“We get it,” said Margaret. “But General Kinetics is killing Americans in the process.”
“Look,” said Carlin, “in retrospect, could our friends at General Kinetics have exercised more caution, spent more money on safety measures and such? I suppose, but it would have slowed down production. Like with the need to rush gas masks to the front lines. As we said—omelets, eggs. You know.”
“I do indeed,” Charlie said grimly, fists clenched at his sides.
“And who won the war, Charlie?” asked Carlin.
“Those of us who actually fought in the war didn’t have this in mind,” Charlie said.
Carlin frowned theatrically, looking doubtful. “Oh, really?” he said. “Street fought in that war. Strongfellow fought in that war.”
“You sure about that?” Charlie asked.
“Aha!” Carlin said, almost pleased. “So you’re not a perfect angel. You read This Is Your Life’s investigation into Strongfellow here! The one you stole from your father!”
“What?” Strongfellow asked.
“The file we have on you proving that you never served with the OSS,” Carlin said. “Charlie purloined that from his father. His dad is a lawyer, does work for NBC, and they found out right before your episode of This Is Your Life aired, the one that shared the story of your glorious, if entirely concocted, heroism. They buried it. Charlie’s dad had it. Charlie stole it. And here we are!”
“You son of a bitch,” Strongfellow said to Charlie. “That true?”
Charlie winced and turned his head around to look at Strongfellow.
“I did it for the same reason you’re presumably doing this,” Charlie said. “I thought they had dirt on me. Turns out it was all a setup, that I didn’t do what they told me I’d done. But in any case, yes, I swiped the NBC investigation from my dad’s office.”
“Ooo-eee,” exclaimed Street. “What does it say?”
“It goes into detail about how for the entire war, Strongfellow was a machinist. Stateside. There’s a letter from Dulles stating he was never OSS. Letter from the Pentagon saying he was never overseas.”
Strongfellow appeared to be grinding his teeth.
“Why’d NBC run the episode, then?” Street asked.
“You’d have to ask them why they sat on it,” Charlie said. “I assume ratings. Currying favor with Republicans. Are the presidents of the networks in the Hellfire Club?”
Carlin turned to Street and waved a hand in Charlie’s direction. “We need to wrap this up, Mr. Street.”
“That’s fine,” said Street, “but I’m not going to clean up any messes.”
“Of course not,” Carlin said.
“That’s what Catherine’s henchmen over there are for,” Street said, drawing angry glares again.
Charlie looked straight ahead at Margaret, her arms bound behind her back, her face a mask of pure panic.
“At what point does your construction of this Potemkin village start undermining your ability to build the actual village?” Charlie asked. “If your leaders are frauds like Strongfellow and demagogues like McCarthy, at what point do they supplant real leaders? At what point are you killing and hurting more Americans than you’re saving?”
“Be quiet,” instructed Carlin. “You hold no cards here.”
“So who else is in the Hellfire Club?” asked Margaret.
“They’re just stalling, Frank,” Leopold said.
“Mr. Street?” Carlin said. “Ticktock.”
Street gripped Strongfellow’s .38 with two hands and began to raise it.
“Mr. Chairman?” Charlie asked. “Can I at least kiss my wife one last time?”
“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” said Leopold. She took a gun out of her jacket pocket. “I’ll shoot him if you need me to.” The two men standing with her took their guns out of their jackets, presumably in case their services were required as well.
“Go ahead and kiss her, Charlie,” Street said. “Make it quick.”
Charlie raised his hands in surrender and slowly walked over to Margaret, looking at Carlin for the okay. Carlin nodded. Her eyes were wild with fear and fury. “Charlie!” she said. “They—”
He lowered his hands and silenced her with a kiss, feeling her angry resistance until he broke away to whisper in her ear.
She swallowed and nodded.
They kissed each other again, tenderly.
Charlie then turned to Street, his hands back up near the sides of his head.
“Okey-doke, Isaiah,” he said.
Street nodded. Aimed the gun at Charlie.
“Okey-doke, Charlie,” Street said.
“Roger,” Charlie said.
“Shoot him already,” Carlin said.
“Three…” said Street.
“Oh, good Lord,” said Leopold.
“Two…” Street continued.
“Love you, honey,” said Margaret.
“Love you too, baby,” said Charlie.
“And…” said Street.
At the last second, Charlie and Margaret dropped to the ground while Street simultaneously turned his aim from Charlie toward the two thugs standing with Leopold. Two shots were fired, and the two thugs dropped to the ground. Leopold gasped; Carlin exclaimed, “What the fuck?” and jumped behind a sculpture of Crispus Attucks a split second before Street turned a hundred and eighty degrees and shot at him.
Lying on her back on the floor, Margaret pulled the hoop of her bound arms under her rear and her legs to bring her hands in front of her. It was a struggle, given her pregnant belly, but her adrenaline and flexibility made it work.
Leopold fired at Street. She missed, but she got his attention. He returned fire and Leopold ran behind a statue of Charles Lindbergh holding an America First banner.
Leopold, using the statue for cover, fired at Street from the far side of the tribute to Lindbergh, and Margaret crawled around the other side. Focused on Street, Leopold didn’t notice Margaret creeping up and looping her arms over her head and around her neck. Margaret pulled back with all her might; Leopold gasped for air and dropped her gun as she struggled to insert her hand between Margaret’s bound wrists and her own neck.
Charlie ran to Strongfellow and squared up against him, but before he could punch him, Strongfellow kicked him in the groin. Charlie fell on the ground in agony. Strongfellow began kicking him in the gut—his legs very obviously perfectly functioning. The image of Margaret and their baby sprang into Charlie’s head. He lunged for Strongfellow’s legs and knocked him down. Strongfellow’s head hit the floor hard as Street ran over and began kicking him in the stomach.
“Isaiah!” Charlie yelled.
Carlin was pushing a statue of General George Custer onto them. Charlie shoved Street out of the way; the statue hit Charlie’s back. Custer’s arm broke off its body and smashed into Strongfellow’s head, knocking him out. Charlie cried out in pain.
Margaret was still locked in battle with Leopold, her wrists still bound and around Leopold’s neck. Leopold, demonstrating surprising strength as she struggled mightily to free herself, began bucking like a bronco, first pulling Margaret forward and lifting her off her feet, then suddenly running backward and ramming Margaret into a statue of Supreme Court justice Roger Taney. Margaret was terrified but couldn’t let go since her wrists remained bound, and the more Leopold battered Margaret, the tighter Margaret hung on, strangling her.
Street checked on the two thugs to make sure they were dead, then raced to Charlie’s side to help him, but Charlie, teeth clenched in agony, shook his head. “Go help Margaret!” Street did, but not before slamming his OSS gun into the palm of Charlie’s hand.
Street turned toward Margaret as Carlin emerged from the crowd of statues, bent down to the base of a figure of Continental Army general Charles Lee, and tried to topple it onto Charlie. Lee teetered, and Charlie managed to push himself out of its way a moment before the stone mass fell onto the space he had just occupied. Hands on his knees, gasping, Charlie found the OSS gun on the ground and aimed it right at Carlin.
“That’s a single shot, Charlie,” Street called. “You can’t miss!”
Charlie aimed for Carlin’s head.