left Maggie’s side and snatched two of the books from the stage. Putting his arm around her, he guided her out of the tent entrance and into the night. It seemed that the number of security and military people had tripled during the press conference.
After parking Maggie’s car in a nearby fast food restaurant parking lot, Maggie and Charlie silently drove away from the Capitol in Charlie’s vehicle, the sights and smells of the press conference execution repeating in their minds like a clip from a horror movie. With a white-knuckled fist, Charlie squeezed the steering wheel of his older, black Saab, his right hand clenched on the gearshift between the seats.
At one point Maggie turned on the car radio, but all the stations simply played a loop of the same three Bee Gees songs. No DJ to be found, no jingles, no commercials. Some stations, off the air, simply played static. She tried her cell phone, but there was no signal. When she tried to call the service carrier, an automated voice instructed her to try again later due to unexpected high call volume.
Tossing her useless cell phone into her purse, Maggie finally broke the silence. “What the fuck is going on? They just murdered someone in the middle of a press conference, Charlie. Shouldn’t we be doing something?”
Charlie drove another block without responding. He guided his car onto a side street and stopped. He rubbed his temples, eyes closed, pulling his thoughts together. “A government has to control the press, Maggie, to control the people. Whatever this new government plan is, they want to make sure the public hears only what President Barakat wants them to hear, and nothing else.”
“I’m not a big history person, Charlie,” Maggie said, turning in her seat to face him, “I never have been. You, however, are quite the historian. What do you think is happening? Because, frankly, I’m scared shitless.”
He turned and reached across the seat for Maggie’s hand. “I had a social science teacher in high school named Mr. Renkin. He said, ‘Never trust a government that is critical of, or wants to control, the press.’”
He paused to look out the driver’s window. “What we witnessed tonight, Maggie,” he said, pounding the steering wheel with his fist, “screams of Stalinism. We just saw a news reporter, a human being, get his head blown off simply because he questioned a government official.”
“But they can’t do this, Charlie,” Maggie pleaded. “It’s a crime. We just had front row seats to a murder. The American public isn’t going to sit back and allow this.”
Checking his mirrors, Charlie began to pull back onto the street. He glanced at Maggie as he shifted gears. “The American public will never hear about what we saw tonight,” Charlie said sternly. “Phillip Elliott will simply vanish. This press meeting tonight with that bitch Koontz, will never be revealed to anyone. It will be as if this never happened.”
“We can tell people,” Maggie answered, sitting up straight in her seat. “We should go to the nearest police station right now and report what we saw.”
Charlie jerked his right hand up as quickly as a snake striking and pointed his finger sternly at Maggie. “If you say anything about tonight to anyone, even the police, Maggie, you’ll wind up just like Phillip Elliot,” Charlie warned. “They wasted Phil and he was a big name in the media. You think they’ll hesitate to make a third-string reporter or an Internet blogger disappear?”
“No offense,” he added, patting Maggie on her leg.
“None taken,” she replied, crossing her arms and looking out the window into the dark.
We should go by my office,” Maggie said suddenly looking at Charlie. “Maybe someone there has more information on what’s happening.”
For a moment Charlie drove without speaking. A large white fire truck, lights flashing and siren wailing, passed them going the other direction. “Good idea, Maggie,” he said, flashing a subdued smile.
As Charlie steered his car toward the office of the Washington Post, Maggie suddenly remembered the booklet that Press Secretary Donna Koontz had ordered them to take and read. She reached into the back seat and retrieved one, looking at the front cover title for the first time.
PRESS PROTOCOL AND PROCEDURES
Maggie went directly to the table of contents and began to read.
1. Prohibited and Illegal Media Reporting Acts
2. News Story Structure and Guidelines
3. Live Television and Field Reporting Directions and Regulations
4. Interview Questions and Techniques
5. Violations, Penalties and Punishments
6. Banned Content
“We’re almost to your office,” Charlie said, bringing Maggie’s attention back to the present.
Maggie tossed the publication into the back seat as if it were an old catalog. “There’s some really scary stuff in there, Charlie,” she said quietly, “and I’m just talking about the table of contents.”
“You think that’s scary, Maggie,” Charlie said, nodding out the front window, “look up ahead.”
Maggie turned to face forward and felt her heart flutter. The multi-floor office of the Washington Post was as dark as night. The normally busy and bustling 24/7 news building was black and empty. The only lights she could see inside were red EXIT signs.
Even worse, there were huge concrete blocks set up on the sidewalk, like the ones used on highway construction projects, that formed a barricade around the building. Bright lights, usually seen at an emergency or accident scene, lit up the street. Maggie counted at least twenty heavily armed soldiers, their rifles held at the ready, standing around the building. They looked serious and eyed Charlie’s car suspiciously as he drove by.
“Stop staring, Maggie,” Charlie ordered, focusing his attention out the front window.
Maggie suddenly felt a knot building in her stomach.
“Does this mean I’m out of a job, Charlie?” Maggie asked, turning to look out the rear window.
“It might,” he replied, glancing quickly at Maggie. “I’m purely speculating, but after what we’ve seen tonight I’ll bet money that when President Barakat addresses the nation tomorrow, he’s going to impose martial law. Why else would half the US military be out in the streets?”
“He can’t do that, can he?” Maggie asked, fishing in her purse for a hair tie. She began to put her long red hair into a ponytail. “Doesn’t he have to get approval from the Senate or Congress or friggin’ someone?” she asked, looking at Charlie for answers.
“Maggie, the only thing that stands between a free country and a dictatorship is a leader with a conscious. We both know President Barakat has been under attack from the Democrats and the GOP for a long time. And lately, it seems he hasn’t been afraid to show his anger when questioned about his failure in his domestic and foreign policies.”
Charlie pulled the car to a halt.
As Maggie looked up, she saw they were parked outside their favorite neighborhood bar. “Oh good, you must have read my mind. I
