Empire by Orson Scott Card

Basin. “I don’t know,” she said. “It looked like a blur to
me
. No, I don’t know where he is, but he could be anywhere, you know how his job is.” Of course they
didn’t
know how his job was, but what could they say, anyway?
    And then came the call from Reuben.
    She said hello, not recognizing the number on caller ID, expecting it to be another curious friend.
    She knew Reuben’s voice at once. “You go ahead and visit Aunt Margaret without me,” he said. “I’ll get up there as soon as I can.”
    â€œReuben, what—”
    But he talked right over her. “I love you, Cessy.” And then the connection was gone.
    He had warned her back when this most recent assignment began that there was a strong chance their phones would be tapped all the time. By both sides. So they had longstanding telephone discipline—play along with whatever the other one is pretending.
    The game was this: Apparently they were planning a trip to Aunt Margaret’s in West Windsor, New Jersey. Though Reuben’s tone was cheerful, the cryptic nature of his instructions told her a greatdeal: He wanted her and the kids out of town. And it wasn’t just because the press would hound them as soon as his identity was known—he would have explained that openly over the telephone. Something was seriously wrong.
    And her job, now, was to trust Reuben.
    She went into the living room and knelt down in front of the two boys. She beckoned them to get their faces close to hers, so she didn’t have to talk loudly to be heard above the noise of the television.
    â€œThat was Dad,” she said. “He’s fine. But he asked us to do something. We’re getting in the van and we’re driving to Aunt Margaret’s. I need you two older boys to pretend that we’ve been planning this trip for a long time, and the only thing different is that Dad will be coming along later. If the girls don’t play along, don’t argue with them. I’ll help them pack and you guys pack your own stuff. Three days’ worth of clothes, plus Sunday clothes, plus swimming trunks, plus a couple of books and maybe DVDs and the PSP and the Gameboy Nintendo thing—the DS.”
    They looked at her gravely and Mark nodded. Nick didn’t nod, but when Mark got up, so did Nick, and they padded out of the room together.
    It was packing for J.P. that took the longest, but it was as if they had rehearsed for such a move for years, it went that smoothly. They were backing out of the driveway only half an hour later.
    They went out Route 7 and crossed the Potomac above Leesburg. The bridge was packed and it took almost two hours to get past the bottleneck—hardly a surprise, since all the Washington bridges were closed and this was the first bridge open to the public. After that it was still slow going, so it wasn’t until after dark before they pulled into Margaret’s driveway. Aunt Margaret had the front door open before they were out of the minivan.
    â€œYour soldier boy called,” she said. “He’s being debriefed and everything’s fine.”
    But she and Aunt Margaret both knew that nothing was fine. The President was dead, Reuben had shot some of the assassins, and he had sent his family out of town in a rush and without explanation.
    In some ways it was worse than when he had been in Special Ops. At least in the field, Americans were all on his side. He had support. But for all she knew, he was in serious trouble and couldn’t count on anybody.
    Except her. He had assigned her to take care of their children. As long as he knew his kids were safe, then he could face anything else with courage. Her own dreads and worries had to be set aside. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it well.

SEVEN
TEAM
    The great irony of war is this: While war is the ultimate expression of mistrust, it cannot be waged without absolute trust. A soldier trusts