Free Amerika by Brauna E. Pouns, Donald Wrye Page A

dr ink ?”
    “No, thank you. We have a long night ahead.”
    “As you wish,” said Andrei. “But tell me what is on your mind.”
    “I hate to trouble you with what may seem a personal matter.”
    Andrei sat beside her on the sofa. “I understand from Mikel that your former husband has been released and you are concerned for your safety and that of your sons.”
    Her eyes darted quickly to meet Andrei’s stare. “I don’t know why they paroled him,” she said bitterly.
    “I imagine he’s rehabilitated,” he said. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have been released.”
    “He could be dangerous. He should never have been freed. Maybe there was a bureaucratic error,” she continued.
    “I understand you have police protection.”
    “Yes. But that’s not enough. I want assurance that he never leaves Milford County.”
    Andrei nodded. “I’ve given tMs some thought, Marion. You know Peter Bradford, the Milford County administrator?”
    “Of course I do. He was Devin’s best friend—they were in Vietnam together. I haven’t seen Mm in years.”
    “Is he a man you would trust?”
    She gave the question a moment’s thought. “Yes. He’s an effective administrator.” She paused for a moment. “He’s not a stooge, if that’s what you mean.” “I’m going to meet him tonight at the Omaha dinner. Maybe he would find it in his interest to look after your husband. I’ll make it clear that certain bureaucratic plums he wants for this county depend on his satisfying me on this matter.”
    Marion smiled for the first time that evening. “Thank you, Andrei.”
    “Tell me more about Peter Bradford,” he said. “He’s not particularly imaginative or ambitious politically. People like him. I imagine he is a good county administrator.”
    “Excellent. He’s emerged as a dark-horse candidate for governor-general of the entire five-state Central Administrative Area. The Heartland, as it will soon be called.”
    “You know the party advisory committee supports Governor Smith of Missouri.”
    “The wonderful thing about advisory committees is that you can always tell them what to advise.”
    Marion nodded. “He’s not dangerous like Devin, there’s nothing visionary about him. But there’s this streak of midwestem stubbornness in him. You might regret such an appointment.”
    “The question is, can a man serve two masters? Could Peter Bradford, a patriotic American, serve our interests and those of his own people too?”
    She smiled icily. “That depends on who defines those interests.”
    Andrei looked at Ms watch. “Kimberly should be here soon. The plane is waiting.”
    “Oh, you’re still seeing your actress?”
    “Yes.”
    “Appearance and illusion.”
    “Beauty and soul,” he countered.
    “Instability.”
    “Madness.”
    Marion laughed. “Yes. I forgot. With you that would be a virtue.”
    Kimberly arrived, and walked into their conversation. She was dressed elegantly in a low-cut, black sequined gown. “I’m not interrupting, am I?” She kissed Andrei. He breathed deeply against her hair, which gave off a scent of hothouse orchids.
    “Not at all.” Marion rose from the couch. “You look beautiful.”
    “I’ll second that,” Andrei said, moving toward the door. “Ladies, shall we?”
    The gilt and red plush ballroom of Omaha’s Riverfront Hotel was packed with several hundred middle-aged county administrators and their spouses. Streamers and balloons adorned the huge room, and, above the speaker’s platform, a giant U.S.-UN-USSR flag hung limp amid blue clouds of cigar smoke.
    Kimberly, backed by a twelve-piece band, was singing “Younger Than Springtime.” The music, and the women’s gowns—carefully preserved, most of them, from pre-Transition days, and vaguely brittle—created a kind of time warp, as if the Forties or Fifties had somehow returned. Peter and Amanda were among the dancers, Amanda humming along with the music, eyes closed.
    “Reminds me of the senior