by John Brown
“My fellow citizens, we might be bound by a common set of ideals, but let’s celebrate our diversity, too. Let us reach out to improve the welfare of all our citizens. Looking out for you, working together, getting the big picture. Let us summon the political will to actively advance our democracy and remoralize our nation. New programs will be designed to help our children. Opportunities will be aligned and our families will be empowered. Our policies will leverage the economy, create millions of new high-paying jobs, make life easier for countless people, and clean up the environment — all at the same time. We’ll have affordable, high-speed light rail going everywhere. We’ll legislate generous living wages and bring down the cost of housing, and then folks will need to buy more washing machines and refrigerators and cars to go with their new houses. That’s good for the economy and it’s good for jobs.”
This was met with spirited applause.
He had spent hours with his speechwriters getting the next part just right, taking most of it directly from his new executive departments’ existing mission statements.
“Your federal Department of Energy will ensure America’s security and prosperity by addressing its energy, environmental, and nuclear challenges through transformative science and technology solutions. They’ll prohibit energy exports to help keep prices low and supplies plentiful. We’ll be self-sufficient and help support American jobs.
“Your federal Department of Education will promote student achievement and preparation for global competitiveness by fostering educational excellence and ensuring equal access regardless of ability. They’ll develop new comprehensive student testing programs, new teacher certifications, new benchmarks, and new mandatory, uniform curriculums across this great and diverse land.
“Your federal Department of Health and Human Services will improve the health, safety, and well-being of America. Their goal is for all Americans to live longer, healthier, more prosperous, and more productive lives so they can get back to work and contribute their fair share.
“Your federal Department of Labor will foster, promote, and develop the welfare of wage earners, job seekers, and retirees; improve working conditions, advance opportunities for profitable employment, and assure government benefits and special rights. They’ll advocate for rewarding, lucrative careers and mandate full employment — and when everyone’s working and contributing, the treasury will be full.
“Your federal Department of Commerce will make American businesses more innovative at home and more competitive abroad. That’ll make the USA number one again and help broaden the tax base, too.”
He looked out at the audience, clenching the microphone, disappointed. Their reaction seemed a bit tepid.
“There are those who don’t understand that the economy must be managed. For the greater good. For fairness. For equality.”
The wind whipped right through his thin suit jacket, chilling him to the bone.
“Stimulus.”
He barely fought off the nearly irresistible urge to shiver.
“Economic stimulus, social stimulus, national stimulus. Progress can’t just happen on its own. Society must be organized and directed to promote the general welfare, to stimulate innovation, and encourage the arts and sciences. The greatest happiness of the greatest number will be our guiding principle. We’ll demand increased social investment, tighter regulations, and stricter standards. We’ll seek a much greater and more equitable contribution from those who are able to pay more. Corporations—”
His speech was interrupted by thunderous clapping and cheering. King respectfully acknowledged the acclaim.
“Our corporations and unions must be reorganized into public-private stakeholder cooperatives partnering with the State to serve the national interest in the New America. The State itself must be boldly reimagined with a daring new vision statement. This is the basis of our New Economic Policy, which will repurpose all aspects of economic development, particularly with regard to sustainable economic infrastructure and information technology.
“And we’re still committed as ever to winning the War on Drugs, the War on Illegal Workers, the War on Poverty, the War on Crime, and the War on Terror. A nation that can send a man to the moon can certainly rise to the challenge of winning these wars. Now, it may be that none of these wars have ever been won, in a purely technical, narrow sense. But we can’t just give up. I don’t believe in giving up. Washington didn’t give up. Roosevelt didn’t give up. Kennedy didn’t give up. We didn’t become a great nation by giving up.
“Now, some may ask, ‘How are we going to stop drugs on our streets when we can’t stop it in our schools and prisons? How are we going to stop all these illegal aliens from working American jobs? How are we going to eliminate visible poverty? How are we going to make our streets safe from terrorists?’ Well, maybe if we tried harder, that’s how!”
A gust of bitter-cold wind sent some debris flying up the steps. Apart from a strange tingling sensation, he no longer had any feeling in his hands.
“Drugs are bad. They impoverish the soul of this mighty nation. The big cartels are from Mexico and Panama and other countries. They send illegal aliens into the Homeland to sell these dangerous drugs to our children — numerous studies prove exactly that. And weren’t those 911 terrorists illegal aliens? The War on Drugs and the War on Terror must be a single enterprise devoted to national security.”
King sensed that he had the people thinking. He knew it by instinct; the audience was with him. He decided right then to depart from the prepared text.
“And speakin’ a national security, make no mistake, my friends, without national security, there’s no other kinda security. Our grave nation faces a grave foreign threat. We can’t meet a grave foreign threat with internal chaos. The terrorists use our freedoms against us. So it follows that we need a more intelligent, a more nuanced — if you will — understanding of the Constitution to bring it up to date.
“Our nation’s at war against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. We destroy them, my friends, or they destroy us. All right, so you’re with us or you’re with the terrorists! Time to choose sides, time to take a stand. We’ve been fighting them with one hand tied behind our backs, but today — today, we ask for your trust. Today, you know, we’re reaching out to all citizens, young and old, black and white, rich or poor, men, women, doesn’t matter. My administration—”
He was interrupted again by resounding applause.
“My administration will double-down on previous well-intentioned efforts and restore your faith in government. We must go on the offense against radicals — and offense is the best defense. I’m talkin’ preemptive intelligence, you get ’em before they cause trouble, but you still respect the rule of law — and you can take that to the bank.”
“King! King! King! King!”
“Now, some of the events of the last couple years, in terms of our national narrative, have damaged the American brand.”
He banged his fist on the lectern.
“That’s gotta stop and it will stop.”
King bowed his head while waiting for the raging applause to die down.
“We’ve become a nation of crises. We got a moral crisis, an economic crisis, an energy crisis. We got a spending crisis, an immigrant crisis, a foreign crisis. We got a leadership crisis. A failure to act, and act now, will turn these crises into catastrophes.”
King solemnly held up his hand to quiet the boisterous crowd. Without warning, he grabbed a microphone and went over to the dignitaries’ section, shaking their hands as he spoke, his voice ringing throughout Capitol Hill and beyond.
“National renewal, national unity. Shared sacrifice, transparency. Accountability, restoring your faith in government. Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!”
The VIPs were flabbergasted.
“This administration will reflect America. Inventive, intelligent, informed, motivated to succeed. We’ll modernize programs and streamline the bureaucracy — but n
ow’s not the time for big philosophical debates, all right? This country needs a leader, not a reader.”
“King! King! King! King!”
He pumped his fist in time with the crowd’s chanting, his suit jacket flying open.
“King! King! King! King!”
“Thank you, D.C., you’ve been great! Thank you, America!”
The sidewalks were filled with people eager to witness the post-inaugural parade from the Capitol to the White House. Kids bundled up against the cold sat up high on their father’s shoulders to get a better view. Old folks draped in heavy blankets sat up front in folding lawn chairs.
LAV-300 armored personnel carriers lumbered down the street, their six huge tires rolling slowly. Equipped with thermal sensors, computerized tracking devices, night vision, tear gas launchers, and other sophisticated riot apparatus, the all-black, amphibious vehicles were marvels of tactical urban warfare. “POLICE” in white reflective letters adorned the fronts and backs; machine gun turrets rotated around. Up on top, helmeted officers in flak vests and mirrored sunglasses waved to the spectators on both sides of the street, occasionally throwing Hershey’s Kisses® and M&M’s® to the frozen sidewalks. The kids scrambled to scoop up their treats.
Next up were contingents from the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines, along with brand new members of the fledgling Civilian National Security Force, all of them resplendent in their dress uniforms. They were joined by units of the Army National Guard and Air National Guard from all 50 states, Puerto Rico, and the District of Columbia. Led by drummers and trumpeters, each branch marched in its own column. In unison, they played “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” set to a modern jazz arrangement, and “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
“O say can you see, by the dawn’s early light,”
“What so proudly we hailed, at the twilight’s last gleaming…”
Many of those seated in the crowd rose as the marchers went by, covering their hearts with their right hands in reverence, silently mouthing the lyrics.
“O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave…”
“O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.”
“Thank you for serving our country!” people yelled out to the steely faced service members marching past.
Bulldog X SWAT trucks glided along the route, flashing their brilliant red, white, and blue lights and blipping their powerful sirens. These imposing armored trucks, 10 feet high and 26 feet long, sported ballistic glass and multiple gun ports. With all their windows blacked out, they seemed driverless, as if by piloted by remote control.
The grand motorcade made its way in the middle of this impressive procession. The president’s limousine, nicknamed “The Beast,” was a gigantic, bombproof Cadillac with eight-inch thick military-grade armor plating on the doors and five-inch thick reinforced steel plate under the chassis to repel bomb blasts. The bodywork, a combination of hardened steel, aluminum, titanium, and ceramic, was designed to break up projectiles. The cabin featured a sealed-air recirculation system to protect against chemical attacks. Five-inch thick ballistic glass, night vision cameras, pump-action shotguns, and tear gas cannon gave it a bunker-like level of protection.
Heavily armed Secret Service agents walked alongside all 18 feet and eight tons of The Beast, accompanied by black SUVs and dozens of police motorcycles at either end. Two specially trained Secret Service agents chauffeured The Beast. In the back seat was the president and First Lady Priscilla, in a monotone brown outfit that matched her hair, elaborately made up with powder and paint. The thick glass and armor plating kept the interior hushed and isolated, cocooned from the outside. The spectators couldn’t see much through those heavy windows. Still, the First Couple could wave at the crowds and speechify from within.
In a booming voice projected through loudspeakers mounted on The Beast, President King addressed the celebrants, many of whom were dancing on the sidewalks behind the barricades.
“My friends, we have come to change the tone in Washington. It’s time for a new beginning. It’s time for real leadership. We’ll reach across party lines and break the gridlock. Together, we’ll build our future and make America great again. Together, we’ll become a better, stronger country. It’s time for a change.”
8
You Will Please Come with Us
BENSON LOOKED AT ALL THE PAPERS piling up on his office desk. The campaign season and its laborious aftermath was finally over and it was time to get back to work. Somewhat dispirited, lacking his usual tenacity, for the last few weeks he had done just the minimum necessary to get through the workday. He stared at all his emails, not wanting to open any of them. It would probably take several hours to get through them all. His phone rang. He let it ring through into voicemail. He was suddenly overtaken by a panicky feeling of being confined, chained down in his office by all this work in front of him. He felt anxious, in need of escape.
Grabbing his suit jacket, he headed for the elevator and took a brisk walk outside. He stopped at a sandwich counter and went to a nearby park, enjoying the mild, early spring weather while he ate.
Before returning to his office, he entered the bank branch downstairs. Making his way to the front of the line, he handed a deposit slip and checks to the teller. She spent an inordinate amount of time tapping the keys on her terminal while he waited.
The teller held the checks up to the light and examined each one carefully.
“Sorry Mr. Benson, we can’t deposit these checks. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with the checks themselves; there’s some problem with your REAL ID. We can’t access your account.”
“There must be a mistake. Who do I talk to?”
“Not sure…” She drummed her fingers on the counter. “Try the ATS call center.”
“ATS?”
“Automated Targeting System. It’s probably just a simple error, yes, I’m sure that’s it. We’ve had mucho problems with their new system. Sorry, there’s nothing we can do, but I’m sure they can resolve this. Have a nice day.” She locked eyes with the next customer in line. “I can help whoever’s next?” she called out.
Benson closed his office door and got on the phone.
“Welcome to your Department of Homeland Security,” said a deep, professional announcer-style voice. “Prensa ocho para el español. Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line and a representative will be with you shortly.”
The phone went dead silent.
Kay came by, peering at Benson through the glass walls of his office and pointing at her watch. He shook his head and motioned her to go away with repeated flicks of his hand. He would have to cover that glass with blinds or something. She continued looking in for a moment, watching him pace, and finally left.
Benson wasn’t sure that his call was still active. Looking out his window, he held on for several minutes more until a pleasant singsong voice came on the line.
“Hello, you’ve reached ATS, a service of your Department of Homeland Security in collaboration with your FBI Terrorist Screening Center. My name is Rhonda, badge number 6377B. This call will be monitored for quality control purposes. Who am I speaking with today?”
“I’m sure you already know that on your screen.”
“Naw, we don’t have nothin’ like that here, sir, you’d be surprised.” She giggled. “Who am I speaking with, please?”
Rhonda wore a headset and a friendly smile. The warehouse space in which she worked was filled with hundreds of headset-clad clerks like herself sitting inside tiny low-rise cubicles as far as the eye could see. High above, suspended from the open metal beams of the roof structure, was the FBI-TSC logo with its blue and red stars superimposed on a globe of the world.
Benson had to give Rhonda his ID number and go through all the particulars before she would offer any help.
“Okay, so what the hell’s going on? Why am I on a watch list?”
“I’m sorry, we are not allowed to confirm or deny the existence of a
watch list, as you call it. Why do you feel you would you be in our TSDB?”
“TSDB? What the hell—”
“The Terrorist Screening Database, sir.”
“Listen, Rhonda, how do I clear my name?”
“I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to articulate further on that specific issue. Thank you for calling DHS. If there’s anything further we can assist you with, please don’t hesitate—”
“Rhonda, put your supervisor on the phone. Now.”
The line went dead again, then music played; an old hit set to the accordion. A string of commercial advertisements ran uninterrupted. After yet another musical interlude a click came on the line and then a moment of silence.
“Excuse me, sir?” It was Rhonda. “Are you still on the line? I’m sorry, but my supervisor’s either away from her desk or on the phone. I can take your name and number, Mr.—”
“You already have everything, Rhonda 6377B, so let’s not go through this again. How can I see my file?”
“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t disseminate those deliverables, but even if we did, it’d be classified. I never even seen them myself. You think after six years here, not including my family medical leave of absence, they’d at least—”
“What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Well, you could leverage substantiation that might impact your innocence,” Rhonda said, stumbling over the words, as though reading from a script.
“How do I prove I’m innocent when I don’t know what I’ve done?” Benson struggled to control himself. He didn’t want this Rhonda person hanging up on him or transferring him to telephone limbo.
“Well, if we open a conversation after this point in time, you’ll be notified when we initialize your Preliminary Pre-Investigation.”
“And that will be,” Benson said, “when, exactly?”
