“The President’s address to the nation. He does this twice a month.”
“To the nation? What nation?”
“The one he believes is still out there.”
“He doesn’t know the truth? He thinks people have power and cable TV?”
“Gentlemen, I’m going to press the Talk button,” said the man at the controls, as a warning that they should be careful of what they were saying.
“Go ahead,” Derryman told him. “We’re just here to watch.”
“Ready on Camera One. Ready on Camera Two. Mr. President, let’s start at five…four…three…two…one…and you’re on the air.”
Jason Beale stood straight and tall in the convergence of the spotlights. He did not smile at the cameras, nor was his expression forlorn. He was a politician, and he had manufactured upon his thin and sallow face an expression of the deepest, most sincere resolve.
“My fellow Americans,” he read from the teleprompter, “my cherished citizens of this noble country that will never be broken by any invader earthly or otherwise, I bring you news of hope today. According to the latest military reports, your United States Army and your United States Air Force have destroyed in battle a stronghold of what we know as the Cyphers west of the Mississippi River near Alexandria, Louisiana. Your United States Navy and Marines are currently in action against a Gorgon stronghold near Seattle, Washington, and I am told by my Chief of Staff that the Gorgons are on the retreat.” President Beale paused. The tic began at his left eye, making that side of his face wince. He kept his head lowered. “Pardon me,” he said thickly into his microphone. “I am overwhelmed with emotion…as I’m sure we all are…all of us, in these hard days of trial and tribulation.” This was not being read from the teleprompter, but was coming from the torment of his soul. He didn’t speak for maybe ten or fifteen more seconds, during which the filming continued. When Beale at last lifted his face toward the lens the tic was still there but it had lessened, displaying perhaps a remnant of the man’s strength of will. He began to read again from the teleprompter. “I am happy—gratified—to say that the following cities are near liberation from this unprecedented threat, though not without heavy loss of American heroes: Charlotte, North Carolina; Baltimore, Maryland; Providence, Rhode Island; Chicago, Illinois; Cedar Rapids, Iowa; Omaha, Nebraska; Denver, Colorado; Phoenix, Arizona; and Portland, Oregon. Be advised to stay in your shelters in those cities until the All Clear signal is given, that signal to be determined at a later date. On a darker note, I am informed by my chief of staff that there is still no word from the other capitals and leaders of the world, but we will continue to monitor all satellites and send forth messages of support and the blessings of God twenty-four hours a day.”
Derryman shifted in his seat. Ethan understood that of course this was all a fiction designed to give the President hope and to prevent him from finding a way to kill himself. What leader of any nation could bear to see their country—their responsibility—torn away, broken and conquered on their watch?
“We are still here,” Beale went on, in his forceful and Presidential voice though the tic on the left side of his face betrayed all. “We are still the United States of America. I am receiving updates every few hours from my commanders in the field. As I told you last time we spoke, we have lost many good men and women, but just as many remain in the service of this country. We extend our heartfelt wishes for success to the other nations of this world, and we hope they are receiving this broadcast. Let me repeat as I have said many times: remain in your shelters until you are given the All Clear signal. The armed forces are fighting for you and I believe they will conquer both these threats to our way of life. I want to say to my children James and Natalie, stay in your safe area and hold onto the faith that very soon we will all see the dawning of a new day. I will say that to all the children of the world and to all the families who have bound together to withstand this assault. I will say to every soldier in the field and every sailor at sea, God be with you when you go into harm’s way, and never forget that you are the pride of this nation, you are the best of the best, and we know you will not give up the fight no matter what. We too, here at this safe location, will never give up the fight.” He paused for a moment, to let those stirring words resonate, and the new arrivals in the audience wondered how much of that he really believed.
The ice cubes made a hollow sound in the First Lady’s glass as she took another drink.
“I will report back in two weeks, same day and same time,” said the man at the podium, whose forehead had begun to show the sparkles of sweat again though cool air was blowing quietly from the vents. “This is the President of your United States, Jason Beale, signing off as always: be brave.”
Then Beale stood motionless except for the tic in his face until the console controller said, “And out. That’s it, sir.”
“Did I do all right? Mandy, how did I look?”
“Tell him,” she said between swallows, “that he looked very handsome.” Her voice was just a shade slurred.
“She says you looked great, sir.”
“I was worried. It’s hot in here. Is it hot to you?”
“It’s the lights. It’s always the lights, sir.”
Dave had turned his head toward Vance Derryman and leaned closer to the man’s ear. “How do you get away with this? I can tell you that for damned sure Denver hasn’t been fucking liberated!”
“Indeed,” Derryman said.
“Yeah, indeed! He thinks the satellites are still up there? And people have electricity?”
“Watch your voice, he’s coming out.” Derryman stood up. “Excellent, Jason. That told them what they needed to know.”
Beale took stock of Dave, Ethan and Jefferson, who also had risen to their feet. When he looked into Ethan’s silver eyes he rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. The tic was more severe now. “Is he safe?”
“I believe he is.”
“Vance told me about the video. How you broke open the gates without any weapon,” Beale said. “What are you and where did you come from?”
“I’m neither Gorgon nor Cypher, if that eases your mind. We came from Denver. Where I am from is hard to explain, but I am here on a mission to stop their war.”
“We’re winning,” the President said. “It may take awhile…it may cause the loss of many thousands…hundreds of thousands…but we’re winning. Aren’t we, Vance?”
“The field commanders are optimistic,” Derryman replied.
“Look…sir,” Dave began. “I think you—”
“That’s good to hear,” Ethan interrupted, not wanting the plain hard truth that Dave was about to present to the President to unhinge the man’s mind any further. A quick glance into that mind showed a tangle of emotions and self-recriminations, guilts, frustrations, and fears that flew like dark birds through a haunted forest. The sadness and sense of loss there was nearly crushing. Ethan withdrew, realizing that Jason Beale really did believe the lies he had read from the teleprompter to what he thought was his American people.
“We have the power grid back up in some areas,” Beale said. “The northeast and the west coast. I know not very many people can see and hear my encouragement to hang on…not right now…but I think it helps. Don’t you, Vance?”
“I do, sir.”
Beale couldn’t stop staring at Ethan. “You…look like a human boy, except for…those. You say…you’ve come to stop the war? How? And…who sent you here?”
“My commander-in-chief,” Ethan answered. “Consider me a peacekeeper, like your United Nations soldiers. I need to ask you one question, sir. Will you help me get into the S-4 research facility at Area 51?”
Beale immediately looked to Derryman. “What’s he talking about, Vance? Why does he want to get into there?”