"I don't believe this."
"You'd better, because you will also see rioting like you've never seen before in this country if we don't stand solidly behind Hiram Lusana and the African Army of Revolution."
"Where do you get your information?" Loren demanded.
"I'm black and I know."
"You're also full of shit," Loren said. "I've conferred with hundreds of blacks in my district. They're no different from any other American citizen. Each is concerned with high taxes, the rising costs of groceries and energy, the same as whites, Orientals, Indians, and Chicanos. You're only kidding yourself, Daggat, if you think our blacks give a damn about how African blacks mess up their countries. They don't, and for the simple reason that Africans don't give a damn about them."
"You are making a sad error."
"No, it is you who is making the error," snapped Loren. "You are stirring up trouble where it need not exist. The black race will find equal opportunity through education, just like everyone else. The Nisei did it after World War Two. When they returned from the internment camps, they worked in the Southern California fields to send their sons and daughters through UCLA and USC to become attorneys and doctors. They arrived. Now it's the blacks' turn. And they'll do it, too, provided they're not hindered by men like you, who rabble-rouse at every opportunity. Now I'll thank you to get the hell out of my office."
Daggat stared at her, his face a mask of anger. Then his lips cracked slowly into a grin. He held the cigar at arm's length and let it drop onto the carpet. Then he turned and stormed from the office.
"You look like a boy who just had his bicycle stolen," said Felicia Collins. She was sitting in one corner of Daggat's limousine, filing her long nails.
Daggat slid in beside her and motioned for the driver to move on. He stared stonily ahead, his face blank.
Felicia slipped the emery board back in her purse and waited, her eyes apprehensive. Finally she broke the silence. "I take it Loren Smith turned you down."
"The foulmouthed white bitch," he said, almost spat. "She thinks she can treat me like some nigger stud on a pre-Civil War plantation."
"What on earth are you talking about?" she asked, surprised. "I know Loren Smith. She hasn't got a prejudiced bone in her body."
Daggat turned. "You know her?"
"Loren and I were high-school classmates. We still get together from time to time." A hardness came over Felicia's face that had not been there before. "You have something evil on your crafty mind, Frederick. What is it?"
"I've got to have Congresswoman Smith's support if I am to push through my bill to send arms and aid to the AAR."
"Would you like me to talk to Loren? Lobby on Hiram's behalf?"
40
"That and more."
She tried to read his thoughts. "More?"
"I want you to get something on her. Something I can use to twist her to our way of thinking."
Felicia stared at him, stunned. "Blackmail Loren? You don't know what you're asking. I can't spy on a good friend. No way."
"Your choice is clear: a girlish school friendship in exchange for the freedom of millions of our brothers and sisters who are enslaved by a tyrannical government."
"And if I can't dig any dirt?" Felicia said, searching for an out. "It's no secret her political career is unblemished."
"Nobody is perfect."
"What would I look for?"
"Loren Smith is an attractive single woman. She must have a sex life."
"What if she does?" Felicia argued. "Every single girl has her share of love affairs. And as long as she has no husband, you can't manufacture a scandal out of adultery."
Daggat smiled. "How astute of you. We shall do exactly that-manufacture a scandal."
"Loren deserves better."