True Allegiance

Prescott launched into an explanation of the Work Freedom Program. He brought out charts and laid it out, point by point. He gave personal examples. He added the emotional touch he knew the pitch needed. It was a brilliant exposition.

Then he came to his coup de grace.

“I know,” he said wearily, “that some of my political opponents would like to call this plan irresponsible. I know they sling around words like ‘socialism’”—he framed the word with his fingers—“and ‘Marxism’ and ‘redistributionism,’ and they hope to scare you with those words. I also know that you are too smart for that. Because the fact is this: the Work Freedom Program will pay for itself.

“I promise you right now that you will not pay one additional dollar in taxes for this program. You will not lose your job. And if your employer should selfishly fire you, we are establishing a business trust fund to which all businesses will contribute, and which will pay your salary during rainy days. Businesses may try to scare you, but people are always frightened of what they do not understand. Selfishness must not be allowed to trump the vital liberties of the American people.

“And this action will not contribute to our national debt. It will contribute to our collective wealth. With the entire American population working, producing, creating—not just 80 percent or 90 percent or even 93 percent—we will boost our gross domestic product exponentially. Our economy will be the envy of the world. And at the same time, we will level the playing field for every American.”

Prescott spread his hands on his desk in a sign of generosity and openness—he’d been taught that one by a body language expert. “All I ask is for us to join together and make this country what it was meant to be: a land of freedom, liberty, and opportunity for all. The sun is rising on a new America, a better, kinder, gentler, and fairer America. And we can all be a part of it.”

He shook his head, grimaced. “But as we all know, Washington is broken. For years, Congress has refused to act on my agenda proposals. And that’s why I’m using my authority to do what is necessary on behalf of the American people. All my predecessors have taken similar action in times of serious need. Today, it is time to stand together as one. If my opponents in Congress don’t like what I’m proposing, let them pass a bill and send it to me. If not, I will do what I need to do in order to achieve the vision of our founders and of our fathers and mothers. For together we will stand, or we will fall apart.

“And we will stand. Stand with me, and together, we will stand for a brighter future.

“God bless you all, and God bless America.”

The red light blinked off.

“How was that, Tommy?” asked Prescott, leaning back in his chair.

Bradley was staring at him with the stunned expression that so often crossed his face when the president spoke. “It was magnificent, sir,” said Bradley.

“Good,” said Prescott. “Now, miss”—he motioned to the makeup artist—“would you mind coming here and helping me scrape this shit off of my face?”

Soledad

Central Valley, California

THE SWAT TEAM DIDN’T EXPECT it the first time she brought them cookies.

Nobody brings the SWAT team cookies.

But Soledad Ramirez knew the value of good press, and she baked mean chocolate chip cookies. “No oatmeal raisin here,” she said good-naturedly, handing out the meltingly hot treats to the men wearing full military gear and carrying M4s set to burst. “Don’t worry, they aren’t poisoned.”

At first they doubted her, so she took one herself and tried it. Then, one of the boys—and most of them were boys, Soledad knew—reached out, grabbed a cookie in his gloved hand, flipped up his fiberglass riot gear face shield, and took a bite. “Mmm,” he said, spilling crumbs down his chin. The crumbs were still there when his commanding officer stormed up, screaming, asking what the hell he thought he was doing.

“Try one before you knock it,” Soledad said to him.

The papers loved that one. The Los Angeles Times, as much as they hated her, still ran the page one headline: “Smelt Ramirez Melts Hearts With Cookies.”

But they didn’t leave. And even though every night she sent a plate of cookies to the boys, and every night they cleaned it, they were still out there, at the corner of her property, gun sights trained on her home, on her workers. One of her workers told her they didn’t even have the safeties on.

So it was no surprise when she got up this morning and her cattle were missing. They’d been warning about it for weeks, telling her they’d start by confiscating her property if she didn’t cease and desist watering them. She hadn’t abided by their orders, and they had taken the next step: they’d stolen hundreds of head of cattle. Poof, gone.