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  “Why?” Jake said. “Because I’m wearing a suit?”

  “You look like a professional wrestler pretending to be a businessman before a match.”

  “Babyface or heel?”

  “Oh, you are definitely a babyface, Mr. Rivers.”

  That made him laugh.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the sort to watch rasslin’.”

  “My dad loved it. I watched it with him. It’s silly, but entertaining. At its best, almost existential.”

  “Yeah, I can see how big, sweaty, oiled-up guys throwing each other around is existential. You look different, too, by the way.”

  “Because I’m wearing a dress?”

  “I guess that’s it.”

  “A meeting of the faculty in my department with the department chairman this morning. We have to at least pretend to take it seriously.”

  “Am I allowed to say you look nice?” Jake asked. “Or is that a microaggression?”

  “Coming from someone as big as you, I’m not sure a microaggression is possible. But I’ll allow it. Why are you dressed up?”

  “I’m getting called on the carpet in the president’s office,” he said. “I figure they’re going to kick me out.”

  “Really?” She added quickly. “I didn’t say anything about what happened the other night, I swear.”

  Jake slowed to a stop outside the rear entrance to the administration building. The side that faced Nafziger Plaza was actually the back of the building, which fronted on the next street over. He frowned and asked Dr. Burke, “Have you heard anything about those four guys? Anything at all?”

  “The ones who jumped you on your way back to the dorm?” She shook her head. “No. Not a thing.”

  “All of them should have spent at least one night in the hospital. I’d think a couple of them would still be there, maybe more than that. Why didn’t the press make a big deal out of it?”

  “Because the school wants it kept quiet for some reason?”

  “That’s the only thing that makes sense, but why would they do that? Liberals never hush up anything that might make a conservative look bad.”

  “Not everything in life breaks down into terms of liberals and conservatives, you know,” she said.

  “That’s right, now it’s nice, forward-thinking progressives and evil, extremist fascists.”

  “Someone has to be forward thinking. If everyone thought backwards, the world wouldn’t be a very good place.”

  “One person’s forward is another person’s backward.”

  She smiled.

  “That’s almost perceptive.”

  “I mean, I look at Antifa, and I see jackboots and goose-stepping . . .”

  Dr. Burke glanced up at the clock set into the administration building tower.

  “And I see that I have to hurry or I’ll be late for that meeting. It was good talking with you again, Mr. Rivers. If you’re still here next semester, maybe you should consider signing up for my course. There might be a career for you in criminal justice.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he promised. He stood there and waited while she walked on into the building, for no other reason than he wanted to watch her walk away in that dress. He couldn’t get in trouble for just thinking about violating the guidelines.

  Actually, he probably could, he amended, but what were they going to do to him because of it? Kick him out? He figured he was gone anyway.

  He went into the building and along the main hall to the suite of offices where the president’s and vice presidents’ offices were located. The secretary behind the desk in the reception office gave him one of those half-fascinated, half-scared looks and said, “I was told that you should go right on in, Mr. Rivers.”

  Jake smiled and said, “I didn’t even tell you who I am. I guess that’s not really necessary these days, is it?”

  She just smiled weakly back at him and didn’t say anything, just pointed along a short, carpeted hallway toward the door at the far end.

  Jake opened the door without knocking and went in. The office was fairly large and comfortably furnished but not ostentatious. Several photographs on the wall to Jake’s left were of the man who got to his feet behind the desk. In them he was shaking hands with different Democrat politicians, none of them white and/or male. Which the man behind the desk was. Other than the white hair, he bore a faint resemblance to the young Abraham Lincoln, pre-beard. Jake would have bet that Andrew Pelletier enjoyed that resemblance and even cultivated it.

  “Mr. Rivers,” he said, in the smooth, deep tones of an actor playing a college president. “Come in. Close the door.”

  Jake glanced around as he eased the door shut behind him. The two of them were alone in the office. He said, “I thought you’d have a couple of vice presidents and the college’s legal team here.”

  Pelletier shook his head.

  “No, I just wanted to have a talk with you, man to man.”

  Jake felt a stirring of concern inside. Maybe he had underestimated this man.

  Maybe Pelletier was more dangerous than he had thought.

  CHAPTER 9

  “As of right now, there are seventeen lawsuits pending against Kelton College as a result of the incident three days ago,” Pelletier said when both of them had sat down. “And I’m told that within the next few days, at least that many will be filed against you personally, Mr. Rivers.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” Jake said. “I guess I’ll just have to take my chances in court.”

  Pelletier smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly or pleasant expression.

  “You have the funds to defend yourself against such a legal barrage?”

  “Well . . . no, I don’t suppose I do.”

  “So you’re counting on your grandfather to help you.”

  Jake didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to get the old man mixed up in this, but that might be unavoidable.

  “We’re going to settle the lawsuits,” Pelletier went on after a moment. “The college’s lawyers assure me that this will cost less in the long run than fighting them.” His lip curled in an expression of distaste. “Besides, to be honest, I don’t have the stomach to defend the actions of a person like you, Mr. Rivers.”

  Jake leaned forward and frowned.

  “A person like me?” he repeated. “What do you mean by that, sir?” He figured he already knew the answer, but he thought he might as well go ahead and make Pelletier say it.

  “I find your attitude and actions repellent and reprehensible, young man. Kelton College is supposed to be a haven of learning for all students, regardless of ethnicity, national origin, gender, lifestyle, or philosophy. We value diversity and a welcoming inclusivity. This entire campus is a safe space, if you will. And then you . . .” Pelletier looked like he wanted to spit. “You come in here with your far-right, nationalist, patriarchal, sexist, bigoted, supremacist leanings and make our entire student body and faculty extremely uncomfortable.”

  “Now hold on just a minute!” Jake couldn’t hold in his anger, even though he suspected the college president was trying to goad him into losing control. “You can’t be saying that I’m the only student enrolled here who’s not some whiny little snowflake!”

  Pelletier sniffed.

  “Name-calling will gain you absolutely nothing, young man. Any other students who share some of your oppressive and unacceptable beliefs at least have the sense not to give voice to them where they would offend the sensibilities of other, more correct-thinking students and faculty.”

  “So the right of free speech only extends to liberals?”

  The older man waved that off.

  “This isn’t the time or place to argue the wisdom or even the necessity of a constitution put into place by white slaveholders. I’m saying that I’ve received a number of complaints about you, Mr. Rivers, even before this latest incident. Your wild-eyed raving has disturbed many of our faculty and students.”

  “Wild-eyed raving?” Jake sounded asto
nished—because he was. Ever since he had arrived on campus, started his classes, and realized what sort of place Kelton was, he had bitten his tongue and held in what he wanted to say many more times than he could count.

  Pelletier picked up a piece of paper from the desk in front of him, looked at what was evidently a list printed on it, and said, “You were heard to cast doubt on the validity of Keynesian economics.”

  “I’m taking an econ class. We’re supposed to discuss things like that.”

  “You told another student that in your opinion, all lives matter.”

  “Are you saying they don’t?”

  Pelletier ignored that question and went on, “You claimed to be proud of your military service.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? This modern army isn’t always what I wish it was, but what’s wrong with serving your country and being proud that you did?”

  Pelletier didn’t answer that one, either. Instead he glared at Jake and said, “In a history class, you expressed admiration for Ronald Reagan.”

  “I said he was a lot better president than a lot of the bozos who came after him. Do students give up the right to have an opinion when they go to school here?”

  “Of course not!” Pelletier bristled. “As long as—”

  “As long as they’re the right opinions,” Jake broke in. “The politically correct opinions. The ones that fit your precious narrative.”

  Pelletier slapped the paper back down on the desk.

  “Young man! You will not speak to me in such a disrespectful tone, do you understand? I am still the president of this college!”

  Jake drew in a deep breath so sharply that his nostrils flared. He sat there until his hands unclenched from fists and his pulse wasn’t hammering quite so hard in his head. Then he said, “I apologize, sir. You’re right. I should respect the office.”

  “But not the man,” Pelletier snapped. He made another curt gesture. “Never mind. Let’s get down to business. I want you to withdraw from this institution.”

  “You’re kicking me out for no good reason except you don’t like my politics? I think I could fight that with a lawsuit!”

  “You’ve violated our code of conduct in numerous ways.” Pelletier lifted his chin and sniffed again. “I think we would be perfectly justified in expelling you, and any court would agree with our action. However, I would prefer that you withdraw of your own accord.”

  Jake sat back and grinned.

  “You’re trying to keep my grandfather from getting too upset with you. You don’t want to lose all the donations he makes to the school.”

  “I have the utmost respect for Cordell Gardner—”

  “And even more respect for his money.” Jake paused and thought for a second, then went on, “If I withdraw, you can tell my grandfather it was my own decision. Then you can turn around and imply to all the people suing you that you forced me out, in the hope of getting more favorable terms when you settle those suits. You’re trying to play it both ways.”

  Pelletier glared but didn’t deny the accusation. Instead, he said, “Are you going to withdraw or not, Mr. Rivers?”

  “Not,” Jake said. “I’ll stick it out.”

  “Very well,” Pelletier said, clearly not pleased with the decision. “You’ll get no support from this institution in dealing with your own legal problems. We’re washing our hands of you.”

  “Careful,” Jake said. “That’s a Biblical reference. Remember what Pilate said when the Jews asked him what to do about Jesus? You wouldn’t want anybody to accuse you of being a Christian. That’s a dirty word these days, isn’t it?”

  “We’re done here.”

  “Yeah, I think we are.” Jake got to his feet and started to turn toward the door, then stopped. “What about those other four guys?”

  “What four . . . guys? What are you talking about?”

  “The fight in the plaza.”

  “When you attacked that young couple and then fought with that group of peaceful bystanders?”

  Peaceful bystanders? A bunch of hooded goons with chains and pipes?

  Clearly, though, Pelletier was talking about what had happened earlier in the evening, not the clash when Jake was on his way back to Olmsted Hall from Frank McRainey’s office. And he seemed genuinely puzzled, as well.

  But why make things worse for himself, Jake thought. Maybe, despite the fact that he had thought them incapable of it, those four sons of bitches had been able to haul themselves off after all. In that case, as long as Natalie Burke hadn’t reported it, it was possible nobody else knew about that second fight, and there wasn’t a cover-up after all. Might as well let it stay that way, he decided.

  “Never mind,” Jake said. “If there’s nothing else, sir, I have a class in twenty minutes.”

  “You’re determined to remain enrolled here?”

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “Then please try not to cause any more trouble.”

  “I never set out to cause it,” Jake said. “But I’m not going to run away from it, either.”

  “Good Lord. You sound like John Wayne.”

  Jake grinned and said, “I’ll take that as a compliment,” as he opened the office door and went out.

  CHAPTER 10

  Matthias Foster peered over the sights of the heavy double-action revolver in his hand and squeezed the trigger. The gun boomed and the heavy recoil tried to make the barrel rise up, but Foster’s strong, two-handed grip controlled it. He fired again, fast but not rushing, then again.

  The target, set up twenty yards away in front of a thick barrier of earth and wooden beams, showed three holes, grouped close together a bit low and left from the bull’s-eye.

  Foster lowered the revolver onto the wooden counter in front of him where a number of other pistols—some revolvers and some semi-automatics—lay waiting. He knew he might well be trusting his life to some of these weapons, whether he held them or not, so he intended to check the sights and firing mechanisms of all of them.

  He left the protective, wraparound plastic goggles on but lowered the ear protectors so they wrapped around his neck from behind.

  “This one just needs a little adjustment to the sights,” he told the woman who stood beside him holding a tablet. Using a stylus, she made a note on the screen. She wore custom earbuds with speakers built into them, as well as noise-suppression circuitry, so her ears were protected from the sound of guns going off but she could still hear what her companion was saying without removing the buds.

  “We’ve been at this for a while, Matthias,” she said.

  A smile appeared on his handsome face.

  “Preparation, my dear Lucy. Proper preparation is the key to success. Forgive me for sounding like a motivational speaker.”

  He didn’t look like a motivational speaker. He wore jeans and a faded blue work shirt with the sleeves rolled up over wiry but strong-looking forearms. His head was topped by a shock of wavy brown hair. In an earlier day, he would have been considered movie-star handsome. His deep tan testified that he spent a lot of time outside. He could have been a farmer or ranch hand. His voice was deep, powerful, cultured, with a touch of the didactic about it.

  “Of course,” the woman called Lucy replied. “But we have other things to do to get ready, too, besides just testing guns.”

  “You’re right,” Foster agreed. “We have other powerful weapons on our side. Our brains”—he touched his forehead—“and our hearts.” His fingertips rested for a second on his chest. “Those are a higher caliber than any mechanical weapon we might employ, and we must test them as well.” He laughed. “God, I sound pretentious at times, don’t I?”

  Lucy smiled and said, “Some people respond to that.”

  “True. And it’s also true that, facing such a great undertaking as we are, we need to test our resolve.” He was looking past her as he said it. “Here comes such a test now.”

  Lucy turned and gazed along the dirt road that led to the outdoor shooting range nest
led in the Central Texas hills. A cloud of dust rose from the road as a vehicle approached. This range was on private property and the entrance was guarded, so no one could be driving along that road who wasn’t supposed to be here. Even so, a tiny shiver of apprehension went through her.

  The vehicle, a nondescript white SUV with a layer of grime on it, came into sight. As it came closer, Foster gestured toward the tablet in Lucy’s hand and said, “Tell Khaled to get to work on those as soon as he can.”

  “Of course. Would you like me to go, Matthias?”

  He shook his head.

  “No, stay here. You might find this interesting.”

  Lucy set the tablet on the long, open-air counter that was covered by a metal roof supported by wooden posts. She and Foster both turned toward the SUV as it came to a stop twenty yards away. Lucy reached up and started to take the earbud out of her right ear, but Foster stopped her.

  “Leave them in,” he said. “You might need them again later.”

  Lucy looked puzzled but shrugged in acceptance of what he said.

  Four men got out of the SUV and walked toward them. All were in their twenties: one black, one Hispanic, two white. All wore the same sort of casual clothes as Foster and Lucy. The black guy and one of the white guys wore sunglasses, as well. The other white guy and the Hispanic had gotten out of the SUV’s backseat.

  “Jimmy, Hank,” Foster greeted the two in sunglasses with a nod, then smiled at the other two. “Carlos, Ben.”

  Ben, a rangy young man with blond hair, grinned.

  “We here to get in some target practice, Matthias?”

  “That’s right,” Foster answered. “We need to be sure that everybody can handle what’s expected of them, once we get this thing started. There won’t be any turning back, you know.”

  “Nobody wants to turn back,” Ben said. “We’re all committed to the cause, aren’t we, guys?” He turned his head to look at the three young men who had come out here with him.

  “Sure we are,” the black guy, Jimmy, said. “The only way to stop those fascists from taking over the country and ruining it is to fight back against them with something they’ll understand.”