Most of the partygoers ran madly for the exits, abandoning their plastic souvenir bags and convention kits, scrambling over each other in their desperation to escape. The security guards couldn’t resist the onslaught, giving up and getting carried along outside the hall with the streaming crowd.

King dropped where he stood, peering about while his security detail ran everywhere. One of the agents spoke into his shoulder radio. He got down on the floor and whispered in King’s ear. King got to his feet, looking around warily, brushing the dust off his shirt. He took his place behind the microphones again, watching the fleeing delegates.

He set his face in a fearless, squinty-eyed expression and tapped the microphone to check that it was still working.

“My friends, nothin’ to be scared of, don’t panic. Keep calm and carry on. A stove blew up in the kitchen is all. C’mon back, everything’s all right.”

Downtown, a band of protestors gathered at a busy intersection. Loudspeakers on their minivan played an old recording at a shrieking pitch.

“I’m proud to be an American…”

“’Cuz at least I know I’m free-eee.”

“And I won’t forget the men who died…”

“Who gave that right to me-eee…”

They waved their signs back and forth for passersby and film crews. The selections included “Support Our Troops,” “Freedom Isn’t Free,” “These Colors Don’t Run,” “No War, No Peace — Know War, Know Peace,” and “No Peace for Oil.”

Another band of demonstrators set up a counter-protest on the opposite corner, yelling nasty epithets, even hurling bottles and cans at their opposition across the street. Not to be outdone, their signs included “War is not the answer,” “Who Would Jesus Bomb?”, “Resistance is Fertile — Pick Fruit, Not Fights,” “Go Solar, Not Ballistic,” and “How Many Lives per Gallon?” They cranked up the loudspeakers mounted on top of a decaying old bus emblazoned with their witticisms. There was a loud, electrical hum, and then buzzing and static. At last it was fixed and the battle was joined.

“All we are saying…”

“Is give peace a chance.”

The simple chant repeated in an endless, hypnotic loop, enhanced by shrill tambourines rattled by the demonstrators trying to drown out the other side.

“All we are saying…”

“Is give peace a chance.”

Drivers brought to a standstill angrily honked their horns in a torrent of noise. Pedestrians held their ears to stifle the clamor. The demonstrators donned sandwich boards plastered with their slogans and moved out onto the sidewalks, banging their tambourines aggressively in people’s faces.

“C’mon, everyone, sing it loud, sing it proud! All we are saying … yes, that’s it! Is give peace a chance … again! Let’s do it! All we are saying—”

From out of nowhere, riot police in Bulldog X SWAT trucks careened onto the sidewalks. Protesters and spectators alike fled for their lives before the blaring sirens and brilliant red, white, and blue strobe lights. The police within jumped out awkwardly, their riot shields, helmets, tall boots, visors, armored vests, and weapons slowing them down. They immediately unloaded smoke rounds and flashbang grenades from their M4A1 carbines into both groups of protesters.

Temporarily blinded, dazed and deafened, the protesters stumbled in confusion. Their riot shields held before them, the police descended on the hapless protestors, surrounding them in a tightening circle until all the groping demonstrators were roughly corralled. Herded onto a fleet of unmarked school buses painted flat gray with steel mesh windows, they were handcuffed to the seats and promptly driven away, the engines rumbling and whining. It was all perfectly executed and over in minutes.

6

Let’s Make the Right Choice

JOHN CARP AND JOSEPH KING SMILED BROADLY and waved to the audience. Striding confidently from left and right stage, they warmly shook hands, clasped each other’s shoulders, and whispered something apparently amusing. They mounted the podium, each taking their assigned lecterns.

“Welcome to the presidential election debates,” the lovely moderator began.

She thanked the numerous corporate, union, farm, foundation, environmental, education, public relations, healthcare, special interest, and State sponsors profusely. She expressed her own deep gratitude to the candidates, seemingly awestruck to be in their presence.

“I would ask you to speak from the heart,” she said to the candidates, “about how you would navigate this country through the challenges America faces. Tell Americans what you would say personally, sitting in their living rooms.”

Upon directing her first question to King, she leaned forward in her seat, smiling provocatively.

King looked at the moderator for a long moment. Her blue eyes were fixed on his. She pushed back her long blond hair and played with her earring. Breaking her intent gaze, King peeked at his notes on the lectern. He peered at the audience, and then stared again at the moderator.