Arc Light (41 page)

She rolled the window down and could see that there was a roadblock ahead, the lights of the police cars flashing at the junction of I-10 and another highway. “In other news. ‘We are not at war.' So says the President in a photo opportunity from his underground bunker in Virginia. The Russians, however, appear to think otherwise. Sources inside the Defense Department tell ABC News that the massive invasion force of Russian marines that yesterday had a run-in with Norway's navy is now in the Norwegian Sea, having passed within miles of U.S. Navy ships heading in the opposite direction toward the Barents Sea just outside the infamous Bastion of Russian ballistic missile submarines in the Kara Sea. The U.S. ships were, unnamed sources in the Defense Department report, under strict orders to avoid contact with the Russians—unlike the Norwegian Navy, which twice exchanged fire with Russian ships screening the flotilla of amphibious landing ships, both times involving surface-to-surface missiles that sank two Norwegian and three Russian ships and left one Russian ship ablaze.”

The car inched forward, and Matthew began to stir in his seat.
He's getting hungry,
Melissa thought.
I've got to find some more formula somewhere.
“Meanwhile, more clashes on the ground in Eastern Europe, this time in Slovakia as Russian forces take up positions, apparently with at least the tacit approval of the Ukrainian government, just across the Ukrainian border from U.S. Army combat troops. We go now to Allison Tinsley, who is in Slovakia with U.S. troops along the Ukrainian border.”

“During the early morning hours here,” the woman said over a telephone hookup, “just before dawn, a U.S. patrol of five M-3 Bradley armored scout vehicles from the 4th Infantry Division using low-light sights spotted a patrol in force of a dozen Russian armored vehicles fording a small stream over three miles inside the Slovakian border. Brigadier General Simmons, commander of the one brigade of the 4th which is currently operational, said in a briefing
just concluded that he determined the Russian forces posed a threat to Czech troops recently deployed into neighboring Slovakia and ordered the U.S. scout vehicles to open fire with their TOW antitank missiles and 25-mm cannon. In a brief but fierce firefight, one U.S. M-3 and seven Russian armored vehicles were destroyed, resulting in three American dead and two wounded. . . . ”

As the news report moved on to the preparations for the Senate impeachment trial, Melissa drew closer to the roadblock. Highway patrolmen wearing gas masks were stopping to speak to the drivers before waving them through. Patrol cars with lights flashing and more permanent bright orange barrels walled off the exit ramps for Highway 91 South, which led, as the signs reminded, to Riverside.
To David,
flashed fleetingly through her mind before she banished the impossible thought.

A loud knock on the window startled her, and she looked out into the reptilian eyes of a black gas mask. The patrolman motioned with his fingers for her to lower the window, and she rolled it down.

“Where are you headed?” he said, his voice muffled and distorted by the mask.

“L.A.,” she said. “I live there.” She saw him look at Matthew, who was so little that she felt he still belonged safe and sound floating in her womb. “Is it okay?” Melissa asked. “Up ahead, I mean?”

“Well, all the exits are closed between here and I-15 about fourteen miles ahead,” he said, his chest bucking with the exertion of making himself heard. “You got enough gas to make it?”

Melissa looked down to see that she still had a quarter of a tank. “I think so.” Just then she noticed the dust rising ahead as cars were crossing the median to turn around and head back the other way down 1-10. “Is it safe?”

“Yes, ma'am, but we're recommending that you maintain a speed of at least seventy-five along this stretch, and no stopping or slowing down to ‘rubberneck' any of the war damage. You should also close off your outside vents and turn off your AC. There'll be some fire trucks on the other side to hose your car down,” he said, and she saw the fire trucks to the side of the Highway 91 overpass doing the same for the eastbound traffic, “and you'll be told to ride with your fan on full and windows down to blow everything out, but the levels aren't bad.”

He rose to move on to the next car. “Hey, wait!” Melissa said, leaning out the window as the man walked back. “You mean there's radiation up there?”

“Not much, ma'am,” he said from behind his mask. “Those bombs over Riverside blew up high in the air. They didn't pick up dirt from the ground to make any fallout. They say it's safe. Just follow
the instructions and you'll be okay.” He moved on, and Melissa rolled the window up as she inched forward. She pushed up on the other window buttons to ensure that all were closed tight and inched forward again. Melissa found the vent slide on the dashboard—or what she thought was the vent slide, at least—and closed it. She turned off the air conditioning, and looked up to see that there were only two cars ahead of her now. Her car was sandwiched in the middle lane.

The patrolmen looked down and waved the front rank on. The three cars accelerated away, and Melissa inched ahead. Watching the departing cars, the patrolmen waited a few seconds and then motioned the cars just in front of her to go. They too accelerated, their rank quickly growing staggered as the truck picked up speed more slowly than the two cars. Melissa was next. She looked at the long, straight stretch of highway ahead down which the three vehicles quickly receded. When they passed the Highway 91 overpass, the patrolmen waved and Melissa stepped on the accelerator.

Her Mazda accelerated smoothly, and Melissa leapt out in front of the two older-model cars on either side of her. She slid quickly by the junction and, on passing, felt as if she was now in alien territory. She kept her foot on the gas as she passed seventy-five miles per hour and settled on ninety. She overtook the truck ahead and began a leisurely weave through the thin traffic as they passed the completely abandoned landscape.

The downed television antenna at a roadside gas station was the first sign of damage, and she drove on for several miles thinking that was all she would see of the great destruction.

Rising over a small hill she saw the blackened grass and brush and the bowed trees of the valley ahead. The windows of a coffee shop and motel were black and empty, jagged glass jutting into the openings and doors of many of the motel rooms flung wide open. It got worse ahead, as overturned trailers in a small campground and blackened, roofless houses attested to the force of the winds that had preceded the fires. She had to force herself to watch the road as cars slowed and she concentrated on keeping her car's speed up passing the first of the cars and trucks, windowless and sometimes overturned, along the shoulder of the road.

As the car crested another gentle rise, Melissa took her foot off the accelerator and felt the car decelerate slowly, her eyes fixed on the sight ahead. An old blue-green bus lay on its side in the median, sleeping bags, camping gear, clothing, and other articles strewn wildly all about.
AFRICAN METHODIST EPISCOPAL SCHOOL
was printed on the back of the bus, and a small wooden cross made of sticks was planted at an angle in the soil between the two lanes.

Filipov opened the door to the conference room and was surprised to hear English being spoken. The speaker, a paunchy, balding man in his late forties, was answering questions as he stood in front of the full
STAVKA
meeting.

“Have you seen the actual Articles of Impeachment?” he asked, rummaging through his beat-up briefcase. “I . . . I have a copy of them somewhere.” The interpreter's translation came nearly simultaneously.

Filipov went over to Razov and handed him the final plans for the Iceland invasion. “Who is this?” he whispered.

“Some American law professor who was at Moscow University on an exchange program,” Razov said. “He was more than happy to give us a briefing about ‘impeachment,' ” he said, using the English word.

“He's a fucking pacifist,” Admiral Verkhovensky whispered, leaning across. “Practically kissed me on the mouth when they brought him in.”

“Ah! Here it is,” the professor said, and then he cleared his throat. Most of the military officers waited on the interpreter's translation, but Filipov, Razov, and a few others mostly in their “camp” eschewed the Russian, listening to the English.

“ ‘Articles of Impeachment. Resolved, that Walter N. Livingston, President of the United States, is impeached for treason and other high crimes and misdemeanors, and that the following articles of impeachment be exhibited to the Senate.' ” He looked up. “You see, a resolution is brought by a Congressman, investigated by the Judiciary Committee, and then voted on by the House. If a majority passes, as they did, the matter is referred to the Senate for trial. There are several articles, but the key one is Article II.”

He looked down and again cleared his throat. “ ‘Article II. In his conduct of the office of President of the United States, Walter N. Livingston, in violation of his constitutional oath faithfully to execute the office of President of the United States and, to the best of his ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States from its enemies, and in violation of his constitutional duty to take care that the laws be faithfully executed, has prevented, obstructed, and impeded and does prevent, obstruct and impede the prosecution of war against enemies of the United States duly and properly declared by the Congress of the United States in that, on June 16th of this year, he did direct the Joint Chiefs of Staff of this nation's armed forces to refrain from prosecution of offensive
military action against the armed forces of the Republic of Russia.' ”

He looked up. “It goes on with the other articles that relate to a variety of things such as informing the Chinese of the impending attack, and then concludes with, ‘In all of this, Walter N. Livingston has acted in a manner contrary to his position of trust as President and subversive of constitutional government, to the great prejudice of the cause of law and to the manifest injury to the people of the United States and to the nation's security. Wherefore, Walter N. Livingston, by such conduct, warrants impeachment and trial, and removal from office.' ”

“And so the American word impeachment does not mean removal from office?” one of the officers asked.

After translation, the American lawyer said, “No. Impeachment really just means indictment—the bringing of a charge. The President is going to be tried in a court of sorts with the full Senate acting as jury and the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court presiding. In order to remove the President from office, two thirds of the Senators present must vote to convict.”

“And are these articles proper reasons to convict Livingston?”

After the delay, the professor said, “It's impossible to say. Impeachment is, at its heart, a purely political process. Former President Gerald Ford once said, ‘An impeachable offense is whatever a majority of the House of Representatives considers it to be,' and Nixon's Attorney General said, ‘You don't need facts to impeach a President, just votes.' It's been established that it's not necessary to have committed a crime, but just what's impeachable and what's not is anybody's guess.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Razov spoke up, picking the invasion plans for Iceland off the table, and then nodded at the captain who stood against the wall behind the professor.

“I . . . I wanted to say a couple of words about. . . ” The captain allowed him just enough time to put his papers in his briefcase, but not enough time to close it. He stumbled toward the door holding the briefcase closed with the captain's firm grip on his elbow. “On behalf of all Americans, and the Committee for Nonviolence of the Union of Tenured Educators,” he said as the door was opened and he arched his head over his shoulder, this text obviously prepared, “let me say that the American people want no part of this war. We are against all war. We want alternative dispute resolution mechanisms to be—” The door closed in his face.

Many of the officers had smiles of amusement on their faces, and Strategic Rocket Forces' General Karyakin said, “And that was a specimen of the nation of which we are frightened?”

Laughter broke out all across the room.

“What do you think, Colonel Filipov?” Admiral Verkhovensky asked smiling, jarring Filipov's wandering attention back to the room, back from his imaginary search for Irina. “You are our ‘expert' on America. Is this man an example of what we are up against?” There was still more laughter.

“No,” Filipov said loudly enough to be heard over the laughter, louder than he intended, as much to his own surprise as to the surprise of the senior officers whose humor he had interrupted. They had not expected an answer, but now they all looked with fading smiles at the young colonel, waiting. “I just mean, I know what most of you think of Americans.” Filipov looked at the faces of the senior officers who stared back at him, waiting for him to make a point. “You think they're lazy, greedy hedonists who suckle on the carcass of a country into which they had the good fortune to be born.” There were smiles from some. “In normal times that operating assumption suffices, but these are not normal times.”

Filipov felt Razov's hand on his forearm but chose to ignore it. He had long chafed at the comfortable ignorance of his superiors about America. At last he had been asked his opinion, and at a juncture at which the truth about the American character was critical. “Americans are a strange people. On an individual level, they are for the most part generous and kind. But as a people they send their armed forces off to faraway places to kill and maim and destroy with remarkable indifference
when
they believe they are right, when they believe the war is just. When they believe they're in the right, they muster their force with all their energy and deliver blows that crush entire
peoples.
This kind nation, that vast ‘silent' majority of gentle and fair people, will destroy
everything
that comes before it with the self-righteous zeal of a crusading army
if
they think the cause is just!”