21

Friday, January 22, 2021, 11:00 AM, Eastern Standard Time

“Hold on a second,” the President said. He sat behind his desk, entering text rapidly onto his phone, more or less ignoring the high official seated in front of him.

–<() We will Lock Them Up! This, my First Real Term, will not be destroyed by the Anti Americans!

“Okay, McCarthy,” the President said. “What’s bugging you?”

“I still don’t understand why you would think that you need more security,” said the head of the Secret Service, sitting ramrod-straight in the chair on the other side of the Resolute desk, through the N-95 mask with the President’s family trademark.

“Well, what’s your record? Four presidents killed. Six shot. That’s a lot. Six out of 45. That’s…” The President appeared to be calculating in his head. “Well, it’s too high.”

“Sir, we have learned a lot since the last time something unfortunate like that happened. With all due respect, it’s been forty years since anything like that was allowed to occur. The last two presidencies saw massive increases in the number of threats, and yet we kept them – and we have kept you – perfectly safe.”

The President gritted his teeth at the mention of any predecessors.

“I don’t care what you did with the last guy,” he snarled. “Everything that happened under him was shit, as far as I am concerned. I don’t trust anything that happened under that guy.”

“Well, I – I – I wasn’t here for any of that,” the Director stammered. “I was just trying to defend my agents, sir. They are all dedicated 100% to your safety.”

“Are they, though?”

“Sir?”

“I hear that a lot of your time gets taken up with printing money.”

“Sir?”

“The, the, the, counterfeit thing. It takes up half your time, is what I am hearing.”

“That’s – that’s – well, that’s just not true, sir. We do have agents devoted to that mission. But the number one mission, the one most of my agents spend 100% of their time on, is protecting you. You, your family, and other high officials.”

“Other high officials? Oh, so it’s even worse than I thought.”

“Sir?”

“Not only are you dividing your time between me and this printing press thing, you’re also dividing it among other officials and the family.”

“Well, sir, that’s the statutory mission…”

“Statutory? What am I, a rapist?”

“No, sir. I would never say that.”

“So you are all divided up. You sound like babies. And who knows whether I got the virus from your guys? I need guys 100% devoted to me. I know where I can get some.”

“Where, sir? What are you propo-”

“Never mind where. I’m going to get a new security detail, and I want you to work with them.”

“Sir, I am willing to work –”

“Good. End of story. I’m going to have them in here in a couple of weeks. Tell your guys they can go sniff the dollar bills or whatever. Or you can keep them around, but tell them I want these new guys to be the ones close to me. Got it?”

The Director had no response to this. He looked as if he was in pain. Beads of sweat were trickling down his forehead.

“I got one other thing I need from you.”

“What is it, sir?”

“There’s a guy who hangs around outside the fence here at the White House. Near the church. Maybe in the church.”

“Which church? The Episcopal church? The one you…”

“Yeah, that one. Northeast corner of the park. You know it. I’m concerned about this guy. Maybe that should be your new focus now that I got these new guys to take care of me.”

The Director looked confused again.

“A…guy?”

“Yeah. Old guy, long white beard, maybe kind of a witch’s hat thing, long white hair, skinny, near the church, maybe going in and out.”

“I don’t understand exactly what you want, sir,” said the Director. “Do you have information that this man could be a threat? Do you think you got the virus from him?”

The President began to be exasperated, which was perhaps his most common condition when awake.

“God damn it,” he yelled. “I just want this guy found, and brought to me. And you’re sweating. Maybe you should disinfect again.”

The Director reached for the holster holding the hand disinfectant, which also sported the President’s family business’ logo. He squirted his hands and began to rub them thoroughly.

“I understand that, sir. Have there been threats that we do not know about?”

“No,” the President said. “This is just a guy I’ve seen…who I want to talk to. Near the church.”

He was never going to tell this dumb flatfoot that he had seen this guy in a dream. Besides, he was sure that he only dreamed it because he had seen the white-bearded man outside the north fence of the White House, near the church. It was too real just to be something that his brain had made up.

“Are there any other distinguishing characteristics that you can think of that might help us find him?”

“I told you. He’s kind of like a homeless guy, dressed in old clothes, white, gray, something like that. He carries a sign that says ‘The End,’ something like that. He might wear a hat. He’s got a long beard, white. Skinny-looking. Might have people around him, like followers.”

“We’ll do our best, sir.”

“What are you going to do about this?”

“Well, sir,” the Secret Service head said, “I will have our people go over the security footage from all around the fence line for the last few weeks.”

“He was near the church, definitely,” the President said.

“I think the church has a program for the homeless, so they might be going in and out.”

“Good. Check into that.”

“We will concentrate on that area. He might have moved around, though, so we’ll try to be thorough, look all around the outside of the fence. Maybe look through the D.C. Police cameras to see where he came from, if we can identify him. When did you say this person was there, sir?”

The President almost said, “Every night,” but checked himself.

“He’s around. Pretty regularly. Maybe usually at night.”

“Okay, sir. I think we have enough to move forward.”

“When will I hear from you?”

“Shall we say in a week?”

“Make it next Wednesday.”

“The 27th?”

“Yes. Same time of day. 11AM, the 27th, Wednesday.” He hit the button. “Mrs. Johnson?”

“Yes, sir?” came the voice of his secretary.

“Mrs. Johnson, write in the Director here for next Wednesday at 11AM.”

“I will do that, sir.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Johnson.”

The Director stood up. “Mr. President,” he began.

“Yeah?”

“Mr. President, I really think you should think twice about replacing our protection with something that has not been deeply vetted. If we find this man you speak of, this bearded man, will you reconsider replacing us?”

The President made a face.

“Okay,” he said. “If you find this guy, I’ll reconsider. But you gotta do it fast.”

The Director stood and bowed slightly.

“Good day, Mr. President.”

“See ya around, McCarthy,” the President said.

The Director began to walk to the door.

“McCarthy,” the President said.

“Yes, sir?” McCarthy said, turning toward him, still masked.

“I will do that, sir,” the Director said. “Strictly need to know.”

“And only I need to know.”

“Yes, sir. Understood. I’ll come here alone next time to report to you.” He went out the door.

“Good.”

The President pressed a button on his desk and Mrs. Johnson answered, “Yes?”

“Is Kevin out there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Send him in.”

The President put his right palm on his lower back and applied pressure. He really needed a chiropractor, so he could get his golf game back to where it should be by summer.

Kevin walked in. He had been one of the President’s security team back home; now he was the head of personnel for the White House. He was 29 years old, and his qualifications for the job were that he had worked at Wolf News after being a college football player. He had previously been dismissed from a job in the White House by a previous Chief of Staff, who correctly noted his propensity for running up huge gambling debts, and just as correctly noted that such a propensity might cause him to be subject to undue influence either by those to whom he owed the money, or else by those who stepped in to relieve the obligation.

Kevin had grown up worshipping large white men who liked to bellow in his face and occasionally beat him. These men, beginning with his father, had inculcated within him a faith far deeper than his nominal Catholicism. Its main tenet was that unthinking loyalty – more accurately, loyal un-thinking – would be rewarded with a steady rise in whatever situation one found oneself. Leaders were those who screamed themselves red-faced and demanded more and more effort on behalf of their personal interests. His father had begun this process; the President was its apotheosis.

“So, give me some good news, god damn it,” the President said. “I get nothing from you people but ‘I can’t, I can’t.’”

Kevin snapped to attention.

“Sir, our purge of the Deep State has been dramatically accelerated by the transition,” Kevin replied. “Almost all the senior people who we had doubts about have resigned. We are filling those positions with people that you can rely on.”

“That’s great. That’s great. This is what I want to hear,” the President said. “No more ‘I can’t do this, because this technical rule in the Constitution’ blah blah. So tell me who they are.”

“Your Director of National Intelligence was a good guy, very loyal, he tried to push forward a lot of the nationalist global agenda that Ban Wilson liked.”

“Ecch, don’t talk to me about that guy. He thought it was all about him. Mister Intellectual.”

“That’s why you had to fire him. But this previous Acting DNI did show almost perfect loyalty to you. He made a lot of trouble for those European leaders who were nasty to you.”

“The German woman. Such a nasty woman.”

“Yes, sir. He stirred up a lot of trouble for her. But he resigned to go run some kind of communications firm.”

“So, who do we have there now?”

“Willie Henckman. He’s a Republican fundraiser from California. Big bundler. He’s a Hollywood agent. I think you met him at an event a while back.”

“Okay. But he’s loyal?”

“He’ll be with you to the end, sir.”

“Okay,” he said. “Who else?”

“Acting Chief of Staff. You know the guy that you had before left.”

“The cryer. I nicknamed him the Town Crier,” the President said, proudly. “Now I gotta think up a new nickname?”

“You know this guy. Reality TV producer. Ben.”

“Oh, Ben. He was always trailing us in the ratings. I’ll call him Number Two. Yeah, I guess I can live with him.”

“Very good, sir.” Kevin tactfully refrained from noting that the President’s statement was almost the opposite of the truth, and that Ben’s show had fallen behind the President’s for only one episode in a decade.

“For Acting National Security Advisor, I think we talked about this guy. Wolf News commentator. Doug Hooberman.”

“Wow.”

“You like him?”

“Sure, but isn’t this kind of a step down for him?”

“Uh…well, he was a game show host five years ago, so…”

“Exactly. He may have too good a résumé for this job. I don’t need advice. I need people talking me up. Who’s gonna replace him at Wolf News? That’s probably a more important position for us.”

Kevin looked a bit flustered.

“I’m, uh, not sure, sir. I’ll get on that right away.”

“Okay. Next?”

“Next, for Department of Homeland Security.”

“Who’s there now?”

“It’s vacant right now, which is convenient in some ways because it makes it easier to deal with the press when our frontline First Responder heroes shoot women and children at the border…by accident, of course. But we will have to fill that position soon. I’d like to recommend a guy who is rock-solid in his support and loyalty for you.”

“Sounds great.”

“There is one hitch.”

“What’s that?”

“He is a senior in college right now. He’s older, because he took time off. He’s due to graduate in May from a Christian college in North Carolina. The good thing is, he’s already had the virus, so he can pretty much go anywhere. And he is the head of College Republicans for the President.”

“You say he’s loyal?”

“Yes. Everyone else we looked at just reeked of Deep State. All with lots of experience, bragging about how they had worked so long as this or that assistant deputy whatever, as if that was what we were looking for.”

“The Fake News will go crazy, but that’s a good as far as I am concerned. Go ahead.”

“Finally, I have a guy I think you’ll love for the next one. He really is out of Central Casting.”

“Yeah?”

“For Deputy National Security Advisor. Acting.”

“Okay, who is he?”

“An actor.”

“Good-looking guy. Lantern jaw. Brooding.”

“Just make sure none of these mopes have the virus. I knew you would be the guy to handle this purge thing. To hell with what the Fake News says. Keep up the good work, Kevin.”

Kevin shone with joy. He stifled a tear as he said, “I will, sir.” The President saw his obvious emotion and wrinkled his nose.

“Okay, scram.”

Kevin exited.

The casting of the new season of this show is coming together, the President thought. And those media assholes said this White House was a mess. To hell with them. My recovery has really started.