“Colonel, sir?”
“Good morning. Captain.”
The soldier looked up at him, obviously a bit confused. “Captain, President Kalenka, how is he?”
“Sir, he is still alive. I have placed a double detachment of guards at his door, two officers in his room armed as well.”
“And they’re good men?”
“Sir, I picked them,” the captain announced, hurt by the implication.
Andrew stared at the young officer, gauging him, then nodded.
“And his condition?”
The captain drew closer, coming up to Andrew’s side, the crowd drawing back slightly.
“Not good I’m afraid, sir; the fever’s coming back, his wife says.”
“Damn all,” Emil mumbled.
Andrew nodded, lifted his gaze, staring again at the building.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Sir, is there anything else?”
“Has Bugarin been sworn in as acting president?”
“Yes sir. Sir, I was ordered by one of his people to remove the guard from President Kalenka and place them around the room Bugarin is in.”
“And you refused?”
“Yes sir, I most certainly did.”
“As colonel in command of the army, I am giving you a personal order, Captain. You are to guard Kalenka with your life.”
“I would do it anyhow, sir.”
“No matter what orders you receive afterward my order to you right now comes first. President Kalenka is to be protected at all cost.”
“I will die before anyone harms him, sir,” the young captain replied fiercely.
“Good, son. Now please go inside and announce to Mr. Bugarin and Metropolitan Casmir that I request to see them, out here.”
This order he announced with raised voice, the command echoing out over the crowd. The square grew hushed.
The captain saluted, hurried inside, and long minutes passed. Finally he returned, alone.
“Colonel Keane, Mr.,” and he hesitated for a second, “Acting President Bugarin says that you are to report to him inside.”
Andrew stiffened.
“As commander of the army I request a public meeting, here in front of the citizens of Suzdal, and tell him I will wait here all damn day if necessary.”
The captain scurried back, and Andrew pitied him, caught between two fires.
“Andrew, are you going to do what I think you’re doing?”
Andrew looked over at Emil and smiled.
The bell in the church tower tolled, marking the passage of time, and finally someone appeared in the door. It was Metropolitan Casmir. He turned, looking back into the White House, obviously shouting something that was unintelligible, then turned and strode down the steps, black robes billowing. He stopped several steps above Andrew, raised his staff, and looked out at the crowd, then made the sign of blessing. Instantly there was silence, everyone going to their knees, blessing themselves. Remaining mounted, Andrew was at eye level with him.
“Has Bugarin been sworn in as acting president?” Andrew asked.
“Yes, Andrew.” His voice was low, barely a whisper. “It was your own Constitution that forced me to do it. Kal, I’m not sure if he will survive. Marcus is dead, Flavius is dead. Bugarin is next in line. The Constitution requires it; I had to bless the ceremony.”
Andrew knew instantly from his tone that Casmir loathed what he had to do.
“Since you are the chief justice, I request that you initiate an investigation into the attempted assassination of the president and the assassination of the Speaker. I doubt seriously if the executive branch will do so. I doubt as well if you could muster the votes in the Senate to remove Bugarin.”
“I will do everything I can, both as a justice and as a priest.”
There was a stir in the crowd. Casmir looked back over his shoulder. Half a dozen guards were in the doorway.
“I told Bugarin I would denounce him as a coward if he didn’t come out to meet you,” Casmir whispered.
Andrew could not help but chuckle.
“Are you going to overthrow him?” Casmir asked, and Andrew sensed the conflict in his friend’s voice.
He said nothing, watching intently as Bugarin appeared in the doorway, strangely wearing the stovepipe hat of Kal, which to this world had become the ceremonial symbol of the president. The guards, all of them older senators, came down the steps, Bugarin in the middle of the group.
They stopped behind Casmir.
Andrew stared at him intently. There was a defiance, but he could sense the fear as well. Was this the man who could engineer not just the assassination of the Speaker but the attempt on the president as well? Did he believe so passionately that the war must end that he would kill, or was he just a pawn as well?
Regardless of what Andrew suspected about how Bugarin had come to power, he was at least for this moment the president of the Republic.
With deliberate slowness Andrew raised his hand and saluted. A hushed whisper ran through the crowd. It was an acknowledgment, they all knew that. He could sense the tension easing out of Bugarin, but there was still a wariness. He heard a mumbled curse; it was Emil who remained defiant, unable to bring himself to salute.
“I wish to see President Kalenka now,” Emil announced, addressing his statement to Casmir and emphasizing the word president.
“I’ll see to it, Emil,” the prelate replied, “and you are under my personal protection.”
Emil looked over at Andrew.
“Just a second,” Andrew whispered.
“For what? To see you kiss his bloody boot?”
Andrew ignored his friend’s defiance.
“May I inquire of the acting president if there are any orders for the army in regards to operations both offensive and defensive.”
He said the words slowly, deliberately, so that all could hear.
“All offensive operations are to cease. I am asking for a cease-fire immediately. We will end this senseless war.”
Again the ripple of voices erupted in the square. This was the moment. The crowd was confused. There was a ripple of cheers, but it lacked depth and enthusiasm. He could hear the rustling of arms back across the square, a muffled order, most likely Webster telling the men there to get ready.
“Sir, if you are ordering me to have the army stand down, I cannot obey that order.”
There was an expectant hush.
Andrew slowly reached down to his side, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. One of the senators started to raise a pistol, cocking it. Casmir turned to face the senators, shouting for them to remain still.
Andrew carefully drew out his sword, a ceremonial blade given to him by Kal and the Congress in recognition of their victory over the Tugars. He made it a point of now saluting with the blade, hilt drawn up before his face, blade vertical, but as he did so he looked up toward the flag gently fluttering atop the White House.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself for what would come next.
Quickly he inverted the blade in his grasp, fumbling slightly with his one hand since he was nervous.
With hilt pointed toward Bugarin he tossed the sword onto the steps so that it clattered by Casmir’s feet.
“I hereby resign my commission with the Army of the Republic,” he cried, voice carrying to the farthest corners of the plaza. “I retire to private life and shall leave this city and the Republic.”
The crowd fell as silent as the grave. Bugarin looked at him startled, unable to react.
Andrew took a deep breath; to his surprise, he felt as if a horrible burden had been lifted.
He half turned his horse away from Bugarin. In his mind the man simply no longer existed.
Andrew looked at the crowd, the upturned faces.
“I gave ten years to this country,” he shouted, his voice echoing. “We came to this world, more than five hundred of us. Over four hundred of them are dead, dying to give you freedom. In those ten years of service and sacrifice, I have learned something.”
He waited a moment, the crowd in the square as silent as the tomb.