“I see.” Miller nodded slowly. “You need a cat’s paw.”
“Just like always,” Leahy said, “America needs soldiers who will do what is necessary to defend her.”
“While providing plausible deniability,” Luke Hammond said.
Leahy had almost forgotten the man was there, he’d been so still. “This isn’t a political maneuver. It’s a practical one. If the United States military attacks directly, Erik Epstein will use every means at his disposal to strike back. We’re taking measures to limit the damage, but over the last fifty years, the nation has become so reliant on technology that protecting ourselves against the NCH is impossible. There are hardwired computers in everything down to our sewers. Any victory would be Pyrrhic. Unless we’re willing to go back to a horse-driven agrarian society, abnorms can simply do too much damage. But a civilian militia acting without official sanction might be able to succeed without raising the stakes to that level.”
Miller said, “What kind of support are you offering?”
“None.”
“None?”
“No equipment, no troops, no advisors, no intel, no air support. There can be no trail between us. In fact, I suspect that the president will condemn any attack on New Canaan and order you to lay down arms. And when you refuse, she will order the army to stop you.”
Hammond and Miller exchanged glances. The general said, “In that case—”
“But they won’t.” Leahy paused, let that sink in. The sound of gunfire drifted in from the distance, the steady organized cracks of a firing range. “The military will not intrude. That’s what I’m offering you.”
Miller stroked his chin. Hammond just stared with those dead eyes. Finally, the general said, “Owen, what you’re proposing sounds like a coup d’état.”
“No. The military won’t be seizing power, and neither will I. That’s the heart of this. We won’t stop you because we won’t be able to.”
“The retrograde,” Miller said.
Leahy nodded. “President Ramirez has ordered that domestic armed forces be reset to a non-technological level, essentially back to boots and bayonets. I’m managing that. And I can guarantee you that we will be able to demonstrate that despite our desire to do what our president wants, we simply won’t be able to. Not without giving Epstein the same control he exploited two weeks ago.”
“Which obviously can’t be risked.” Miller nodded. “But that situation won’t hold.”
“No. This is all based on you moving fast, Sam. If things evolve quickly enough, the military can credibly claim there’s nothing we can do. That despite the president’s righteous indignation, Epstein’s previous attack proves that we don’t dare get involved.”
“What’s to keep him from launching last-ditch strikes anyway?” Luke Hammond leaned forward. “If he sees that the Holdfast is going to be destroyed, why not take the rest of the nation down with it?”
“Two reasons. First, it would take a first-order sociopath to attack innocent civilians across the country if they’re not attacking him—if they are, in fact, trying to support him. Epstein is many things, but he’s not a monster. Second, the NCH as a whole isn’t going to be destroyed. Your army won’t be able to get past the Vogler Ring, not without military support, and Epstein will know that.”
“Then what’s the point? You’re asking us to fight a war you know we can’t win.”
“Genocide isn’t winning,” Leahy said. “My God, man, do you think I want you to destroy the entire New Canaan Holdfast? The goal is to bring Epstein to heel.”
“That’s your goal,” Hammond said. “Not ours. What’s in this for us?”
“Payback. Your army wreaks the vengeance we all desperately want. You beat the shit out of the Holdfast, show the brilliants that actions have consequences. And in the process, you protect America. Isn’t that what you’ve spent a lifetime doing?”
Hammond started to respond, but Miller held up a hand to stop him. “And the end game?”
A nice, small war. And a future for my grandchildren.
“Peace,” Leahy said. “What else?”
CHAPTER 9
“—and I say that they cannot murder our brothers and have it go unanswered. They cannot murder our leaders and have it go unanswered. Because we will answer it.” With ramrod posture and fire in his eyes, the man paced atop a bus painted with an eagle and the words THE NEW SONS OF LIBERTY. The bus was parked amidst a sea of people packed past the limits of the screen. At the lower third, a crawl identified the speaker as Major General Sam Miller, US Army, retired.
“Two hundred and fifty years ago, a group rose up against tyranny. Though they faced the greatest military power of the time, they were not professional soldiers; they were farmers, and shopkeeps, and bankers. They were ordinary men and women who said, ‘Enough. This ends now.’ They stood together, and they changed the world.
“Today, our enemies are not separated from us by wide seas; they are not communists or foreign kings. The modern enemies of America have grown up in our homes. They have eaten our food, attended our schools, worshiped in our churches. And then when it suited them, they attacked us in the most cowardly way. They didn’t even have the courage to face us. They killed with a computer.” Distaste dripped from the word, and the crowd matched it in boos and jeers.
“No,” he said when they’d quieted, “the modern enemies of America are not on the other side of the world. They are in the heart of our great nation. They are just eighty-seven miles”—he pointed behind—“that way, in the city of Tesla. From there, terrorists launched an attack that murdered our sons and daughters in front of our eyes.
“Those in power tell us to ignore the blow. To turn the other cheek. To forgive those who stole not just our land, but our future.
“And so we are faced with a choice. Will we lie down and watch the dream that is America wither and die? Or will we, like those patriots of old, rise up?
“Make no mistake. Stand with me, and the weaklings in power will condemn you. Stand with me, and you may bleed. Stand with me, and you may be called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice.
“But in the histories studied by our children’s children’s children, this moment will live forever. It will live forever as the moment that America collapsed into darkness—or as the shining moment when a group of ordinary people, farmers and shopkeeps and bankers, rose up and said, ‘Enough. This ends now.’”
Miller lowered the microphone and waited.
From the front rows, the cheer started. “This ends now.”
Quickly the crowd began to pick it up. “This ends now!”
Until with one voice, twenty thousand people cried, “This! Ends! Now!”
“This! Ends! NOW!”
“THIS! ENDS! NOW!”
Miller stood rigid in the swaying waves of sound, staring out at his army—then snapped a picture-perfect salute.
The footage cut to a reporter wearing camping gear and an earnest expression. “Retired two-star general Samuel Miller, addressing a crowd outside the New Canaan Holdfast that has grown to more than twenty thousand people in the last two weeks. Support for the New Sons of Liberty has poured in, with sources ranging from grassroots donors to billionaire Ryan Fine, founder and CEO of Finest Supplies, the nationwide grocery chain—”
Cooper crumpled the d-pad and rubbed at his eyes. The chopper was civilian, quieter and smoother than he was used to, but in the seat next to his, Ethan Park still looked distinctly uncomfortable. “That’s what we’re flying into?”