“Before we head into town, let’s sit down in the conference room in the hangar here and talk,” said Gates. “I want to know from you, Andrew, what are the meat-and-potato issues for your constituents? What are they concerned with? What are they optimistic about, and what can I specifically do to help Michigan, etc.”
This was something the President did whenever he spoke somewhere. He preferred to find out from local leaders, not pollsters, what the situation on the ground was like. In his experience, the people who lived in a district were by far the ones who knew the issues the best.
The two of them talked for roughly twenty minutes before settling on a couple of main talking points Gates would focus on and projects that could really use government assistance. Following the discussion, the President signaled it was time to bring in the security folks and discuss the potential threats and what they would do should a threat materialize.
Taking the lead in this discussion, the FBI agent in charge for Detroit explained, “We do not have any credible threats from any foreign actors. There is no chatter on any of the cyber rooms we monitor and nothing from our sources on the ground. That isn’t to say the Russians or Chinese may not try something, which is why we have Major Natal and his team with us on loan from Joint Special Operations Command or JSOC.”
The military man, wearing 511 clothes and decked out in full combat gear, just nodded.
“We do anticipate a large number of protesters in the area — mostly Antifa and antiwar protesters and student groups,” the FBI agent continued. “We have a number of agents wearing civilian clothes intermixed with them to help keep an eye on the protests and make sure they don’t turn violent. We’ve also limited where they can protest, so they shouldn’t clash with any of your supporters or those just coming to hear you speak. We’re trying as best we can to minimize our security presence per your request, but please keep in mind, it’s incredibly difficult for us to secure an outdoor venue for you during a war.”
The head of the President’s Secret Service detail nodded in agreement. “I still wish you’d hold this event indoors, Mr. President. We have an alternate site secured and set up. It wouldn’t be difficult for us to shift the event to that location,” he offered, once more hoping the President might agree to a more protected venue.
Looking at Andrew, Gates saw in the man’s eyes that he was really looking forward to this outdoor event. The park could hold a few thousand people or more, and word had it the park was already solidly packed. If they changed venues now, it would be to a much smaller indoor location that could probably only accommodate maybe three or four thousand people at best.
Gates shook his head. “No, we’ll keep the outdoor venue. I don’t want to have to exclude people when we don’t even have any credible threats. People need to see that their political leaders aren’t afraid to see them, and we need to project confidence in our law enforcement and military to protect us,” the President said, ending the debate.
A half hour later, the presidential motorcade left the Air Force base for the first of many 2018 campaign stops.
As he waded through the throngs of people who were coming to hear the President speak, George thought to himself how much he loved Michigan, and how he would really be enjoying this trip if he weren’t so wrapped up in his purpose for being there. “What’s not to love?” he thought. “Beautiful parks, the Upper Peninsula, and of course, Canada right across the border.”
Walking up to the Jeffersonian, George entered the electronic code his Airbnb host had given him, unlocking the outer door to the lobby. He smiled warmly at the young woman manning the reception desk as he made his way to the elevator bank. A bell dinged as he approached the elevator. A second later, a young couple wearing obnoxiously gaudy Gates T-shirts emerged, laughing at something as they walked past him and headed out the door to join the mass of humanity that was gathering in the park to hear President Gates speak.
George pressed the button for the eighteenth floor and waited for the doors to close. Once he got off, he headed toward apartment 1818 and entered the second electronic code that unlocked the door. Walking in, George immediately headed over to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. He opened it and took a long drink, rehydrating himself.
Next, he walked over to the family room and plopped himself down on the La-Z-Boy recliner and grabbed the remote control for the 65-inch flat-screen TV. He turned it on and clicked through the channels until he found MSNBC, his favorite channel, and listened in on the coverage of the President’s motorcade as it continued to make its journey from the Air National Guard base in Townships to Detroit, where it would eventually stop in Erma Henderson Park. The talking heads on MSNBC were in a bewildered state as they discussed a new Gallup poll that showed the race in Michigan to be toss-up at this point. George shuddered. The President was doing his best to help elect more of his own party to the Senate, and George and many of his fellow Antifa activists feared this would only enable the fascist Gates to pursue more of his radical agenda.
George watched intently as the local news helicopter showed an aerial picture of the President’s motorcade driving down I-94 before it would turn south to head toward the park where that night’s speaking event would occur. Twenty minutes went by with various pundits talking about what the President might say, or what they believed he should say. Slowly, the motorcade eventually made its way to the park. As it entered the perimeter, George could hear the roar of the crowd.
Getting up from the chair, he walked over to the sliding glass doors and looked through them out at Erma Henderson Park next door. He found himself amazed that so many thousands of people had gathered to hear one man speak. “How can so many people be deceived by this fascist?” he thought. It blew his mind to think that all of those masses before him were blind to how the dictator Gates was destroying the country. “How many people have to die in this fascist war?”
He was still struggling with what he was about to do — it went against everything he had ever been taught, but deep down, he knew he couldn’t sit by and let his little brother die in a senseless war, not if he could do something to stop it.
Turning away from the sliding glass doors, George examined his setup one last time. He had moved the kitchen table further back into the kitchen, placing additional distance between it and the sliding glass doors. Then he’d placed a few pillows on the table and propped up his Winchester Model 70. He had a pillow plush against the tripod to help provide more stability for him. When George had arrived at the Airbnb condo three days ago, he’d checked the park out and calculated where the President was likely to speak from to make sure he had placed the table and the rifle in a position that would allow him to shift his aim as needed. He knew he was likely only going to get one solid shot off, or else another sniper would probably find him and shoot him.
Being a novice shooter and having never shot anything living before, he was nervous he might miss, or that his hands might be shaky. He looked down at his fingers. They were still, but definitely sweaty.
The crowd outside broke his circling thoughts as they roared and then chanted, “USA, USA, USA!”
George couldn’t really hear exactly what the President was saying over all the noise. Then again, he really wasn’t focused on the speech, despite the audio of the President’s speech being relayed over MSNBC. Placing his head against the stock of the rifle, he leaned his right eye into the scope. He closed his left eye as he tried to zero in on Gates.