by John Brown
He put both hands decisively on the lectern and stood tall. It was now his opponent’s turn.
“We have a plan for that,” Carp said.
He glanced down at his notes for a split second.
“This country has a proud heritage.”
He pointed at the audience.
“I know the middle class, I was one of them. We’ve spoken to middle-class people all over this great, proud country — and the middle class deserves a tax cut.”
A woman clapped.
“Please hold your applause to the end,” the moderator said, “if you can; I certainly understand your enthusiasm. Mr. Carp, will you please continue?”
“Yes,” Carp said. “Lower taxes for all but those in the top 75 percent. Comprehensive tax reform, keep it simple, keep it fair. We’ve got, what, like 73,000 pages of tax code, rules and regulations, something like that? That’s ridiculous, it’s unacceptable.”
Someone applauded in the audience, and soon others joined in.
“Key programs to help the less privileged and the underprivileged, the disenfranchised and the disadvantaged. Jobs programs — and a special blue-ribbon, bipartisan commission to cut waste and use the savings, all the savings to invest in the — in the future. Cut these crazy interest rates and this inflation for more infrastructure investment, financed by a new kind of national infrastructure bank. Get America moving again, building for America’s future.”
“Thank you for sharing your affirmative vision for our country, Governor Carp. And now, Governor King: where do you stand on border security?”
She flashed him a brief but unmistakably coquettish glance. King wasn’t sure anyone else caught it; the way her eyes smiled, the way the corners of her mouth turned up slightly.
“Hey, uh, I’m uh — I’m glad you asked, Sierra. That’s, you know, that’s an important issue. Control our borders so, uh, terrorists and illegal aliens can’t get in, make no mistake, anyone could just walk in here and — well, you know, terrorism will be the priority when I’m president. Another, you know, it’s education. Education is so important — that’s a big issue. I mean, it’s all about our young people, isn’t it?”
He bit his lower lip, overflowing with sudden emotion.
“No dream is beyond our reach. Our children must come first, the young people of America, our future. Together, we’re strong.” He clasped his hands together in the air. “It’s a new morning in America.”
In the VIP booth high over the stage, party workers spoke on their phones and typed on their laptops. Burton Chesterfield, the high campaign official, spotted Benson and ambled over. His tie skewed, somewhat drunk and greatly animated, he couldn’t contain his elation.
“This guy’s great! Tom, isn’t he great? He really connects with the voters. I’d do anything for him. He’s just killing that poor old Carp. Got that whole charisma thing going on, you know? He’s so … what’s the word? So inspiring.”
Benson stood and stretched. He was weary from sitting around. The long flight from home, the time zone change, the noisy hotel and the nonstop meetings, which proved to be a complete waste of his time, had all taken their toll. The show had been a long time setting up, and it wasn’t even nearly over. He thought of all his work piling up at the bank and Jane being alone for the long weekend.
“Tom?”
“Yes.” Benson massaged his tired neck. “Yes, I suppose you could say that. He’s got something, all right.”
“We have a plan for that, for tightening our borders,” John Carp said, jabbing his finger at the audience as he spoke. “Details of our, ah, our plan will be worked out by a team of experts as soon as, you know, when we take office, like on the first day of our new administration — the Administration of Hope, we’re calling it. But basically, you know, no one will be able to get in without permission.”
“Hey Tom, you hear this guy? He’s got a ‘plan for that!’”
Chesterfield laughed so hard that he sloshed most of his drink on the floor.
“He’s got a plan for everything, this guy. He just cracks me up.”
“And we’ll educate the young people on their obligations to their country,” Carp said with a stern expression, looking at one side of the audience and then the other. “Freedom isn’t free you know; you should do something to pay your country back. Being a citizen comes not only with rights but with fundamental responsibilities.”
He hooked a thumb toward his chest.
“Now that’s how it works where I’m from, and speaking of where I’m from, in my home state we’ve done a tremendous job educating all the youngsters—”
Carp squinted, pointing out a woman somewhere in the small gallery of spectators. Everyone turned to see who he was pointing at.
“And Emanuela Lopez in the audience with her abuela over there proves what we can accomplish if we work together. Now that’s the right business model for America — working together.”
“Working Together!” was a big slogan in his campaign, and he let the words resonate.
“She’s under-disadvantaged, but she’s going to Harvard anyway to study Women’s and Transgender Equity Studies on a full State grant made possible by working together and investing in our young people, the future of America.”
Sporadic applause broke out. The moderator let it go on.
“Excellent, Mr. Carp, most uplifting. Working together is so important, I’m sure everyone here would agree. Thank you so much.”
She paused for a moment, as if reflecting on the profound wisdom of Carp’s words, and then turned to her notes.
“And now, Joseph F. King, I have a question for you.”
She looked up at him from her position below the podium, running her eyes from his face all down his body, where she lingered, and back again.
“What’s your position on preemptive war? Is it good? And please stay within the time limit.”
There followed some scattered laughter.
She licked her lips.
“Can you, um, Sierra, can you please repeat the question?”
“Certainly. What is your position on the doctrine of preemptive war?”
She looked straight into his eyes without blinking, and put a finger lightly to her bottom lip, pulling it down just slightly.
“Okay, Sierra, look, that’s — that’s a good question, an important question. With all due respect for my, for my, um — my opponent, Governor Carp over there, why wait for them, you know, to come over here and murder us in our sleep? My honorable opponent, you know, he doesn’t seem to understand that. Out of touch with the mainstream.”
King looked at the moderator. She leaned forward in her chair, the slightest smile playing across her full mouth. Her lips parted slightly.
“You — you, ah, you, you find out — you find out, you see, you find out what they’re planning, okay, and you stop them first.”
King looked at the audience with a deadly serious expression. He directed a withering glance at Carp. Carp shifted on his feet and looked away.
“So let’s be clear,” he said, speaking again with sudden conviction, avoiding Sierra. “Look, we have to make, you know, keep folks safe and sound, that’s what government’s all about, that’s the number-one job. Better safe than sorry, right? As your president, the people will be real safe and you can take that to the bank.”
He removed his microphone from the stand, stepping to the podium’s edge, and reached out his hand to a small boy in the second row, waving to the child and his parents.
“Sir,” the moderator objected, rising from her seat. “You can’t—”
“Little Benito Rosetti, that’s him over there with his folks in the audience, they’re good people from the heartland, he wrote us and said he’s scared and will the president keep him and his mom and pop safe and get the bad guys?”
King nodded his head in a knowing, wise way.
“And I wanna tell, um, Benny here, he can rest easy when I’m president. I was actually in a war, and
it’s hard, but we gotta make the tough choices.”
King descended the small flight of stairs and went out into the audience, shaking hands as he spoke.
“We’re no longer in a position to keep minding our own business, just wait it out and see what happens, as Governor Carp might say. What happens is a big, smoking mushroom cloud, that’s where they’re headed with this. Obviously, we can’t continue to rely only on our military to achieve all the national security objectives that we’ve set. We’ve gotta have a civilian national security force that’s just as powerful, just as strong, just as well-funded. And they’re gonna need diplomatic-style immunity to do what they gotta do. That’s what America expects from the leader of the free world, the president of the United States of America!”
King walked backwards to the stage, shaking hands as he went, taking his place again on the podium.
“At the end of the day, you got a stark choice in front of you.” King paused thoughtfully. “Couldn’t be starker. We’re focusing on the issues, facing the challenges, staying on message. Fighting hard for working families, standing up to the special interests. So you got a real stark choice after all. Now, if we make the wrong choice as a nation, then the terrorists have won — and no one wants that. God bless us, every one. Goodnight, America.”
“Governor Carp,” Sierra the moderator quickly responded, cutting off the budding applause, “you’ve written and lectured extensively on this topic in the most prestigious journals and distinguished universities, where you are considered an expert. Please, enlighten America tonight.”
Carp grinned, waving at the audience, ever upbeat.
“The fact of the matter is, is we have a plan to keep the war over there, not over here. My top military advisors have worked out what they call the Flypaper Strategy. How it basically works is you wipe them out on their turf, not on yours. If they want to start a fight by threatening American interests or whatever, well, we’ll finish it for them. We’ve never backed down from a fight and we’re not about to start now. Speaking of fights, our challenger over here was only a desk jockey in the Chair Force. There’s a difference between commanding a platoon and commanding a desk.”
Half the audience laughed and applauded heartily. When the clapping finally died down, Carp continued.
“I, uh, I fought in a war, you know, so I know all about it, I know what it’s like, our brave fighting men and women. We’re proud to have served our country and I — that is, America — can’t stay on the sidelines. We have to move the ball into the end zone.”
He took a gulp of water.
“You only get so many downs, so let’s score a touchdown!”
Carp solemnly stared into the cameras to address the viewers directly, as it were.
“We gotta play offense against the terrorists living among us, you put them on the defense. You root them all out, you root ’em out from their hiding places and you deal with it. It’s time for a new beginning. It’s time for real leadership. Look, if we make the wrong choice, there’s gonna be riots and looting, there’s gonna be tanks in the streets. I’m not kidding this time — so let’s make the right choice. Let’s work together. Thank you! Thank you very much!”
The debate was now over. The candidates clasped each other’s hands and shoulders, and whispered what appeared to be something intimate and amusing to each other before walking off the stage together.
7
Hail to the Chief
KING WALKED WITH A JAUNTY AIR. Even though a frigid wind blew on this threatening January day, he was without an overcoat, hat or gloves. He was freezing, literally in pain, his feet and hands turning numb, and yet he strode relaxed and at his ease, as if it were a midsummer’s day at the beach. Although the streets were windswept and dry, it was well cold enough to snow. He was accompanied by his wife, Priscilla, who wore a bulky overcoat, matching hat and mittens, and high boots. Barely restrained by the barricades and riot police lining every inch of the route, throngs of captivated onlookers shouted and waved as the Kings made their way to the Capitol in this first-ever pre-inaugural parade. The handsome couple mechanically waved their hands back and forth, a frozen smile fixed on their frozen faces.
Surrounding the Kings was a phalanx of security agents on foot, dressed in heavy black overcoats. Dark SUVs with blacked-out windows drove slowly in the rear. The lightbars mounted on their roofs flashed rotating red and blue lights, their headlights blinking in a blinding sequence. Revving their engines, dozens of police motorcycles with sidecars led the procession along Pennsylvania Avenue in a double V formation. Sniper teams positioned themselves on top of the buildings along the route, sighting their Remington Modular Sniper Rifles equipped with sound suppressors on various spots in the crowds.
Benson and his wife naturally expected to be invited to the inauguration, or at the very least to some of the celebration galas held throughout D.C. the week afterward, but he heard nothing from the organizers. Emails and telephone calls went unanswered. Jane returned the special dress and shoes she’d bought.
The Kings ascended the steps to the Capitol’s West Front. Dignitaries seated in the reviewing stands, wearing the official Presidential Medal bearing his likeness around their necks, complained incessantly of the biting cold. Indeed, the event should have been moved indoors, but King had insisted that it be held outside so long as it didn’t snow. The pageantry would be so much better and the impact far greater, he insisted, especially for a live broadcast.
With Priscilla and his adult children standing behind him, King raised his right hand in the air, his left hand on a Bible, repeating the oath of office recited by the chief justice.
“I do solemnly swear…”
“I do solemnly swear,” King said, suddenly anxious, despite having rehearsed this exact moment thousands of times over the last two years. Deeply tired, he was unable to sleep the night before, refusing any medication for fear of lingering side effects that might interfere with delivering his inaugural address. He did, however, take the liberty of tossing back a stiff drink or two to steady his nerves.
“That I will faithfully execute the office of president of the United States…”
“That I will faithfully execute the president of the United States.”
“And will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.”
“And will, to the best of my ability, preserve and protect the Constitution of the United States.”
The audience clapped politely. King shook the chief justice’s hand, accepting his congratulations, and then clasped his own hands together and raised them overhead, facing one direction and then the other. At long last, it was finally over.
The last two years had been spent constantly giving speeches or traveling to speeches. Speech hell. He had traveled back and forth across the country in the immense campaign bus, the quaint and creaky “Love Train,” the lavish party jet, and even a faux stagecoach, delivering speeches at every little burg across the country until he was hoarse. Inevitably, there would be hecklers and protesters interrupting until security hustled them away for interrogation. Then there were the unceasing interviews, campaign briefings, fundraising dinners, and the calls to potential donors from his hotel, dawn to midnight, seven days a week.
Everybody had wanted something. Business donors demanded special tax breaks, powerful State jobs, subsidies, guaranteed low-interest loans, grants, and other such aid in return for their unreserved support. Union leaders extracted promises to raise minimum wages to uncompetitive levels and erect taller trade barriers as the price for delivering their member’s votes. The healthcare lobby sought higher tax payments, farm organizations stood firm on a boost in minimum prices and export subsidies, numerous pressure groups received pledges to ban products and activities they opposed, and on and on. He began to feel more like a mere conduit for other people’s designs than the most powerful man on Earth that destiny had dictated he become.
He hardly ever
saw his dear Priscilla or his devoted family except for brief photo opportunities arranged at campaign stops. He was desperately sick and tired of it all, and now it was finally at an end. What sort of person would do anything, say anything, and sacrifice everything to get this job? The kind of person who could repair the nation, he told himself many times, and now he could get to it.
The U.S. Marine Band played the traditional ruffles and flourishes on the drums and bugles four times, followed by a rousing “Hail to the Chief” and 21-gun salute. The proud new president turned to face the spectators on the West Front, standing in front of a white railing and a cluster of microphones. The dignitaries were seated. The crowd respectfully quieted.
History had been made here; legendary inaugurals that were still revered. “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself,” and “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country,” and “With malice toward none, with charity for all,” had been uttered here. Words that had spurred a nation. Words that inspired the country to greatness.
King raised his hands high and looked back and forth at the vast audience before him. The wind gusts messed his hair; he smoothed it with one hand while keeping the other in the air.
“My friends, fellow dignitaries, distinguished guests, this century must be an American century,” he read from the concealed teleprompters. “In an American century, America has the strongest economy and the strongest military in the world. God did not create the Homeland to be a nation of followers. America is not destined to be one of several equally balanced global powers. America must lead the world, or someone else will. And Americans,” he said with a dramatic pause, “will not be led. Americans will not be ruled.”
That was a pretty strong opener, King thought. That last bit might become the most memorable part of the entire speech, his signature “legacy” line. It could even appear on a presidential statue honoring his public service someday. He saw wide agreement in some of the nodding heads and reserved applause.
