by John Bromley
“There are two more matters to address before the President signs the last document on the table,” Jim said to the nation. “While the President is a very nice man, unlike some of his predecessors, I’m sad to say his mental capacity is quite limited. He is capable of doing some things—”
“I like to file forms,” Thompson interjected, “and I’m good at it.”
“While he makes a good file clerk,” Jim allowed, “he also realizes that he makes a lousy President.”
“I hate the job,” Thompson broke in again “It’s too hard, and I want to quit.”
Jim could almost hear the nation catching its collective breath at that announcement.
“That last form on the table is the President’s official letter of resignation,” Parker said. “Since William has no child, and he has elected not to name his own successor, the seven-hundred-year Thompson dynasty will end tonight.”
Hopefully, he thought to himself, many a glass is being raised in many a pub right now. I think I’m not the only one who feels that this is a good thing.
“This brings us to the ‘work’ I mentioned a minute ago,” he said out loud. “We must seize this unprecedented opportunity to come together as a united nation and forge a new kind of government that will be best for all of us.
“We came up with several ideas on how to do this, and took a vote. The consensus among us is that representatives of the people, both men and women, should be selected, and that they should then gather in Convention to determine a new structure for our government.
“In the basement of the Capitol building yesterday,” Jim continued, “Army troops uncovered copies of a document that began, ‘We the people of the United States’. Sadly, the original document appears to be lost to the ravages of time, but this is thought to be the Constitution which was abolished by Kenneth Thompson. This may have been the best way to construct a government for the country when it was written a thousand years ago, but it might not work as well today. However, it could be at least a place to start.
“As far as the method of selecting these delegates is concerned, we suggest that you decide what works best in your locale—direct ballot, asking for volunteers, whoever draws the ‘short straw’, or something else.
“It was also decided, for historical reasons mostly, that the Convention should take place in the same city where the original ‘Founding Fathers’ met. It seems only fitting that the rebirth of the country by a new group of ‘Founding Fathers and Mothers’ should also take place in Philadelphia.”
Jim paused to take a sip from the bottle of water in front of him.
“There is one more item I must address, and it is rather urgent, I’m afraid. As you can see, all of us in here are drinking bottled water, brought in by the Army.”
The camera panned around the room, and indeed, everyone had a water bottle in their hand, given to them by Peter, at Jim’s direction, during the last TV break. Captain Keller and Sam Swenson also had puzzled expressions on their faces, but the camera did not linger on them.
“I was informed by one of my officers during the last break that the deranged Mr. Billings, in addition to murdering my friend’s father, may have managed to introduce a poison into the water supply of this compound…”
“What’s he talking about?” Sam whispered to Buck. “I told him that Billings tried to put poison in the well, but—”
“Shhh,” Buck said with a half-smile, “he’s up to something, the sly devil.”
“We haven’t had time to test it yet,” Jim continued, “but if that’s so, we have about a million women in this area, not to mention some Army guys, who need water—lots of it, and fast. So, I am asking anybody near the southeast corner of the Wall, where there is now a hole, to bring us as much water as you can, as quickly as you can. We all thank you in advance.
“Now, we have one last formality…”
Jim started to reach for the last leather folio.
“Colonel Parker,” Thompson suddenly said, catching everyone off-guard.
“Yes, sir?”
“There’s something I want to do before I sign that last paper,” Thompson said nervously, looking down at the table rather than catching anyone’s eye. “I asked the general about this, and he said I could.”
He sounded like a small boy trying to justify why he had eaten a cookie before supper.
“Mr. Thompson,” Jim said to the man, “you are the President. According to the laws of this country, you can do anything you want to, up to and including—”
“Giving you a present?” Thompson asked, with that same “small-boy” innocence.
“I was going to say, having me shot,” Jim replied, “but I like your idea better. Why would you want to do that?”
“Because you told everybody about these women, and helped us all to see how much we can help each other.”
“To be honest, Mr. President, this whole thing kind of fell into my lap,” Jim said, attempting to play down his role. “I was just one cog in the machine, and I only did what any good soldier would do.”
“And, because you helped get rid of Mr. Billings,” Thompson continued. “I hated that man. He killed my father, and a lot of other good people.”
For a man of diminished mental capacity, his insight could be quite amazing, Jim thought.
“Again, sir, that was not me so much—”
“So, this is for you,” Thompson finished, placing a small box on the table and immediately looking away, as if embarrassed by such a display.
“Thank you, sir,” Jim said, opening the box. The camera registered his surprise at its contents. General Chambers, knowing what was in the box, stood up and moved to Parker’s left and signaled “Buck” Keller to stand to Jim’s right.
“Colonel James Parker,” Chambers intoned in his best “no-nonsense” voice, and when Jim looked up, the general shouted, “Atten…TION!”
Parker sprang to his feet and faced the camera, staring at nothing.
Chambers and Keller removed the silver eagle shoulder insignia from his side of Parker’s tunic and replaced it with one of the items from the box. When they were finished, each man stepped back and saluted the Army’s newest two-star general.
Jim turned first to “Buck” Keller, returned his salute and shook his hand warmly.
“Great job, sir,” Buck offered.
“You played a big part in it, too,” Jim reminded him, “and… what have I told you about that ‘sir’ stuff? I didn’t like it as a colonel, and I’m not a big fan of it now, OK?”
Buck blushed. “Right you are, sir… I mean, Jim.”
Parker turned and faced Chambers and returned his salute.
“Thank you, sir,” Parker said.
“No need to call me ‘sir’,” Chambers answered quietly, “we’re equals now.”
“Aside from the fact that your actions over the last weeks have earned you that promotion, General,” Chambers told Parker and the TV audience, “there was another reason we wanted to do this now. The other officers and I talked to the President, and he decided that we should have at least two officers of general rank here to witness what is about to happen.”
Both generals and the TV camera turned their full attention to the President, who picked up his pen and, with great care, signed the official letter of resignation.
“Gentlemen… I mean, ladies and gentlemen,” Parker said with a nod to the women in the room, “as of this moment, North America has no leader. It is now imperative that representatives of the people convene as quickly as possible to form a new government.”
With that, Parker bid the nation a good evening, and the telecast came to an end.
Analysis of the broadcast would continue, non-stop, for weeks…
CHAPTER 57
It was a Thursday morning, three months after Reunion, and William Thompson was awakened at precisely six-thirty. He was reminded that he had half an hour to clean up before breakfast. At seven AM, his cell door was unlocked, and the well-groo
med former President joined the rest of the inmates at Hollisberg minimum security prison just outside Newport News, Virginia, for the march to the canteen. A choice of items was provided; two were hot and fresh and the rest were pre-packaged. He always chose either a chocolate-or honey-nut-flavored cereal, wheat toast with apple butter, and orange juice. He did not like coffee.
He had not been sent to this place for committing a crime. By law, courtesy of Kenneth the First, nothing a Thompson did was illegal. It was felt, however, that with William out of power, some fanatical person might decide to take revenge for various Thompson atrocities on the only surviving family member, and therefore he found himself here for his own protection.
Before his arrival at Hollisberg, General Parker had requested that the prison make a few changes to accommodate their new inmate, and the staff had agreed, since the changes had been easy and inexpensive to implement.
Now, at eight o’clock, with breakfast finished, Thompson’s “work day” began. He proceeded down a hall to a room which had been set aside for him. The door had his nameplate on it, and only he (and two members of the prison staff) had the key. Inside the windowless room he had a table, a desk, a wheeled office chair that he could roll between the two, and six filing cabinets. On the desk were a battery-powered clock and a telephone (which was not hooked up and therefore never rang, but that was fine with him). There were even hooks on the walls where he was allowed to hang pictures, but he had none. In the desk were paper, pencils, and his very own Swingline stapler embossed with his name (and yes, it was red). All of these things had been purchased with Thompson’s own money. Most of the Thompson family’s eight hundred billion dollar fortune had reverted to the government as part of his prison sentence, but he retained enough to pay for “rent” and “incidentals” like these for the rest of his life.
Every day, the prison’s computer system determined that many of their paper records were now out of date and ready for destruction. In the pre-Thompson days, these records would simply have been pulled and sent down to the furnace. Now, the computer had been re-programmed, and the records encountered a slight detour.
In the morning, the records that had been pulled the day before were taken to Thompson’s “office.” He had been instructed on his first day that he was to file these forms in his filing cabinets, using any method he liked – alphabetical, numerical, by date, by type – since he was the only one who needed to know how they were organized. He was given the entire morning to complete that portion of the “job,” and he invariably had it done before lunch, which ran from twelve to one PM. Thompson allowed himself a little variety for lunch, but he tended to favor a BLT, potato chips and a diet ginger ale.
On his return, he would find that a computer printout had been passed beneath his office door. On it would be the names and numbers for between two and three hundred records that had been in Thompson’s care “long enough.” His afternoon task was to extract these records from his files and have them ready for pickup at precisely four-thirty, a deadline he never missed. He did not know that these records were simply taken away and burned, and therefore his entire “filing process” was totally meaningless. It was the opinion of the prison psychologist, however, that even if he had known, he would have worked just as hard.
From four-thirty to five, he was allowed time for other “office tasks” such as sharpening pencils, refilling his stapler, perhaps devising a new filing system if he had tired of the current one, or requesting more paper or filing folders (at his expense). From five until dinner at six, weather permitting, he and his fellow inmates were encouraged to jog around the prison’s track, which had a view of the Atlantic Ocean. Dinner was from six to seven, with various entrees served on fixed days of the week. William liked them all, especially when the prison was lucky enough to acquire locally-caught seafood.
After dinner, William would engage in games of checkers with other inmates (and he was quite certain that someday he would actually win one), or simply retire to his cell and watch TV. The prison’s video system recorded programs off the air and made them available to inmates on request. William’s favorite show, by far, was one that had just been recovered from the video vault in western Nebraska, and he watched episodes of it over and over again. It featured a “Sheriff Taylor,” his son “Opie,” and the various goofballs who lived in the small southern town with them. There was a barber named Floyd, a wacky deputy named Barney, and a mysterious woman who was known simply as “Ain’t B.”
This led him to wonder, many a night as he drifted off to sleep: “If she ain’t ‘B’, who is she?”
Ultimately it didn’t matter, for “B” and the other people of “Mayberry” were hilarious.
And he had never been so happy in his life.
CHAPTER 58
On a beautiful summer morning three months after Reunion, Mike Wilkins and Cynthia decided to dine “al fresco.” They found a picnic table near the “Second White House” and tucked into their breakfast. Cynthia had made pancakes, long a favorite of Mike’s, but these were by far the best he had ever had, and Mike made sure to compliment her on her culinary skill. Part of the reason they were so good was the fresh, locally-produced maple syrup applied generously to them, and he mentioned this to Cynthia for the sake of “total honesty,” which she appreciated. As they chatted easily about this and other topics, Barry Keller joined them at the table.
“Good morning, Buck,” Cynthia said. “Would you like some breakfast?”
“I guess I am kind of hungry, and those pancakes smell wonderful.”
“They are,” Mike confirmed.
“Well, if you don’t mind making me some...” Buck said hopefully.
“You can fix me some more, too, while you’re up,” Mike quickly added.
“You pig!” Cynthia playfully chided him. “I’d be happy to make you some breakfast, Buck,” she added pointedly.
When she had gone, Mike asked his colleague, “Have you gotten used to the new rank yet?”
“It’s a little strange, I’ll admit. I thought that being a colonel wouldn’t make that much of a difference, but I find that some of my friends among the enlisted men now seem a little more... stand-offish.”
“How about being full-time commander of the Fourth Battalion?”
“I am going to enjoy that, definitely,” Buck responded, “and I’m glad that Jim gave me the position, although I thought all along that it would go to you.”
“Nah,” Mike said. “He and I talked it over, and we both agreed that you were the perfect man for the job. Besides, I think he has other plans for me—something about that brand-new diplomatic corps… I think I heard London.”
“Then, I guess I should thank you, too. I only wish I still had ‘Dirk’ Tedeschi to be my XO, but after they promoted him to major, they assigned him to the quartermaster’s office—”
“—where, I understand, he’s never been happier,” Mike interjected.
“The man does love keeping track of ‘his’ materiel,” Buck allowed.
“Although he says he misses you, Buck, and the chance to do more ‘Jared-tossing’.” Both men chuckled.
While Mike chewed another bite of breakfast, Buck added, “Then there’s Peter. I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but after working with him, I’m gonna miss that big goof.”
“He does kinda grow on you,” Mike said, and both men nodded.
“You may not miss him for long, though, Buck. You know he’s gone off to sniper school—”
“—which he will pass, with flying colors,” Buck responded confidently.
“I agree. And when he does pass, Jim has promised him a position in the Army, with the rank of sergeant. So, who knows – he might end up right back here.”
“Speaking of Jim...” Buck said, nodding to his right. Both men turned to see Jim and Angela walking arm-in-arm down the pathway.
“Let’s get him,” Buck whispered.
As Jim spotted his two friends and turned to gree
t them, both men rose quickly, came to attention and rendered crisp military salutes.
“Sir! Good morning, sir, General, sir!” both men shouted, as their drill instructors had required of them, way back when.
Other people on the pathway turned in surprise at the “commotion.” Angela chuckled as Jim’s face reddened with embarrassment.
Parker came over and stood before the two men. He allowed them to remain at attention while he pretended to inspect their uniforms, even though Mike wasn’t wearing his. He finally stood before them with a grim expression on his face.
“First of all, gentlemen,” he began, “there were a few too many ‘sirs’ in that greeting.”
“Yes, sir!” both men agreed loudly.
“Second of all,” as he broke into a smile, “would you guys cut the shit?!?”
All three men laughed and clapped one another on the shoulders good-naturedly.
Cynthia had returned with pancakes for Buck and Mike, so both men sat back down. Parker declined Cynthia’s offer of breakfast, as he had already eaten.
Spotting a man and a woman walking together down the path, Cynthia said to Angela, “I’m still amazed at how well Jim’s ‘plea for water’ worked at the end of his telecast.”
“It worked even better than he’d hoped,” Angela responded. “They told us that there were over a hundred water trucks and other vehicles lined up at the hole the next morning. There was even one man who had driven all the way from Detroit with a single gallon of water. He said he just wanted to ‘do his part’.”
“I think he just wanted an excuse to meet the women,” Cynthia giggled.
“Maybe,” Angela agreed, “I’m hearing that dozens of friendships have begun and…” she leaned over and whispered, “… a lot of romances, too.”
“Speaking of that,” Cynthia replied softly, “Mike was telling me about a report he got from a Major Beretta, at one of the other tunnels. Mike says Beretta mentioned ‘many times, in glowing terms’, this eighteen-year-old woman named Kimberly.”
