Amerika (32 page)

“On that we agree.”

There was a long pause and gradually Marion Andrews’ granite composure seemed to crack. Her face flushed, her eyes took on an expression that was almost pleading, and she seemed almost on the verge of tears. “Where’s Billy?” she demanded.

“I thought we weren’t going to make this personal,” said Devin, smiling.

“Where is he?”

“He’s free.”

His words were like a slap in the face. Marion started to reply, then took a breath, trying to regain her control. Andrei leaned forward in his bench, fascinated, more than a little amazed to realize that this man—this apparently powerless man—was not afraid.

“I had hoped you would be more reasonable,” said Marion, once again composed, a portrait of professionalism. “At least where the welfare of your own child is concerned.”

Devin shook his head. “Do you remember when he

was bora? For the longest time the kid refused to be bom. Then all of a sudden he came. Pushing his way out—-big, strong, yelling—nothing could stop him. He wasn’t yours; he wasn’t mine. He was on his own.”

“I see that prison has done nothing to help you become a better citizen. You are still a dangerous subversive. You are blinded by thoughts of revenge toward me and would use innocent children to get at

Devin almost smiled. “You know what’s funny? I don’t hate you. I wish I could. But I do hate what you’ve done to the children. What you tried to do to Billy and what you have done to Caleb. That’s why I will fight you.”

“I find in you clear evidence of mental imbalance,” she said, hurrying the legal jargon. “You are remanded for psychiatric evaluation to determine your competence for trial.”

She struck the gavel and stood, then strode away from the bench.

“All rise,” the bailiff shouted.

As the courtroom guards moved forward, Devin said loudly, “Marion, if you have the power, why are you so afraid?”

She looked at him a moment, held by the strength of his gaze, before turning and walking out the door to the safety of her chambers.

Andrei was still assimilating the confrontation between the former spouses as he entered Marion Andrews’ chambers.

“You lost control, Madame Magistrate,” Andrei said, sitting down across the desk from her.

She ignored the comment.

Andrei had watched the little courtroom drama closely and with some satisfaction. He thought Marion had exhibited womanly weakness and that was of interest. But more important was Milford’s performance. The man knew all that could be done to him, yet he was not afraid. What a strange thing moral strength was, Andrei mused, a kind of force of nature, perhaps part of the evolutionary process. You could take away wealth, rights, freedom, even life—but you could never destroy the enduring human quality that produced heroes. It always returned. This time it had returned in Devin Milford.

Marion interrupted Andrei’s thoughts. “I have two formal requests to make. I would like you to order the Special Services Unit in Milford to search the town for my son. And I want Devin hospitalized far away from here.”

“I have a trade to propose.”

Marion was suspicious. “What do you want?”

“I want to prevent you from doing something that will damage yourself and our overall plan.”

“You’re still trying to protect him.”

He shrugged. “Believe me or not. Allow him to make a public statement.”

“I think you’re mad.”

“What harm can he do us? The real message will be that you—we—are not afraid of him. Strip away the mythology and let his admirers see that he is only one powerless, meaningless man. Then I will turn him over to the govemor-general’s office to carry out your court order.”

Marion tried to think it through, to see what tricks he could be playing. But in truth, what he said made sense. She would have Devin in her control within hours; that was all that really mattered.

“If I agree, you will have the SSU search Milford?” “Yes.”

“And you give me your word you will deliver Devin for evaluation?”

“Wherever you choose.”

“Omaha. The People’s Acceptance Hospital.” “Fine,” he said. “Then it’s agreed?”

She nodded.

They had taken Devin to a windowless holding room in the basement of the courthouse. He waited patiently, still savoring his exchange with Marion, not letting himself think about what might come next.

The door opened and the man he recognized as Andrei Denisov entered. Devin did not rise, nor did the Russian sit down.

“I trust you know who I am,” Andrei began.

It was not a question and Devin gave no answer.

“I really don’t understand you, Milford. What was your intention after obtaining your children? Go live in caves? Or take them back to your hometown? Certainly you know that Marion would tear down that town, house by house, brick by brick, to get her children back. And to destroy you.”

Devin returned the Russian’s gaze but still did not reply.

“Such a brave man, and such a fool. To let a woman betray you.”

“What do you want?” Devin demanded. “Why are you here?”

“Perhaps to help you,” Andrei told him. “Would you trade your freedom for the return of your son?”

“You should know the answer to that.”

“Do you understand what can happen to you?” “Yes.”

“And you’re not afraid?”

‘Td be a fool not to be.”

“I hope to save your life.”

“Why?” Devin asked.

“Because I see no purpose served by your death.” “I don’t trust you, Denisov. You’re very clever, but you’re still trying to destroy my country.”

“I am responsible for things being much better than they might have been in your country. I am searching for a solution that leaves your country with some honor, some hope for the future.”

“Yes, I’ve seen your hope for the future,” Devin said bitterly. “I see it in my son Caleb.”

Now Andrei’s eyes blazed. “There will never be another America, as you knew it, that’s a fact,” he said. “The only issue that remains is the nature of what is to come.”

Devin shook his head and turned away.

“You could help your countrymen,” Andrei continued. “Your friend Peter Bradford—do you believe he is
a
good man?”

Devin faced him again, trying to understand the
game
Denisov was playing and the role Peter might
have
in it. “He has decent instincts, if he’s allowed to exercise them.”

“I have put him in office because I believe his dedication to his country is compatible with the interests of the Soviet Union.”

Devin waited, skeptical but curious.

“He needs support if he is to survive. Not least of all against the ambitions of your former wife.”

Devin began to understand. “Are you saying I can somehow help Peter against Marion?”

Andrei was leaning against the door now, his hands in the pockets of his flannel pants, his shoulders

hunched forward. “Perhaps you noticed the people outside when you arrived. Quite an impressive turnout. It seems you still have influence.”

“And you want me to express support for Peter?” “Only if you mean it. Perhaps, if you think of it yourself, make some comparison between him and his second-in-command, your former wife.”

The outlines of it were coming clear. Denisov was asking for a testimonial. Devin waited, trying to make up his mind.

Andrei turned to leave, then paused to add, “There is also the matter of your eventual freedom. Perhaps even your reunion with your son.”

He went out, confident that he had found the key to Devin Milford.

The tall bronze doors of the courthouse swung open. A dozen police and security men ran out, forming a kind of beachhead at the top of the courthouse steps. Other police made a line across the bottom step. The crown surged forward—to look, to cheer, maybe even to do battle. Devin Milford was about to emerge.

Cries rang out as he stepped forward into the cold, swirling Chicago air. He seemed oblivious to the security men who encircled him. His eyes searched the crowd, as if he were looking for some lost friend. A current of electricity passed between him and his listeners—the same galvanic spark that had made him such an unforgettable orator in his days as a congressman and as a presidential candidate. That gift of inspiring others flooded back into him now, coming from a place in him he hadn’t felt for a long time.

Finally, from the top step, Devin held up his hand for silence.

He spoke softly, yet his voice seemed to carry undiminished through the humming canyons that were the streets of the captive city: “I pledge allegiance to the flag ... of the United States of America.” Devin turned toward the crowd. They began to join with him in his pledge, and the sound of the forbidden words, spoken solemnly, with great feeling, reverberated through the streets. “And to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

Devin paused for a moment, and felt the expectant crowd, that sea of faces turned up to him. TTien he began to repeat the words again. The crowd gained strength: all tension drained from their bodies and they stood proud, their voices resolute.

When he had finished, Devin was silent for a long moment. It was as if he were summoning something from even deeper within his experience, within his past, within his soul. Instinctively, he wanted to compress all his wisdom and struggle and patriotism into one simple word or gesture. He raised his arms above his head— straight up—reaching.

“America!”

He said it simply and powerfully. Andrei was mesmerized.

“America!” Devin said again, this time almost yelling.

His arms were still raised and when he said it a third time, their arms were raised too, their voices joined with his.

“America! America! America!”

The words thundered through the square; it seemed that the buildings might shake and the walls tumble.

“America! America! America!” The words exploded
even louder than before, and then Andrei gave the signal to the security men. They surrounded Devin and hustled him into the van.

For an instant Andrei feared the crowd might riot— they could not have been stopped without a massacre— but they only continued their mighty chant of “America! America!” And that, Andrei knew, was more dangerous than any riot.

Inside the van the sound reverberated. Devin sat forward, intense, suddenly crying. He heard the chant for what seemed like miles, as the van sped through the city. He no longer cared where he was going; all that mattered was that pure, perfect place he had been.

Chapter 11

The next morning
Petya summoned Andrei to Washington.

“I have just talked to Moscow, Andrei,” he told him, “and now I must talk to you. Face-to-face.”

But there were matters that Andrei had to see to before departing. Mikel had rushed into his office first thing that day and announced with smug satisfaction that Kimberly had been located. With malicious triumph, Mikel revealed that she’d been cohabitating with a male actor in a south-side slum.

“Have her picked up,” Andrei had said. “Have her brought to my apartment. Don’t hurt her.”

When he went to his apartment—their apartment—a few hours later, she was waiting. She did not look up when he entered; she was sitting at the far end of the living room, rigid with anger. At first he did not understand.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I was until your bullies broke into my Mend’s apartment, beat him up, and took me prisoner.”

“Oh God,” he sighed. “There was not to be any violence.”

“Somehow the message didn’t get through,” she said bitterly.

“Kimberly, I’m sorry, but we must talk and I don’t have much time.”

“Well, that’s surprising,” she said. “When did you ever have time to talk to me? When did you ever think about me except when you wanted sex?”

He opened his mouth to object, but found he could not.

“When you were away, had us raided, did you worry about me? Did you even know what happened?”

“You were under my protection.”

“Well, while I was under your protection, you lost

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me.

He sat beside her on the sofa, close but not too close. She wore jeans and flannel now, and no makeup, yet she had never been more desirable. “What do you want?” he asked gently.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, sadly, candidly. “But I know you’re Russian. I just need to be something other than somebody’s mistress.”

He leaned toward her, speaking with rare intensity. “We are special people; people like us live in our work, live at the edge, defining ourselves by the challenges we confront and triumph over. The qualities that unite us go beyond politics or nationality; we share a state of mind that is universal.”

She wouldn’t look at him. “Being with you is destroying me.”

Andrei’s eyes flashed with anger. “I’m not destroying you. You are frightened because you are weak. You need things outside yourself to flatter you, to make you think you’re desirable or talented. You never think what someone else might need.”