“Can we take down the telephone system and the internet?”
“Of course. The only question is how fast.”
“Let’s do it,” Jack Hays said. “Who do we call?”
“The state director of disaster response, Billy Rob Smith.”
The governor picked up the phone and made the call.
Billy Rob Smith heard the governor out, then asked, “Are you nuts? Every business in America bigger than a lemonade stand relies on telephones, landline and cell, and the internet. Millions of people use the system to send or get business information and to buy and sell securities. Medical records are transmitted via fax or over the internet. The feds have been working like beavers to digitize every medical record in the nation — shutting off the internet may mean people can’t get proper medical care. And the telephone system — you can’t shut one system down without turning off the other. In a lot of places, voice and digital use the same wires. In some places the telephone system is completely digital. Turning off cellular and landline telephones will drop us right smack dab back into the nineteenth century. Shutting those systems down is insanity.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion — I am giving you an order.”
“And I’m telling you that you’re crazy. Hell, I don’t even know that you are the governor. You sound like an idiot jabbering on the telephone.”
What ended the argument and decided the matter was an announcement at precisely that moment that was carried on television networks nationwide: The president had directed the military to work with civilian law enforcement agencies to confiscate all the guns in America in private hands. In the future, only the military and law enforcement officers would have guns.
Billy Rob Smith had a television in his office airing a twenty-four-hour news channel, which was limiting itself to government press releases these days, and he paused his conversation with the governor while an aide told him the news as rapidly as possible and pointed at the television set.
Smith was not stupid. “Did you hear that?” he demanded of Jack Hays.
“Yes.”
“Holy damn. It’s like the British marching to Lexington and Concord. This tears it. Americans won’t stand for it. Hell, the people of Texas won’t stand for it.”
Jack Hays took a deep breath. He had other things to attend to. “Smith, I want you to shut off the telephone and internet systems in east Texas. Start right here in Austin, right now. Then Houston. Get busy.”
A very subdued Billy Rob Smith said, “Yes, sir,” and hung up.
Jack Hays repeated the news to Ben Steiner, who was taking a last puff of his little cigar. Steiner stared, slack-jawed. Finally he said, “Soetoro isn’t just temporarily suspending the Constitution, he’s tearing it up.”
Jack Hays rubbed his forehead.
Steiner said, “Luwanda Harris will never change her mind, but this will get us Smokey Bryan and a whole lot of others who were on the fence. Of course, a lot of liberals will have a spontaneous orgasm when they hear Soetoro has repealed the Second Amendment, people like Melissa McKinley, but they weren’t going to vote for independence no how, no way. They don’t mind a dictator repealing the Second Amendment as long as they think he’s on the side of social justice and the planet, like they are.”
“Ben, if you are going to introduce a declaration of independence, and I don’t mean an ordnance of secession, hadn’t you better write one? After you count noses.”
Ben Steiner rushed from the room, taking his cigar butt with him.
Trust Jack Yocke to know when something was going on, Jake Grafton thought. He was standing under a tree watching it rain from a low overcast sky when the Washington Post columnist found him.
“I saw them take you into the admin building, Admiral,” Yocke said. “Rumor has it you are now part of the conspiracy that planned a coup d’état.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“It’s being whispered around.”
“They wanted me to sign a confession.”
“Did you?”
“I am not going to confess to anything I didn’t do. Ever. Once you start that, there’s no end to it.”
“No matter how bad you think the Soetoro White House gang is,” Yocke said, “you’re wrong. They’re worse.”
“They certainly think they are on the side of righteousness and history.”
“Hitler and Stalin were sure of it too — didn’t work out so well for them.”
“Now I feel better.”
Jake Grafton had his hands in his pockets. He looked around. No place to sit that wasn’t wet. He leaned against the tree trunk, which wasn’t wet yet. The rain was falling in greater volume.
“So what are your politics, Admiral? In all the years I’ve known you, I never got an inkling.”
Grafton snorted. “Long ago, when I was very young, I learned that all political points of view were valid for the people who held them, except for the fanatics on the fringes who are usually incapable of rational thought. Think about the blind men and the elephant. Honorable people can hold very different opinions because they have very different life experiences. Liberals, conservatives, middle-of-the-roaders, big-government types, libertarians, old, young, middle-aged, highly educated or average or uneducated, skilled or unskilled, stupid, average smarts, or genius, they all see a little bit of how the world works and process it into a worldview, and they are all correct. The genius of representative democracy is that it takes all these viewpoints and grinds them up and arrives at some kind of resolution, most of the time. Look at the federal tax code: government policy has tried to accommodate all major and many minor concerns and still raise revenue. Any dictator with half a brain could put a tax code together that is simpler and more efficient and raises more revenue. But the United States still has one of the highest, if not the highest, rate of voluntary tax compliance of any country in the world. So something must be working right.”
“Democracy can’t handle every problem; you have to admit that.”
“Slavery was too big for representative government,” Grafton acknowledged. “The story of this century is the haves versus the have nots, and illegal immigration is one aspect of that. Drugs are another piece of that problem. The disintegration of the black family is a piece. The desire of Barry Soetoro to drastically increase the number of non-white voters in America as quickly as possible to enhance the political power of blacks and Hispanics and Muslims and dilute the power of the whites is another. Representative democracy hasn’t figured these problems out and may not be able to do so. Still, no other form of government has a better chance.”
Lightning flashed, then two seconds later came the clap of thunder. The wind picked up.
“So how will the story turn out?” Yocke asked.
“I don’t know, Jack. I really don’t.”
“I’m getting wet,” the Post’s man complained, and brushed wind-driven raindrops from his hair.
“See you later,” Grafton said.
“Good luck, Admiral.”
“Thanks. You too.” Grafton moved a few degrees around the tree and stood watching the rain.
I parked in front of the lock shop and went in to see Willie Varner, my partner. He knew more about locks than I ever hoped to know, and much of that knowledge was acquired in prison. They say prison will broaden a man; I couldn’t testify to that, but the experience seemed to have stretched Willie’s mind somewhat, even if it didn’t do anything for his morals or ethics.