June 2065
The White House
Washington DC
Mrs Hayleigh Bateman led the official mourning in the White House chapel with Olivia Procter and her stepdaughters beside her. Impressively, she was in position within an hour of the sad news breaking at two in the afternoon, east coast time, and maintained her graceful vigil for seven hours. Keepers moved amongst the ladies of the Presidential court, fitting the gentlewomen with new feeding muzzles, imported from London, so that they could suck up their dinner without disturbing their devotions in memory of the great man, the leader of the modern renaissance and author of the holy doctrine. Every woman was swathed in sumptuous black velvet and tethered in position, which made the pictures released to every news agency all the more dramatic. It was broadcast online, a live show of American piety to rival anything that was taking place elsewhere, showing the world the strength of feeling amongst the large Christian community. President Bateman also spoke to the nation, calling on every Christian and all right-thinking Americans to pay their respects to Michael Winstanley and promised to attend the state funeral himself, on behalf of the grieving American people. His wife and her companions would pray daily, he promised, until he had to leave for London.
"Bill is planning to mirror what is happening in Meadvale," Howard Procter told his wife as he undressed, ready to join her in bed, barely an hour after she finished her afternoon and evening of prayer. "He is genuinely moved by Winstanley's passing...apparently, he met the man several times...and he is using this period of reflection to remind the world what Pastor Michael and his friends have achieved over the years? And that he stands with them, and for what they believed in."
"Can you excuse the girls from some of it, Howard? It is too much for them?" Olivia sighed as he dropped his boxer shorts to the floor.
"I have asked Miss Danvers to be patient with the twins, my dear...but I am expected to support the President in all things and they are both Maidens now...they must learn?" Procter sighed, reacting to her appeal much as she had expected, because he was a man, and a devout Reformist, and he did not understand what it took to be a Daughter of Eve. Bailey and Emily were only just beginning their training and she feared that the demands of a public mourning period would be beyond them. And indeed, down the hall, the two girls were both screaming silently as Miss Danvers patiently reminded them of their place. Bailey had done better than her sister, but both would have received auto-punishments if they were British, and Danvers could not let it slide.
Bill Bateman was still in the oval office. His efforts to dissuade the rest of the security council from punishing the British, and especially the Symonds family, so severely had fallen on largely deaf ears, but he had managed to get Delacorte to back off a little until after the state funeral, out of respect. It was not much, and Bateman suspected that they would use the delay to continue tracing Connor's funds, but it gave him breathing space. His state of the union address had met with a mixed reception, as he had suspected it would, but it had gone down well in the bible belt, and in London. But that support would only stick with him if he could deliver on his affordable healthcare pledge. Boston was a good start, but the protestors were still camped outside and they had still not broken ground on another convent hospital for some reason. He was getting impatient.
"Cartwright...we need to start building more hospitals?" He said testily, when he finally got through to Connor's new right-hand man at his home in Boston.
"Connor's assets have been frozen, Mr President...we simply don't have the cash."
"You're kidding me?"
"Everything is at risk...and especially here...if we brought any money into this country it would be seized in seconds...but it should only be a temporary delay?" Cartwright said calmly, stating the bloody obvious. "But we don't know which investments the UN are going to take to raise their trillion pounds...we are not sitting on mountains of cash, the general idea is to put it to work, and I am trying to keep what we do have moving..."
"And they are going to tell you which assets to liquidate?"
"I believe so, Mr President...and we don't want them to find the shell company that owns the Boston hospital and the land for the others...do we?"
Bateman reluctantly accepted Cartwright's explanation and retired for the night, or what was left of it. Procter joined him before six in the morning for a working breakfast to consider their next moves. And their first objective was to stop Sean Fletcher driving the Security Council towards the Boston investments. Claudine Delacorte was letting Sean Fletcher throw his considerable weight around far too much, and the powerful Rosen Foundation seemed to be involved in everything. By eight, Bateman was waiting for Claudine Delacorte to take his call, rather impatiently.
"Good morning Mr President." She had kept him waiting for almost half an hour. They did not have any sort of personal relationship, especially after he had embarrassed her on her last visit to the White House. But he was still the President of the United States of America and she needed to respect his position and desire. He decided not to beat around the bush.
"Good morning Madame Secretary-General...you are making this harder than it needs to be for everyone?"
"How so, Mr President?" She sneered, appearing to look down her nose at him. He briefly imagined her in black velvet, tethered next to his wife in the chapel, in her proper place. He would love to have her chip codes and make her beg for his forgiveness. He hated having to deal with her and women like her.
"By trying to specify how Connor Symonds pays your blood money? Some of the potential beneficiaries of his investments are American projects...and you are letting Fletcher promote his own agenda..."
"President Fletcher has coordinated his negotiations with the council, Mr President...he is not doing anything without our approval," Delacorte sniffed, whilst checking her watch. "We do not approve of your convents any more than he does, I am afraid?"
"Madame...you seem to forget that I have a veto?"
"I do not forget, Mr President...but if you choose to use it to stop our treaty, you will be as alone as the British have been these last few months...and you would have to justify your reasons for doing so to your own people?" Delacorte pointed out with the slightest of smiles as she shuffled some paperwork on her desk. "Our global reaction to this heinous crime has been quite remarkable...enthusiastic Russian support, Chinese cooperation, European unity and even Middle Eastern agreement that something special really must be done...and there is so much more...distressing...information that could...suddenly emerge? I really do not believe that your Presidency would ever recover from it...and a decision of this magnitude could be challenged...it might lead to impeachment proceedings, no?"
Howard Procter agreed with Claudine Delacorte. Bateman could not stand alone against a unanimous United Nations Security Council decision without facing consequences. National vetoes for the permanent members were seldom used, but always respected if there were any genuine reasons for concern. The UN relied on consensus on difficult issues, but the British problem was not seen as difficult and Bateman's reasons for suggesting a veto were all about blatant self-interest. International condemnation would surely follow and pressure would be applied at home. Congressional censure could lead to impeachment, and even talk of such a thing would make a challenge for the Republican nomination more likely in just over a year's time. Delivering bad news to a President was never that easy, but the man needed good advice from a cool head. He warned his boss against extreme measures, and too much support for his British friends, but Bateman was in no mood to be reasonable. Procter felt the need to do something himself for the sake of the administration, and so put his own call through to Reece Cartwright.
"Howard...I already told the President that our hands are tied..."
"I get that, Reece...you are hiding all the money and leading the snoops away from you as far as possible, rather than showing your hand to anyone...but that is not going to work long term...Connor hardly made any secret of his involvement with the convent hospitals and they will find the details?"
"Hmm...they might find the funds...but the ownership details are...convoluted?"
"Transfer ownership to someone else...preferably someone American?" Procter suggested out of the blue.
"On the basis that Bateman's affordable healthcare continues? Be serious, Howard...it will be a very profitable business in time, but the set up costs are massive?"
"Boston is the flagship...it can't close...and the land Connor owns needs to be protected as well...we don't have to build any more right now?"
"Bateman seemed to be quite keen..."
"The President is coming around...or he will, when he calms down a bit...but if we lose Boston now, he loses face? Big time?"
"Do you have someone in mind? Don't get me wrong...I really don't think Connor is in a generous mood...but just for the sake of it?" Cartwright asked, and Procter sat back in his chair and grinned.
"Give it to the Church...the Bishop of Boston?"
Olivia Procter was back in the chapel, with the First Lady and her stepdaughters, plus the wives of Cabinet members, senior staff members and Senators. Several Pastors were helping the White House chaplain lead their prayers, with occasional bible readings and even a bit of a eulogy at one stage. She concentrated hard on the words, leaving her body in stasis mode as far as possible. She had been trained to be still, well-trained, and she had learned to forget all about her body, as if she could leave it behind, every muscle tensed to keep it rigid, letting God guide her. By the time the keepers decided that the morning session was over, after four hours, she needed Miss Danvers' help to rise to her feet, feeling her age. Back in the day, in the early years of her first marriage, four hours was her average, but at fifty-three, her bones were getting stiff and her joints were creaking. So, it was a blessing when Danvers got them walking and as she obeyed the leash, she began to move more easily. Danvers led them out into the famous Rose garden for some fresh air.
"Did I do well, Mama?" Emily asked, when they had completed a circuit of the garden and Danvers had tethered them to a bench, so that they could stand together and chat for a few blissful moments. Olivia expected the keeper to want to feed them soon, before taking them back to the chapel for the afternoon session. Even in her full-length gown and a little subtle make-up, Emily still looked so young.
"Darling...you know that I was under discipline...Miss Danvers is the only one who can answer that question?" Olivia sighed, resting her mittened hand on the child's shoulder. She was so desperate to avoid punishment, and Olivia prayed that she had done so. "But how do you think you did?"
"Better...I think?" Emily said, her face framed by her house bonnet.
"It is so hard, Mama?" Bailey added, chewing on her bottom lip.
"God asks a lot of us sometimes...but mourning the dead is a holy duty, and Archbishop Winstanley was such an amazing man?" Olivia told the children, although that was a lie. Her personal opinion of Michael Winstanley was less than low. He had been just sixty when she first arrived in Britain, in his pomp really, leading his church from the pulpit and demanding conspicuous piety of everyone. Daughters of Eve had been his father's original vision, but it was Michael Winstanley who saw how women could be controlled, with the help of Andrew Symonds' inventions. And once Charles Montague was out of his way, he had imposed his beliefs on millions with brutal efficiency. Mena Forbes had been one of his first guinea pigs in many ways, the young wife of a senior aide who could easily be forced to set an example to others. Alistair Forbes had been keen to impress the archbishop and happily volunteered his wife for anything he wanted to trial. She had been one of the first Daughters of Eve to be fitted with movement sensors and subjected to auto-punishments, as the monster tried to work out what limits should be set and how severe the punishments should be.
"We fly to London the day after tomorrow," Bateman told his wife, who was resting on the sofa in the oval office. "And then we go to Meadvale...Connor Symonds has invited us to stay, but it will just be the two nights...literally a flying visit?"
"Buried in his own cathedral...it will be quite an experience, I am sure?" Hayleigh sighed as she flexed her aching knees beneath her velvet skirts. She never complained, Bateman was pleased to recognise. She wanted to be First Lady as much as he wanted to be President, and they had long ago agreed that Reformism was their route to power. Much to his delight, she supported the cause, and he was happy enough to indulge her when it was possible, as long as she maintained her pious image in public. Well, reasonably happy. If he was honest, there were times when he expected more of her.
"One of those occasions not to be missed...the whole nation is in mourning...a display of public devotion to put the rest of the world to shame." He said, smiling at her, but thinking of their boys with the usual pang of regret. Neither of their sons were church members, or at all interested in faith or politics. He did blame Hayleigh for that, in many ways. He had been too busy to be any sort of hands-on parent, and Hayleigh should have been tougher on them both when they were little. He had found good husbands for his girls, and they were at least living good Christian lives, even if they were not Reformists or particularly close to their parents anymore, but his boys were a real disappointment.
"You are thinking about the boys...I can always tell?"
"I want them here...they are an embarrassment...so far the press have left them alone but I don't think that will last forever?"
"They are adults, Bill...they have lives of their own..." Hayleigh sighed, because it was an old bugbear, and they had tried to talk to their boys about it many times. But both of them listened to their wives far too much.
"They should be by my side...and those damned girls should be beside you?"
"They promised not to embarrass us in public...and they haven't, have they?"
"They embarrass me with their absence...we hardly get to do the Obama happy families photoshoots, do we? I haven't seen my grandchildren since Christmas?" He sighed, not at all happy about the situation. "And now it looks like Neil is getting a divorce? Shannon will be a loose cannon?"
"He doesn't want a divorce, Bill?"
"Really? Then he needs my help, doesn't he? Maybe I should have a little chat?"