The study was off the hallway. One wall was a huge photographic mural of an aerial view of Washington, which obviously tried to make up for the lack of windows. On another wall was a large corkboard with a map of the entire United States pinned on it and also several smaller regional maps. Somebody had gone a little overboard making circles and arrows with a black Magic Marker, and Jefferson figured those were the movements of troops, tanks and fighter jets that weren’t really there. Shelves held books that seemed to be more for decoration than for reading, just like the stage set, because everything was lined up and stacked just so. A massive antique desk was the centerpoint of the room; it had an American flag carved into the wood on front and two carved eagles, one on either side. A pair of black leather chairs had been pulled up to the desk and behind it was a third. There was a fourth black leather chair in the corner and a fabric-covered sofa that tricked the eye into a question of whether it was gray or green. In any case, Jefferson thought this must’ve been carted from the Goodwill store in Salt Lake City when they ran out of taxpayer money for black leather.
“Close the door, Vance.” Beale settled himself into the swivel chair behind his desk. “Sit down here, please.” He was speaking to Ethan and Jefferson, and he motioned toward the two chairs that faced him. “Is it cool enough in here for you? We can get the air turned down, if you like.”
“I’m not from a frozen world,” said Ethan.
“Oh…right. Well…your eyes…it’s a cold color.”
Derryman sat down on the sofa, crossed his legs and prepared himself for anything, because he had no idea what Beale wanted with these two other than a declaration that the President was “curious” about them.
“We have fruit juice,” Beale said. “Apple and orange. I’d offer you something stronger, but we’re having to conserve that.” He had spoken it to Jefferson.
“Do you have coffee?” Ethan asked. Then he thought better of it, that maybe it wouldn’t be good if he had any more and he had to eliminate the liquid waste up here in the President’s bathroom. That just didn’t seem right. “Never mind, I’m fine with nothing.”
“All right.” Beale leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, as if something very important there had caught his attention. He seemed to be drifting away right before their eyes, and Jefferson had to follow the line of the man’s gaze to see if he was studying a spider or had been mesmerized by a cobweb that wafted back and forth in the breeze from the ceiling vent.
“Sorry, I’m just thinking,” said Beale, bringing himself back to the moment. “Jefferson Jericho. Yes, I remember you. It took awhile for that to click in. You know…there’s a lot on my mind these days, you understand.”
“I do.”
“But we’re not going to lie down and die,” the President said. A small tic surfaced at his left eye like a disturbance on a still pond. His hand came up and, whether unconsciously or not, rubbed the offending place as if to make it stop. “Too many have died already. Brave men and women, fighting for us. And children…they’ve died too. Do you think we should give up, lie down and die? Then…what would have been the purpose?”
“We’re a long way from giving up,” said Derryman.
“Yes, we are. The cities are coming back. You heard my speech, didn’t you?”
Jefferson nodded carefully.
“The reports I’m getting…there are people out there…not soldiers, just ordinary civilians…who are fighting back. Thank God they have guns, and two years ago I never would’ve said this but thank God some people know how to make bombs.”
“Right,” said Jefferson.
“We’ll win, eventually. The Cyphers and the Gorgons…they can’t grind us under. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. This is being worked on right this minute. Should I tell them about the G-bombs, Vance?”
Both Ethan and Jefferson saw that Derryman’s face had darkened. Ethan was able to know what was coming because the President’s mind was a tattered flag blown full of holes, but he remained silent.
“If you like,” Derryman answered, his voice barely audible.
“The G-bombs are being put together in Kentucky. In some of the caves,” Beale said, all his focus on Jefferson. “There are going to be thousands when the project is finished. It’s germ warfare. We’re going to drop those bombs on the Gorgon and Cypher strongholds. Ordinary earth bacteria, harmless to us because we’re used to them. We’re immune. But the aliens…they won’t know what hit them. Thousands of G-bombs, falling on them. You see?”
No one spoke.
“That’s how the earth was saved in War Of The Worlds,” Beale said. “We can make it happen. Then we burn the corpses and use bulldozers to bury what’s left. Corpses,” he repeated, and he frowned. “Would you say ‘carcasses’, Vance? What’s your take on that?”
The peacekeeper had to speak. “Sir, where are their strongholds?”
“Pardon?”
“Their strongholds.” Ethan felt Derryman about to interrupt, so he held up an index finger to gain himself another moment. “Where are they, on the map?”
“It doesn’t matter where they are right now,” Derryman said. “By the time the project is completed, we’ll have to reassess the situation.”
Ethan turned his head to take the man in. “Do you really believe you’re doing the correct thing?”
Again, a silence stretched. Jefferson had to shift his position and clear his throat, because suddenly the atmosphere in the room had become uncomfortably heavy.
“Jefferson Jericho!” said the President, bringing up another labored smile. “I watched your broadcast a few times. Well…twice. Amanda enjoyed the music. You had a choir on from Atlanta, one time I watched. I have to say…I never would’ve recognized you. Even now…hard to see you in there.”
“I’ll have to shave and get a shower. That’ll help.”
“And…you said the name Leon Kushman. I was thinking, trying to remember. So many people, so many faces. But then I did connect it. The party at Ginger Wright’s condo, May of 1992. We were in Little Rock for Clinton’s benefit dinner. Sure, I remember you. My God, that seems like a long time ago!”
“A lifetime,” Jefferson agreed.
“We kicked back. Everything going on around us, all kinds of crazy, and we kicked back. I remember…you seemed like a guy who was going places. Had a lot of ambition. And you made something of yourself, didn’t you?”
“I did try.”
“You did a lot more than try, Leon. But I guess I should call you Jefferson, right?”
“That’s the name on my driver’s license now.”
The comment brought forth another silence. The President abruptly swiveled his chair around to gaze at the photographic mural. It was a time before he spoke again. It was his study and maybe all that was left to him in the world, so no one rushed him or prodded.
“What a great city,” he said, and his voice seemed hushed and faraway. “All the beautiful buildings. All the monuments to dead people. I was thinking last night…just lying in bed and thinking…about the Library of Congress, and the Smithsonian. Those treasures…those magnificent things. What’s happened to them, Vance?”
“I’m sure they’re still there, sir.”
“But they may not be. They may all be burned up. Everything gone. Some of those buildings were on fire when we left. By now…ashes upon ashes.”
“Don’t trouble your mind, Jason. You need to keep your head clear.”
“My head clear,” he said, and something about it sounded choked. His face was still turned toward the mural. His hands gripped the armrests. The knuckles were white. “Ethan,” he said.