The Regime: Evil Advances Read online

  "You awake, Fredericka?" Stonagal said.

  "Well, I am now," she said. "Is there an emergency?"

  "I want to know when Planchette is coming."

  "And you need to know now."

  "Soon."

  "I'll call you."

  Stonagal hung up without saying good-bye or thanks or sorry for waking her. He had never apologized to a subordinate, and he wouldn't start now. He paid Fredericka more than enough that she could be on call twenty-four hours a day without letting that pique

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  invade her tone. He didn't call her off-hours that much.

  She ought to learn to roll with it. When she called back a few minutes later, Fredericka reported, "Mr. Planchette can be here by this afternoon. He has cleared it with Mr. Carpathia, but he would like to talk to you now if he can."

  "He cleared it with Carpathia? Whatever for?"

  "I didn't ask, sir. Can he call you now?"

  "Heavens no! Ask him if he knows what time it is here. Tell him I'll talk to him when he arrives, and keep me posted on the details."

  Cameron became aware that his blinking had become more and more deliberate, his eyes staying closed longer than they should each time. He opened his window a sliver and slapped himself in the face. This was no kind of weather to be driving through with other than complete attention.

  "What the--?" Dirk said. "It's freezing."

  "I'll close it and keep you toasty if you want to try driving," Cameron said.

  "Sorry I said anything. Carry on. How are the gauges looking?"

  Cameron hadn't even thought to check. He had enough fuel to make it to Princeton, but he was alarmed to find the temperature gauge pointing straight up and the oil gauge the opposite. "Uh-oh," he said.

  "How far to the next oasis?" Dirk said.

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  "Half an hour maybe."

  "Not good." Dirk wrenched around in his seat and stared out the back window. "You're already burning oil," he said. "You're going to lock up the engine."

  "I should pull over?"

  Dirk shook his head. "I don't know. We're in the middle of nowhere and we'd be low priority for emergency workers. Better try to limp to the next rest area."

  The daily papers in Romania were full of the story of the largesse of Nicolae Carpathia having established a trust fund for the education of the teenage son of his recently deceased accountant. The stories made an issue of the fact that the victim had recently left Carpathia's employ to join the firm of his biggest competitor and political rival, Emil Tismaneanu.

  By the time the story made the television news, Tismaneanu was being grilled about why this should be Carpathia's responsibility. "In all fairness," Tismaneanu said, "the man had barely begun with me. I believe Mr. Carpathia owed him more than I did."

  Nicolae was tempted to rail against his opponent and challenge him to match the educational fund, but when he ran his response through the grid of Fortunato's counsel and what he believed his spirit guide had impressed upon him, he changed his mind.

  "Mr. Tismaneanu has enough problems right now," Nicolae said. "He appears to be trailing in the race, and

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  there are many issues over which we vigorously disagree. I do not choose to add this spat to the mix. I am happy to fully fund the educational trust myself and would not want to burden my opponent with the responsibility." Fortunato called. "Brilliant, Nicolae," he said. "Just wait until tomorrow's polls. You will surge even more because of this; you watch. And with your permission, I will plant challenges everywhere for another debate with Tismaneanu. Accepting could be his death knell. Declining would be the same."

  Everything associated with the Volvo went at once. Cameron had been proud that he'd kept the thing on the road, and suddenly all the gauges lit up, the dashboard lights went out, the headlights dimmed, and the car shut down. With the power steering gone it was all he could do to wrestle the car into a snowbank.

  "We have no source of heat," Dirk said, "and I'm not interested in cuddling."

  Cameron dug through his luggage for a dirty T-shirt and tied it to the top of the car. He and Dirk stayed inside until they saw headlights. Then they jumped out and waved for help. The first several cars either didn't see them or ignored them.

  Forty minutes into their ordeal, the cold beginning to reach Cameron's core, he came dangerously close to a snowplow that buried the car and him and Dirk in freezing slush. The driver must have seen them at the last

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  minute, however, because he quickly slowed and pulled over, carefully backing up to them.

  "Sorry about that!" he called out. "What's the trouble?"

  "Out of oil and overheated!" Cameron called back.

  "Hop in!"

  Cameron and Dirk grabbed their stuff, wondering what the plow driver could do to help. "Do you have radio contact with a towing company or anything?"

  "I do, but they're all tied up. I can take you to the next lodging exit, about an hour south, and you can take your chances at one of the inns. You're not going to get help for that car for a couple of days at best."

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  TWENTY

  Jonathan Stonagal was not the type of man who deferred to anyone, even old acquaintances, partners, and friends. When Reiche Planchette was ushered into his office late in the afternoon, looking sweaty and disheveled from the long flight and the cab ride through a snowy New York City, Stonagal didn't even rise.

  Planchette rushed the desk and leaned over, extending a hand. Stonagal grabbed it lightly with one hand, straightening what Reiche had displaced with the other.

  "Thanks for inviting me. Long flight. Bad traffic."

  Stonagal pointed to a side chair, and Planchette dropped into it, his coat and briefcase in his lap. "Is there a place for this?" he said apologetically, holding his coat aloft.

  Stonagal scowled and pushed the intercom button.

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  "Fredericks, come and take the man's coat, would you? What's the matter with you?"

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Planchette," she said, hurrying in.

  As soon as she was gone, Stonagal got to the point. "Tell me how things are at Casa Carpathia. How is Ms. Ivinisova doing?"

  "Well, she goes exclusively by Viv Ivins these days, and--"

  "Whatever for?"

  "Hiding her Russian ethnicity, I guess."

  "Again, why?"

  "No idea. Nicolae has drawn Leonardo Fortunato close as an adviser. Gave him an office in the compound."

  "Good, good. I know Leon. Has the potential to be a sycophant, but he'll be an asset."

  "Business was great until the dustup with Intercontinental."

  "More than a dustup, I'd say," Stonagal said. "Will I ever see my hundred million again?"

  "That's way beyond my area of expertise," Planchette said. "Corona is confident, but the failure hit them hard too. If Carpathia had to default, it couldn't happen at a worse time. His political opponent could use it to crush him. If he doesn't, Nicolae seems a shoo-in."

  "He needs to remain a shoo-in. Assure him I will cover the loan. I want it back, make no mistake, but I will temporarily personally guarantee it. That way he can categorically deny any charge brought by Tismaneanu. I can't wait for the election. When is it?"

  "First week of March."

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  "It'll be so good to have that old fool out of there."

  "And our man in."

  That made Stonagal smile. "And our man in. It's just the first baby step of many great strides, Reiche. Does it seem like a quarter century since we launched into this?"

  "Time has flown, Mr. Stonagal. It's been a privilege."

  "Tell me about our boy. What kind of a man has he become? Will he do us proud once in office?"

  Dirk, of course, had nothing at stake and little to have to get back to Princeton for, so Cameron couldn't fault him for sleeping soundly through the ordeal.

  A tiny family inn had allowed the college boys to slee
p on couches in the lobby until a room opened at dawn, when a crew of emergency workers checked out. Cameron spent most of his time pacing and calling around, trying to see if there was a chance of his getting to the airport in time for his flight to Tucson, No go.

  When the clock finally slid past when a miracle might have allowed him to make it, Cameron tried to sleep, putting off the dreaded call to his family. He finally dozed fitfully for a few hours, until awakened by a harsh sun. Unfortunately, while the snow had stopped, the sun melted only enough snow and ice to cause the roads to be closed when the temperature plummeted yet again. Even snowplows were having trouble gaining purchase on the road.

  Cameron and Dirk were stuck.

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  "Your mother is going to be terribly disappointed, Cameron," his father said on the phone.

  "Well, I am too, Dad. I don't see what else I could have done."

  "Maybe you should have come out here instead of going to Boston."

  "Well, sure, in hindsight that would have been the right thing to do. But Mom wanted me to go, and I would have missed out on the job opportunity of a lifetime."

  He told his father all about it, was set back by a less-than-enthusiastic response, and asked to talk to his mother.

  "You can't right now, Cam. She's having a bad day."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Sleeps on and off. Can't eat. Isn't coherent. The doc thinks we ought to get her to the hospital, but she puts up such a fuss when we try...."

  "She's getting worse?"

  "What? Where you been, boy? 'Course she's getting worse. That's what cancer does. It kills you in the end."

  "Well, I know that, Dad. I'm just saying, is it imminent or--?"

  "I don't know what imminent means, but I think you'd better still get out here as soon as you can."

  "Dad, I'm broke. My ticket was nonrefundable. My car is probably shot. I don't even know how I'm going to get back to school."

  "Well, you'd better think of something, Cameron. Your mother wants to see you."

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  Nicolae had to hand it to Fortunato, who proved right about Tismaneanu and the debate challenge. The excuses for not engaging in yet another made the incumbent look like a loser.

  "Nothing is served by these wastes of time," Tismaneanu said. "I should think that Mr. Carpathia would have more important things to do than invest his energies in criticizing everything I have tried to do for the people of Romania. For instance, he could apply himself to pulling his vast empire out of a deep hole of debt. Should he go bankrupt due to a reckless investment in an American technological scheme, the taxpayers will have to foot the bill. Avoiding that, it seems to me, would be a more worthy use of his time."

  Nicolae's camp fired back immediately with a challenge to prove that Carpathian Trading carried even one cent of debt.

  Tismaneanu bit and bit hard, announcing that an examination of the public record at Intercontinental Bank would bear out his charges.

  Within an hour, press releases blanketed Bucharest, announcing that Intercontinental had confirmed that "Nicolae Carpathia and Carpathian International Trading are customers in good standing with this financial institution, and neither the man nor his company carries any debt. Rather, much of Mr. Carpathia's holdings are invested here."

  That, virtually, was the end of Tismaneanu and his candidacy. For all practical purposes, he was finished.

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  He would never recover, and it was clear Nicolae Carpathia would be swept into office.

  Cameron sat dejectedly in Dirk Burton's dorm room as his friend ran his car towing and repair bills through the calculator. "Here's the happy total," Dirk said, ripping off the paper and holding it in front of Cameron's nose.

  "Yech. I don't know how I'm even going to get to Tucson over spring break."

  "Why not go for an advance from the Globe ?"

  Now there was an idea. Cameron had never been one to beg. That would be a hard phone call. But after he took one from his brother, he was more willing to try Dirk's idea.

  He was alone in his own room late that night when Jeff called. "Do you not get it or what?" Jeff said.

  "Of course I get it. What do you want me to do?"

  "Get out here! How hard is that to understand? Do you have no priorities?"

  "You got a magic wand, Jeff? I'm hopelessly in debt here."

  "Beg, borrow, steal, do something. Mom is dying. She's in intensive care, asking for you."

  "Thanks for that guilt trip."

  "I thought you ought to know. It's not pretty, Cam. You know you're her favorite, and--"

  "Don't start with that again, Jeff. Come on."

  "I'm okay with it. I just wish you'd live up to it. Earn

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  it. All I've done is stayed here and done whatever I could for the family, for the business. And what do I get? Taken for granted. You're out there doing your own thing, finding yourself, chasing your dream, and going busted picking up some award. And who is she asking for?"

  "I'm sorry about that, Jeff. I'm sure she appreciates everything you've done. She just--"

  "You don't get it, Cam. After all this time you really don't. I don't really care. I'm doing what I think is right. The point is, if she wants to see you before she dies, I want her to see you before she dies. Get here somehow, would you?"

  "I'll do my best."

  The next morning, hands shaking, Cameron placed a call to Dizzy Rowland.

  "How good to hear from you, son. Got a story for us?"

  "No. I wish."

  "Then what can I do for you?"

  "Well, I was sort of hoping you had a story for me."

  "You're the guy we'll come to if anything breaks there that ought to be in the Globe . You may have a better handle on that than we do."

  "How about a human-interest story?"

  "Well, sure. That's your strength, and we would have to count on you to ferret that out. There's not much hard news out of Princeton that Boston readers can't get elsewhere. So, yeah, some drama, human interest, pathos. Got something in mind?"

  "How about a college student who can't get home to

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  see his dying mother because he's out of money and his car died?"

  Rowland was silent a moment. "That could work. Handled delicately, of course. Not too sentimental. Just straightforward. Maybe covers how the kid finally makes the trip happen. Friends kick in, that kind of thing."

  "I could shoot it to you on spec?"

  "Sure. We'll take a look."

  "Urn ... here's the hard question."

  "Shoot."

  "Any way I could get an advance on it?"

  "On a spec piece? What if we don't take it?"

  "Then I'd owe you."

  "You short, Cameron? You need money?"

  "Yeah."

  "It's highly unusual, but if it's for a good cause, I might be able to work something out. Just this once, you know. We're not a bank."

  "I know. But, see, I'm the subject of the story."

  Rowland sighed long and loud. "Why didn't you say so, son? Just tell me how much you need. And don't exploit that story unless there's really something there. Tell me where to send the money."

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  TWENTY-ONE

  "I'm starving to death spiritually," Irene said.

  Jackie sat with her in the park, watching Raymie and Brianna on the monkey bars. "You can imagine how that makes me feel, Irene. I'm sorry."

  "Oh no, Jackie! What I get from you every week is fabulous. I'm learning so much, and--I hope--growing. But it's not enough. I try to do the daily stuff--the reading, the studying, the praying--but I wish I could be involved in a church where I could be used. And where I could soak up real Bible teaching and preaching every Sunday."

  "You're always welcome at New Hope, Irene."

  "I know. And the day may come when I'm ready to put it forcefully to Rayford. Right now everything in our marriage is how he wants it. There's no real give-and-take
. I mean, he's a good provider and a great dad. The kids worship him. And if he'd just give me an iota of

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  consideration, I'd be more than happy to let the rest of my life revolve around him. Something tells me, though, that he's got the wrong idea of what it means to be the head of the household."

  "Hey," Jackie said, "even Christian men often miss that. Dooley and I had to work through that early in our marriage. He was raised in a church where they taught that the man being the head of the home meant that he made all the decisions. We went where he wanted to go, ate what he wanted to eat--even when he wanted to eat. Anytime there was a disagreement, he won. I felt like a failure. I resented him, believed I was falling out of love with him."

  "You guys are so great together now--unless that's just for show."

  "No, it's good now. He was really transformed."

  "How? What happened?"

  "He got under some solid Bible teaching. Pastor Billings is a very wise man. And he has a long-term marriage to a woman who is plainly still head over heels in love with him, and vice versa."

  "How'd he manage that?"

  "He must practice what he preaches, hmm?"

  "What does he say about the head-of-the-home business?"

  Jackie called Brianna over and wiped her nose, then sent her back to the jungle gym. "He warns husbands that their spiritual responsibility is a grave task with huge accountability. He tells them they will have to answer for their wives' spiritual health someday. And

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  boy does he poke holes in the idea that being given spiritual authority means you get your own way all the time. He says that role should be employed only when a husband and wife come to loggerheads over some important issue. Otherwise, he says, you should submit to each other and put the other ahead of yourself.

  "The best part was when he was teaching that how a man treats his wife is like an investment. The more you put in, the more you'll get out. Treat her right, love her, honor her, and you will eventually get the same in return. Consult her, take her counsel, and love her as Christ loved the church. Thinking spiritual headship means you get everything your way is a far cry from being willing to die for your bride. I'm telling you, Irene, Dooley was never the same after he learned all that. And neither was our marriage."