queen of England during his last term as governor. Bruits Sprigstem also holds an honorary title. I believe we’re looking at a takeover attempt in New Jersey, just as occurred in one of the small African nations and as was attempted hours ago on the Caribbean island of Jamaica. There are even reports of just such an attempt in a rumored territory of Newfoundland, and now Dowzall is starting to speak. Let’s go live.”