Page 87 of Booked for Theft

I could live with that. “Do you think these memos will sway the public?”

“One way or another, we’re going to find out.”

Over the course of three weeks, with help from Beatrice and Mickey, we sorted through all the papers from the warehouse, uncovering a series of threats, treachery, and betrayal. From start to finish, Senator Maybelle’s campaign had been designated as one meant to divide the people and prevent their votes from truly mattering. Had all gone to plan, she would have become the next President of the United States, and she would have been able to tighten the stranglehold on the people, targeting our culture and religion to do so.

Under her leadership, if we could call it that, she would reform everything. Churches would become the only charities permitted to operate, and anyone seeking aid would have to reliably attend services twice a week. Soup kitchens, shelters, and all other charitable organizations would be forced to close within a year, leaving a vulnerable population with no choice other than to seek out religion.

Then, in the second year of her term, which religions could operate charities would be declared, and all the surviving religions would have to meet several criteria to maintain the charity status.

By the end of her term, only specific churches with the government’s approval would be permitted to remain open. Ancient cathedrals, including St. Patrick’s, would be permitted to maintain their operations. Specific churches with over two hundred years of service to their communities would be permitted to remain open.

Judging from the list Bradley had uncovered, there would be less than five hundred religious institutions permitted to operate across the entire nation by the time everything was said and done.

We also found evidence the government meant to, piece by piece, remove access to places where people might gather in large groups and form close communities. The reality of the situation stole my breath and stoked my anger. It would come to a point where the government wouldn’t even need to stage elections.

They would tell the media who people should vote for, and the people would, due to an inability to gather knowledge, learn from others, and have civil discourse, do as told. Even the ghost of democracy would perish, and not even memories would remain.

Aware we would need to act in a more direct fashion, I reached out to everyone in the cell and requested that we get together, at our home, to discuss some investigative work. The FBI had several open cases for us to pick through, and I intended to use them as covers for our true goal, illuminating the evils of the current regime so it might one day fall.

With luck, that someday would be by the end of the year.

I hesitated to even consider the alternatives.

Then, to help with disguising our intent, I contacted the agents at the FBI to discuss three of the cases, get updated dossiers on them and all parties involved, and request advice on how we, a new cell, might best address the work. The call cost me three hours, but the agents were patient with me, willing to teach me the ins and outs of federal investigations, and how all three cases would be more educative for us than useful.

The FBI already had a team working on it, ready to join forces with us as we drew closer to solving the case.

Experience mattered, and it was a way of allowing us to learn without obstructing justice.

When the Sunday we were to meet rolled around, with February having slipped into March without fanfare, I questioned how we’d get through the next few weeks, let alone until November. As everyone arrived, I longed to hide under the covers and wait for the world to pass me by. The first wave of information had gone to the media, and the news had already broken regarding Senator Godrin’s murder having been planned by the government—and that Senator Maybelle had crossed the line as well, resulting in her death and my injury.

And so the game began, a spark that would either fizzle out and die away or erupt into an inferno destined to change the course of the United States.

Pushing away my misgivings, I introduced everyone to our new kittens, who insisted on attacking Bradley’s feet every other minute. “Please welcome Flufflestiltskin and Tika Meowsala to the cell. They are Ajani’s furry understudies.”

My fluffy goddess, who had spent most of the day chasing, grooming, and otherwise caring for her kittens, slept on her bed in the corner of the dining room, and we took care to keep from waking her. Once everyone was seated, I slapped down the collection of takeout menus. “Before we begin, we will order food, because we are going to be taking out our frustrations on dinner within ten minutes of this talk starting.” I engaged Meridian in a staring contest. “I love you, but you’re going to have to be quieter than any mouse about this. You must be mute, or it ends poorly for all of us.”

“How poorly?” she asked, raising a brow.

I took my finger and mimed slicing it across my throat. “We had the condo searched for bugs yesterday, and we’ve been on alert since the sweep to make certain no bugs were added. So, it should be safe to talk. Bradley, make sure the music is on at the door.”

He left the room, and a few moments later, faint classical music began to play. “Done. We need your help with the financials, and we can’t hide what the financials are about and why. You’re too smart for that. If you talk, we die. And by we, I mean very probably all of us, but Janette above all.”

Meridian glared at me. “What have you done now?”

“Thanks to Bradley’s mother, I’ve been entered into the election as a candidate.” I glared at the woman in question, and to make it clear what I thought about her gambit, I flipped both middle fingers at her. My mother cleared her throat, and I shook my hands to make it clear I was not going to be quieted, not this time. “I have selected a running mate for myself, who shall remain secret at this period in time, and will be throwing some sticks in the spokes of the election.”

Bradley’s mother cringed, and mine slapped her hands to the table and yelled, “You did what exactly?”

“Mom, sit down,” I ordered, snapping my fingers and pointing at her chair.

To my astonishment, she obeyed.

“Mrs. Hampton, you stay quiet, too. This is my rodeo now, and you’re the circus clown until I say otherwise.”

She chuckled but otherwise did as asked.

“Mom, she did it while I was missing as a possible memento on the deadline for submissions. I went through the list of those eligible to be running mates and approached someone, who agreed with my cause. For the moment, I will be keeping the identification of my running mate a secret. In reality, the media has been running a campaign for me. All I have done is decide that I’ll play the game. Mom, Dad, I’m just going to apologize now. I’ve decided the government needs to be burned to the ground, and I started lighting literal fires to make it happen. But my bright and warm career as an arsonist has already borne fruit.” I went to the entry, dug out the stack of newspapers we’d gotten earlier that morning, and returned, tossing the stack onto the table. “Pick what we’re eating first, and then you can all take a turn with the front page to get a better understanding of what we’re dealing with.”