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Chapter 20

20

Thursday, January 21, 2021, 8:30 PM Eastern Standard Time

“No, I never vote,” the journalist Kathleen Kiersay insisted to the special guests of honor at the Washington Graduate School of Politics and International Affairs panel discussion.

The topic for this evening was “What Happened? How Did It Happen? What’s Next? The Election, the President, and the Parties.” Kathleen’s statement had come during a discussion of the role and responsibility of the media in the current political environment that had suddenly and unexpectedly made her a target. She hated being suddenly challenged when she was supposed to be chairing the session.

She looked across the stage at the others, all seated facing her on an angle in the front of the university auditorium, to gauge reactions. They were not long in coming.

A titter went through the sparse, socially-distanced, masked audience at her answer. Two members of the panel scoffed.

“We can look that up, Red,” Ban Wilson said.

“Be my guest,” Kathleen said.

“And you seriously expect us to believe that you have no opinions about the major issues of the day? Which presidential candidate should be elected? Who’s a nasty person? Who’s a sweetheart?” Ban said, sneeringly.

“I feel a bit sick,” Jim Hasselblad, journalism professor, said. The other three people on the panel seemed to edge away from him.

“I feel a little ill, because I have to side with Ban on this one,” Jim finished.

“Maybe I feel a little ill,” Ban said.

“I hope you do,” Jim said, grinning. “I think that a journalist without opinions is like an airline pilot who can’t tell the difference between a cloud and a mountain.”

“I think a journalist without opinions is a unicorn,” Wilson said. “And a journalist who says they have no opinions is a liar.”

“You can think whatever you want,” Kathleen said. “I do not vote, and I try not to have opinions on any of the issues that I cover.”

“That’s impossible!” Ban shouted. “You may think you have no opinions, but your opinions are clear on the page.”

“I disagree there,” Jim said. “I think your entire party is a living testament to the truth that human beings are quite able to warp their minds into thinking almost any sort of nonsense.”

Ban grinned at this. Jim continued.

“Where I agree with you is that the New York Record, for instance, definitely has a bias, no matter what Red here says. That bias, however, is definitely in favor of your side.”

“You’re nuts,” Ban snapped.

“Quite possibly,” Jim replied. “But I’m right about this. This insane delusion that she and other reporters have to show no favoritism to any side, when one side has gone completely off the reservation, morality-, sanity-, and extremism-wise, simply guarantees that the more insane side is going to be normalized. The New York Record is the Vossische Zeitung of the twenty-first century. Ban knows what that is, I bet.”

“I do indeed,” Ban said. “That rag showed the essential impotence of liberalism in the face of evil.”

“Once again, I’m gagging a little, because I agree with you – to an extent. The Vossische Zeitung was a liberal newspaper in the 1930s in Berlin. Its reaction to the rise of the National Socialists was to decide to do what Kathleen says she does – pretend that it could simply act as a pass-through for whatever political ideas happen to be popular at any given time. It had been published since 1704. So, they decided, hey, this Hitler guy is goofy, but he is good for our business! Let’s play along, give him a forum! So, they gave him a forum, and they hired some Nazis to write for their paper, and when that didn’t quite do what they so desperately wanted – to become a paper that Nazis would see as on the level and fair – they went ahead and fired some of the Jews who worked for them. And they lived happily ever after! No, I’m sorry, they didn’t. They were shut down by the Nazis in 1934. Because they, like the New York Record – ”

“Jesus Christ,” Ban said. “You’re blowing the shit out of Godwin’s Law here. Now Republicans are Nazis. So you’re saying the President is Hitler?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Well thank you.”

“Hitler was intelligent and articulate.”

The audience half-gasped and half giggled at this.

“Well it’s nice to see a liberal come out openly as being in favor of Hitler. So our guy is Hitler. If you were in Berlin in 1933, what would you have done, if you had a clear shot at the guy? Would you have killed him?”

“Hypotheticals.”

“No, seriously. You seem to be saying that our guy is leading us to something evil as a nation.”

“I do. He already has.”

“So, if you had a clear shot at him, you would take it?”

“Now you’re just trying to get me arrested.”

“No, be man enough to answer the question.”

“Boys,” Kathleen said.

“I will say this,” Hasselblad said. “Given the mass disenfranchisement in the election, the blatant use of the virus to terrorize the Democratic voters in swing states out of voting, the refusal to allow mail-in or early voting, and the complete fraudulence of inaugurating a guy who did not even win 270 electoral votes, I would put it to you that what your party has done may be worse than the offenses that brought about the American Revolution.”

“So, you would take a shot at him, or not? It’s a simple question.”

“What good would it do? Make him a martyr? And his vice president is an amoral fake-Christian sanctimonious theocratic fraud.”

“So, seriously, you are saying that the only reasons not to shoot the President are tactical political ones? So, you wouldn’t shoot Hitler in 1933. We got it. You aren’t man enough to back up your opinions with action.”

“To be serious, I don’t know if he’s Hitler. I do think he’s the closest we have ever come to Hitler. I do think that Hitler was more intelligent” – (Ban scoffed again here) – “which made him more dangerous. The sad truth is, the President’s lack of intelligence does act as sort of a limiting factor on the damage he has been able to do. But now that he’s stolen a second term –”

“Only losers talk about stolen elections.”

“Now that he’s back in for four years, there may be no limit to the damage he could do.”

“And yet you would not take action against him.”

“How?” Jim asked. “Your side has all the guns.”

“Can we hear from one of the other panelists here, and get back to the questions at hand?” Kathleen said. “Which are, namely, how did Democrats lose to a President who oversaw both a plague and an economic depression? And what consequences do you see coming out of this? We also have Professor Walter Jacobs, from the school that is hosting us this evening, the Washington Graduate School of Politics and International Affairs. His latest book is Where Fascism Comes From. Dr. Jacobs, where do you think we are headed from here?”

Jacobs leaned forward. “To be honest, I do not know. But so far, we have hit a lot of the mile markers already on the way to fascism.”

“Fascism?” Ban said. “That’s irresponsible.”

“I don’t know if it’s responsible or irresponsible. I just know that, when you compare it to previous situations in which fascism has arisen, Italy in the 1920s, Germany in the 1930s, Hungary in the 2010s –”

“Hungary’s not fascist. I know those people.”

Jacobs shrugged. “Yes, you do. You have worked with them and see them as part of your ‘alliance.’ And I have identified some parallels between Hungary and what’s going on here. They call their version ‘soft fascism.’ Hungarians have locked in a system where one party, Fidesz, can preserve power indefinitely, even as a minority. They’ve gerrymandered their legislative districts. They’ve enriched themselves from the public coffers. They’ve demonized migrants and minorities. They’ve closed the border and built a wall. They’ve demonized the professional media. They have shut down press outlets that were giving a more or less objective account of political events in their country, and now have an oligopolistic press that might as well be government-controlled. They’ve sabotaged opposition parties. They’ve suppressed voting in opposition strongholds. They’ve used crises to consolidate power. The leader constantly says provably false things, perhaps simply to get the people used to being lied to, and also in order to show his opponents that he can say anything and get away with it, and it only causes his supporters to hate the objective professional press even more when they fact-check him. He also more or less openly advocates violence against the opposition. Sound familiar to anyone?”

“There’s a big difference between being a successful political party and being a fascist one-party state. If you can’t get your way at the ballot box, then boo-hoo,” Ban said.

“But it must be said that, to date – to date – Hungary has gone a little farther than this current administration and our own ‘successful political party.’ They’ve redone their Constitution. As part of that, they expanded their equivalent of the Supreme Court, and stacked it with supporters of the regime. They took gerrymandering even farther than Republicans – or Democrats, though they are far behind in that race to the bottom – have yet dreamed of. For example, Hungary’s rural, conservative districts now contain far fewer voters than the urban liberal districts, which means conservatives are overrepresented. That would not be possible in the U.S. under the current Constitution – it’s why we have a thing called the Census every ten years.”

“So what is the concern, then?” Ban Wilson said. “It can’t happen here.”

“Except that we do have the Senate, which is an automatic gerrymander in favor of the Republicans. Senators representing just 17% of Americans – the 20 lowest- population states – can block all legislation. And we don’t need a constitutional change to pack the Supreme Court. Congress can do that. The Congress has also in the past created new states, specifically to advance the fortunes of the Republican Party. Did you ever wonder why we have two Dakotas? That’s why.

“So, to answer your question, where are we headed? I would say, we have come some way down the road toward fascism. Will we go the rest of the way? Well, as each guardrail of democracy is blown away, it becomes easier and easier to knock the next one down. In fact, it becomes more important for the party in power to press their advantage further and further, because they cannot afford to lose any election, any fight over this process, because the entire process will be imperiled, and the natural demographic change in this country does not favor their side. I would say the Republican Party has decided it is the white Christian party. That is a shrinking percentage of the population. So, their continued success – maybe their survival – depends on ever-more extensive suppression of the majority, very reminiscent of the Jim Crow South coming out of Reconstruction.”

“Or we could, I don’t know, continue to convince a majority of Americans to vote for us, as we have done to date,” Ban said.

“Well, the last two elections show that to be false, I’m sorry to say, even with unprecedented voter suppression of your opposition, most blatantly through the sabotage of the USPS to stop mail-in voting, which clearly was more popular with Democratic voters,” Jacobs replied. “As for the future, I would watch what happens with the Census, which has already been foreshortened and delayed. If we find, as has been rumored, that urban concentrations traditionally supportive of Democrats have been systematically undercounted, with the virus used as an excuse to avoid going in and counting every household, that’s another step down this road. If the government goes beyond staff and budget cuts, and goes through with plans to privatize or shut down National Public Radio and PBS News, again as rumored, that’s another step. If it is found that substantial amounts of the massive funds – the trillions – disbursed by the federal government have gone, as rumored, to businesses or interests identified with this President, his family, his company, or his party, that is another step. If the President goes beyond mere rhetoric and we see his political opponents jailed, if the Attorney General continues to abuse his prosecutorial power to intimidate the President’s opposition or anyone who dares to investigate him out of principle, while never prosecuting actual crimes of allies, another step. If we don’t hear at all about any of this, but only because Congressional oversight and the Inspectors General of the executive branch have been prevented from fulfilling their Constitutional and legal time-honored functions, then that may even be worse, because we will have lost our ability as a free people to see what is being done in our name.

“So where are we headed?” Jacobs finished. “I don’t know. But I am not optimistic. I see few rule-of-law guardrails left. If anything, it is worse today than I could have imagined in 2016.”

“All this pants-wetting over a normal political defeat,” Ban Wilson stage-whispered.

Kathleen stepped back in. “We also have Ned Durstine, Democratic strategist –”

“There’s a contradiction in terms,” Ban said.

“Took the words out of my mouth,” Jim said.

“— on our panel tonight. Ned, what do you think caused the Democrats to go down to an historic defeat last November, yet again, to this unlikely President?”

“Well, there were a number of factors that swung the election.

“First off, and in my view the biggest single factor, was that we expected, back in, say, January 2020, that we would have a huge advantage in turnout due to the exceptional motivation provided by this President. Then the virus hit. At first, in, say, Wisconsin, in April, our enthusiasm was able to overwhelm any fear associated with voting in person. That election, we thought, showed that the wave of Democratic anger was going to sweep everything before it. A lot of Democrats who had previously been panicking suddenly relaxed. In fact, that election caused Republicans, in turn, to panic, and to double down on tactics to exploit the virus and scare Democratic voters away from the polls. That factor has been discussed here. 

“Second, there was clearly a sympathy vote for the President because he and the First Lady contracted the virus in October.”

“Or did they?” Jim said in a stage whisper.

“The third big factor in our exit polling was that Democrats were seen to be the party that talked down to people whose lives were falling apart. They were the party of affluent ‘experts,’ who could afford to stay home and do their work on line. That fed into the pre-existing divide between college-educated ‘symbolic analysts’ whose work could be done without leaving the house or touching anyone, and the non-college-educated people who worked in jobs requiring physical presence and face-to-face interaction with other humans.”

Jim Hasselblad broke in again. “That was a huge problem for Democrats. They like to talk about how the Republicans hate and despise minorities or successful women, and that is true, I think, but a lot of affluent Democrats simply despise less-educated people and, say, Southern white people, and they can’t be bothered to conceal it. This virus really accentuated the difference between the people who could stay home and have their groceries delivered to them, and the people working for or running small businesses, who couldn’t. Those affluent Democrats were completely oblivious to the very real problems of those who could not stay home, and who were losing everything, simply because they couldn’t imagine not being able to be ‘responsible’ and stay home. They made it a moral issue, when it was a survival issue for a lot of those folks, who were a much larger group than the mythical ‘White Working Class.’ They had no answer when those voters asked, ‘WHEN can we go back? What is your PLAN?’”

“Stop saying things I agree with,” Ban said. The crowd laughed.

“Fourth, the demonstrations last year against police murders of African-Americans ended up severely harming Democratic electoral prospects. Every election that has taken place after a major instance of civil unrest since the 1960s has seen a huge upswing in white turnout and a win for conservatives. African-Americans were rightly enraged by the killings, and almost certainly dissatisfied with theDemocratic Party’s offered solutions, so their turnout was far below Democrats’ hopes. But their anger also scared many white voters into voting, according to our exit-poll analysis. The net result was favorable to the GOP.”

“It’s like I always say,” Ban said. “Get the Democrats talking about race, and the election is in the bag for our side.” Jim shook his head.

“The final issue,” Ned said, “is that Democrats were perceived to have run on too extreme a platform. In order to win in 2020, Democrats needed to regain their appeal to people who had voted against them in 2016, but who had voted for Okomo in 2012. The President hammered away at how ‘extreme’ the Dem program was, and exit polling showed that that message got through to swing voters. ‘Defund the Police’ was a particularly powerful negative for the white working class.”

“Damn straight,” Ban said.

“Ah,” said Jim. “The mythical White Working Class Swing Voter. The Great White Whale of American politics.”

“Well, how else could you get those votes you lost last time?” Ned said.

“You can’t,” Jim said. “They weren’t voting based on economic interest, they were voting based on culture. Which is code for racism. Which is in turn code for ‘they were always going to vote for the President.’”

“That’s wrong,” Ned said. “How can you call them racist when they voted for Okomo in 2012?”

“They were anti-elitist voters,” Ban Wilson said. “That’s why they stuck with Okomo in 2012. The other guy was even more elitist than Okomo was, which is saying a lot. It’s what you were just saying, Jim. A lot of people don’t like being talked down to.”

“So how would you have run this campaign?” Ned said to Jim.

“Well the biggest mistake by far, I would say,” Jim continued, “and this plays into your discussion about experts and the like, is that you missed an opportunity to go big with your solutions, and to make the sale in all fifty states, without apologies. Republicans stood in the way of any serious effort to spare the American people these dual disasters, medical and economic. How could you miss the obvious opportunity to run – IN FIFTY STATES – as the big government party, in the biggest crisis this country has seen since the Second World War? Democrats have been so defensive for the past fifty years or so about being the big government party. Well, along comes a crisis that puts the lie to the ‘small government conservative’ outlook. It all got completely out of hand because of a lack of big government, and it was being screwed up further by a continuing refusal of Republicans to acknowledge the true scale of the disaster, and their refusal to bail out the median American household and small businesses.

“You know where the sweet spot was? Small business! Those people were the biggest backers of the President, and the biggest haters of the Democrats. For the first time in almost a century, Democrats had a chance to grab them, simply by running on a one-sentence Big Idea: ‘Make People Whole.’ That’s your plan for re-opening, right there. The shutdown could continue, and the ‘experts’ could betolerated, as long as we made everyone whole. No small business goes bankrupt; no one gets evicted; no one loses their home or their rental unit. We always were going to have to bail out big businesses – that’s the dirty little secret; we can’t survive without the big guys. But putting the full faith and credit of the United States behind small business and homeowners and renters – that is a Big Idea that was never tried. Imagine if it had been! Republicans would scoff and say it was impossible. Let ’em! Let ’em try to run against that program! For decades Republicans have been putting the Democrats into double binds, one after another after another. And Democrats kept putting their heads into the noose, over and over and over. Imagine forcing the Republicans to run against doing anything substantive to save American businesses and American workers. It could have been beautiful.

“But instead you went small again. You watched the President and his party lie and cheat and slander you, and bankrupt everyone in the country, and let tens of thousands more die – more than in Vietnam every three months! – and you decided to shackle yourself to ‘common sense.’ God forbid you should propose something that got a bad rating from the Club for Growth or the Heritage Foundation! My goodness, they might not endorse you!

“Your candidate was too nice a guy to choose an enemy. He went for all the votes, all the endorsements, instead of drawing a line and saying, ‘I’m for these people who have been getting the shaft forever, and I am against these people over here who have been shafting them.’ Remember what FDR said in 1936? ‘The rich are unanimous in their hate for me–and I welcome their hatred.’ FDR was a real leader in part because he chose his enemies. If you try to go along and get along, no one will ever be passionate about your cause. The current President – well you can’t say he tries to get along with everyone.”

Jim finished his oration with, “Ned, you saw the pie as it was. The times demanded that you think bigger. Imagine a bigger pie. You needed true imagination and genius, a Big Idea. And courage! You needed to really go for it. But the whole party has collapsed for lack of that kind of imagination and courage. And the whole country may follow the Democratic Party down because of that lack of courage and imagination.”

Some of the audience applauded politely.

Kathleen tried to wrest control of the discussion back. “Ban, why do you think the Democrats lost?

“I’ll tell you exactly why the Democrat Party failed,” Ban said. “It’s because the Democrat Party abandoned their historic role as representative of the average American, and decided to become a party of minority grievances.”

“Oh boy,” Jim said. “And you are trying to tell us the Republican Party is the representative of the struggling workers of the U.S.?”

“More than the Democrats,” Wilson shot back. “Let me tell you, you guys –”

“Not my guys,” the journalism professor replied. “I am not a politician. I play it straight.”

“Sure you do,” Wilson said. “Sure you do. Your views on everything just happen to slot right in with the Democrat Party all along the line.”

“When one side has gone completely insane, racist, reality-averse, science- resisting, misogynist…”

“There you go,” Ban snorted. “Gosh, that’s not political at all.”

“…pro-Russian, pro-dark money, vote-suppressing, incompetent at governing…”

“Let it all out,” Ban said. “Let America see how straight you really play it. Did you memorize the DNC platform?”

“Hey, I might spout the RNC Platform, if they ever translated it out of the original Russian.”

“Still with the Russia Hoax.”

“Gentlemen,” Kathleen said.

“I want to get back to your curious idea that you as a journalist are not permitted to hold opinions on affairs of public import, Red,” Jim said.

“I have to suspend my opinions while doing this job of reporting,” Kathleen said. “I have to play it straight.”

“I’d like for you to consider, first, the issue of the death toll from this virus,” Jim said. “You report the official statistics from the administration, which have shown no growth of cases or deaths since the beginning of last fall. They claim it’s because deaths reported by the states and hospitals are misclassified, and the real causes of death have been whatever underlying conditions the patients had when they came in because of the virus.”

“That’s right,” Kathleen said.

“But every respected epidemiologist or expert in this field says that the official numbers have been vastly undercounting the number of deaths due to the virus since it came back in the fall,” Jim said.

“And we report that too,” Kathleen said.

“But do you go out and research these numbers to see who’s right and who’s wrong? Or do you simply say, ‘He said, she said,’ and throw up your hands?”

“We do some research on it.”

“And what does that research reveal?”

“Well,” Kathleen said, “there’s a difference of opinion…”

“You can’t even say it, am I right? You can’t even say the obvious truth, that the outside experts are right, that the government is fudging the numbers to make the Dear Leader look better.”

“That’s not fair…”

“Life isn’t fair. Don’t you realize, when evil people understand that this is the way you’re going to report things, that all they have to do is become so outrageously dishonest that you can’t possibly say that they are being outrageously dishonest, because by the expectations you have set up, merely to report the fact that they are outrageously dishonest will be seen as ‘partisan?’ So their very extremism and evil becomes something you can never report on!”

Kathleen simply shook her head.

“And Kathleen, what you are trying to achieve here, with your mind-emptying total lack of opinions, whether it is achievable inside your head or not, is doomed to failure. Because I hate to break it to you, but the Republican Party is never going to see the New York Record as ‘fair and balanced,’ okay? They don’t want you to be a better, fairer paper. They want you to be a dead paper, like the Vossische Zeitung. They want you to be shut down so they can fill the airwaves with pure right-wing propaganda à la Wolf News. But to the extent you do stick around, you are kind of doing them a double favor. Because even as you legitimize and normalize these extremist, proto-fascist clowns – ”

Ban scoffed loudly at this.

“ – as I say, even as you do them this giant favor of allowing them to lie on your pages with impunity, and of smearing the shit out of their Democratic rivals for offenses that barely register on the Richter scale of scandal, while their side has been a 10.0 cataclysm that has wrecked the United States government and left its remains a stinking, decrepit, corrupt knocking shop, they get to turn on you every time and say that you are biased against them. Look what you did to the Democratic candidates in the last two presidential elections! You were an arm of the President’s re-election campaign! Even after the experience of devoting your entire front page to a completely bogus report of a ‘scandal’ about ‘new emails!’ ‘rocking the campaign’ of the 2016 nominee, even after it was proven that there were no new emails at all, you went ahead and boosted yet another fake ‘scandal’ about her successor nominee – once again, just before the election! Why am I yelling? It’s so obvious why your paper does this time after time. It’s because you were rewarded richly for what you did to drag this country through the mud last time. Your on-line subscriptions – what did they do, triple? Quintuple? Decency and good government just is not a boffo story, is it? Chicanery, having a rodeo clown as President who completely mismanages a pandemic, starves and invades states that didn’t vote for him, and then allowing him to claim complete success on your front page – that will bring you the eyeballs.

“Getting health care for every child in this nation?” Jim continued, on his feet now. “Or handling a virus so well that it’s not a story? Well that’s just borrring. It’s just not good business. So, you let these disgusting reality-TV fascist clowns play you, over and over and over. Hey, it’s profitable! Lay back and enjoy it! Tell everyone you’re going to hypnotize yourself into complete and utter credulousness, and play it ‘straight down the middle,’ and let the bad people just move the goalposts out of the stadium, ratchet the lies up by a thousand percent, and watch the relatively more decent people balk at matching their indecency, and what do you have? A recipe for gigantic profits – and the triumph of indecency. The complete prostitution of everything the Founders stood for. You know what? I take it back. The Vossische Zeitung got shut down after a year or so because they eventually refused to play the Nazis’ game. You guys – you’ll be here in forty years, if the world lasts that long, because you are an essential element of these guys’ strategy. You’re playing along beautifully. Why would they ever need to shut you down, the way they are shutting down NPR?”

Jim had been standing up, pointing directly at Kathleen. Now, as he slowly sat back down, a large portion of the audience stood up and applauded his explosion. He waved it off disgustedly.

“If you guys who are applauding right now had gotten out and voted, I wouldn’t have to say these things,” Jim said.

“Are you done? Can I speak?” Ban said.

“Sure, why not,” Jim said, waving his hand dismissively from his seat. “Knock yourself out.”

“Can I speak?” Kathleen said, in cold anger.

“I yield my time to the lady from New York,” Ban Wilson said magnanimously.

“Notice how happy he is to cede his time to the ‘Fake News,’” Jim said disgustedly.

“Now I have sat here and taken this abuse all night,” Kathleen said. “And that’s fine. But what I want the audience to take note of is how both sides have been bashing me and my paper.”

“Sure,” Jim said. “Both the Nazis and the Jews object to your coverage.”

“Now that is truly uncalled for,” Kathleen said. “Look at what the President is Tooting about us.” She read out a Toot:

–<() The Fake News is not protected by any Constitution! They should be (and will be!) jailed if they mislead Great Americans!

“Ain’t it awful,” Jim said. “You know, Wolf News is a scourge on this land, infecting millions of minds. But if journalism dies in this country, it’s not going to be on them. It’ll be because of this blithering – but very profitable – attitude of total naïveté you have put on, guaranteeing you’re going to play it even between truth and lies. You’ve completely abandoned your sacred Constitutional role, which is to convey a basically accurate big picture view of reality to the minds of the electorate.”

“That is our responsibility? Not the politicians’?”

“Politicians cannot be trusted to do that. That is your job – it’s all of our job, all of us who call ourselves journalists, to convey that accurate view of reality, not simply to act as a pass-through for various fools and knaves and, yes, criminals. And our role is more critical for the republic than it has ever been, because politics has changed. Politicians have been spinners forever. They have always distorted. Democrats still distort. They take a fact, and they either minimize it or exaggerate it, depending on whether it helps or hurts them. But Republicans today have discovered that there’s a more effective way, if they are willing to throw all pretense of honesty and integrity overboard. As most of them have, to one extent or another. And that new tactic is basically to forget about facts altogether, and just make shit up that will appeal to their side or smear the other side. It didn’t start four years ago. It really started with the 2004 election, when they had this problem, which was that their candidate had avoided the Vietnam War, and was running against a genuine war hero, a guy who had steered his boat to shore and jumped off the bow directly into enemy fire, and had pursued the shooter until he had killed him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ban Wilson muttered.

“Almost,” Jim said. “So, Republicans couldn’t win by merely shading the truth the way they and Democrats had always traditionally done. So, their campaign strategist, who had made his bones in a state Supreme Court election by starting a false whispering campaign that a justice who had dedicated a lot of his life to helping underprivileged children was a pedophile, decided that what they had to do was simply go straight against reality, and just say that this war hero was not only not a war hero, he was a traitor.”

“He was a traitor,” Ban said loudly.

“See how effective it was?” Jim said. “Even this guy, whom Kathleen here has described as a ‘deep intellect’ or something, is still buying or selling that crock of shit. So his guy won, and it was official: honorable service in combat to this nation was a sucker’s game, forevermore. Because if you’re a Democrat, and you go risk your life and bleed or kill for this country, and you come home and dare raise your hand to try to have a say over where this country should go, you will be branded a traitor. And if you’re a Republican, why bother serving in combat? No matter what kind of coward you are, you will be ballyhooed as ‘the military candidate,’ so why serve even then? This noble innovation, just simply saying the opposite of the truth and ramming the lie through to the electorate through carpet-bombing TV ads, is now standard operating procedure for Republicans. It has worked over and over and over. And I lay its success, dear lady, right at the door of your organization, and the rest of the ‘lamestream media.’ Because you are supposed to be in the truth business. And these people” – he pointed again at Ban – “have been at war with the truth for at least 16 years. And what has been your response? In the great war between truth and lies, you have decided to remain neutral. You are Switzerland. You trade with both sides. Why not call the President a liar? That’s what he is. He doesn’t get extra credit for being so psychotic he doesn’t realize he’s lying.”

“Well I can see I’m not going to get a word in edgewise with these mansplainers here,” Kathleen said.

“Hey, don’t blame me,” Ban said. “I haven’t said more than a dozen words tonight.”

“I’ll shut up now,” Jim said.

“Thanks,” Ban said. “Can I finally say why I think the Democrats lost?”

Jim held a hand up toward Ban, palm toward himself, as if to invite Ban to talk.

“Thanks. Okay, here’s why Democrats lose. They don’t know how to appeal to regular people anymore because they don’t know any regular people. At least, their candidates don’t. They’re all elitist technocrats, and they despise the people they claim to be for. If you want to know the real attitude of rich liberals toward the poor, watch what happens whenever they are asked to let smelly poor people move into their neighborhoods in San Francisco, say. They rise as one and block it.They’re hypocrites. People can tell if you think they are less than them. They can smell it.”

“But the President thinks they are ‘losers,’” Jim said.

“But they know he’s against the people they really hate, the snooty, better-than- thou liberals. They told everyone that the virus was going to kill 2 million people. Then when the administration started its efforts against the virus, they bashed the hell out of the President – while he kept the number of deaths down to a small fraction of that.”

“So you say,” Jim said. “From what I hear, the administration’s numbers aren’t worth the paper they are never printed on. And the virus is making a big comeback, in case you have not noticed.”

Ban went on. “Another elitist liberal always rooting against America. They are more concerned about illegal immigrants than about their neighbors, or the people who would be their neighbors if they ever let them move in near them,” Ban said. “You said it yourself. Democrats are the educated class now, the elite. They can’t even wrap their minds around the idea that someone might work with their hands, not on a computer, and can’t simply stay home and watch TV and ride out whatever year-long storm the experts have told them they have to ride out. And don’t get me started on the small businesspeople. Democrats simply seem to go out of their way to pour scorn – and taxes, and regulations – on them. I bet even if the Dems had done like Jim said, and tried to court the small businesspeople with bailouts, it might not have worked, because there’s so much stored-up hatred for the Democrats on the part of small business. It’s a cultural disconnect. Hell, even when the President got the virus, he could say it was because he was out working with people, unlike the elitist computer jockey liberals. That resonated.”

“Maybe,” Jim admitted.

“And national pride, patriotism. Liberals seem allergic to that stuff. Take the football players kneeling for the National Anthem. Put aside the merits of the protest for a minute. Everyone’s got a right to protest, blah blah blah. Okay.”

“Really? They do?” Jim said. “News to a lot of people last year. In Lafayette Park, for example. Or Portland.”

Ban ignored this, but turned toward Ned and Jim. “You go ahead and defend the players’ right to protest. Go ahead and run on that. I’ll take the opposite side every time. Because real Americans” – here Jim scoffed – “real Americans hate that shit. Real Americans love the flag. Real Americans get misty over the National Anthem. That, my friend, is a majority position your side cedes to us every time. Every damn time. And we’ll take that every time you give it to us. And it will outweigh all the economic arguments, and the mistakes, and the virus, and tax cuts for rich people and corporations. We’ll win. Because they see you as alien. As long as they do, I think we will win. We’re proud of being Americans. Are you, really? All I hear from you guys is all the stuff we do wrong. All the reasons to be ashamed of America. You know, no normal human being wants to be ashamed of his or her country. Least of all Americans. We aren’t Germans, who killed millions, who maybe should have felt some guilt over their history. We’re the people who beat the Germans.

“We should be proud of that,” Ban continued. “We put men on the moon, for god’s sake. When your entire party is increasingly devoted to this multicultural stuff, increasingly committed to endlessly rehashing how black people and Hispanic people and gay people and now trans people and god knows what will be coming next week, trans space aliens? have been mistreated by the majority white population, and how men are intrinsically evil predators and women are eternal victims and everyone deserves reparations, well how do you expect to win a single white vote?

“And I hate to say it, but white people are still the majority in this country, for now,” Ban said, pointing his finger out toward Jim, “and if you destroy the culture they, or their parents and grandparents, the one we call the greatest generation, created, what are you going to replace it with? Wiccanism?

“That’s what Baby Boomers did to this country,” Ban said, leaning back. “It was an endless war on their parents for the terrible crime of making them clean their room and grow up in a boring crime-free suburb. Oh my god, what could be worse than growing up in Thousand Oaks or Scarsdale or Arlington Heights or Long Island or Walnut Creek? How about virtually everywhere else on earth? So, this Baby Boom generation, of which I am a member, went to war on the culture. It ripped it all down. Because everything orderly or old or sanctified, anything anyone took seriously, well, that was square, man, and had to be burned to the ground. And nothing was put up in its place. No, it was destroy, destroy, destroy. Raze it to the ground! Freedom, license, without responsibility. So we have this culture of the lowest common denominator. No one dresses up anymore…”

This elicited some severe side-eye from Jim as he surveyed Ban’s attire. Wilson’s still-stained tan corduroy jacket was supplemented this evening by also-stained cargo pants and tattered hiking boots. Ban paid no mind.

“…Not even for church, not that anyone goes anymore, not on the coasts, anyway. There is no coherence, no line you can’t cross, nothing worthy of worship, no heaven, no hell, no good you can’t smirk at, no evil you cannot explain and excuse.

“So here we sit,” Ban finished, “listening to music without melody; looking at pictures without meaning; literature without any pretension to art; dramas without morals; politicians who don’t even aspire to anything beyond re-election, affluence, and plausible deniability of responsibility; ‘innovators’ who merely scavenge the inventions of a previous generation for personal profit, and ‘heroes’ – ”

“Heroes fighting bad wars in which their heroism is wasted,” Jim said.

“And there I might agree with you again, which is a large part of the reason why I am no longer employed at the White House. I wanted us out of those wars.”

“Seriously, I think you are conflating a bunch of unrelated stuff. I don’t think we have more wars, or worse ones, than before white culture started melting down. I don’t think Jim Crow makes for better art or music. By that standard Pat Boone is the good old days and the Beatles are the end of civilization. And every prominent young right-winger I’ve ever seen grew up in affluent circumstances, and they seem to be just as full of rage as any hippy. But if you want to really locate the end of American greatness, though, I think it was the adoption of the designated hitter in baseball.”

“Another thing we can agree on. I’m queasy again.”

“I’d like to say just one more thing,” Walter Jacobs said, raising his hand.

“Go ahead,” Kathleen said, happy to cut off Hasselblad and Wilson.

“I think we are all kind of missing the big picture here. It occurs to me that, beyond the partisan battles, or maybe partly because of them, the United States has been in a severe decline ever since the turn of the century, in virtually every measurable way. Think about it. We had just won a war by remote control in Kosovo; our economy had created 22 million jobs; we had achieved a fiscal surplus; we were unchallenged as the technological leader; we were the most admired nation by far, with alliances or friendly relations with almost every advanced country; and we were, at least by today’s standards, united and content as a people.

“Now,” Jacobs continued, “we are terribly divided, and many of us have been thrown into sudden poverty just before retirement. Militarily, we are far more vulnerable than almost anyone here today appreciates. Carrier battle groups are sitting ducks for new Chinese weapons. While Taiwan had just seven fatalities from the virus last spring, we had 120,000. We don’t even expect our government to solve our problems anymore, even as we watch other governments succeed in dealing with the exact same issues. Our alliances are in tatters, and we are hated around the world. And it feels like we all hate each other at home. There are literally hundreds of reports of neighbors attacking each other over political differences that would have barely rated a raised eyebrow thirty years ago. It’s even happening in old folks’ communities in Florida! This has not happened in our history, at least not since the Civil War. Is there any leader out there who has any sort of comprehensive, compelling program to address this profound national crisis? All I saw last fall was ‘I’m not him, vote for me.’ We are headed the way of the Ottomans and the USSR, people. As the Bible says, ‘Without vision, the people perish.’

“And one final point. Look at this stage. Who’s missing? It’s a bunch of affluent white men moderated by an affluent white woman. After the last year of protests, who does the New York Record bring onto a panel to pass judgment on what’s wrong with America? Us.”

The others greeted this with silence, staring forward and down. Kathleen finally broke the pall.

“Would you like the last word, Ned? Any other thoughts about why the Democrats lost, and about the future of the party?”

Ned sat as if puzzled, stroking his chin.

“To be honest, I may have worked my last national campaign, and based on what I’ve seen tonight, that may be a good thing.”

“You’re that demoralized?”

Ned thought for a minute. “I don’t get demoralized. I never was moralized, I guess. I’m a political consultant.”

“They say you advised the Democratic candidate closely, and a lot of people blame you for losing to the President,” Kathleen said.

“I was one of many. I didn’t get my way every time. Ultimately everything is the candidate’s choice, not ours. I’ve never seen a campaign in which the consultants, and the pundits, had such diametrically opposed views on the right strategy, and in which each of them was so completely certain that they were right and the other guys were culpably wrong. At a certain point, you almost have to ask yourself, ‘If I’m going to lose, how would I want to lose?’ Because there was no lead-pipe-cinch strategy for beating this guy. For every one that was proposed, there were hundreds of very intelligent and knowledgeable people who had fifty reasons why it would be the stupidest possible thing to do. ‘Go full-on socialist!’ ‘No, you’ll lose the entire middle of the electorate – do you really want to hand the election to the worst President ever?’ ‘Okay, go for the middle and say to hell with the socialists!’ ‘But the middle has no enthusiasm behind it – do you really want to compromise your principles and lose?’ ‘Run a black person! The African- American vote is the most reliable and important bloc!’ ‘Whoops… all the African-American candidates have already dropped out.’

“And just as we seemed to settle on a candidate, boom, the virus hit, and the campaign got more or less suspended, and then the BLM protests filled the rest of the news hole, and then when the general election campaign came along, it was total chaos. Universal vote-by-mail in Democratic states, where it bought us nothing; but restrictions on vote-by-mail, and mandated in-person voting in Republican-controlled states, including several swing states. Riots at polling places, shutting them down before many Democrats had a chance to vote. Then the President and the First Lady got the virus, and that threw everything for a loop, creating sympathy for this completely unsympathetic man. The overall result was reduced turnout in Democratic areas, apparently uncontrolled but unprovable – and un-investigated – hacking, and the whole thing generally bailing Republicans out right when they looked doomed. And the President succeeded in blaming Democrats for all of the economic devastation. He said ‘I was for opening up.’ And we obviously didn’t have an answer. It was like God pointed his finger at our party and said, ‘You are going to lose no matter what.’ Damnedest thing.”

“So, you feel no personal responsibility for, I don’t know, saving democracy or rule of law?” Jim asked.

Ned considered that for a moment, then said, without a hint of defensiveness, “I don’t think that was my job. There’s got to be somebody way above me for that.”

Walter Jacobs shook his head sadly at this.

“So, what do you think of this presidency? About what might be coming?”

“I think… I think he’s a transitional figure. I think he’s a way-station to something very different. He, or whatever made him, is like a mass-casualty extinction event. The dinosaurs won’t survive this. Only the nimble mammals who can live off the land and who can eat less will make it. We can’t stop him from happening, but we can choose how we handle him. I wouldn’t choose for him to be president, but maybe we can use him as a vehicle to get us to a future we’d rather have.”

“Those dinosaurs needed to be buried in their swamps,” Ban said.

“I think if he’s a transitional figure, it’s a transition to hell on earth,” Jim said, in a low voice.

Ban did not even bother to scoff at this.

“Even in hell, there are local and state elections,” Ned said.

“I think we’ll let that be the last word,” Kathleen said.

© 2020 Nolan O’Brian

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Chapter 21

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.

“McCarthy, let’s keep this between us. I don’t want anyone else knowing I asked for this. Just tell your guys… just tell them it’s a tip you got elsewhere.”

“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.”

There never will be an end, the President thought to himself.

“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.”

“Perfect,” the President said.

“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.

 

© 2020 Nolan O’Brian

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Chapter 22

22

Saturday, January 23, 2021, 9AM, Eastern Standard Time

“Again, what is your name?” the staff doctor at St. Elizabeth’s asked the patient, who was lying in his bed.

The man simply beamed at him.

The doctor sighed.

“Do you remember how you got here?”

The man smiled and stared at him.

“He seems happy here,” the doctor said. “That’s not a good sign for his sanity. Hell, I’m not happy here.”

He turned to the nurse. “What’s his chart look like?” The nurse looked at the tablet in her hand.

“Scooped off the Mall on Wednesday. Disoriented. Some evidence of blunt-force trauma to the head. Some evidence of epilepsy, though that could be from the bonk to the head. Seizures. Possibly schizophrenic.”

Here the patient nodded his head vigorously. The doctor turned to him. “You’re schizophrenic?”

The patient smiled at him, but said nothing.

The doctor turned to the nurse. “Any violent tendencies?”

“None that we have observed.”

“What’s your name? Your NAME?” the doctor asked again. The patient simply nodded.

“Okay,” the doctor said. “Thirty days. John Doe. No identification at all on him?”

“If there ever was,” the nurse said, “I think someone got to it before we could.”

“Okay,” the doctor said. “Let’s check all the hospitals nearby, see if they’re missing anyone. Distinguishing marks…well, there’s that beard. He looks about what? 5’10”? 150 pounds?”

The nurse shrugged in a manner that might be interpreted as assent. The doctor turned back to the patient.

“If you remember your name, let us know,” he said. “Otherwise, enjoy St. E’s.”

The patient simply continued beaming at him.

© 2020 Nolan O’Brian

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Chapter 23

23

Monday, January 25, 2021, 11:45 AM, Moscow Standard Time

It was a normal gray and sleeting January Thursday in Saint Petersburg when the staff of the Internet Research Agency was distracted from its monitors by a loud crash and mumbled fearful apologies. Almost all heads moved in synchrony toward the source of the noise, a group of people gathered near the entrance.

“I’m so sorry,” said Gorsky, the titular manager of the Agency, from a prone position on the ground, after having tripped over a cardboard box in the aisle.

“For god’s sake, Gorsky, get off the ground,” Vyacheslav Viktorovich said, annoyed. “You look even more ridiculous than usual.” He turned back to an impeccably dressed shorter man behind him, framed by two menacing thick-necked security men in bulky suits. “Remind me never to hire in-laws again, Gospodin Prezident.”

Gorsky clumsily got to his feet. “M-m-many welcomes to the Internet Research Agency, uh… s-s-s-sir,” the sweating bald man said in an oleaginous but quavering voice, to the man standing behind Slava Viktorovich. “We are… most honored by your presence. Please, come this way.”

Slava and the President, followed by the two thick-necks, strode imperturbably behind the now visibly limping functionary, ignoring the wide-eyed stares and slack jaws of the mostly youthful people around them, all manning workstations and laptops.

Gorsky turned as they walked on and said, “I apologize… there is no big board or other central display to show our progress, but I assure you it has been great. If we had had more advance notice of your visit we might have been able to pull something together….”

The group reached what appeared to be the functionary’s office, a rather filthy and binder-strewn warren.

The functionary turned with a sad apologetic smile and said, “I only have one chair in my office…”

Slava Viktorovich cut him off. “We only want to talk to Mr. Antonov. He is your star programmer, eh? I understand that in this field, the stars are the ones who matter, no?”

The functionary quavered at this. “We have a very strong team here, which I have the honor of leading, thanks to you, of course, Slava Viktorovich.”

“If you want to continue in that position, you will find us Mr. Antonov and a suitable conference room of less…” he looked around the office with some distaste… “filth, and then you can return to this disgusting place to do whatever it is you do. Unless, of course,” he said, glowering at Gorsky, “you are no longer interested in being employed here.”

“Instantly,” Gorsky replied. “We have a basement conference room that should suit the purpose.”

“Take us there immediately.”

Gorsky escorted the group to an interior stairwell and beckoned for them to follow him.

One of the thick-necks leaned over toward him. “If there is any funny business, no one will miss you.”

“This is the sad truth,” Slava Viktorovich said. “Certainly my sister would not notice for some months.”

Gorsky took all this in with a craven nod and a resigned air. “The conference room is to the right,” he said. “I will go get Mr. Antonov now.”

The rest of the group walked into the room and arranged itself around the conference table, with the President at its head, at the far end of the room, and his two security men flanking him from behind.

“It is rather a dreary and disorganized facility,” the President said.

“Yes,” Slava replied. “If you would like, I can have it cleaned up.”

“Perhaps these computer people require this sort of atmosphere to function most effectively?”

“That’s what they tell me every time I tell them to shovel this place out, though I have a feeling they are simply lazy.”

“The appearance is not of the first importance,” the President said. “Certainly the results of the work have been beyond anything we could have foreseen when we started this – was it seven years ago?”

“Almost. 2014. Yes, Mr. President, the results have been impressive. Naturally I do not take the credit for myself. It was you who made the decision to proceed with this effort; I merely carried out your design. Though I think even you have been surprised at how stunningly effective it has been.”

“I think you are being modest. But it must be admitted that luck has played its part. Who knew a decrepit office building in Olgino would be more fatal a weapon against our enemies than all the arms the Russian nation has ever possessed? Between luck and design, give me luck every time.”

“Luck is always good to have, Vladimir Vladimirovich. But I think some people make their own luck. …Ah, here is Mr. Antonov. Genius escorted by… its opposite. Gorsky, you may take an early lunch.”

“Yes, sir.” Gorsky bowed and backed away from the door, closing it in front of him. From behind the closed door the people in the room could hear a noise that sounded like a human being smashing into something loud and painful, followed by what sounded like the whimperings of a small wounded animal retreating toward the stairs. Antonov slipped into the chair nearest the door, opposite the President.

“The only reason I don’t fire that idiot is, I feel like it would change the luck of this place,” Slava said to no one in particular. “So, Antonov. Do you have any idea why we are here?”

“Not particularly,” Antonov replied. He was thirtyish, with long slack brown hair parted to one side, tinted squarish glasses, and wore a tee shirt that advertised a rock band that was not among the favorites of the regime. The President could not have missed the reference, but as was almost always the case, his demeanor suggested nothing about his attitude toward it or the young man whom it adorned.

“The President has been – I don’t think this word overstates the case – delighted by the work of the Agency, and we have been informed that its latest triumphs have been largely your doing.”

The young man considered this for a second, then began, “No one person could have done this. It was a team effort.”

Slava cut him off. “We don’t have time for fake modesty. What we want to know is how you have achieved these… effects. We’d like a summary of the progress over the past four years. We get summaries from Gorsky, of course, but they are, as you might expect, next to useless. We would like to go to the source, so to speak. So anything you can tell us would be most welcome.”

“Where should I begin?” Antonov asked.

“Tell us how the program has evolved since, let us say, late 2016,” the President suggested.

“Okay,” Antonov said. “That was a little before I joined up, but I can take it from early the following year.”

“Start there, then,” Slava said. “How and why did you join up?”

“I was in Petersburg then, working as a programmer for a secondary gas company. I hated the company, I hated the people, I hated the work, but my girlfriend was here, so I had moved from Moscow to be with her. Then all the news broke about what was going on in Olgino, how a building full of trolls had changed history and disrupted the richest country in the world. That sounded more like fun. Also, it paid better.”

“So you joined as a programmer?”

“No, at first I joined as a simple troll, in January, 2017. New Year’s. At that time, it paid better than coding did. I knew how to Photoshop and make memes. So, I started doing that, targeting various elections and referenda. I seemed to hit a nerve with some of them. Everyone here – except maybe myself – loved that work. They would troll all day, hanging out on HeadSpace and Tooter and all that, talking with American retirees and political malcontents, whipping them up into a frenzy. But it wasn’t my thing. It seemed too easy, but at the same time not very significant. And there were not too many important elections going on. I had missed the big ones, 2016 and Brexit. All the trolls would finish up their shifts, often very late at night to match the American workday, then they would go out drinking till 10AM. They would go on and on about how they had elected the US President, how they’d destroyed his opponent, and how it was too bad I had just missed the big party, and there would never be another one like it.”

“But obviously there was.”

“Yes, eventually. But back then I didn’t see how we’d be able to replicate that success, nor did I think it was my job to do it, frankly. But I went about my job of trolling.”

“This trolling seems to have been tremendously successful once again in 2020,” Slava Viktorovich said.

“I don’t know if we can say it was, or if we would be taking credit for something that was going on anyway in America,” Antonov said. “There was such a ravenous appetite on the part of ‘low-information’ Republican voters for anything that would make their President look good – or far better, make the Democrats seem to be satanic anti-American inhuman beasts – that they were doing a far better job than we ever could have, in my opinion. It was not even like taking candy from a baby. It was more like giving a baby heroin, then watching the baby turn into a drug kingpin overnight, selling more heroin to all the other babies in the country. There was no challenge. After the way the Cold War ended, with the Republicans so proud to have ‘vanquished’ the USSR, now they became willing and eager puppets for us. It was too easy.”

“You have a degree in US-Canada Studies. Odd for a computer person,” Slava said.

“A lot of us started with computers as a hobby,” Antonov answered. “Have to go where the jobs are.”

“Why do you think Republican voters switched to being pro-Russian?” Slava asked him.

“I can only guess. But the Republicans had been accusing Democrats of being traitors, anti-American, anti-God, corrupt, sick, for so long – they even had a list of degrading adjectives to call the Democrats during the 1990s, drawn up by an adulterous Republican Congressman who impeached the Democratic President, essentially, over an affair – that their voters began to believe them, and started to salivate like Pavlov’s dogs at the prospect of new false or exaggerated accusations against Democrats. The insiders knew they were exaggerating, or in many cases, lying, but their constituents had a deep hunger to belong to a tribe, and to hate and want to kill everyone outside their tribe. The Republican party had tapped into something very deep and primal. They were riding a tiger, and they thought they could control it. The rise of ‘conservative’ (really, radical nihilist) political talk radio created a localized network for the metastasis of this mania, and then Wolf News was created. Then, of course, the Internet came upon the scene, and the entire thing became completely pandemic among a certain segment of the population. The capacity for nuance and critical thought was destroyed. You were either with the Republicans, or you were the devil. I wrote my thesis about this period at Moscow State University.”

“Very interesting,” the President said.

“Then this President came on the scene, and he hijacked the whole party. Up to that point, in 2016, there were things Republicans would not say or do. They would not be openly racist, or misogynist, or hateful toward immigrants. It was understood they faced a demographic challenge; the number of white native-born Christian Americans was declining, and they would have to appeal to Hispanics and African-Americans and be less insulting toward women and other marginalized but growing groups. But this President scoffed at all that and started saying things openly that previously had been only ‘dog whistles’ to the substantial racist and hateful element among the Republican base – that, ironically, had, at least in the South, been the old Democratic base back in Jim Crow days. And to the dismay of the other Republican candidates who had been so careful for so long to cover their own tracks and never to be open about their appeals to the haters, it worked! They fell like dominos before this candidate, who had never held office before. …I am sorry, I sometimes get carried away. You must know all this already.”

“Continue,” the President instructed him.

“This tiger the official Republican Party had created and ridden for at least thirty years, the hate that they had stoked and encouraged for their fellow Americans, suddenly turned on them and ate them all,” Antonov said. “Now there was nothing left of the Republican Party but this one man, and hatred of anything the Democrats did or stood for. Even if some of these things had been core values of the Republican Party previously, now they were to be utterly destroyed. Okomocare, for instance, had been cooked up by a Republican ‘think tank’ in the 1990s as a market-oriented way to get universal health care, and had been promulgated in a liberal state by a Republican governor, to universal acclaim. But when a similar program was proposed for the entire nation, consciously as a way of giving Republicans exactly what they wanted, to forestall Republican opposition, then a sudden ‘Tea Party Movement,’ later shown to have been organized and funded by Republican officials (though it certainly became real), arose to scream hatred at Democratic legislators, and opposition to that originally Republican proposal became a Republican article of faith. Okomo continued to try to placate Republicans, of course. He did not understand the game the Republican Party was playing. Their voters had told them that compromise with Okomo would be punished, period, no matter what form it took. He was to be stymied, and if possible, destroyed.”

“Okomo always assumed good faith. He did not understand game theory at all. I would love to have played poker against him. His Syria strategy was…” Slava said, raising his hands as if to indicate complete incomprehension.

“Very true,” Antonov said. “The only people who seemed not to catch on to the new rules of the game were Democrats, and Okomo above all. Ironically, it was his best attributes – his unflappability, his calm demeanor, his refusal to get upset or to think the worst of his opponents – that made it impossible for him to understand that he could never, ever persuade Republicans to work with him. He could not comprehend that logic and facts were useless when it came to them, that their Prime Directive” – he said these last two words in English – “was never ever to be seen negotiating with him.

“To finish, as Okomo was on the way out, the hate was redirected at his would-be successor. She had reached a very high level of admiration as Secretary of State – even a large number of Republicans respected her work. But that changed the instant she announced that she would be running for President again. The Republicans attacked her viciously, especially over the incident where four Americans were killed at a consulate in a war-torn country.”

“The party that got 4,000 Americans killed in Iraq was suddenly upset about 4 Americans killed in another country,” Slava said.

“The Republican Congress held hundreds of hours of hearings on it,” Antonov said. “They held almost no hearings on the Iraq War. In fact, I believe they had held 114 hours of hearings in the 1990s about the Democratic President’s alleged ‘misuse of the White House Christmas card list,’ and something like 3 hours on the entire Iraq War.”

“So, their ratio of outrage was thousands to one: 3 hours of hearings for 4,500 dead and trillions of dollars in expenditures in Iraq, and hundreds of hours of hearings over 4 dead under a Democratic administration,” the President murmured.

“And it worked,” Antonov said. “In 2016, it created just enough doubt in the few undecided voters. Or maybe it was our hacking, or maybe it was the FBI head announcing that there were ‘new emails,’ that turned out much later not to be new at all, a few days before the elections, or maybe it was that she failed to visit two critical rust belt states. But I think it was the Republican outrage factor that caused huge turnout among the base. That thousands-to-one ratio of outrage certainly should give you an idea of how easy it was to play on this Republican hatred of Democrats. Maybe we had swung the election in 2016 with our memes and our trolling, who knows – as many have said, when an election is that close, many things were ‘the’ deciding factor.

“But by 2020, in my opinion, it was just child’s play to get these people to hate Democrats and believe absolutely anything. The real propaganda, the real hate-stoking work had already been done by Republicans and their lunatic fringe, starting 20 years earlier, with Wolf News and talk radio, and anything we were doing was like dropping bombs on the site of a nuclear blast – bouncing the rubble around.

“So, I quickly grew tired of my job, well-paid and easy and amusing though it was. After a month or two of trolling, I was bored and thinking of quitting. The money was good, but I didn’t think it was good for my… for my soul, I guess. It was depressing, frankly. But then one day I was fooling around at home with some hacking software. They wouldn’t let me do this at work, because it wasn’t my job.”

“Gorsky, no doubt?”

“Well, he wasn’t the only one. I could understand. They had numbers to hit – how many grandmothers to get enraged, how many gun nuts to inflame, how many fake events to set up to divide those crazy Americans, how many Tooter bots to unleash. Management needs those targets. It makes sense.”

“But you found a different way to hit those numbers?” Slava asked.

“Well, maybe a different set of numbers to hit. You see, I was fooling around with hacking when by accident I hooked into the computer camera of some guy in New Jersey or Delaware or Maryland, Mid-Atlantic region. I’ve never been to the United States, but I did study it years ago. Anyway, I hooked into the laptop camera of this poor shmo, and suddenly I was seeing things I really did not want to see.”

“When was this?”

“I think it was late March 2017.”

“Just a month in? So, you really had got bored with trolling quickly,” Slava said.

“I think normal people do. Anyway, I shut my laptop right quick and went to sleep. I don’t know if I dreamed it, or it just came to me when I woke up, but the next morning I called in sick and started trying to reverse-engineer how I had hacked into this guy’s camera. It came to me pretty quickly. Then I tried it on other people’s computers. It worked. I switched operating systems and found after a little noodling how to hack into the other one. It was all just curiosity, until I went out that night and was sitting at a bar, and the idea just entered my head fully formed. I left so fast I almost got arrested for not paying my bill. After I smoothed that over, I went home and called in sick again for the next day.”

“And what was the big idea?”

“Well, that was what I figured out the next day. For years the entire Agency had been focused on getting millions of Americans angry with each other, more or less one at a time, almost a retail approach. And it worked well in 2016, as everyone had been telling me over and over. But some of the platforms had put up some defenses against us. Tooter was getting rid of bot accounts pretty efficiently, and eventually even started to crack down on hate speech and conspiracy theories. But aside from all this, I thought, so you spend 45 minutes and succeed in turning some dedushka in Nebraska into a rabid hater? That’s one person. Even a planted fake HeadSpace story may actually convert only a handful of weak-minded or already ideological people. Why not go up the chain, to the top, wholesale? Why not go to the people who actually make policy, and get them to change, maybe permanently?”

“So how would you do this?” the President asked.

“Easily, it turned out. I took my camera-hacking software and I tried it out on the personal computer of a United States Senator.”

“And what happened?”

“Let me show you.” Antonov swiftly hooked his laptop into the projection screen of the conference room. A hazy close-up appeared on the screen of a heavy-lidded middle-aged man. Then the man backed away from the camera, and the picture came into distressing focus. Slava began to laugh.

“Gosbodi,” Slava said.

“Bozhe moi. This is shameful. This is disgusting,” murmured the President.

For a moment, they watched, transfixed. Then the plot took a certain turn, and the two senior men in the room gagged slightly.

“Svyataya mat’,” blurted Slava. “Why is the dog there?”

“Please, switch it off,” the President said.

“Gladly,” Antonov replied.

The men sat silently around the table for a moment, as though they had been struck in the head. Then the President cleared his throat.

“It is obvious that, disgusting though these images are, they have a certain… utility for the motherland. When did you find them, again, precisely?”

“March 2017.”

“And how did you proceed?”

“Well, I went back to work the next day and, after being bawled out for missing two days, I went straight to the head of coding, and I told him I had a powerful new tool for the nation. At first, he did not want to talk to me, because I was not technically in the programmers’ department. But then I showed him what you just saw, right here in this room, and when he was still doubtful, I went right online right here and hacked into the cameras of a few members of the American Congress.”

“With similar results?”

“For some of them.”

“I see. So, what did you do then?” asked Slava.

“We still did not know quite what to do with what we had. So, we went to Mr. Gorsky and asked if he knew anyone who knew about blackmail or ransomware. He told me he did not know about such things and to go back to work.”

“Idiot,” Slava murmured. “Obviously, you did not let him stop you, so tell the President what you did next.”

“We understood that the actual power behind the Agency was Mr. Slava Viktorovich here, and he might be able to assist us in this area.”

“A valid assumption,” the President murmured.

“So, we got in touch with him, and when he heard what we had, he grasped the significance immediately, and flew in on his private jet and came to see us the next day. We did a live demonstration of how we could hack into the American politicians’ computers, and he had brought a cyber expert in to cooperate on how to ‘reach out and touch them,’ as he called it. It took us a week or two, but we were able to contact the Senator you just saw and to, let us say, bend him to our national purposes.”

“This explains a lot,” the President said.

“Yes,” Antonov replied. “He had been violently, publicly opposed to our preferred candidate prior to the 2016 election, insulting him on national television. But starting in late March of 2017, he began to be the number one supporter of the President… their President, that is.”

“Ours too,” Slava said, chuckling.

“Clearly this did not stop with this one man and his dog,” the President said.

“No,” Antonov went on. “Once we had our proof of concept, and our subject was playing golf with the other President and making nice with him, we tried it out on several others who had previously been doubters.”

“This one from Utah,” the President said. “I assume that he was one of the early subjects?”

“Yes,” Antonov replied. “He went rather quickly. I had wondered if the politicians from Utah would be harder to break, because as you may know they have a reputation for being very conservative morally. But it turns out that Utah is both the most religious state, and the number one consumer of online pornography in America.”

“Makes sense,” Slava muttered. “Catholics used to be the most observant Christians, and they were always a bit more… exciting. Certainly the girls.” He seemed to be looking out a nonexistent window, into the distance, toward some sunny Mediterranean shore of his espionage-packed youth.

“And this Senator has changed his attitude?” the President asked.

“He began to positively gush at some events over the virtues of the president. It was almost too much. We had to recalibrate our approach. But he quickly retired after that. I think he got spooked.”

There was a pause as the President stared at the image on the screen, a longtime opponent of all things Russian.

Antonov continued. “After doing him and a handful of others, we thought it over, and decided to ‘flip the script,’ as they say in America. We realized that if we could either create our own porn channel or take one over, this entire process could be streamlined.”

“And this is where our friend Slava became very useful, I think,” the President said.

“Exactly so, Gospodin Prezident. Because it turned out that he essentially already had control of the largest Internet pornography site in the world, we could simply insert our software into their servers and we would have a blackmail capability over tens of millions of people the world over. Of course, it had to be done in such a way as not to get out of our control, or we might lose our monopoly because the technology would be taken over by gangsters – my apologies, Mr. Viktorovich.”

“No offense taken, dear boy.”

“So, we had to bring the FSB into the process. But after a brief delay, things moved right along and we had material on a large number of senators and congressmen. By this time, we had figured out how to hack into phone cameras, which greatly facilitated our work. One of the ancillary benefits of working with the FSB, of course, was that it made Mr. Gorsky stop asking questions.”

“My sister, his wife, also enjoys that benefit. I wonder if the FSB was involved with that as well.”

The President interjected. “So over whom have you obtained leverage?”

“At first, we thought that Democrats might be the best targets, since they still tend to oppose our interests vigorously. But after we explored some of them, and then discussed our priorities, we decided that Republicans should be our first and major targets. Blackmailing all or most of the Republicans would ensure that their President would have complete control over his party. The other issue was that Democrats seem to care slightly less about being seen in compromising positions. Republican officeholders seem to have many more secrets than the average American, and far more concern about projecting an image of traditional morality.”

“Even with that President?” the President said, smiling.

“Even so. Apparently, while he is seen to be immune to even the most disgusting and provable gossip, his political allies do not have the same confidence in their own ability to withstand scrutiny. They have shown themselves to be most pliant when presented with video of their transgressions. Of course, we have pursued a number of Democrats who have been targets of opportunity, to foment division in their ranks between ‘Progressives’ and ‘moderates.’ But mainly it has been the Republicans.”

“Why have they not turned their cameras off or covered them or otherwise disabled them?”

“We have threatened them with retaliation if they do not keep their cameras operational and pointed towards whatever we think we want to see.”

“Have they any idea who is blackmailing them?”

“I do not think so, not yet, though one can never be sure. Their efforts to defund all intelligence programs aimed at combating our interference in elections quite obviously plays a role in this regard. They simply do not want any investigation into their own computers, because we have threatened them with exposure if they even attempt to investigate it. So, you see them absolutely smothering any attempts on the part of the intelligence community to increase their computer security and the like. It’s rather humorous, when you think about it.”

“So,” the President said. “You now have effective control over much of the Republican Party in Congress?”

“I would not say ‘control,’ it is something blunter than that. But yes, we have a large degree of influence over some otherwise very powerful people.”

“What of the President and the White House?”

“The White House is a little more difficult to hack into. We have succeeded in penetrating the computers of a number of the President’s advisers, particularly those with international or military positions. You may have noticed that many of his senior administration officials have left after serious ruptures with this President, but almost none of them went public with anything that could be described as truly damaging to him until far too late. Many American analysts have wondered why all these people, many of them patriots and military officials who have sworn oaths to the Constitution, not to the President, have been so reticent about criticizing him after leaving. Some think it is the nondisclosure agreements they have signed, which is an innovation of questionable legality pioneered by this administration. Others simply think it is some sort of old-fashioned sense of honor among public servants. I would like to think it has been, at least in some cases, the result of our hard work here.”

“Why have you concentrated so much on America? Most others here are focused on Ukraine and our other enemies in Georgia, the Baltics, the European Union. Why America?”

“I suppose, Gospodin Prezident, it is because I studied America, and the English language, in school.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because my family went through very hard times in the 1990s, and it seemed clear that America was a large part of the cause. My father was trained as an economist under the Soviet Union, but when the collapse came, the country was flooded with American economists promising instant transformation and prosperity. Instead we were poorer than ever before, and my father, who could not find a job in this new ‘shock doctrine’ economy, drank himself to death. I wanted to take some revenge on this country for what they did to my family. I find great satisfaction in how easily they have been turned against one another, how easily they fell into our trap. No matter what we do now, we can be sure that Republicans will be on our side, simply because Democrats are against us. They are permanently divided and weakened. I hope this has served the state.”

“It is quite impressive.”

Slava interjected: “Tell him the name of the operation.”

Antonov blinked. “Well… it’s not the official name or anything.”

“Tell him what you call it.”

“Well, internally, among ourselves, we started to call it ‘Operation O Face.’”

The President shifted in his seat and turned his head almost imperceptibly toward Slava Viktorovich.

“Unfortunately, we must leave now, as we have other business to attend to,” the President said. “Tell me, can you come to the Senate Building in Moscow and set my computer up to be able to monitor these people?”

“Yes, Gospodin Prezident.”

“If possible, I would like you to get into the other President’s laptop.”

“His phone would be much more useful. He apparently never uses computers.”

“His phone, then.”

“It may take some time, but I think it is within our abilities. If I had more time, I would detail some ideas we have had about how we might extend our blackmail scheme to the broader public. It is sort of another ‘flip the script.’ We started by shifting to the big guys from the small ones, but now the technology we have used on the elites can be turned on the society as a whole. We used to have to influence these people one at a time, or at best in small groups; we may have swung the last election in this way alone. But now we can dispense with bots. We can force an army of blackmailed Americans to broadcast whatever we want via Tooter or HeadSpace or any other social media channel we wish, and no one will be able to say it is not real people doing this.”

“Very interesting. We may discuss this further at some point.”

“Thank you, Gospodin Prezident.”

“Slava, shall we?”

The President rose from his chair. Antonov got up. Slava motioned to the two security agents, and they followed the president toward the door. Antonov moved to the other long side of the table so as not to impede their progress, and watched as the four visitors walked out the door and started up the stairs.

As the President walked up the stairs, Slava asked him, “Well, what do you think?”

The President replied, “Slava Viktorovich, this is a most dangerous tool. I think I would like this young man observed. At a discreet distance, of course. But constantly and without pause. I expect regular reports.”

“I was going to suggest the same thing, Vladimir Vladimirovich.”

“I also would like a briefing on our separate Deep Fakes effort, preferably within a month.”

Da, Gospodin Prezident.”

The party reached the huge black-tinted utility vehicle. The doors opened from inside, and two further security men held the doors for their honored guests, and then got in beside them. The other two got into the front seats, and they all drove off toward the Congress Palace in what the President still thought of as Leningrad.

After a moment a look of consternation furrowed the President’s brow.

“Slava…was that a collie?”

 

© 2020 Nolan O’Brian

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Chapter 24

24

Monday, January 25, 2021, 12 PM, Eastern Standard Time

“Welcome back, Nick,” the President said as his old campaign manager entered the Oval Office. His guest teared up and made as if to hug him. The President backed away.

“Things have changed since you were away, Nick,” the President said. “The vi-rus.” His mouth widened as he pronounced this word, and he extended the “s” sound at the end. “Can’t be too careful. Get him a mask and holster, Mrs. Johnson.”

“Yes, sir,” said the woman who had brought the guest into the Oval Office. She quickly returned with the requisite equipment.

The guest looked a bit stricken by his host’s inability to accept his sincere gratitude, as well as his insistence on sterilizing himself in his presence.

Nick Mancuso had managed the President’s campaign in 2016, for a brief but critical period. He had been fired by the President at a low moment for the campaign, and also at a point at which some of his seamier connections in other countries looked likely to surface in a way that might further damage his candidate. Bill Ruppert had had him dragged out of his condo at 5 in the morning, and he had only been back at his house for a few months since his several trials on charges of tax and bank fraud, defrauding the United States, witness tampering, and several other things.

These crimes, for which he was ultimately convicted, paled in comparison to some other gangsterish activities for which he was rumored to be culpable. He had been housed at taxpayer expense from the middle of his second trial, when he was found to be violating the terms of his plea agreement, until a year and a half later, when nonviolent criminals had been released into house arrest due to the virus; he had not left his home, or jail, other than to travel between those two places, for almost three years.

Until less than a day after the President won his second term. One of the President’s first post-election acts was to pardon Nick Mancuso for any and all acts he might have committed for his entire life. He was pardoned even before the members of the President’s family, and the message was clear: If you stand tall and don’t rat, the President will take care of you…eventually, when it isn’t too inconvenient.

And those who cooperated with Ruppert, or the President’s other investigators, in any way, would be left to rot in prison.

“Squirt and rub, Nick,” the President said. His old henchman looked at those around him, who were doing just that, and slowly complied.

“Now the mask,” the President said.

Nick looked at him disbelievingly, then at the others, who had already put their masks on. Then he slowly put the mask on.

“So how was prison, Nick? It looks like it was tough. I’ve only seen movies. You look fifteen years older.”

Nick looked at the President.

“I thought I was going to die in there,” he said, his gravelly voice muffled by the mask.

“Well now you’re back, and the slate’s clean. And I’m past the virus. All good.”

Nick nodded slowly.

“So I’m recovering, which means America’s recovering. And this,” the President said, “is the revenge tour.”

“Revenge tour?” Nick said.

“I’m going to get even with everyone who crossed me the first term. They ruined everything. And that means you get to get even with the people who put you away. We’ve got plans for them.”

Nick stared at the President above his mask. “You mean Ruppert?”

“Among others.”

“I want Ruppert,” Nick Mancuso said. “I want to be there when he goes down. He took my life from me.”

“Well we’ll have to look into that then.”

Nick smiled grimly under his mask.

“Thanks, boss.”

“My pleasure. Least I could do.”

“Thanks, boss,” Nick said again. A tear appeared at his eye and rolled down onto his mask.

 

© 2020 Nolan O’Brian

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Chapter 25

25

Tuesday, January 26, 2021, 3:00 PM Eastern Standard Time

Jane trudged down the highway access road back toward her family’s rented house, her mask draped around her neck, on top of her medallion, in the absence of other people. Her father had halfheartedly offered her a ride to the Free Clinic to get tested for the virus the previous Wednesday, but she had told him it was unnecessary, that she felt better, and that she was sure she did not have the virus. He had not taken much persuading to return to his laptop and his political obsessions.

Similarly, today, her father had offered her a ride. But today she really wanted some exercise and to get outdoors after a week in bed, and also to figure out what was actually wrong with her. Walking long distances was not something that she disliked; she had run track in high school. The steady rhythm of her feet on pavement helped to shuffle her thoughts into order.

She was 18 years old; she would be 19 in July. She had (non-) graduated from high school some eight months earlier, with average grades, into a pandemic world, without a four-year-college acceptance or a job waiting for her.

She had responded to the sudden suspension of regular life with further withdrawal into silence, into her room, into an on-line world. The virus had helped to justify her already withdrawn personality. Before it hit, her mother would ask her far too often, “Why don’t you go out, be with your friends?”

Jane had almost no friends; she was pretty sure that her mother at least suspected that, but “Go be with your friends” was one of the many things her mother said that seemed to Jane to be just something mothers were expected to say.

Jane endured these attempts at penetrating her inner sanctum without yielding to them in any real way. She sensed that her mother actually feared finding out what was going on in Jane’s life, and it was obvious why.

Her mother had spent the past five years, since her brother’s suicide, radiating anxiety onto her. It was as though there was a neon sign in the house that flashed “DO NOT KILL YOURSELF” every second her mother was there.

As she walked, she thought of Hamlet, one of the few things from high school that had really stuck with her. The part where Hamlet’s friends are trying to spy on him for his mother and stepfather, and he shows them a flute or something and tells them to make music on it, and they say they can’t, and then Hamlet says “But you would pluck out the heart of my mystery? Do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe?”

That’s what she felt like saying to her mother every time she came into Jane’s room and began to try to ingratiate herself using whatever latest pretext she had for coming into her room.

She got along with her dad; mainly, she had to admit to herself, because, unlike her mother, he pretty much left her alone, and that was because he had turned into a “political animal,” as even he called himself. Lately he had been snarling about a “Black Lives Matter” sign on their next-door neighbors’ lawn.

“All lives matter,” he said. “They’re just trying to say ‘We’re not racist, but maybe our neighbors are.’”

A day or two later, the sign was gone, and she had found a mangled, twisted “Black Lives Matter” sign in their trash in the garage. She thought about asking her father about it, but decided against it. Then the neighbors had put up another “Black Lives Matter” sign, around the day of the Inauguration. That one had also disappeared since then. A “We Stand With the President” sign had disappeared from their own lawn at some point in the last few weeks, and though her father had fulminated against the neighbors over that, Jane personally thought it might have been taken by a teenaged neighbor boy for his bedroom wall. She was amused at the back-and-forth between the two houses. She thought her father was funny; she still liked him.

It was not fair, though, Jane thought. She really should resent her father, the failure, the recovering addict, the architect of their downfall. Paradoxically, though, it was his very self-absorption that made him seem to her to be more natural, less forced, even occasionally fun. Maybe it was something they taught in 12-step programs about not worrying about things you couldn’t control. Maybe it was that he simply could no longer make himself vulnerable to the possibility of another such loss.

Maybe her mom was actually the tough one, because it was obvious how much she cared. But both parents clearly had problems reaching her on any real level. Her mom was so busy keeping the family in one piece that she didn’t have time for real connection. Her dad was less busy, and therefore more available; at the same time, since he was less interested in her as a problem, and was obsessed by other things, he was closer to being a friend than a parent. That made him easier to deal with, but probably less of a father.

Her mother seemed to understand this, at a gut level. She seemed glad that Jane and Jeff got along. She probably thought it was far better than the alternative. And she did generally respect Jane’s space. It was only at moments when the fear that Jane might do what her brother did began to outweigh her exhaustion that Mary invaded. But if something really was wrong with Jane, Jane thought, even her mom probably would not be able to handle it. Despite her mother’s oft-repeated refrain of “You know you can tell me anything,” Jane knew her brother had taken any right Jane had to be a normally miserable teenager with him to his grave.

So, Jane was glad that her father had not gone to the trouble of driving her mother to work again today, so that he would then be able to drive her to the doctor. Her mother liked having the car, Jane knew. And Jane was happy to be out of the house and away from parental scrutiny. Everybody is happy. Jane smiled at the thought. So happy…

Jane passed by the elementary school that marked the halfway point of her journey from the clinic. She had not attended that school; her grade-school days had been elsewhere, during more chaotic times. Many of her middle-school and high school classmates had gone there, however. She had always wondered about the school. Was it the reason so many of her classmates seemed so much more confident, so much happier?

But more recently, the school reminded her of the first election in which she had been eligible to vote, just over two months before. That had indeed been chaotic.

She fingered her MK medallion as she recalled the scene on November 3.

***

Her father had parked the Buick several blocks from the elementary school, which served as their polling place, and they had gotten out and shut the doors.

Their voting district had a large proportion of minorities compared to the rest of their slightly Republican state. Rumors of a rebound in the rate of infections and deaths from the virus were seemingly everywhere. Yet the line to vote was almost a mile long. People seem pretty determined to vote, Jane thought.

Her father, who was ineligible, had brought her to vote more or less for him. He had spent much of the previous few months impressing upon her how important it would be to re-elect the President and all Republican candidates. Jane was not political, but she liked her father, and wanted to please him. But she was taken aback at the line of voters that stretched out from the school, most but not nearly all socially distanced from one another.

“Why is the line so long?” Jane asked her father.

“Well, it’s a long story,” her father had said. “Between you and me, this precinct has a history of radical Democrat voting patterns.” He grinned conspiratorially. “I think the governor has decided that maybe they don’t need as many voting machines as some of the more solid districts.”

“But,” Jane said, slowly, “isn’t that unfair?”

“Life isn’t fair,” Jeff said, winking. “The Democrats would do the same thing if they had the chance, believe me.”

After a few minutes, Jeff waved to someone who had exited the school, far ahead.

“I know that guy. He’s a Republican election observer. I’m going to go talk to him, see what’s going on,” Jeff told her. “Save my place?”

“Sure,” Jane said.

Jeff turned to the people behind him in line. “I’m going to be back,” he said. “My daughter is saving my place in line.” The people behind him barely reacted. Jeff walked to the front of the line and followed his acquaintance, a fit, freckled man with a military hairstyle, into the school.

Jane stood in the line as it moved forward almost imperceptibly. After five minutes or so her father returned.

“There’s been some trouble,” he said.

“What kind of trouble?”

“Vote fraud,” Jeff said, under his breath. “Lots of non-citizens voting. Also, people without medallions are coughing on healthy people. Looks like it’s well-organized. The election observers are arguing with the judges, saying maybe they should shut the place down.”

“But I want to vote,” she said. “It’s my first time.”

“And I want you to vote, because I can’t,” Jeff said. “But we can’t let the Antifa people rig this election.”

Jane looked around her. She did see a lot of people in black masks, and she also saw a fair number of people without MK medallions.

“Sometimes the greater good is served when some people make a sacrifice,” Jeff said.

“Like in a war?”

“Exactly. This is a kind of war,” her father replied.

After half an hour, the line had reached the door, and Jeff held it open by leaning on it as they waited. There seemed to be an argument going on inside the voting area.

“These people are not citizens,” someone was yelling. “And they’re here to spread the virus.”

Jane stuck her head inside the door and saw the man her father had previously pointed out. He was a burlier, scarier man than he had appeared from farther away.

“This is vote fraud going on here,” the man said. He was not wearing a mask, but he did have an MK medallion hanging from a lanyard around his neck.

“Please maintain social distancing,” an elderly female election judge said.

“Fuck social distancing,” the man said. “These people have no medallions. And they are not citizens. This is vote fraud.”

“Maybe we ought to slow things down,” another election judge, a heavy-set middle-aged white man, said.

“Goddamn right,” the military-looking observer said.

A Hispanic-looking man in line spoke up at this point.

“We want to vote,” he said, from behind his mask.

“Why don’t you have a medallion?” the military-looking man asked loudly, moving closer to the Hispanic man.

“It don’t come in the mail,” the Hispanic man said. “Why you no wear a mask?”

The military man held up his MK medallion and said, “Because I am disease-free, and a citizen,” he shouted. “Can you prove you are?”

“I am citizen,” the Hispanic man said. “And you need six feet from me, please.”

“I’m disease-free,” the military man said. “If you want to stay six feet from me, I suggest you back off. It’s probably someone like you gave the President the virus.”

“I am in line to vote,” the man said. “It is my right.”

“‘Eet eez my right,’” the military-looking man said mockingly. “Non-American citizens don’t have any rights in my country.”

“Ee’s my country,” the Hispanic man said. “My country too.”

At this the military-looking man got right in the Hispanic man’s face. He was at least half a head taller than the Hispanic man. “Please! Six feet,” the Hispanic man said.

The male election judge got on the phone. “Police, we have a disturbance here at Montgomery Elementary.”

“What did you say?” the military man said.

“I say, six feet,” the Hispanic man said.

“Leave him alone,” another voter, a masked and medallioned white man standing behind the Hispanic man, said.

“You’re defending this illegal?” the military-looking man said, his freckled face now red with rage.

“Everyone has a right to vote, and you’re making a disturbance,” the other man said.

“What are you, Antifa?”

“I’m a Republican,” the other man said.

Over the next few minutes, Jane and her father watched this confrontation escalate from the door of the school. When the first punch was thrown, Jane was aghast. When several other voters standing in line also began swinging, her father was tensed up as if he was about to join the fray.

“Dad,” Jane said. He looked at her and relaxed a bit.

A minute later the police showed up in full riot gear. They began grabbing the combatants and dragging them out. Jane and her father had already been forced outside the school by the entry of the cops. When pepper spray began to sting their eyes, her father pulled her away from the school. A stampede of would-be voters followed them, rubbing their eyes and gagging.

“I don’t think you’re going to be voting today,” her father said.

The police dragged the military-looking instigator out. One of the cops asked the other, “I didn’t use any pepper spray, did you?” The other simply shook his head. Jane thought she saw the muscled, freckled “poll watcher” wink at her father, though that might have been the tear gas. She turned to Jeff to see him grinning.

“What’s… funny?” she asked.

“Ah, nothing,” Jeff said. “Are you okay?”

“My eyes hurt a little, and my nose is running,” she said. “Are you really saying I can’t vote?”

“Do you have a gas mask?” he said. At that moment, they saw the two election judges staggering away from the school entrance. Jeff handed Jane a tissue.

“How did you know that guy?” Jane asked, blowing her nose.

“Oh, just from around,” Jeff said, still grinning as he blew his own nose. “On-line, mostly.”

“He meant to do that,” Jane said.

“Do what?” Jeff said.

“He meant to stop people voting here,” Jane said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jeff said. But he was still grinning.

That night, the news had a number of stories of long lines and unrest at polling places. All of them appeared to be in heavily Democratic areas; many of those polling places were unable to secure their ballots before being evacuated “for safety reasons.” In some cases, it was someone coughing all over would-be voters; in other cases, it was an altercation like the one they had seen; in others, groups of armed white men stood near the polling places, intimidating voters into leaving; in others, there had been phoned-in bomb threats. There were also reports of Postal Service failures to deliver ballots, mail-in ballots being dumped into landfills or burnt, and Democrats impotently protesting Republican election officials’ refusal to wait until all mailed ballots had been counted. Jane had seen her father grinning through all the reports.

By the time the President came on much later that night to declare victory, her mother had gone to bed hours before. Her father had jumped up and punched the air in exultation as the President, seemingly fully recovered from the virus, grinned and nodded to a very distant adoring crowd.

Jane was happy that her father was happy, but she felt a deep sense of unease. Why didn’t I get the chance to vote? she thought. Why didn’t that Hispanic man? Something seemed off about the entire thing.

***

Well, Jane thought, as she reached the front door of their house, maybe next time.

She looked over at the neighbor’s lawn. Another Black Lives Matter sign had been put up. Dad won’t be happy about that, she thought.

© 2020 Nolan O’Brian

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Chapter 26

26

Wednesday, January 27, 2021, 11AM Eastern Standard Time

“So, did you find this guy?” the President asked the masked Director of the Secret Service, who had just taken his seat in front of the President’s desk. The Director was relieved that the President had launched straight into the subject of the alleged stalker; maybe he had forgotten all about the idea of a new security detail.

“I can’t say we have found the precise person you described, Mr. President,” Director McCarthy said his voice muffled by the mask.

“That’s unacceptable,” the President said.

“We did find a number of people who satisfied some of the elements of the description you gave us,” the Director said, “but none who matched the whole thing.”

“Well who did you come up with?”

“I have some photos taken from our video surveillance,” the Director said. “Perhaps you can give me some guidance as to whether any of these people look like the man you are speaking of.”

“Bring ’em here.”

The Director got up and brought a folder over to the President’s side of the desk. The President squirted sanitizer on his hands and rubbed them before picking the folder up. He opened it and began going through the pictures.

“No. No… Not this guy. No. No…no…no… What’s the story with this one?”

“Uh, from what we have learned, until recently he was out there every day. He set up a table and he had white signs in marker arrayed around him. He is currently in a mental hospital. Our sources indicate that he may be suffering from schizophrenia or some other mental deficit.”

The President stared intently at the picture. The bearded man sat at a table in front of the fence, on the paved area in front of Lafayette Park, slightly toward the right as you looked at him from the White House. He was surrounded by many white signs, not just one. They were densely and neatly block-lettered in black marker. He could not quite make out what they said, but they looked a bit crazy.

He turned his attention to the man’s appearance. He seemed too young to be THE guy. His hair did not seem to be gray, nor was it the very long hair he recalled. And he was not exactly right in front of the church. But he was toward that direction, and he had a long beard. Could it be?

He shuffled through the rest of the deck of photos. None of the others seemed remotely to fit the description.

“Do you recognize anyone?” the Director asked.

“Not really,” the President said. “Keep looking.”

“You seemed to be interested in that one,” the Director said. “Did he ring any bells?”

“I’m not sure,” the President said. “But keep an eye on him.”

“He was at the Inauguration,” the Director said.

“Really?”

“Yes, sir. He was picked up there and taken to St. Elizabeth’s Hospital.”

“The nuthouse?”

“The, uh, mental facility, sir, yes. I had two of our agents go to see him yesterday.”

“Huh,” said the President. “Okay, keep on this guy. I want reports. Come back next Wednesday,” the President said. “I want to see anything else that looks like what I told you, too. Especially at night.”

“Yes sir.” The Director reached out for the folder.

“I’ll keep this,” the President said. “Maybe something will jog my memory.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Next week,” the President said.

“Next week, sir. Same time?”

“Same time.”

The President pulled his phone out. He saw a Toot he liked. Instantly he hit the ReToot button.

–<() The Angry Okomo Judges are trying to Steal your Election! Don’t let them do it!

ReTooting: RightWingRageManster

These three Democrat judges have schemed for years to impose their Socialist Democrat Nazi agenda on us and our families and children. They WILL take away our guns and Holy Bibles if we don’t stop them! Second Amendment Remedies were created for this type of situation! #DontTreadOnUs #TakeThemDown

 

© 2020 Nolan O’Brian

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Chapter 27

27

Wednesday, January 27, 2021, 12PM Central Standard Time

“You’re better than this guy,” Mike said, cradling a beer as he and Pete watched Wolf News on mute at the Bank Street Bar and Grill.

“Huh?”

“You,” Mike said. “You’re better than this guy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look at what he’s saying,” Mike said. “He’s saying the House Minority Leader is a liar who didn’t actually pray for him when he got the virus.”

“Maybe he’s right,” Pete said.

“Maybe,” Mike said. “But let’s not bullshit around. He never responds to criticism with anything but whining and personal attacks. He takes everything personally. It’s all about him. Whine, whine, whine. Oh my god, the whining. Everyone’s out to get him. You are the opposite of that. How can you stand the constant whining?”

“Maybe I don’t have to whine because he’s whining for me.”

Mike considered this.

“I don’t buy it. He’s the opposite of you in every way. You served, he dodged the draft. You’re a useful member of the community, he’s a self-serving phony. You believe in God – you do, right?”

Pete took a swig of his drink.

“My religion is my business.”

“See? He panders to the evangelicals, and you can tell every time they are laying hands on him that his skin is crawling. He hates them. But he pretends to believe, so they keep electing him. If he gets a third term, it’ll be because of them. But he can’t stand them. He clearly does not believe in God.”

“Now how do you know that?”

“Come on. It’s obvious. I may be a backslid Catholic altar boy, but I know my New Testament. Some interviewer asked him in 2016 if he had ever asked God for forgiveness. He said, and I’ll give him credit for honesty there, ‘I don’t think I have.’ He said something like, ‘I don’t bring God into that picture, I just try to do better after.’ He also said he doesn’t think he’s done much of anything wrong. This is a guy who’s cheated on three wives.”

“And Democrats are so much more holy?”

“Democrats would never say, ‘I have never done anything wrong.’ I mean, even Republicans never say stuff like that. He’s the only one.”

“Have you ever asked God for forgiveness?”

“Not in a long time,” Mike admitted. “Of course, the conventional man-in-the-sky- with-flowing-beard doesn’t do it for me. But I would never say I’ve never done anything wrong. I’ve committed most of the sins. I’m divorced. I have regrets.”

“Well, there you go.”

“No, there I don’t go. The President never has regrets. And I think that’s very dangerous. Like I said, you’re better than this guy.”

“I like a guy with confidence.”

“Confidence is great if it’s warranted. This is a guy who is confident that all that is good and true lines up perfectly with what makes him personally feel like a big man, and anything that hurts his image in any way is evil and must be attacked. I don’t think you believe that.”

Pete stared at the television screen in silence.

“And that brings up another weird thing about this guy. Democrats say he lies all the time. The newspaper published all his supposed lies. What are they up to now, 23,000? Why am I asking you? You don’t read the liberal-biased press.”

“That I do not. I don’t have time to read all that shit.”

“Lucky for you I’m around.”

Pete made a scoffing sound, and then took another swig.

“Anyway, I’m actually going to say something in defense of your guy,” Mike said.

“I don’t know if I’d call him ‘my guy.’”

“Well, you said you voted for him, so, how about, ‘the guy you voted for.’”

Pete didn’t react to this.

“Okay, Democrats are always saying he lies. But I don’t know if we can call them lies. Because I don’t think he ever thinks in terms of truth or falsehood. He never gets to that issue. If it makes him look good, then it’s ‘true.’ If it makes him look bad, it’s ‘false.’” Mike made quote marks in the air to emphasize the words “true” and “false.”

Still no response from Pete.

“Now stay with me, because I have another hypothesis about this guy. I think you’re going to like it. Now we know he’s been involved with pro wrestling for a long time, right?”

Pete continued to stare at the TV screen.

“Now, let me ask you this. You’ve been a fan of pro wrestling over the years, right?”

Pete shifted in his seat.

“Where is this going?” Pete said. “Is there a point buried in here somewhere?”

“My point is coming,” Mike said. “Now, when you are watching pro wrestling, do you believe it’s true? On the level? That it’s not fixed?”

“Oh my god, what are you going to tell me next? There’s no Santa Claus?”

“No, of course there’s a Santa Claus. Stay with me. Now when you are watching pro wrestling, are you concerned with whether the Iron Sheik really hates Randy ‘Macho Man’ Savage?”

“Jesus, you are such an elitist ignoramus. The Iron Sheik never fought the Macho Man.”

“Whatever. When you were watching the Iron Sheik,” Mike said, “Did you believe he really hated the guy he was wrestling? Did you give a damn about the reality?”

“Okay,” Pete said. “I’ll bite. No, I did not give a damn about the reality. It was entertainment.”

“But you got pretty revved up over those matches, as I recall.”

“Sure I did. It was fun to cheer the guy who was the Face, who stood for America, and boo the other guy, the heel, who hated America.”

“Even if he didn’t really hate America.”

“Sure.”

“So you like rooting for something, and maybe even better, rooting against something and fake-hating it.”

“Sure. What’s your point?”

“I think that’s a big part of the secret to the President.”

“What?”

“I think he realized that a large part of the American electorate had started to see politics as just another form of pro wrestling, with ‘good guys’ and ‘bad guys.’ And that part of the electorate had a deep need to show allegiance for something they saw as good, and hatred of something they saw as bad, because life was just getting too complicated and confusing for them. They needed to find a ‘face.’ Example: at the last minute, when he’s losing horribly, he ‘gets the virus,’ and so does his wife, who, let’s face it, is probably not spending a lot of time close to this guy. He knew the cues that would cause that group to love his ass like some all-American ‘face,’ and how to portray the other side as the Iron Sheik or the heel or whatever.”

“Duh, Professor.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly rocket surgery. But I think most of us liberals and Democrats these days think that people should be rational. There is reality, and facts, and truth, and if we can show that pro wrestling is rigged, well, then, you people should stop watching it. I think that’s why we’ve lost everything. People’s need to be entertained and to believe in something simple and appealing is far deeper than their desire to know the truth. They want a team, and they want that team to win, and maybe even more, they want the other team to lose and be humiliated, because they’ve been humiliated, because their lives have not turned out the way they expected and the way they think they deserved, and they see people who look like the Iron Sheik moving into their neighborhood and getting the American Dream that they thought was theirs alone.”

Pete considered this.

“I think you might be onto something. …But you’re saying I think politics is pro wrestling?”

“That’s why I began this whole diatribe by saying I think you’re better than this guy.”

“But you think I don’t care about reality.”

“Maybe less than you care about winning, and about signaling that you are on the right side.”

“You don’t care about winning, or being on the right side?”

“I care about both of those things. I just think reality is too complicated to break into ‘good’ and ‘bad’ sides. Though I have to admit, that’s getting easier and easier for me the last 5 years.”

“So, you like the Iron Sheik?”

“I don’t know who the fuck that even is. I just think if we keep treating elections like Wrestlemania, we are going to be in deep trouble. I think the real Iron Sheiks are in Moscow and Beijing and on Wolf News and on Wall Street and Silicon Valley. These powerful bad people have noticed that we are suckers for entertainment and simplistic good guy/bad guy stories, and they are delivering them, and we are swallowing them whole, and America is crumbling because we can’t agree on readily provable facts, like Russia wanted the President elected in 2016, and re-elected in 2020.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“I can prove it for 2016. You just didn’t want to hear it, because it made the President look bad. But you’re right about 2020, because every intelligence official who could have proved Russia wanted your guy elected has been fired or quit under pressure. We have no professional intelligence capability anymore. The President has dismantled it, because the President cannot abide anyone saying that evil anti-American people wanted him to remain President.”

Pete made a scoffing noise as Mike leaned back in his chair. Mike paused for a moment and then began again.

“So, we have a President whose relationship to the truth is purely about what makes him feel like a big man and makes his enemies – he doesn’t have opponents, he only sees them as enemies – look bad. He’s grasped the fact that America, in its decadent declining-wealthy phase, feels like it has the luxury of treating politics, which the Founders considered a noble and vital vocation and the duty of every citizen, as if it was some cheap spectacle that cannot possibly have the slightest impact on their lives if they get it wrong, like pro wrestling or ‘Dancing with the Stars.’ Just another fix for their addiction to expressing passionate phony allegiances. For that matter, just another spectator sport.”

Pete remained impassive.

“Anyway, I think you’re better than that. I think you are better than this guy, in every way. He’s a terrible father; you’re a good one. He’s a three-times unfaithful husband; I think you’re a pretty damned good one. You pay your debts; he stiffs his small contractors. You treat people with respect; he steps on them and bad-mouths them. You’re a strong, silent guy; he’s a bully. You never complain or whine – unlike me, I might add; he whines constantly. You served in the military; he dodged. You’re honest and have some commitment to reality; he’s a compulsive liar, or maybe he’s a sociopath who doesn’t even understand the concept of truth or falsehood, which for the country may be worse. You give a shit about the future you’re handing off to your kids; I doubt he values his kids for anything other than how they make him look. You respect women; he molests them – come on, you know that’s true. Shit, even your hair is more honest and noble than his – whatever the fuck that thing is on his head, trying to pretend he’s not going bald. You’re too good for this mugwump.”

Silence from Pete.

“But my side fell down on the job. They didn’t realize the game was pro wrestling. They didn’t realize they had to run a ‘face’ and make the President the ‘heel.’ My side didn’t realize it was all kayfabe.”

“Kayfabe?”

“That’s what the pro wrestling guys call what they do. ‘Worked’ events. The portrayal of staged, pre-planned events as true, natural things. Basically, reality TV. Which of course is the least reality-based thing in the world, and is exactly where we got this guy.”

“What are you, Webapedia?”

“I might have looked some of this up on my phone while I was talking. Like ‘kayfabe.’”

Janet approached them with two baskets of food.

“Wednesday Taco Day,” she said. “Three each?”

“Yeah,” Pete said. “Thank you. How you doing?”

Janet shrugged. “Kid’s sick. Otherwise, same old same old. You?”

“We’re okay,” Pete replied. “We all had that virus or whatever it was. I think it might have killed my dad last year, but he was on the way out anyway, I think.”

“Shit,” Janet said. “I’m sorry.”

“But you shouldn’t worry about your daughter. It doesn’t kill young people, I don’t think.”

Janet knocked on the bar twice with her fist.

“You seen Angelo?” Mike asked.

“I ain’t seen him this week,” Janet said. “Works for me. His coughing drives away my business.”

Janet nodded toward Mike and asked Pete, “This one buggin’ you with his diatribes?”

Pete looked at Mike and grinned.

“I think he thinks if he convinces me of something, then they’ll go back and change the results of the election.”

Mike laughed.

“Okay,” he said. “No more lecturing from me. Even though the whole point of what I was saying is, you’re a good guy. But okay, I’ve learned my lesson. You’re a piece of shit.”

Mike held up his drink and they clinked glasses.

“Kayfabe,” Pete said.

“Can you change the channel to sports, please?” Mike asked.

“Sure,” Janet said, picking up the remote. “If it’ll shut you up.”

“See if there’s any wrestling on,” Pete said.

© 2020 Nolan O’Brian 

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Chapter 28

28

Thursday, January 28, 2021, 3:30 PM Eastern Standard Time

“This is Ian Flannelly, and we are back with yet another in our series of in-depth Wolf News interviews with today’s newsmakers. We are outside the gracious southern home of Senator Graham ‘Cracker’ Hanson, on this unseasonably warm January day. Senator, you used to be a severe critic of the President. What caused you to change your mind?”

The Senator looked from side to side, as if he expected to see someone behind the barn or up a tree, watching him.

“Well, Ian, I’d say it was talking to the man, getting to know him, realizing this was the right man for the moment.”

“What took you so long?”

“Well, I guess like many people, even people in our party, I had been taking as true a lot of the reports about what he was like, the reports coming from what you like to call “the fake news.’”

“You should have been watching us instead.”

The Senator gritted his teeth.

“I know that now. Anyway, he’s a bit rough around the edges, but once you get past his language and his Toots and all that, what he’s done for this country, I don’t think, when you get right down to it, that anyone else could have accomplished so many things for the people as this President has done. And his courage in facing down the virus, that was inspiring.”

“But during the 2016 campaign, you called him ‘a baboon who has been taught a few simple vocabulary words,’ ‘a particularly dimwitted orangutan,’ ‘the world record-holder for serial bankruptcy,’ ‘a prodigy at destroying investment capital,’ ‘a porn-star-shtupping flabby ignoramus’…”

The Senator’s face turned ashen white, then red.

“Well, that was a long time ago, and as you recall I was running against him that year.”

“Actually, Senator, you said all these things long after he had won your party’s nomination, and he was involved in a tough fight against the worst and most dangerous and corrupt candidate in the history of the Demon-cratic Party – sorry, the Demon-crat Party, I sometimes trip over that one.”

“Well…” the Senator said slowly, as if in pain, “live and learn.”

“Tell us what you think about the Attorney General initiating proceedings against crooked Demon-crat members of the FBI involved in the Russia hoax and the impeachment hoax.”

Seeing an avenue to change the subject, Hanson grew animated.

“Well I think it’s about time these anti-American schemers” (here the Senator seemed to get a catch in his throat) “who have been out to get the President from even before the beginning of his first term see the inside of a jail cell.”

“How about his crooked Democrat 2016 opponent?”

“She should also face justice.”

“Weren’t you friends at one time?”

The Senator looked confused for a moment, then stricken.

“Friends? Gawd no. The Senate used to be sort of a club where everyone lived and let live. That worked in a country where political opponents weren’t extremist socialists seeking to end all that made America great. No, I would not say we were ever friends.”

“And the Russia hoax. You at one time said that the allegations troubled you, and deserved investigation.”

The Senator’s dyspepsia returned.

“I guess back then I was still naïve enough to give the benefit of the doubt to Democrats. Now I know they will stop at nothing to destroy this country.”

“How about the pardons? Do you give any credence to the Democrats who say they are another example of the president’s abuse of power?”

“I’m done giving credence to Democrats. I stand four-square with the President.”

“How about the new Supreme Court nominees? What do you think? There are those who say they lack experience.”

The Senator looked pained, but said, “Good. We’ve had nothing but experience on that Court, and where has it gotten us?”

“But you yourself are a lawyer. Surely you don’t dismiss all legal experience.”

Now he seemed to be a hostage reading a speech prepared by captors.

“Law schools have turned into Marxist training grounds. The law too often has been used as a tool to advance socialism, political correctness, and the radical Democrat agenda. It’s time we rolled back the failed Marxist policies of the past 100 years.”

“Well this certainly marks a change in tone from a few years ago. A welcome change, I would add, to all our viewers, I think.”

Hanson radiated cordial hatred toward his unwanted guest. Flannelly went on, oblivious.

“You have quite the spread here. Can you tell us a little about it?”

Hanson went from hate back to mere discomfort at the interviewer’s tacky intrusiveness.

“Well, Mother left it to me in her will, otherwise I would never be able to afford it on my government salary.”

“You’ve got a great place here, but you’ve never married.”

Was this waterboarding session never going to end?

“Well, I’ve been pretty busy taking care of my constituents, so I don’t get a lot of time to date. Someday maybe. I’ve got other priorities right now.”

“So how did you end up with this swell spread? Our viewers want to know. Could you describe it for us?”

“We have 500 acres here, very good farmland my father inherited from my grandfather. We have some horses and a few sheep and of course, my best friend here, Daisy. Come here, Daisy!”

Off-camera, there was a sound of a dog snarling.

“She doesn’t seem too excited about coming over.”

“Well, I think maybe she’s coming down with something.”

“Can we get her over here?”

“You don’t have to…”

The dog was brought over toward the Senator by a production assistant. She continued to snarl quietly, and bared her teeth at him.

“Why don’t we… let her run along,” the Senator suggested.

“That seems like a good idea,” the host replied. The dog leaped out of the arms of the assistant and took off for the tree line.

“Well, that about does it for us down here in the genteel Old South. Senator, thank you for your time.”

“Thank you, Ian.” He cleared his throat and choked out, “Any time.”

The cameras switched off, and the crew began to pack up their equipment. Still seated, the Senator looked wistfully off into the distance, at the rapidly receding rump of his dog.

Ian turned to the Senator. “Is that a collie?”

© 2020 Nolan O’Brian

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Chapter 29

29

Friday, January 29, 2021, 8:00 AM Eastern Standard Time

The Attorney General came into the Cabinet Room and sat down at his accustomed chair near the center. He had pride of place next to the chair where the President might have sat, if he ever attended these meetings.

Normally the Secretary of State would be sitting there, as the highest-ranking official of the government below the President and Vice President. There was no Secretary of State, however, since the previous one had decamped to write a book praising the President. A license to print money, thought the AG.

The Attorney General, however, was practically the only official here who had actually been confirmed by the Senate, so he had arrogated to himself the semi-premier position, and almost no one was left who was sufficiently acquainted with protocol to form an objection.

Few even of the Acting Cabinet Secretaries were in attendance, because nearly all of them had resigned at the end of the President’s first term. The President had not gotten around to nominating successors, because, as he often said, “I’m the only one who matters. We don’t even need these guys.”

In other times, the AG might have taken that as an offense against his amour-propre. But in these decidedly nonstandard times, from this President, the implied insult barely registered. In fact, he welcomed the President’s absence, and the other principals’ as well. This state of affairs allowed him a great deal of latitude to run things as he saw fit.

It also allowed him to speak far more openly than would normally be possible among his “peers,” none of whom he actually considered his peer. During his previous stint as Attorney General, under a previous Republican president, he had felt constrained by the jostling of numerous substantial personalities, each determined to pursue his or her fully-formed agenda and to monopolize as much of the air-time available in these meetings as possible.

Now, thankfully, the room was almost devoid of substantive expertise. Occasionally someone who was known to have a strong connection to the President attended; then he had to be wary, as well as cunning. But even then, those people inevitably had little or no expertise in government; they still required his 50 years of bureaucratic experience, and usually, they deferred to it, especially when they did not quite understand a point of order he raised, or a widely known fact about how government ran. In return for their grudging deference, he ordinarily tactfully refrained from openly pointing out the immense disparity in experience and knowledge between them and him.

Not only was the room devoid of expertise; not only was it almost devoid of cabinet secretaries, or their acting counterparts; it was almost devoid of people, period. The “principals” being absent, the real principals came to the fore. They were: himself; the President’s son-in-law, whom the AG deeply despised as a ridiculous dilettante, but whom he, like almost literally everyone else in this administration, pretended to respect in order not to alienate the President; Maxfield King, literal mercenary and rumored would-be Secretary of State; the Chairman of the Republican National Committee, who under a normal administration would not be allowed within a mile of any sort of cabinet meeting, but who in this administration was allowed to speak and act as befit his actual political status and significance; the crafty, amoral Senate Majority Leader; and the Speaker of the House, who also would not have been able to attend such a meeting in any other administration (this last whom the AG detested as a ridiculous clod, but who, like some others in the room, could not be openly derided as he deserved, lest business be disrupted).

Also attending was a well-known billionaire and major donor to Republican causes, who ran a network of other billionaires and drew a lot of water within the party thereby. He did not even bother to hide his status anymore by sitting in a chair along the wall; he was bellied right up to the table.

The Vice President had every right to attend a meeting such as this one, but for reasons at which the AG could only guess (avoidance of fingerprints on policy was his leading hypothesis), the VP only attended the full Cabinet meetings chaired by the President. Those meetings were known informally among the senior staff as “the Gluteus Gatherings,” because each attendee was expected to heap fulsome praise on the President, on live television, for the privilege of being able to work under him in this most glorious of administrations. The Vice President went last at these meetings, and always reverently thanked God Almighty for the blessing of being chosen by His Instrument on Earth to serve the American people through the President. The years that had gone by had not lessened the obsequiousness of these praises, poured all over the jaw-jutting, arms-folded, frowning President.

Secretly, the AG wondered what might happen if some Cordelia might actually say the truth to this Lear at one of these meetings, on camera. He might have begun, “Frankly, Mr. President, you are the luckiest son of a bitch alive to have my services. Without them, you would be even more completely, flailingly adrift in your job, for which you are manifestly unfit, than you already are. You should get on all fours on the banquet table and kiss my ass in the East Room every day of your life, because without me, we would probably all be radioactive ash – or worse, out of office.”

He would never say anything like these words, because he had certain desires that only this President was ever likely to fulfill. But thinking them certainly helped to put a grim smile on his face. He had had some moments of real anxiety when the President came down with the virus; if he had not beaten it, the AG’s hopes for further advancement would have died then and there.

The official White House photographer now stuck his head in the door. The AG said loudly, “We will not have need of your services today, sir.”

The chastened photographer withdrew from the opening and closed the door.

“All right, this meeting of the Special Executive Committee of the Cabinet will come to order,” the Attorney General. “We are here to do an after-action report, if you will, for the late election and the Inauguration, and then to set some direction for the second term.”

He paused, then continued.

“We have with us today the Senate Majority Leader and the Speaker of the House of Representatives.”

Both nodded.

“We have the Acting Secretary of Defense, and… who’s this?”

The Acting Secretary, whom the AG was a bit surprised to see, since most of his peers had cleared out before the Inauguration, cleared his throat and spoke hoarsely. “This is Larry. I think most of you know him. He is in the running to take my place for the remainder of the second term.”

“Greetings, Larry. Next, we have the President’s son-in-law, representing his interests.”

The dilettante nodded.

“We also are graced with the presence of Mr. Maxfield King, whom I understand the President is considering for a cabinet position.”

Max nodded without looking at him.

“Then there is Mr. Richards, the head of the Republican National Committee, who is here to report on the Inauguration, which the RNC had a lot to do with organizing.”

“Pleased to be here,” Mr. Richards said.

“Finally, we have Mr. Brent, a very important and very generous donor to causes that are dear to all of our hearts.”

“Charmed,” the VID said in a Texas twang.

“Our first order of business is the Inauguration, a review of the finances, and then a review of some domestic security issues going forward.”

The conversation began with a quick review by the Chairman of the RNC of the expenses associated with the Inauguration, which had been borne by corporate sponsors who now naturally felt entitled to ask for certain things in return in the way of “access.” Once this was quickly dispatched, the VID led a segue into a related discussion: the legislative and executive priorities for the new administration.

By the end of it, with the assent of the Senate Majority Leader and the Speaker of the House, there was agreement that pretty much every restriction on oil drilling in the nation would be substantially eased; a suspension of virtually all environmental regulations that had accompanied the previous year’s virus bailout bills would be indefinitely extended; a new, strict nationwide voter ID law had been agreed upon; an executive branch reorganization plan was approved to cut headcount by some 30 percent and relocate many more departments, especially those devoted to gathering statistics, into the hinterlands; every U.S. Attorney had been fired, with pliant, President-supporting replacements approved by the Senate Majority Leader; a path toward withdrawal from NATO and the United Nations was agreed upon; legislation to expand the Supreme Court to 15 members was tentatively approved; the “temporary” halt to immigration from the previous year was extended indefinitely; a working group to discuss the creation of new states from currently safely Republican ones was created; the final steps in the imminent shutdown of public television and National Public Radio – with the exception of children’s television and a few nature shows, which would be sold to media groups with friendly connections to the administration – were detailed and applauded; it was agreed that the National Weather Service would be privatized and handed off to a reliable Republican donor to “monetize”; the U.S. Postal Service would be privatized; new federal restrictions on abortion were agreed upon in order to force a Supreme Court challenge that might finally sweep away Roe v. Wade “for good and all,” as one participant put it; subsidies to cities for transportation and schools would be zeroed out; protections for LGBTQ people in the military would be revoked, and federal recognition of gay marriage, it was agreed, would be rescinded; and the management of the National Park Service would be privatized, and extraction allowed on virtually all of its lands.

“Well, that’s a good start, gentlemen,” the VID said as he finished this part of the meeting. “I would hope you are approaching finality on your plans for the privatization of Medicare and Social Security. I had wanted to end these programs outright, before we did anything else, but I know that could endanger your entire program, given the continuing economic unpleasantness.”

“You know that we remain committed to that goal,” the Senate Majority Leader said. “During this transition period, of course, we will need to step carefully and do things in a certain order, in order to smooth the way toward our ultimate objectives, which you have named. Toward that end, I believe our brother the General here has some ideas to lessen any objections some of our socialist enemies might present to these actions, by putting them back on their heels.”

“I do indeed,” said the Attorney General. “Ordinarily I would pass around my proposal in paper form, but, as with the bold initiatives already discussed, I think it wisest that we merely discuss them verbally.

“First off, we have not taken full advantage of the emergency powers granted to the executive in a time such as this one. The Framers naturally assumed that, in time of war, pestilence, or other emergency, that the executive should be able to avail itself of extraordinary powers to meet the demands of the time.”

He looked around him; there were fewer lawyers in this crowd than he had been accustomed to see in his fifty years of government service, and no Constitutional scholars at all. Little chance of being contradicted by any in this crowd.

“We have, to date, used these powers almost not at all. This is a testament to the restraint and the often-ignored patient and sensible nature of our President.”

He looked around again to see if there was even a hint of a sardonic smile on any face. Sometimes he would say these self-evidently nonsensical things simply to flush the unreliable out into the open. No takers today. Perhaps this term would be different.

“But make no mistake about it, gentlemen.”

He looked around room to verify that yes, they were all men.

“We are under attack. Unrelenting attack. By the forces of the atheistic socialist left. And we need new weapons to fight back on this asymmetric battlefield. So, I have consulted with Mr. Maxfield King, a noted security expert who has done yeoman work for us in this area, as to what further steps we may have to take to put down what is now almost an open rebellion in this country.”

Max nodded grimly. The AG continued.

“We have seen openly seditious leftist groups gaining strength, supported by the Democrat party. They have been unable to win elections because their decadent hedonistic communist expropriationist philosophy has failed to capture the imagination of real Americans.

And because we were lucky with the President getting the virus, but mainly because we will do literally anything to make sure Democrats never win, he thought.

“So, they whine about ‘vote suppression,’ ‘Russian hacking,’ alleged abuses of social media, and the like. They have been seeking to destroy the legitimate power of the executive branch ever since Watergate. And it is time we stood up to them.

“So I have initiated a secret effort, outside of the FBI, whose employees clearly cannot be trusted, to bring these groups to heel. We have employed a subsidiary of King Global Services, headed by Mr. Maxfield King here, to pursue this effort on our behalf.”

“Is there any coordination with state or local law enforcement?” the VID asked. “Because some of them pardners – the county sheriffs especially – can be a mite territorial. And many of our network’s biggest supporters are of the opinion that county sheriffs are the only government officials that have any legitimate power over them.”

“I’ll take this one, if I may,” Maxfield King said to the AG.

The Attorney General nodded.

“You see,” said King, “that does not turn out to be much of a problem, because these groups do not tend to reside in any area of the country where those concerns are widely shared. They tend to be concentrated in your major metropolitan centers.”

“What plots or threats have you uncovered to this point?” the President’s son-in-law asked.

“We have some of our best people on this,” King replied. “We have been informed by persons in a position to know that there are direct links between the Democrat party, Islamofascist forces overseas, and these ‘Resistance’ groups such as Black Lives Matter, the Student Nonviolent Resistance Network, the Women’s Marches, and Antifa.”

Murmurs of alarm followed this statement.

“We are efforting this as we speak,” Max finished.

“The Department of Justice is investigating several suspects already,” the AG said, taking back control of the meeting. “We have witnesses now who can link the Russia Hoax, the Impeachment Hoax, the Special Counsel, members of the Deep State, the entire Inspectors General corps, several Okomo-appointed judges, the 2016 and 2020 Democrat presidential candidates, and even former PresidentOkomo to these groups.”

More murmuring.

The AG continued. “It will take some time for us to firmly establish the ties between these entities. In the meantime, however, you should know that we will not desist from our efforts to bring every one of these malefactors to justice, as well as to ensure that no further terrorist activities take place on our soil.”

“Shouldn’t you already be moving on these terrorists, since you know they intend harm to America?” the Acting Secretary of Defense asked.

“I will have to ask you to trust me on this one,” the AG responded. “We have infiltrated these groups rather thoroughly. We need to make sure that our case is airtight. Be assured that should there be any imminent threat of violence against this country, we will have the means to stop it.”

“How soon can we expect arrests in this case?” the President’s son-in-law asked, a bit peremptorily, the AG thought. He has gotten uppity since taking a larger role while his father-in-law was ill, the AG thought. He needs to be slapped down.

“That too is not knowable until we have fully plumbed the depths of this conspiracy,” the AG said. “I would simply say, soon.”

He looked around the room. He could see that his words had had the desired impact. If I can just keep this up for another year or so, I will be Chief Justice, he thought.

“Well, gentlemen, I think that will do it for now,” the AG said. “As long as our partners in the legislative branch can follow through on the proposals we discussed earlier, then we will have taken a giant leap toward restoring the Founders’ vision of a truly limited government devoted to protecting freedom and free enterprise. I thank you, and in closing, I will say, though history will not report what we did here today, because of our forbidding of recording devices or note-taking, that what we have accomplished here ranks this meeting as among the most consequential in the history of this country. You can all collect your devices outside the door. Mr. Richards? Mr. King, and you” – he beckoned to the President’s son-in-law – “and you, Mr. Chairman” – he pointed to the RNC chairman – “I believe we still have some trifling matters to discuss.”

The four identified parties stood and waited for the crowd to exit the room, then took seats closer to the AG.

“Mr. Chairman, I believe that there is an unresolved account payable on the books of the RNC for medallions, is there not?” the AG asked the RNC chairman.

“Mr. Attorney General,” the RNC chair began. “There is a dispute over the payment for those medallions. We were given to understand that the RNC was merely doing a favor to the MK organization, acting as a pass-through entity to the individual state and local chapters, who would then be responsible for payment, if any, to MK.”

“That’s not what our understanding was,” the President’s son-in-law said. “More to the point, that’s not what the President’s understanding was. I believe his exact words were ‘You tell that RNC chairman guy that I want my fucking money.’”

The RNC chairman visibly shrank in his chair. Eventually he spoke.

“We just don’t have that kind of cash lying around,” he said pleadingly. “Many of our state and local parties simply have not come through with the amounts we expected. It’s been a difficult time, what with recounts threatened and extra moneys laid out for campaigns on line to encourage people – Democrats – not to show up at the polls due to the virus. We had gotten used to getting large sums and more cyber assistance from our, uh, friends to the east. But the expected moneys never arrived in the amounts we had expected. I was not made aware that they might fail to assist us to the extent they did in the last presidential cycle.”

“I understand you have a tough job,” Max said. “But that’s why you were chosen for it. You need to squeeze these people.”

“I suppose we could threaten the doctors who gave out the virus testing certificates,” the President’s son-in-law said.

What a moron, the AG thought to himself. He cut in swiftly.

“If we did that, of course, they would go to the lying press and expose the entire affair,” he said. “It is true,” he continued, rubbing his double chin, “that our friends in Russia were less forthcoming with campaign support than expected in this cycle. I can only speculate that the heat on the National Gun Organization this time around from the Lying Press and certain more socialist state prosecutors was too great to allow them to be as astoundingly bold a conduit for Russian campaign donations to the Republican party as they had been in 2016. And the collapse of oil demand last year affected the Russians’ ability to engage in this kind of activity worldwide. Still, a debt is a debt.”

“And a bank account balance is a bank account balance,” the RNC chair said, mournfully. “My understanding was that our efforts to mass-distribute these certificates of immunity and medallions to Republican voters in swing states was something that was in and of itself of great value to the President and all Republican candidates, and would therefore not be subject to repayment. In addition, these services would, under normal campaign finance rules, be regarded as a campaign contribution of something of value.”

“But the medallions themselves were also items of value, items that cost our organization, which, as you know, but must never reveal, on pain of severe contractual penalties, is part-owned by the President, a large amount to create and ship to you,” the President’s son-in-law said.

The RNC chairman simply raised both hands in the air in a despairing way.

“Perhaps I can butt in here,” the VID said.

The others looked over at him.

“How much we talkin’ about here?” the VID asked.

“Well, we shipped 15 million of these pre-approved certificates and medallions to the RNC to distribute as they saw fit in swing states,” the President’s son-in-law said.

“What’s that worth to ya?”

“Well, normally the entire process could be up to $200 each.”

“Yeah, but that’s if you actually got a real doctor and had him examine these people. You did nothing of the sort, am I right?”

The President’s son-in-law got red in the face and began to stammer.

“The President – we had an understanding – he’s going to expect – ”

“Well, I don’t know what he expects, but those thangs got him re-elected, am I right?”

“That’s – that’s – irrelevant – ”

“I beg to differ. Besides, you’re throwin’ around your daddy-in-law’s name an awful lot, son.”

“I’m merely – representing his interests – which are legitimate and in no way, in no way – ”

“Yeah, yeah, we know all that. But they’re kinda your interests too, ain’t they? I mean, you got a stake in this MK thing that’s the same as your wife’s dad, from what I hear.”

The President’s son-in-law grew even redder in the face. “That’s – I don’t know where you got that information – that is unequivocably –”

“Where I went to college, A&M, they pronounced that word ‘unequivocally.’ But hell, I didn’t have my daddy buy me a Harvard degree, so I guess I’m just some shitkicker. But you listen to me, son. Don’t kid a kidder. You and your ex-con father and your father-in-law are all billionaires, right?”

“I fail – I fail –”

“Yes, you do. Over and over. You failed to refinance your failing white elephant downtown building until your father-in-law put you in a position to use this country’s foreign policy blatantly to save your own ass by putting some oil sheiks over a barrel until they rescued you. You failed as a newspaper publisher. Shit, you failed to bring us peace in the Middle East, but so did everyone since Jimmy Carter. You failed to stop this virus from killing – what? – a hundred thousand? two hundred thousand? – more than the official death totals put out by HHS? You even failed to keep the President from getting it. You failed to reopen the economy without the worst downturn in American history. So now you got this sweetheart deal to manufacture these fraudulent ‘MK’ medallions to assure everyone that the wearer – always a Republican – is free from the virus. Now he –” here he pointed to Max King – “he is K. And you –” here he pointed straight at the President’s son- in-law – “you, you’re ‘M,’ am I right?”

The President’s son-in-law sat in miserable silence, a patina of sweat on his pale face.

“So, the way I see it, you’ve been handed a license to print money from these fake medallions and doctors’ certificates. And you are bitching because you aren’t going to get paid what a real doctor would get paid if he actually was certifying the health of the bearer of the medallion. On top of that, you and your daddy-in-law both claim to be billionaires. Now I don’t see any real billionaire kicking up a fuss over a small amount like what we’re talking about here. It cost you what, $2 a pop to print up these certificates and medallions? Don’t even bother answering that one, I already know. It cost you $2.38 for each one. You say you distributed 15 million of them. I happen to know it was 11 million. That comes to $26,180,000. Now, you’ll want a markup on them, and shit, they did win us the election, so I’m willing to be generous on that. You can have $30 million for ’em. I’m overpaying you, boy, but that’s because I like you. It ain’t three billion, like you wanted to beat out of our friend here, but hey, you and your daddy and your daddy- in-law are all billionaires, so why should any of you give a shit about that kind of chump change, am I right?”

Silence and schadenfreude hung over the room. The President’s son-in-law got up, shuffled some papers, and pushed back from the table.

“Now do I make the check out to your father-in-law, or Max here, or to you?”

“MK Holdings International,” Max whispered.

“I can make it out directly to you if you really are hard up for cash,” the VID said. “Or to your father-in-law, if he is. Or even your dad. By the way, what’s his personal best? How many license plates can he make in an hour?”

The President’s son-in-law turned back as if about to say something.

“Well?” the VID said. “You got something to say?”

The President’s son-in-law turned back toward the door and stalked off.

“I’ll come by your office in a bit,” Max said after him as he disappeared out the door.

The remaining parties to the meeting sat in communal, unexpressed joy.

“I was of course being hyperbolic when I spoke of a check,” the VID said to the RNC chair. “I will get my lawyers to work on how we can make you whole for the check you will write to MK Holdings as soon as I get back.”

“Thank you for your generosity,” the RNC chair said to the VID.

“You,” the VID said, pointing to the RNC chair as he got up, “are very welcome. Now I got a Gulfstream to catch. Texas won’t frack itself.”

The others got up to acknowledge his leaving. He put his cowboy hat on and picked up his briefcase, saluted the Attorney General, shook Max’s hand, and walked out the door.

“Did you have a cell phone, sir?” a staffer with a box full of phones asked him just outside the door.

“Never carry one,” he said. He tipped his cowboy hat to the administrative assistants seated in the hall and walked away toward the exit.

“Jesus,” Max whispered to the AG. “That was… that was well done.”

“Indeed,” the AG said. “True power addressing pretend power.”

“But he was a little hard on our boy there. I’ll go and try to smooth his feathers,” Max said. “Avoid any nasty comeuppance.”

“It is certainly refreshing to hear someone speak in Washington who simply does not have to give a damn about the niceties,” the AG said.

“Some day I intend to be at that level,” Max said.

“I hear you want SecState,” the AG said. “That position would seem to require a certain level of diplomacy, by definition.”

“Sure. But that’s not the last stop, I hope,” Max said.

The AG inclined his round, horn-rimmed, owlish face at Max.
I’d better keep a watch on this one, he thought to himself. Fully-formed agenda.

 

© 2020 Nolan O’Brian