He didn't know exactly where the President was, but he headed for the group of larger buildings and hoped it would become obvious once he got there. But they all looked pretty much the same — all set in a pentagon shape around a central yard. A kid who looked about four years younger than Jimmy but in full army uniform and with a pistol in a holster on his belt, was just hurrying across the yard.
'Hey, kid,' said Jimmy, 'where's the President?'
'In the White House.'
'No you idiot — where's our President?'
'In our White House, you idiot.'
The boy soldier pointed, and true enough, there was a wooden hut, slightly larger than the others, painted with a bright white gloss.
'All right, smart arse,' Jimmy snapped back, already marching towards it.
There were two armed guards outside, standing on either side of the door and at the top of a short flight of steps. As Jimmy hurried up and then tried to go between them, they quickly closed ranks.
'What the hell do you want?' one asked.
'I'm here to see the President.'
'You have an appointment?'
'No — but he'll see me.'
'How'd you know that, then?'
'I just — just tell him Jimmy Armstrong wants to see him right now.' Even as he said it, Jimmy realised how stupid it sounded. But it was already out. He added a belated, 'Please.'
The guards smirked at each other. One bowed his head a little. 'Wait here, please.'
He went inside. The other guard continued to smirk at him. Jimmy wiped his boots on the steps, trying to remove at least some of the thickly-caked mud on them. A few moments later the first guard reappeared. 'This way, sir,' he said meekly, holding the door open and waving his arm in an exaggerated fashion to indicate that he should enter. Jimmy was fast running out of the steam that had propelled him here. Nevertheless, there was no turning back. He took a deep breath and stepped into the White House.
There was a nice, bright, outer office, with half a dozen young women sitting at computer terminals. One stood up and indicated for him to follow. She led him to a door at the end of a short corridor with another guard standing outside it. He frisked Jimmy for weapons, nodded at the young woman and she tapped lightly on the door.
'Mr President — Private Armstrong to see you, sir.'
It was the first time he'd been called that, and it caused him to swallow.
The young woman opened the door and motioned him in.
The President's office could not have been more different than the reception area. Just like it had been on the train, curtains were firmly closed over the windows, and the reading light on the desk was barely sufficient to dispel the resultant gloom. This time the President was facing him, sitting behind a desk with his hands clasped on top of it.
He looked at Jimmy, without smiling. 'Private Armstrong?'
Jimmy thought he had better get it all out before his nerve deserted him completely.
Right. Here goes.
'Mr President — I'm sorry to trouble you . . . but . . . look — the thing is, I never intended to be part of any . . . you know, army. That's not what I'm about . . . I'm more sort of . . . you know — freewheeling . . . a bit of a free spirit — do you know what I mean?'
What on earth are you talking about? Shut up now!
But he couldn't stop himself.
'The thing is, I thought I was coming to your new . . . city . . . and I want to contribute and all, except . . . not really like this. I'm no soldier, I'm a newspaper man . . . you probably don't think I'm old enough — but I've been editing a daily newspaper on the Titanic for ages so I thought I could do something similar here — you know, start a newspaper? It's important that a record's kept . . . I mean, you're like the President of the United States — this is history — one day people will want to know how you started to rebuild . . .'
The President held his hand up to stop him.
Jimmy chewed on a lip.
'What do you mean, the Titanic?'
Jimmy hesitated. He hadn't previously mentioned his old home. Now it had just slipped out. 'Yes — the Titanic ... I was on it, for a while.'
'The new Titanic? The one they launched just a few months ago?'
'Yeah . . .'
'She's in full working order, captain and crew?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Where is she now?'
'I don't know, sir, she sailed off and left me behind — by mistake, obviously . . .'
'This was off where, Tucker's Hole?'
'Yes . . . yes — we've been working our way up the coast, but that's not really the point. What I'm saying is I want to work for you, but in a different way, I want to write about what you're doing here and . . . and . . . and if you don't want me to do that . . . well, that's OK . . . But I can handle a camera, you'll want a photographic record for the history books as well . . . and . . . and . . . you know . . . if you don't want that either, then maybe I can just . . . you know, go on my way . . . Mr President. I'm no use to you as a soldier. But before I go, I really think you need to know about that guy out there, you know, the one who's training us, the one with the Mohican. He's just a compete sadist — some of us haven't eaten all day, he's working us into the ground. One or two of us are pretty fit, but some of the young ones, you'd think he was trying to kill them the way he's working them. He's a bully, sir. Anyone who wanted to help you out with this great . . . plan . . . well, they're going to be put right off by this — this arse . . .'
For the second time the President raised his hand. 'I think I've heard enough, son.'
'So, you'll . . . you'll do something about him? I know in the grand scheme of things it's not that important but maybe just a quiet word or . . .'
The President smiled. 'Oh, it's important enough, Private. In fact I'm going to have my son look into it straight away. That OK with you, Kyle?'
For a moment Jimmy didn't get that there had been someone else in the room all along. He had walked straight to within a metre or so of the President's desk without realising that there were chairs against the wall behind him.
'Yes, sir, Mr President . . . Father.'
Kyle stepped forward, into the light.
Jimmy saw a rather familiar haircut.
'Private Armstrong,' Mohican snarled, 'you have a problem with the way you're being trained?' Jimmy swallowed. 'You just want to breeze out of here, go on your merry way, leave the rest of us to rebuild this country?'
'Well I—'
'You shut your god-damn mouth!'
Jimmy jumped at the venom of it.
Mohican was suddenly right in his face, jabbing a finger this close to his eyes.
'One thing I hate more than punk kids who can't follow orders,' Mohican spat, 'is punk kids who go crying to Daddy every time someone shouts at them. You're a pathetic little worm, Armstrong, that's what you are, and I'll tell you this — you're going nowherel By the time I'm through with you you'll walk and talk and kill like a Marine . . . or you'll be buried out there in the graveyard we reserve for cowards like you. Now you get back to that rabble I'm trying to turn into soldiers and you tell them they're getting no dinner tonight either!'