A state of disobedience

Atlanta, Georgia

The head of Global News Network didn't normally have to force himself to think of himself as a "big man." He was not only physically large; he was rich, he was powerful, he was even rather famous around the world. He had grown used to people treating him with a certain respect and deference.

He was shocked.

Somehow, the man had come to believe that Wilhelmina Rottemeyer was a kindred soul; another person whose fondest desires were an end to want, a government that cared, a respecter of the law. And yet, when he had voiced complaints to the White House about what he saw as dangerous abridgments to the First Amendment he was met with scorn.

He was very shocked.

"So you listen here, you stupid bastard," said the unnamed man in the suit with a bulge under the left shoulder, "I don't care about your 'Freedom of the Fucking Press.' The President has said the gloves are off with dealing with assholes like you. She hasn't got time to sugarcoat this crap any more. You will broadcast what you are told to, and only what you are permitted. Is that clear enough even for a moron like you?"

Summoning his courage—the head of the network asked, "And what if I don't?"

The suit picked up the phone from the desk and dialed a number. On the other end someone answered the phone. "This is McCarthy. Put the lady of the house on the phone. She needs to have a little chat with her husband."

"What do you think you are doing? Where the hell did you get my home number?"

The suit just smiled, beneficently, and handed the phone over with the words, "Why don't you ask your pretty new wife what she thinks you should do?"

Whatever the standards of the American press as a whole, the head of Global News was no coward. For himself, he feared essentially nothing. Yet, the color drained from his face as the head of the news agency listened to his near hysterical bride describe what had transpired at their lavish home—the knock, the forcing of the door, the manhandling of her and their young son . . . the slaps . . . her split, puffy lips. When she was finished, he returned the phone to its receiver and said, ashen faced, "I'll play along. Just don't hurt my family."

The suit's smile broadened further. "Well, then, I am glad you are going to be sensible. Not everyone is being so, you know?"

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