“Thank you, Sergeant. That will be all for now.”
“Yes, Madame General.” MacTaggert popped to attention and exited the office. Perro watched MacTaggert’s slim and femininely muscular figure walk out of the office. MacTaggart was truly a stunning individual, which was exactly why Perro enjoyed controlling her. Perro’s attention turned to Joel, who was blowing on the top of his coffee. Even with all the cream, it was still too hot for him.
“Mr. Levine, let me get right to the point. Your work on the Clark presidency was brilliant. Your take on the Russian situation is spot on. Yours is a mind that, I believe, can be of service to the People.” Perro broke eye contact, got up from her desk, turned and looked out the massive window that was the wall of her office. She clasped her hands behind her back and let out a deep sigh as a way of expressing the weight and stress of her leadership. It was all for Joel’s benefit. She had rehearsed this meeting in her mind while she had sat on the toilet that morning. “Of course, you’re familiar with Prime Minister Volkov’s demands to the United Nations?”
“It’s outrageous, Madame General.” Joel set his coffee down on Perro’s desk with just enough righteous indignation to spill some over the edge of his cup. He nervously wiped up the spilled coffee with his napkin, quickly stood up, and walked over next to Perro. As soon as he completed the move, it dawned on him that the general might find it too dominating, too masculine a behavior. “For Prime Minister Volkov to claim to be speaking for the Mexican people, especially given your own personal history, is…” He hesitated for a moment. Did he dare go there? Would it be too much? Would it be offensive? Perro’s background was internationally known. In fact, her background had been heralded as evidence of America’s progress towards racial, economic, and international justice. Two generations earlier, Perro’s ancestors had illegally migrated into the United States of America. She was evidence of America’s true sense of social justice. Everything had been going his way so far today. Joel decided to risk the statement; perhaps it would really show the general how empathetic he was to her people and their struggles. “Well, it sounds so racist and patronizing. As a Latina woman you are far more qualified to know what the Mexican people really need.”
The nod of Perro’s concerned-looking face hid the temptation she had to ask him if there was such a thing as a Latina man. She let it go. She wanted a pseudo-intellectual with enough of a guilt complex that she could manipulate.
“Yes, because it is. White men have been doing this sort of thing for millennia, Mr. Levine. Do sit down.”
Joel did as he was told. General Perro remained standing. Her grandfather and father had taught her that many Anglos were conditioned to be manipulated through guilt. They often commented on the paradox of the people who had conquered the desert frontier of the American southwest and conquered kings, tyrants, poverty, and disease and could then produce such weak and susceptible descendants.
“Perhaps it is in their nature,” Nina recalled her father saying. “Once they conquered nearly all of Mexico, what did the Anglos do? They just gave it back. Who does that? Then they gave away Mexico; now they give away their own country. Nina, if a man is foolish enough to throw away his wealth, you must be wise enough to catch it. It is a ‘dog eat dog world.’” He would chuckle over the pun of their family name. “Some species thrive and others die out; it’s evolution. We must be the ones that thrive. If these people want to be slaves, then we must be the ones to control them.”
Now she did control them, and they had put her in power. As a young woman she was given scholarships. She was given preferential admittance to Federal Agency of Public Safety Academy. Even she was amazed at how easy it was for her to get high marks at the academy, considering how little she understood in her classes. The professors all spoke some kind of pseudo-intellectual psychobabble, and all she had to do was answer in kind and they would all praise her. She had graduated in the top quarter of her class despite her inability to pass the objective portion of the final exam, as well as meet the physical conditioning requirements or pass the firearms training. Once she had accused some of the faculty and students for discriminating against her for being a lesbian Latina, her graduation and commission was assured. Besides, there was more to public safety than being able to shoot guns and jump over walls. Populations had to be managed. Behavior had to be controlled, and this was where Nina’s passion lay. This was where her talents excelled.
Many in the FedAPS were happy to place her in positions of prominence as a way of showing their own tolerance and sense of equality. Then they would try to control her. They wanted her to advance their agenda, but they were like pups trying to steal bones from a wolf. They lived in fear of their vices, where she embraced hers as virtues. She could always demand that others were not doing enough to show their tolerance. Accuse them of never doing enough to dispense social justice, and they would cave. Of course, it was always helpful to her cause that she had a talent for collecting information. Perro had a knack for encouraging habits and vices that most did not want to be public knowledge. She read Saul Alinsky, who taught to use people’s rules against them. She excelled at holding people to the very standards that they themselves were too weak to adhere to. This guilt allowed her to manipulate many, and what she loved about this tactic was that she was completely immune to it. When she failed to adhere to the high standards that she demanded of others, it was never her fault. She claimed her failings were further evidence of why she needed to be promoted to fight the social injustices that had caused her failure. By this she had risen to the most powerful position in the Government. She commanded the military, she was in command of all federal law enforcement, her department had final authority over all banking and commerce, she even controlled presidential security and thus the behavior, actions, and security of the president of the United States. She was the centralized authority.
For all her authority, Perro still needed more to effect progress. The president, Congress, and the Supreme Court still had ceremonial authority that publicly needed to endorse her. Congress in particular, because of its many members, could be tricky to control. Adding fuel to that fire was that nearly a third of the states were in quasi rebellion. Immigration policies of the several previous decades had done much to erode the American concept of separation of powers and constitutional law. However, there was still a significant number of Americans that clung to these outdated concepts that interfered with institutionalized social injustice. Perro was confident that their time had passed, but they were still offering resistance to the Progressive Movement. This resistance manifested itself in noncompliance with federal mandates and the election of some troublesome congressmen. It was one of these congressmen, on top of the drama with Russia and the UN, that had made the last two weeks so stressful for Perro.
“I assume you are familiar with Senator Ferguson’s proposal to recreate a United States Marine Corps and to have it outside the authority of the Federal Agency of Public Safety?”
“Yes, Madame General, I am. Of course…” Joel’s voice trailed off. Suddenly he was not confident as to how he should answer the question.
Perro gave him a condescending smile. “I know, Ferguson is just a loon. No one takes him seriously with all his talk of Constitutionalism and American sovereignty. The problem is a fast-growing number of the American public are starting to take him seriously. Russia’s demand for the Southwest has only grown his support; and, as one would expect, many congressmen from the region are supporting him. My sources tell me that they are already working on such legislation that would bring the United States Marine Corps back as it was at the time of its dismemberment.”
“Oh, Madame General, once the American public is reminded of the Marine Corps’s barbarous culture of murder and treason, I think that support will evaporate,” Joel righteously replied.
“Those are my thoughts exactly, Mr. Levine.” Perro was pleased with how she had conducted this conversation so far. “Who might you recommend to rem
ind the public of this American history?” she said American with notable disdain.
“Madame General, I would be honored to perform such an assignment. That is, if you deem me worthy,” he said with confidence now that he knew where all this was going. He knew more than ever that this was indeed his time.
Perro patronizingly smiled and sauntered over to the desk. “Mr. Levine, you are exactly the kind of man I had in mind for the job.” She pressed the intercom button on her watch. “Sergeant, bring in Mr. Levine’s credentials.” Perro picked a piece of lint from the sleeve of her uniform before she turned her attention back to Levine. “You will be given temporary VIP status for the duration of this project. If you come through, as I believe you will, this will become a full-time status.” She paused to let that sink in. VIP status was what everyone dreamed of. It was the goal of every federal employee. It allowed one to live as a human, not as some serf from the Middle Ages. It was something most Americans would never experience. “Unfortunately, we will not be able to give you access to a Federal VIP travel jet on your return trip home. Hopefully you can suffer through one more public transport flight.” Perro still wanted to enact her return travel plans for Joel.
MacTaggert walked in with a satchel of electronic ware for Joel. The kit included a laptop computer, a tablet, virtual reality headphones, and a smartphone for his use, as well as FedAPS identification that already had his photo on it.
Perro again noticed the flirtatious look exchanged between the two when she was struck with a sudden burst of tyrannical genius.
“Oh, and one more thing, Sergeant MacTaggert,” Perro ordered in a gentle, almost purring voice.
“Yes, Madame General.” MacTaggert stood in front of Perro at attention. The general calmly, but firmly turned her around. Perro reached up and placed one hand between MacTaggert’s shoulder blades and pushed her over, so she had to brace herself on the edge of the general’s desk. Perro bent down and slid her other hand up and under MacTaggert’s skirt and began to roughly fondle her genitals. From across the desk, without saying a word, MacTaggert gave Joel a pleading look for help that she did not really expect him to act upon. Joel felt a bit awkward and embarrassed; he became occupied with his new kit and credentials. MacTaggert closed her eyes and clinched the edge of the desk. It was the closest to an escape that she could muster. Perro felt the emotional rush of a successful plan. Joel no longer had the air of confident masculinity about him. He was visibly shaken and submissive in pretending he could not see what was going on in front of him. MacTaggert was submitting without a word of protest, but why would she? Her career, her life would be destroyed if she did.
“Immediately begin researching Marine Corps history, tradition, culture, training, etc. With that equipment you will have full access to all federal websites and files that pertain to the United States Marine Corps. Included is contact information for Sandra LaGard; she is your new agent. Within a few weeks she will start arranging media interviews, where you will describe the findings of your latest research. You have any questions, any concerns, you contact her. You will not contact me. Understood?” Perro looked Joel right in the eye and waited for an answer as she continued to sexually abuse MacTaggert. All pleasantness was gone from her voice.
“Yes, Madame General.” Joel complied while looking down at his feet.
“Good. You’ll see on your itinerary that next Thursday you will have access to Sean Harris for an exclusive interview. You can have as much access to him as you want. Make him an excellent resource. No one has been allowed to interview him for the last fifty years. You’ll have VIP status and access to federal transport. Understood?”
“Yes, Madame General.”
“Within two weeks I expect to see the first of a series of articles that will culminate in a book explaining to the American public how a United States Marine Corps would be counter to their happiness and well-being. That the last thing they need, or want, is a bunch of misogynist American men being taught to kill on top of being taught how great they are. Understood?”
“Yes, Madame General.”
“Do this right and I will make you big.” Perro continued the conversation along with her sexual abuse. “You’ll be a contributor to the Progressive Movement. You will be celebrated. Do this wrong and I will personally see to your humiliation and destruction. Understood?”
“Yes, Madame General.” Joel was now fighting a wave of nausea. MacTaggert muffled a painful grunt.
“Any questions at all? Please feel free to ask.” The pleasantness was back in Perro’s voice, only now Joel could hear the perversion in it.
“Yes, Madame General, may I ask,” Joel said weakly, “who is Sean Harris?”
Perro laughed at his question. “I expected you to be familiar with Harris from all your research on Clark.” Perro thrust her hand harder into MacTaggert. “He’s serving a life sentence at Reid. He’s the last Marine we got.”
Chapter Three
“This is how civilized human beings should live.” Joel sank into the plush leather seats of the luxury federal passenger jet reserved for VIPs.
“Sir?” the flight attendant asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Joel gushed, knowing he sounded stupid, but not caring. “I’ll have a white wine.”
“My pleasure, sir,” the attendant dutifully responded and was off. Joel enjoyed the view. She was tall, blonde, and looked very much like a woman. She too wore a tighter, formfitting skirt similar to the uniforms he’d seen in the federal buildings in DC.
“One of the ‘perks’ of VIP status,” Joel mumbled jokingly to himself. This kind of luxury still seemed a bit surreal, and he was reveling in it.
The federal jet had tan leather seats that were wide enough to hold him comfortably. These seats could even recline.
“I could sleep in this!” Joel exclaimed. He smiled. Joel thought he might actually begin to enjoy traveling.
“Your wine, sir.”
Joel popped up his leather recliner.
“Is there anything else you would like before takeoff?”
Joel thought of several things he would like her to do, but he lacked the audacity to demand them. Yet he could not quite help himself. After all, what was the good of VIP status if one could not truly enjoy it?
“Yes, walk up to the front of the cabin and back. I would like to enjoy the view.” He smiled and gave her a wink. It felt a little uncomfortable; this was not his normal behavior. He had been raised to believe that the fact a woman was a woman should not make any difference to him. Although it always had in some way or another, to one extent or another, he had felt a sense of guilt about it. Now after having spent time with federal officers, even the madame general herself, he was beginning to think he should enjoy himself a bit. He’d noticed how they surrounded themselves with attractive young women and men in the same sort of fashion that they surrounded themselves with soft leather chairs, fine art, gourmet food, beautiful vistas, expensive alcohol, and high-quality narcotics. Very little was forbidden to FedAPS officers. The more authority one had, the fewer limitations. Joel loved this new world that he had become a part of, and he planned to stay in it. He would give the history they wanted. By the time American citizens read his book, they’d lose whatever nostalgia was left for the Marine Corps, or the old United States for that matter, and he would gain indulgence.
Joel ordered another white wine from the attendant and got to work; after all, nothing came for free, not even indulgence. He set up his laptop and opened Harris’s file. They had their first interview scheduled for tomorrow and Joel wanted to be up on his facts.
He had spent the last three days reading old media about the closing days of the Sino-American War and the return of the US Marines to their native country. Of course, his grandfather was in the back of his mind throughout his research. Abe had served as a Navy doctor during the war. He had always spoken highly of the Marines and of their courage and sacrifice. None of that mattered now. Joel’s work would focus on the Marin
e Corps culture and how their training and the war affected what they had done when they returned from the war. His angle would be to present Marine training, with a bit of Harris’s perspective, and how it created a warped, sadistic individual that was not acceptable to the civilized citizen. He would portray the return of the Marines from war as part of the ugliness of the Clark legacy and of the warrior culture he cultivated for the purpose of winning the Sino-American War.
The war itself could be portrayed as unjust and unnecessary. As nothing more than a laboratory of destruction to further cultivate these killing machines. He wanted to show an irony in that the Marine Corps created to protect and propel American greatness would wreak death and destruction on innocent American life, a Frankenstein’s monster on a grand scale. Joel loved the idea and thought that other media and academics would eat it up. Harris even looked the part of a monster with a brutal-looking scar running parallel to his cheekbone from his nose to his ear. Joel envisioned himself giving lectures on college campuses and interviews over the Internet. He thought it would get the exact kind of attention and focus that the madame general wanted, and soundly secure his career as a federal historian and his VIP status. Now he just had to find facts that would fit his thesis.
Joel spent a couple of days going through the government file on Harris. He was excited about some of the stereotypes that he hoped to exploit in order to prove his thesis. On the surface Harris was iconic of everything that was villainous of the old America. Born as Sean Daniel Harris, Joel thought the name had kind of an old American-sounding wholesomeness that he could play to the angle he was trying to come from on this. Harris was born and raised in Kansas, of all places. Not the rural heartland, straight off the farm Kansas that everyone thought of, but from the state’s capital, Topeka. It was a small city with a diverse population, local university, and crime issues. Joel wanted to present Harris’s upbringing as isolated, backward, homogenous, Southern gun-culture. For the purpose of his work, he figured he could get away with presenting it as such. After all, did anyone who really mattered know that much about Kansas? Besides, Kansas was part of an unofficial confederation of central states known for resisting progress and preaching constitutionality. Joel would present Harris as trouble waiting to happen, and he had no doubt that he could use the demonization of Kansas culture to a political advantage in this work.
The Last Marine Page 3
