Liberty's Last Stand Read Online Free Page B

Roberts asked me.
    Needless to say, I hadn’t thought about that possibility. I had an apartment just up the road, my car was paid for, I was single, my mom was doing okay out in California. When I didn’t answer quickly enough, Roberts added, “I’m resigning. I’ve been offered a faculty position at the University of Chicago. If the job is still open, I can start when the new semester begins.”
    I grunted. The University of Chicago was notoriously left-wing, very politically correct, and Roberts was a level-headed, pragmatic genius who had worked for Republicans on the Hill early in her career. On the other hand, she was a she, and black, and consequently could get away with a lot that would sink a white male faculty member.
    Hurley admitted he was on the fence. He loved the game of analyzing raw intelligence. He said so now, and expressed the hope that he could return to the Middle East Desk.
    â€œNothing but bad news there,” I said, trying not to sound too downbeat.
    â€œI think I can take it for a while longer,” he said. The cockeyed optimist.
    â€œNegativity is the problem with this agency,” Anastasia Roberts declared. “Eventually it overwhelms you and your shit bucket overflows.”
    â€œI wouldn’t express that opinion quite that bluntly in the faculty lounge in Chicago, if I were you,” I told her. “Clean it up for the civilians.”
    We chuckled, locked up, and went to the cafeteria for lunch, where we discussed the weekend terror attacks.
    I was working on a chicken salad sandwich with mustard and a slice of pickle on the side, plus a little bag of barbeque potato chips, when the televisions mounted high in the corner of the cafeteria broke away from their coverage of the investigation of the terrorist incidents to televise a live news conference with the president, Barry Soetoro. He had complete faith in the professionalism and competence of the FBI and Homeland Security Department. They were investigating. The terrorists were obviously criminals, he said, but they certainly didn’t represent the vast bulk of American Muslims or the refugees who had been admitted to the United States. He and his security team were reviewing the information the crime scene investigators were producing, and when more was known, they would be taking any steps called for.
    â€œDoes that mean you will reconsider your decision to admit Muslims to America?”
    â€œWe can’t classify people by their religion.”
    â€œObviously refugee screening was inadequate. What will the administration do to find the jihadists and keep them out?”
    â€œWe are looking at that.”
    â€œA lot of people in Congress are saying your policies on illegal immigration and the admission of Middle Eastern refugees are abject failures, as proved by the events of the weekend. Would you comment on that?”
    â€œMy political enemies say a lot of things, every day. I haven’t the time or inclination to listen and comment.”
    There was more, a lot more. The public was frightened and angry, and Barry Soetoro was defiant.
    When the press conference was over, the cafeteria was quiet.
    â€œIt’s a miracle someone hasn’t shot at him before now,” Max Hurley observed, leaning forward at the waist and speaking softly.
    But why shoot him? The Democratic nominee was Cynthia Hinton, who, according to the polls, was going to be the victim of a landslide. The Republican nominee was Jerry Duchene, the Wisconsin governor, and if the polls could be believed, he was going to be elected by a landslide. And the Congress would get a veto-proof Republican majority. The country had had more than enough of Barry Soetoro, his left-wing agenda, and his political allies, and was waiting, more or less patiently, for his final day in office. Yet the terror strikes had stirred the pot.
    Back upstairs after lunch things began to pop. Were there any indications among the