The Stainless Steel Rat for President

Chapter 20

Our little armada left at dawn, four jetcopters and an ancient fixed-wing aircraft that was stuffed full of our campaign supplies. The sun shone, the day was perfect—until a few minutes after we crossed the Barrier when two blips appeared at the very limit of our radar detection screen.

"They're on a convergent track. Dad," Bolivar said, running the reading through the computer. He was in charge of the detection instrumentation; his brother manned our defenses. I looked at the approaching blips and turned on the radio.

"This is the Marquez de la Rosa flight calling two aircraft now approaching our position. Please identify yourself." I waited impatiently for a reply but the airwaves were silent. The blips closed in quickly. "Blow them out of the air before they can fire at us!" the marquez said, fists clenched, glaring at the screen. I shook my head.

"They must attack us first. The cameras are recording all this and I want the record absolutely clear that if there is any violence that we were merely defending ourselves."

"Those words will make a fine epitaph for our tombstones. They are within range!"

"They've fired missiles!" James announced, touching buttons in quick succession. "Counter-missiles launched. Look there, about two o'clock, you'll see the result." Sudden white clouds burst into silent existence, then fell behind us as the flight moved on.

"Attack craft turning away," Bolivar said. They were all looking at me. I could not speak. "They're escaping, almost out of range."

The marquez's harsh words broke the silence. "Fire! Take them out." James's finger was poised over the firing button and it slammed down by reflex at the order. I turned away and looked out of the forward windows. Trying not see the two gouts of red flame exploding off to one side. I was aware of Angelina behind me, her hands on my arms, her voice so low that only I could hear it.

"I understand—and I love you for it. But you must understand our feelings as well. They tried to murder us. And would have tried it again if they had not been stopped. It was self-defense."

I worked to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "I understand only too well. But that's not the way I want it, not the way existence should be. The killing…"

"Will be over after the election. That's why you are running for president. To replace the man who ordered this action."

There was no point in any further discussion. I suppose we were both right from our own points of view. The paid killers who had flown those craft would kill no longer. And Angelina was right—the only way to permanently end this violence was to win the election.

"Let me look at my speech again," I said. "I want to get it memorized perfectly." Angelina turned away in silence-but her parting kiss on my cheek spoke volumes.

That was the last of our airborne problems. The blue ocean soon came into view, then the white buildings of Puerto Azul. The campaign fleet circled above the field while our copter with the detection instruments made a sweep of the area. When all of the instrument readings were zero, we came in. I pointed to the row of pink tourist rental cars lined up at the edge of the field.

"Everything in order so far. Let's roll!" And roll we did, rolling the votemobile out of the open tail of the cargo plane. This had been the marquez's most luxurious saloon. It still was—plus a few additions. It was now a brilliant white with red-lettered HARAPO FOR PRESIDENT on one side, and HARAPO'S THE ONE! on the other. An overpowered PA system played martial music while it was on the move, and there was an elevated platform where the rear seat had been. The marquez and I would ride there, waving at the crowd, with nothing between us and them except thin air. And an invisible force field that would block any laser beams aimed at us, would slow and stop bullets as well.

Within a few minutes our equipment and supplies were loaded into the rental cars and our little victory parade rolled away.

"Let's do it in style," I said. "Let them know that a new day is beginning!" A flick of a switch changed the ear-shattering broadcast from marching music to our presidential theme song. We rolled towards the city with its inspiring words booming out around us.

Glory, glory to the workers! Glory, glory to the peasants! Down with Zapdote's bullies, Harapo's marching on!

I can't claim that it was the world's most inspiring lyric, but I doubt if any of the voters would even notice the sprung rhythm as they listened to the shocking words. It was probably a shooting offense to speak out against Zapilote in public. Which meant that even this revolting song would surely capture the listeners' undivided attention.

We got it too, as soon as we left the highway and started driving through the suburbs. Silent, frightened eyes watched us as we rolled by. Only the children cheered and ran alongside when we passed out bags of candy attached to HARAPO RULES OK! flags. Once they ate the candy, they shouted and waved the flags in hopes of getting more. It was only when we swung into the main thoroughfare that we found our first trouble.

A large black police car blocked our way. Filled with scowling uglies who fingered riot guns in a singularly menacing manner. Our little cavalcade stopped and Bolivar walked forward, smiling ingratiatingly, to face the unsmiling officer who stood beside the car.

"Harapo for president," Bolivar said as he pinned an election button on the officer's chest. The man ripped it off and threw it to the ground.

"Go back. Get out of here. You cannot pass."

"Pray tell me why not?" Bolivar asked, offering more badges to the policemen who sneered and pushed them away. Behind him Angelina had descended from the car as well, and was passing out more candy and flags to the crowds of children.

"You do not have a parade permit," the policeman snarled.

"We are not a parade. Just a few old friends out for a drive…"

"If I say you are a parade, you are a parade. Now I give you exactly ten seconds to turn around and get out of here or else."

"Or else what?"

"Or else I'm going to shoot you—that's what!" A hush fell at these words—and within an instant the street was empty, just a few tattered flags lying on the ground to show that anyone had ever been there. With her audience gone, Angelina went around the police personnel carrier, and offered her flags to the officers there.

"You are going to shoot us—for no reason?" Bolivar said, turning his profile towards us and hamming it up something terrible. Knowing that the whole scene was being recorded. "You would shoot helpless citizens of your own country—you who are sworn to uphold the law!" He fell back and gasped.

"Your time is up. All right men—ready—aim—", A single policeman raised his gun, then slumped down to join his cataleptic companions. Because in addition to the flags Angelina had been passing out sleep gas capsules.

"Fire!" the officer said—and nothing happened. He turned and gasped-then tried to tear his pistol out of its holster. Another broken capsule puffed out its invisible message and he dropped out of sight to join his troops.

As he vanished there was a muffled cheer from the surrounding buildings and the children reappeared, shouting and waving their flags with joy. This time there were more than a few adults with them. There were echoing ha-has of jolly laughter as we pinned a Harapo button onto each police uniform, put a Harapo flag into each dozing hand. After this, happy volunteers rolled aside the vehicle with its unconscious minions of the law; cheers were raised again as the parade continued. More than candy was being given out now. Attached to the flags were the crisp green rectangles of Election Money. Each bill could be exchanged for a bottle of wine and a fried bean sandwich at the evening rally. Things were really beginning to come together.

But Zapilote was still trying to take them apart. As we drove into the center of the city the crowds grew larger, the cheering louder. The marquez and I stood in the back of the car, waving, while the election anthem rolled out in ear-destroying waves. The stalwart form of my watchdog, Rodriguez, walked alongside the slowly moving vehicle, his grim face grimmer than usual because I had made him leave his recoilless caliber .50 automatic at home. This precaution had been a wise one because I saw him scratching at his empty armpit just as a number of bullets impacted the force field. It was disconcerting to see them suddenly appear before my face, moving slower and slower until they stopped.

"He's in that window on the second floor!" Rodriguez said, pointing. I saw a flash of movement that vanished as I looked.

"Go get him!" I said.

Rodriguez buried himself through the crowd like a surfer through the waves—then on into the building. I ordered the car to stop as I reached out and caught the still-hot slugs as they oozed out of the force field. Dropping them on the floor at my feet. I touched my lapel microphone and spoke.

"Did you get that on tape?" I asked, then looked at James in the following car. He raised the camera and patted it as his radioed voice whispered in my earplug receiver.

"In the can, Dad!"

"Good. Keep shooting. We have just had an assassination attempt and our faithful watchdog has gone after the gunman. There he is now." Rodriguez had emerged from the building, a long-barreled weapon in one hand, dragging an unconscious man by the other. The crowd murmured and tried to see what was happening as he pushed through them. I switched on the public address system to distract their attention.

"Lady and gentleman voters of Puerto Azul! It has been my great pleasure to come here to meet you, and I sincerely hope that I will see you all at the monster rally tonight. There will be talks, entertainment, free wine, and bean sandwiches, ice cream for the kiddies and a hundred door prizes, yes indeed. You do not have to pay to participate. But a hundred lucky winners will each take home a dartboard with complete set of darts—and these will not be ordinary dartboards, nosiree. Each of these dartboards has a face on it for a target—and I ask you whose face is it? That's right—you can throw darts at the ugly mush of the old dictator himself, Julio 'The Monster' Zapilote!" As you can imagine that produced a gasp or two and drew everyone's attention. A few of them looked skywards as though they expected a lightning bolt from the heavens to strike and slay me. The car door opened and Rodriguez pushed the assassin and his gun in onto the floor. I nodded when he rolled the unconscious man over and pointed to his dark glasses. My amplified voice rolled out again. "Now you may call that pretty strong talk—but I mean it. I'm hopping mad. I came here to conduct a peaceful election campaign and what happens? Why I get shot at, that's what happens!" I let the gasp and murmur roll by then turned up the power. "I'm furious I tell you. Right here in my hand I have one of the bullets that were just fired at me. Right at my feet I have the gunman and his rifle. And you know something funny—even though he was shooting at me from inside that building, this gunman is wearing dark glasses…" The crowd roared and surged forward; I signaled the car to start moving again.

"Stop!" I ordered—and they obeyed. "I can understand how you feel. But you are going to see justice done. I am going to prefer charges against this man in a court of law and we will see if the law of the land is still observed in this fair city." As soon as we were clear of the press of the crowd we picked up speed, then did not stop again until we got to the hotel. The main reason that the Hotel Gran Parajero had been picked was because of its underground garage. Our little convoy hurtled down into it, and all the other cars circled about mine until the area was declared safe. While this was going on I had gone through the gunman's pockets and had found his identification. He was so stupid that he had actually gone out on this assassination mission and taken this along. I read aloud.

"This says that he is a member of the Federal Health Alteration Committee. What in the world is that?" The marquez nodded grimly.

"You would not know. But that is the official name of the Ultimados. Killers!"

"But not too good at it." As though to prove my words the unconscious Ultimado came to life and pulled a large knife from his belt. I kicked him in the head and he dropped it and sank back again. I bent and seized him up and threw him over my shoulder. "I'll carry him, de Torres, you bring the gun. The press will be waiting and we will really give them something to write about." We made an impressive sight as we barged into the main ballroom which had' been set up for the press meeting. Cameras whirled and flashed and the crowd of newsmen buzzed and stirred like a hornet's nest. They were all there, newspapers, radio, TV, everything. Now the campaign would really begin.

I dropped the Ultimado onto the floor at my feet, then turned to face the press. I raised a clenched fist over my head and glared out ominously as I leaned close to the waiting microphones.

"Do you know what is in my hand? Bullets. Bullets that were fired at me just a few minutes ago." I threw the slugs down and pointed to the limp figure. "And this is the man who fired those bullets at me—from the very gun that the Marquez de la Rosa is waving angrily over his head. He is as angry as I am. We have just begun this peaceful and democratic campaign when we have been shot at. And not by any common assassin. I have this creature's ID here. Do you recognize it? He is an Ultimado, one of the criminals employed by the dictator Zapilote. Now you know why you must reject this evil dictator at the ballot box and vote for me! For I will bring peace and freedom to Paraiso-Aqui at last. Vote for me and this planet will finally live up to its name. Vote! Vote! Vote!"

The campaign had begun. And when the news came out the entire world would know what was really happening.