Chapter 3: Across

Warren Putnam came home weary and disquieted. The campaign in Chicago still wasn't going well. Somehow the rebels, with their mostly low-tech approach, kept eluding the vastly superior Gilead forces. It was the type of disorganized, primitive insurgency that the Gileadean—that is, the American—military had faced in Iraq, Afghanistan, even Vietnam before that. One would think that over the last few decades their soldiers had gotten good at combatting a few godless rebels. But many of those Midwestern resistance fighters were also ex-US military, and some had even fought in Iraq. They seemed to have learned from—and were now adopting—the tactics of an insurgency. They planted improvised explosives on the streets. They fought street to street, hiding like rats in bombed-out buildings, shooting and sniping. They took down Gilead fighter jets with Stinger missiles smuggled in from Canada or stolen from US military installations. And last week, a convoy of unsupervised Gilead tanks was even towed away by some farmers with tractors. The rebels were using fucking tractors. Apparently, the rest of the world was laughing at Gilead's incompetence, making tractor memes for their Internet. It was humiliating.

A couple of the Council members had informally suggested sending Nick Blaine back to the area to pacify the locals. He seemed well-suited to that sort of warfare, and had already had two tours in the Chicago area. But of course Putnam couldn't send Blaine west. Not yet. Not until he organized Naomi and Angela's escape. Once his wife and daughter were safe, he'd kick that handsome traitor out of New Gilead, hopefully for good. Putnam had enough dirt on him to have him salvaged, but Blaine could always turn around and accuse Warren of trafficking his family out. He was an Eye, after all, and always kept some loyal people around him. Sending him to Chicago, hopefully for a fatal tour of duty, would be the safest and most logical way to get rid of him.

Just as soon as Blaine had saved Naomi and Angela.

Walking through his front door, Warren was thinking of tractor memes, a good dinner, a glass of whiskey, and clean bedsheets to fall into.

Naomi stopped him before he'd even taken off his tie. She spoke without preamble. "Leah's dead. Her husband had her killed."

"Who? What?"

"Leah! Leah Chambers. She's hanging from the oak tree in front of her house." Naomi's voice was high-pitched, nearly hysterical. "Not even a hood over her face. How could you let this happen?"

"Dear, I have no idea how this happened. Or what happened. Could I please just come in and relax for a few minutes before you start accusing me of things? I just need ten minutes to myself." He retreated upstairs to his bedroom, to change into more comfortable clothes. He breathed deeply. Roast beef, he smelled. Buttered potatoes. His stomach grumbled happily.

He'd had no more than a minute of peace before Naomi burst in. She didn't even knock. This was his room, his realm. She could show me just a modicum of respect. "I need to talk to you alone. Please." At least this time she asked politely.

Warren sat on the edge of the bed to exchange his dress shoes for slippers. He gave her a long-suffering look. "All right. Talk."

"Leah told me her husband wanted to have an affair, or maybe was already having one, with Commander Simpson's teenaged daughter. She was worried she was going to be replaced. And now she's dead. I think her husband accused of something baseless, just to get her out of the way."

"Naomi, Commander Chambers is on the Council. Even if what you're saying is true—and it doesn't really sound very plausible—what would you like me to do about this?" She gave him an expectant look, waiting for him to say more. As she knew he would, he began to think aloud. "I suppose I could find out what crime she committed. But it's hard to prove a negative: if Chambers said she was speaking of treason, how could I prove otherwise? Her husband's word is proof enough. I suppose I could also talk to the Simpson girl's father and warn him before Chambers decided to take her as a new wife."

"He killed Leah! His own wife! Isn't that a crime here? It goes against God and everything we believe in."

He sighed. "I'm sure the Commander didn't hang her. A Guardian did. Or an Eye." Maybe Nick Blaine could find out the scoop for him. "I know a man high up with the Eyes. I'll ask him for the full story, okay? But tomorrow. Really, right now I just want dinner and bed."

"I can't believe your reaction. One of my best friends is dead, and you're thinking of roast beef?" She flicked some strands of blond hair away from her forehead. "Enjoy your dinner. Alone. I'll be in my room. Thank you for all your love and support."

As she was leaving, her husband called softly. "Naomi? Are you still certain Gilead is safer than Canada?"

She froze mid-step, turned to face him. "You might be right," she admitted. "I don't recognize my own country sometimes. I thought this would be a place where husbands protect and cherish their wives. So…I'll pray on it."

"I am trying to protect and cherish you. That's why I want you to go." She nodded slowly, in understanding if not assent. It was enough for now. She'd come around, he knew it. He went downstairs to eat his supper.

Warren Putnam strolled down the Chancellery's halls until he finally found his prey. "Blessed morning, Nick," he greeted pleasantly. The smile on his face didn't extend to his eyes. He looked harried.

"Good morning to you, Commander. How's your day going?" A question he'd often posed to June when they had lived at the Waterford home. She'd always smiled at it. She liked that he cared how she was feeling, what she was going through.

Unlike June, though, Putnam ignored the pleasantries. Instead, he glanced to his left: a usually-empty office. "Could I speak with you privately for a few minutes?"

"Certainly."

The door closed behind them. Putnam spoke softly but urgently. "What happened to Leah Chambers? What was she accused of?"

"Adultery. With her driver. Commander Chambers walked in on them, or so he said. Although according to the Guardians, they were fully clothed, and weren't disheveled like a couple who were, you know. They were both salvaged on site."

"You don't sound convinced of their guilt."

"I'm not. It was all too quick. A husband would normally want, I don't know, at least a chance for explanation, confession, and apology." Nick's tone was measured, thoughtful. "I understand the anger in the moment, but Chambers has never struck me as an impulsive man."

"You went through something similar with your own first wife, as I remember. You argued for leniency."

"Well, yes. Eden was just fifteen. She was immature. I tried to guide her to renounce her sin and reform. I would think mercy would be the natural reaction from a husband, especially after a long-term marriage like the Chambers'. But no, he called the Guardians over and demanded they be hanging within minutes." He shrugged. "Every marriage is different, of course. I don't pretend to understand love."

Putnam smirked. "Only a fool would. But on that subject, I'd like to know if you have any ideas for what I should do with my own wife." He raised his eyebrows: you know what I mean, right?

Blaine swatted an imaginary fly, hitting the wall loudly. "Bugs. They're everywhere this time of year." He shook his head once: not here. "I'm sure you and Naomi will work things out. Maybe you two could join me for dinner soon? Whenever you have time. Maybe a more casual atmosphere would make her feel better."

Just a few days later, Naomi found herself staring out of a tinted car window, looking idly at the forested edge of some back road, while listening to Chuck Berry on the illegal Radio Free America. Cruising and playing the radio, with no particular place to go. Except they had a very specific place to go: the Canadian border.

She still wasn't sure she wanted to run away like this, leaving her friends, her husband, and the ultra-comfortable life she was leading in Gilead. Naomi Bainbridge had grown up in Westchester County, New York, with plenty of money and security. All of her friends' parents had money. The Putnams did too. She'd known them since childhood; they attended the same Presbyterian church as her family did. Two of the Putnam boys had been interested in dating her. She went with Warren because he was better looking and was headed for law school, which assured that he could provide for her financially. She herself never had any intention of having a career. College was mostly something fun to do while waiting to get married. She wanted to appear educated, even if she didn't care much about intellectualism. On the other hand, she was thoroughly inspired by Serena Joy's book and lectures on domestic feminism. That was all Naomi had wanted. Now she was going to be thrust into the world of single parenthood and working. What was she qualified for? Waitressing, retail sales?

The driver lowered the volume of the radio. So much for Chuck Berry. "So, we're entering No Man's Land now, Mrs. Putnam. This area is controlled by Native American tribes. Gilead has signed a non-aggression pact with them, so they'll let us pass peacefully." He half-turned towards her, taking his attention from the road, and spoke in a reassuring tone of voice. "We're safe now."

"Could you watch we're going, so we stay safe?"

One half of his mouth twisted into a smile. Warren told her that was a sign of deception: someone who doesn't really think something's funny would grin like that. "Sure," he said, then lapsed into silence. He turned the radio back up.

They'd switched cars about half an hour ago. Warren had stopped at an old gas station, saying goodbye to her and Angela with an awkward hug. She knew he meant well, but couldn't help but feel abandoned by him. So she was colder than she probably should have been. He was the one risking his life now: he'd have to deal with the repercussions of a runaway wife and child. One plan was to fake her suicide, to tell everyone she'd smothered her child with a pillow and then poisoned herself. Some Eyes were going to take two 'corpses' out the house tonight. Or, plan B, they'd say she and Angela were kidnapped by Mayday agents. Snatched in the middle of the day, right off the street, imagine that.

Naomi had been frankly shocked to see who Warren's "smuggler contact" was. A fellow Commander, the former driver of Fred and Serena. Warren said this man had been an Eye all along, just posing as a driver. A lot of drivers, he explained to her in the long car ride north, were actually Eyes, placed in elite families by the High Commander to spy on the household. Including Leah Chambers' now-dead driver.

And so it was with this one, the Waterfords' trusted chauffeur. He had been spying on Fred and Serena all along. Naomi was actually looking forward to seeing her old friend in Toronto to let her know that little tidbit, even though Warren had sworn her to secrecy.

"Warren tells me you've done this before?" she asked the Commander, just to make conversation. She feared her previous comment to him had sounded too brusque. She didn't mean to sound like a bitch.

"Done what?" Surly. So she had made a poor impression. Naomi sighed.

"Done…this. Taken people north like this."

"No, actually, I haven't. You're my first."

"Oh. Warren said you'd gotten your family out, your wife and child."

Silence. The Human League sang into the air between them. "My wife is at home in Boston right now," he finally said. "Safe and sound."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she settled for "praise be" and sat in stony stillness until they parked unexpectedly at a retro-styled diner.

"Commander Blaine, I'm Mark Tuello of the US State Department. We've spoken on the phone."

"Hi, Mr. Tuello. Nice to finally meet you." Nick stuck his hand out in greeting; the American agent pointedly put his in a jacket pocket.

"You'll have to forgive me, Commander. My wife and children were killed during the war. I'll do business with you, but I'm not shaking hands with a member of the Sons of Jacob."

He's been briefed on my background. State Department my ass; he's an intelligence officer. He tried to speak apologetically. "Sure, that's fine, I get it. But I was very young—and very stupid—when I joined that group of deplorables. They're psychos. I'm trying to make amends now."

"If you say so. Thank you for delivering Ms. Putnam to us. I'm sure we'll find her information useful. And Ms. Osborne sends her warmest greetings to you. She wanted to come along with me. I had to order her to stay behind."

Nick raised his eyebrows. "You ordered her? How'd that go over?"

Tuello grimaced. "Not well."

"Don't ever tell June what to do. You can't tell her where to go or what to do."

The Waterford kitchen, night. 'Go to bed,' I'd told her. 'You listen to me. It's not safe.' I was worried about her being downstairs where Serena might find her and punish her—but Jesus, how condescending I was in those days. June set the boundaries of our relationship right there: don't ever order me around, she said. And I never did again.

"She probably told you to go fuck yourself," Nick surmised. "And said she'd do whatever the hell she wants to."

"Yeah, word for word." Tuello looked impressed. "You know her pretty well."

"You have no idea."

The American paused, thinking it might be time to pick Blaine's brain a little. "So, how should I handle Ms. Osborne? I'd appreciate some advice."

Nick shrugged. "Present the facts, calmly and logically. She might rant for a while, and you should let her. Just stand there quietly. She's a rational person; she'll calm down in a few minutes. She just needs to…vent her frustration first." He thought for a moment. "Why did you not want her to come see me today?"

"There was an assassination attempt on her this week."

"What?!"

"While she was getting off a streetcar."

"Why the hell was she using public transportation? Was she hurt? Why doesn't she have a protective detail?" His questions came out in a jumble.

"She wasn't hurt. She had a secret service agent with her, like always."

"Why the hell wasn't he doing his job?"

"She, not he, and she was doing her job. She took a knife to the chest for June."

"They tried to stab her? In broad daylight, in Toronto? That's pretty ballsy."

"She wasn't hurt, Commander. And now she's finally taking her protective detail seriously. We're going to move her out of Toronto and change her name. She'll be safer that way."

Nick thought for a moment. "She won't go along with that, unless she can take Nichole with her. And maybe Luke."

"That part's still being negotiated. But I'll try to stay calm and logical with June. Hopefully that'll convince her. She has been very helpful with information on Gilead. She knows a lot, even if she's not an Eye like you. You know, anytime you want to defect, let me know. You could even come with us today. The US Government would consider you a great asset."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Until I have nothing left to tell you. Then you'd throw me in prison." Once you get in bed with the government, they own you. If Nick ever came to Canada, he sure as hell wouldn't want to exchange one master for another.

"Well, I can only negotiate a deal between you and the American government. No telling what the ICC might want with you. But if you cooperated with us, I'd try to settle things with The Hague on your behalf. It worked with Waterford. It's a real offer, Commander. Please consider it. Right now, though, I've got to get going with Mrs. Putnam. I want to be in Canada proper as soon as possible; this No Man's Land is making me nervous. But there's somebody inside who wants to talk to you, if you've got a little time."

"Who?"

"Second table on the right."

Nick went inside the diner. Only a few patrons, almost all Native-looking. After six years of seeing mostly white faces, the view was a shock. Sting's music greeted him, transporting him to the 1980s. He quickly scanned the tables and found a man staring at him unblinkingly.

Luke Bankole.

Holy shit. This isn't going to go well.