What happened next was totally unexpected. The voices of fear turned to outrage. The cries for help became shouts of anger. Fists were raised and shaken. The crowd surged onto the street through thin lines of uniformed police. The officers were knocked to the ground — their hats flying off their heads.
There was a shot from down the street. Then rapid firing from a handgun. Then a shotgun.
Maxwell retreated toward the theater — firing his first shots into the onrushing crowd as he backed into the doorway.
‘Mr President? Mr President?’
Thomas Marshall opened his eyes. He lay in bed in his darkened bedroom. ‘Hm. What?’
‘I’m very sorry, sir. But you have a phone call. It’s Governor Bristol. He says it’s urgent.’
‘Bristol?’ Marshall croaked. He cleared his throat. ‘Phil Bristol?’ The aide nodded. ‘What the hell would he…?’ Marshall rose, still pondering his unfinished question as he padded into the adjoining sitting room. What would he want to talk to me about?
A different aide handed Marshall the phone. He cleared his throat again. ‘Hello, Phil! What has you up so early?’
‘Not early, Tom. It’s late out here on the West Coast. I apologize for having to disturb you like this.’
‘If you’re calling to throw in the towel and announce you’re going to support the Democratic ticket during these troubled times, there’s no need to apologize.’ Marshall was awake now. He winked at his grinning aides as Bristol politely chuckled.
‘I’m afraid, Tom, this doesn’t have to do with the campaign. I’ve got some official business to discuss with you. I’ve just called up a goodly portion of the California Army National Guard to deal with a situation we’ve got down in L.A. I wanted to tell you personally what I was doing with them.’
Marshall’s antennae were up. ‘What “situation” is this you’re talking about?’
‘We’ve got a full-blown riot in progress. It looks like the Rodney King thing all over again.’
‘Good God, Phil. What the hell happened?’
Bristol told the President about the civil rights leader’s assassination.
‘The pot’s been simmering down there ever since the mayor cracked down on crime,’ Bristol said. The President’s political antennae tingled and twitched. It was Marshall who’d been hammering the ‘get tough on crime’ theme ever since the first night of the terrorist attacks. ‘Apparently,’ his Republican challenger continued, ‘the L.A.P.D. community relations people had been warning the mayor about it. It seems the feeling on the streets was that your anti-terrorism campaign had succeeded mainly in netting a large number of arrests from minority communities.’
Marshall’s jaw was set firmly, now. Bristol thought he already had his points up on the scoreboard. He was wrong. ‘So how bad is it?’ Marshall asked.
‘The looting and arson is spreading all through South Central. The fire department reports twenty-six structures ablaze — most they can’t get to because of sniping. I’m worried particularly about the Koreans. Since the last riots there’s been a mini-arms race among the store owners. The police have already stopped carloads of grocers and their families heading in to protect their property, all of ’em armed to the teeth. I’m determined not to let this get out of hand, so on my authority as Governor of California I’m calling up the Guard to put a stop to it.’
Marshall could already see the Republican media spin in his mind’s eye. Bristol’s private army crushing the chaos — the ‘anarchists’ — on the streets of LA. Lots of clean-cut citizen-soldiers responding to Bristol’s strong, decisive leadership.
‘Phil,’ Marshall said, ‘I agree with you one hundred percent. What’s more, if things are that bad, I’m going to look into sending regular army troops in there to help you out.’
‘I appreciate that, Tom, but I don’t think that’ll be…’
‘Nonsense! I’m not going to leave you out there all by yourself to deal with the situation. This damn’ business with the terrorists isn’t a local problem, it’s a national one. You’re going to get every bit of help you need and more — no ifs, ands, or buts. I’ll have my people get on this right now.’
‘Listen, Tom. I don’t want to crowd your plate at a time like this. You’ve got enough to worry about with the international crisis. Why don’t we just wait and see where we are this time tomorrow and…’
‘I won’t hear of that kind of talk, Phil. Unless you seceded while I was catching up on my beauty rest,’ Marshall said jovially, ‘California still is a part of the United States, and I’m still the President. I’ll call after we’ve had time to check what assets we have available and do our own assessment of the situation. We’ll talk soon. Goodbye, Phil.’
There was a momentary pause. ‘Goodbye, Tom.’ Marshall hung up.
An aide took the phone, and Marshall grabbed the man’s arm. ‘Get me the Secretary of Defense.’ He waited, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The aide handed the phone back to him. ‘Have you heard what Bristol is doing?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the Secretary of Defense replied. ‘I just got word.’
‘I want you to federalize the California Army National Guard. Call them up.’
There was a long silence as the political gears spun in the man’s head. ‘Just the California Guard, sir? I mean… that would be a little…’ He let the sentence trail off unfinished.
Marshall understood. A little too obvious. ‘I want a nationwide call-up to deal with domestic unrest.’
‘How large a call-up do you want?’
‘How the hell should I know? You tell me. But I want it big enough to put men on the streets nationwide,’ Marshall said as the idea grew on him.
‘Well, say… about six brigades?’
‘Sounds fine. And I want a full National Security Council meeting in three hours.’ Marshall hung up — pleased at having seized the opportunity presented him.
Daryl Shavers entered the Davises’ bedroom. Gordon nodded at his chief of staff, who joined him at the television. Fires still raged in the early morning sky over Los Angeles. ‘Did you hear that Marshall federalized the California Guard? Governor Bristol’s lawyers tell him that Marshall can’t even use the troops now. Once they’re part of the U.S. Army, the Posse Comitatus Act prevents them from helping out the local police! It was a blatantly political act! Bristol plans on slamming him in a news conference this morning. We’ve got to be ready to join in. We’re just waiting on Fein so we can get started working up the right tone.’
‘Fein’s already here,’ Daryl said. He laid his ratty folders crammed with protruding papers on Gordon’s desk. ‘His car’s out front.’
Elaine stuck her head out of the bathroom. She was putting the finishing touches on her make-up. ‘Where the hell is he?’ Gordon asked. ‘This is huge! Campaigns turn on things like this!’
Daryl looked tired. Gordon knew he’d been working — fighting one-man turf battles with the massive staff of the Republican National Committee.
Gordon took off in anger for the stairs. Elaine and Daryl followed. Fein was in the dining room. The two girls were seated at the table. Celeste wore jeans and a sweatshirt. Janet was still in pajamas and robe. Laid out on the half of the table covered with a linen tablecloth was the Davises’ silver service and their finest china and crystal. A woman whom Gordon had never seen before — wearing pearls at eight o’clock in the morning — hovered over Celeste. She was straightening the already orderly placement of the several forks on her right.