The scene: Britta Andrews, a radical environmentalist, and former Army ordnance officer Max Ascher are planning an audacious act that, in one bold stroke, will destroy the civilian nuclear energy industry and shock and outrage the world. Covertly allied to the conspirators is Michael Horan, playboy U.S. Senator from Pennsylvania and Britt’s lover, who arrives unexpectedly at her Washington, D.C., condominium.
“I DIDN’T EXPECT YOU,” BRITTA SAID.
“I had to see you,” Sen. Horan said.
They stood at the door, which was partially open.
“Can I come in?” he said.
“Michael . . . .”
But he pushed the door, and she yielded. The door opened wide. She put her hands behind her back and stared at him. He walked past her to the living room.
He stood in the middle of the room and stared at the closed suitcase on the onyx coffee table. He turned and looked at her.
“What’s that?”
She closed the door to the hall. She came into the room. She stared at him without speaking.
“I said, what’s that?” he said.
She said nothing.
“What the hell is going on, Brit?”
“What’d you want?”
“I wanted to see you. I need a reason to see you now?”
“So you’ve seen me.”
He went to her and grabbed her by the shoulders with both hands and forced a kiss on her. Her head snapped back and he pressed her lips with his mouth, and she didn’t fight it. She took it. When he was finished, he pulled his head back and looked at her. She just stared at him.
“You bitch,” he said.
She stood there, with his hands on her shoulders.
He took a step back from her and dropped his hands. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on,” he said.
“What do you mean, `What’s going on’?”
“Clair called me a few days ago; he wanted me to get a file on some intelligence agent. I made the request, and then today he tells me it isn’t necessary anymore. `The matter’s been taken care of,’ is what he said. I said, `What’s going on?’ and he said, `It wasn’t that important,’ and then he said, `Did you get back your copies of the secret testimony on nuclear power?’ What the hell does he know about that, Britta?”
“He knows,” she said.
His face was red. “I know he knows. I want to know why he knows.”
“Because I told him,” Britta said. “I said I’d get the testimony from you and we could use it all later. After we did what we had to do.”
His face was still red, but there was no anger in his eyes now. He didn’t make a move for a moment, and she didn’t make a sound.
“Did you destroy the papers I gave you?”
She said: “No. But don’t worry, I threw them away in the garbage.”
“The garbage? People go through garbage . . . .”
“What are you saying? Some homeless man is going to come across secret testimony? And do what with it? You really are getting paranoid, Michael.”
He took a step now and grabbed her shoulders again. “You don’t seem to understand, Britta. Clair wanted a dossier on an intelligence agent, and then he told me the matter’s taken care of. And then he tells me about secret testimony he shouldn’t know anything about.”
“I want you to take your hands off me.” She waited. He finally dropped his hands. “I want you to understand a few things, Senator. You let yourself fall in love with me and you knew how dangerous I was. Well, you wanted to know everything, and I told you once you were in, you couldn’t back out.”
“What are you going to do with this . . . this man you think set fire to the Pentagon?”
That brought a sly smile to her face. She said, “He did set fire to it.”
“The car radio said they’ve arrested someone.”
“No. That’s the wrong person. Max set fire to it.”
“Max? Is that his name?”
“Open the suitcase, Michael. You wanted to know everything. Then you can know everything now. Go ahead.”
He stared at the case on the coffee table. He made no move.
She took a step and pushed him in the chest. “Go ahead, Michael, open the suitcase.”
“Look, Britta, you shouldn’t have TREATED that testimony I got you like . . . . It’s secret, for Christ’s sake!”
“There aren’t any secrets, Michael. Not when it’s important enough. Especially in this town. You know it, I know it, Clair knows it.”
“Clair’s bank arranged your line of credit, Clair wants me to investigate an intelligence agent and then he says it doesn’t matter and then . . . .”
“Open the case, Michael.”
He stared at her as if she had become a stranger. Then, with a sudden gesture, he bent over and unsnapped two latches and lifted the lid of the suitcase. He stared at the contents for a very long moment. It might have been forever if she hadn’t suddenly laughed behind him. It was a mocking laugh, and he didn’t turn to confront her or go red in the face again. He just held the lid of the suitcase and stared at the stacks of hundred-dollar bills that were fitted in rows and wrapped with paper bands.
“Christ,” he said.
“It’s a lot of money, Michael.”
“What are you going to do, Brit? Tell me what you’re going to do,” he said in a defeated voice. He still held the suitcase lid and stared at the money.
“I’m going to spend some borrowed money,” she said. She was smiling, and her voice carried the aftermath of mirth.
“To start a fire,” he said.
“To start a fire,” she said.
He stared at the money and then suddenly dropped the lid. His hands had lost their sense of touch. He stood with his hands held apart, like a priest making a blessing, staring at nothing.
“You’re going to burn a nuclear power plant,” he said. “You’re going to fight nuclear power.” His voice was dead. He could not make a move. It was like the dream in which he couldn’t run away and the bogeyman was coming through the door and the room was dark. He couldn’t move. “You’re going to fight it by burning down a nuclear power plant.”
She didn’t say anything, but she was smiling behind his back. And then he turned to her, blinking his eyes. “Is that it?”
“Yes, Michael. You wanted to know everything, and now you know.”
He groaned then, and there were tears in his eyes. He groaned a second time. It was quite terrible, and she couldn’t smile anymore. She took a step to him and grasped his hands, which were cold.
“Michael. Michael,” she said in her low, urgent voice.
“Oh, Jesus, stop, Brit. You have to stop.”
“It can’t be stopped, Michael.”
“Brit, Brit, you’ll kill people.”
“We’ll save the world, Michael. We are going to save the world.”
He shook his head then, back and forth, back and forth. “No, no, no. This is monstrous, horrible, this cannot be . . . .” He wasn’t seeing her, feeling her hands on his, he wasn’t anything. “Don’t do this, Brit, I don’t want any part of it.”
“You’re part, darling,” she said. Her voice was low and she held his hands still, but she was cold now. “You wanted to be part, and you’re part. You gave me testimonies, and I’ll use them. The institute can use them. And the other part, the Dove, well, you’re part of that now too, darling. Clair’s part and you’re part and we, all of us, we’re together in this, darling.”
“This is insane,” he said, blinking again as though to really see her for the first time, his eyes opening wide.
“It’s an act of war,” she said. “War against the polluters and profiteers.”
“I won’t . . . .” He interrupted himself with a gurgling sort of sound. He shook his head. “I’ll go to the FBI. I can’t be part of this.”
“You’re part of it, dear. You can’t go to the fascists.” So calm. “Don’t you see that? Clair told me about this intelligence agent because Mr. Khashogi wanted him to tell me. To tell me that even an agent of the government could be threatened.” She smiled brightly and still held his hands in hers. “They kidnapped his girlfriend, and they frightened him. They can do anything, they really can. Clair said they could kill anyone who interfered.” She came close to him so that she could smell his whiskey breath. “They could kill you, darling.”
He just stared at her. He couldn’t move and couldn’t speak. His eyes were the only animated part of him, widening in horror.
“They could do anything. I can do anything.”
And he saw it was true.
“Kiss me now,” she said.
He kissed her because she compelled it. The kiss had no taste to him, inspired no passion. He thought he would never be in passion again, he felt so cold and old and dead.
“Where, Britta?”
“Of course, darling,” she said. She kissed him again, lingering like a vampire, sucking all the life from him. It made her tingle, the sense of fear she had inspired in him.
And then she pulled back. She smiled again. “The Apostle. A very bad plant, you’ve heard it in the testimony. Sloppy procedures. Really, darling, it could cause problems at any time.”
“But you’ll pick the time.” Each word tolled. He just stared at her and saw nothing but death. Tasted ashes on his tongue.
“I’ll pick the time. And place. Imagine, Chicago. The first controlled nuclear reaction during the World War was in Chicago, under the stands of the University of Chicago football stadium. Imagine, if they hadn’t controlled it, Michael, it would have destroyed Chicago then and there. The irony, Michael, think of it.”
He could only stare and taste the ashes.
“Besides, it’s Chicago, it isn’t as though we need Chicago. It isn’t here, Michael, it isn’t New York. Or Boston. It’s only Chicago, Michael,” she said, trying to comfort him in his state of shock.
