Pierce still kept his perpetual grin on, but his voice held no humor. “No sir, I’m afraid it has always been you doing way too much fighting. You, by staying in power beyond your term and using military force to defend that position, have not only created this crisis, but made it worse at every turn. The only real threat to democracy that needs to be dealt with is you.”
The president’s eyes burned for a fight. The soon-to-be president backed off. “Ok, I know it’s not as cut and dried as all that, but you know how these things work. Come on, the people need a scapegoat. Five hundred dead or wounded soldiers on both sides is not something we can pass off on an overzealous subordinate. ‘We need to hold someone’s feet to the fire.’ ” Pierce grinned harder at his favorite campaign slogan.
“Not to worry though. This is politics, nothing personal. I’ll pardon you in a few months when things settle down. As part of the healing process. Sure, we’ll have to let Congress haul you up for some televised grandstanding hearings, but that’s all.”
Pierce wagged his finger. “Your biggest problem will be all those pissed off soldiers and the families of the fallen. If I were you, I would be spending these next few months reinventing myself as the greatest and most generous veterans advocate around. Have your handlers talk to my PR people; they are great at this stuff and will help with all the details. To help show there’s no hard feelings.”
The president ambled away from the desk and over to the Lincoln portrait on the far wall. “You know, they, Buchanan and even Lincoln at first, thought the same thing back then. That the growing southern rebellion was just political stuntery and could be countered by other political games. They failed to take decisive action until it was too late to stop the war from happening.” He hung his head.
“My mistake wasn’t sending in the Army, but rather calling them back. I lost my nerve and now I seriously doubt the military will follow me again. I don’t dare to push them and find out. You should learn from that mistake.”
He spun around, jabbing his desk with one finger. “Dimone has bitten off more than he can chew. From everything we can tell, what’s happening down South is turning into an honest to God secessionist movement. If you don’t rip this tumor out now, the demonstrations spreading around the country will only be the beginning.”
Pierce sat slowly, almost hesitantly, in that famous office chair. “Good God! Are you listening to yourself? After sitting in this seat so long, are you starting to think you’re Lincoln or something? Your paranoia and stubbornness sparked this whole catastrophe. What you so casually shrug off as ‘political games’ can put a halt to this senseless violence without another shot being fired!”
Leaning back, Pierce relaxed even deeper in the plush chair. “I see this was too much for you to handle, but I’ve got the whole situation in hand. By the end of today, this crisis will be a footnote in the history books. Not some type of damn civil war you are so hell bent on starting. I’ll—”
KADUSH!
In the movies, people outrun the explosion and jump to safety or something. The human mind simply cannot process the threat an explosion represents fast enough to do any good. The president did not blink, speak or react at all until several seconds after he was literally blown out the door of the Oval Office. Pierce, gesticulating in front of the window, wasn’t blown away…just blown apart.
The president had no direct experience with explosives. Still, even he thought it was strange how the blast radiated in a narrow cone from the punctured, bulletproof window and left most of the Oval Office unscathed. One bomb, one kill. If only all military operations could be so sanitary. As he slipped out of consciousness, he was impressed by how beautiful a surgical strike could be when properly carried out.
After the impact, Sergeant Major Brown nodded and dropped the radio missile guidance control box. He climbed as casually as could be back into his stolen pickup and drove away without a backwards glance. The TOW launcher stayed in the bed of a second borrowed truck, exactly where he fired it from. Except for wearing gloves while handling the equipment, he wasn’t terribly worried about covering his tracks. He knew they’d catch him one day. Just not today.
He launched his baby from the Thomas Jefferson memorial parking lot, across the tidal basin from the Washington Monument, right after closing. At a distance of 2.7 km, the launch site was well outside the Secret Service’s enhanced threat security cordon, but still easily within range of the antitank weapon. For a half-baked revenge scheme, put hastily together on the road and relying on radio news reports for his intelligence, it went pretty well. By the time the Capitol Police discovered the launcher, he was a good 20 miles inside Virginia and whistling Hail to the Chief.
He was thinking he’d head back to his base, have a couple homecoming beers with his buddies who must think he’s dead and then go make the local MP’s famous in the morning. Those plans changed when he pulled over for gas in North Carolina and saw a TV. The president gave an impromptu press conference from a hospital bed somewhere. Maybe he didn’t look too great, some burns and superficial shrapnel injuries, but the bastard sounded strong and lucid. Humbled but defiant, said the broadcaster. His approval ratings spiked a good 10 points within hours.
Brown hadn’t yet worked out the details, but instead of heading home, he pointed the truck towards that dangerous hellhole he swore he’d never visit again. He headed back to sunny Florida.
Outside of needing more gas and a quick burger, he made only two more stops along the way. At a bank and then a gun show.
Orlando, Florida
A nervous State Trooper opened the hotel room door for a relaxed attorney general. Senator Dimone mumbled hello without looking up from the television. A pudgy man in a sweaty suit stepped away from the air conditioner, hung up his phone and extended his hand. The grip was surprisingly firm. “Governor Pickens, thank you so much for accepting my invitation. I think together we can make quite a difference to your cause.”
“Please, call me Frank. Remember, I’m not the governor. I’m just a simple civil servant trying to maintain neutrality and law and order in the wake of the real governor’s criminal actions.” He smiled even brighter and pointed at the distracted senator.
“Or…a brave, Constitution loving freedom fighter standing up to tyranny. We’ll have to see how this plays out.”
The unnamed man, you don’t need introductions in the political world when you’ve financed as many campaigns as he had, laughed heartily and put his arm around the attorney general.
“I like you; damn if I don’t! Oh, I think we can do business. You see, you forgot the third option. How about going down in history as a loyal and high-ranking member of the new administration? With a presidential pardon for all so-called “crimes” committed in the name of defending the Constitution.”
The attorney general gazed around the hotel suite that was larger than his house. “Well, I’ve never been a history buff. What would this high ranking position pay?”
As he so often did, Senator Dimone ignored the conspiring around him. He had two televisions sitting side by side to monitor. Each tuned to a major liberal or conservative network so he could compare the slants in real time. You don’t get to be a five-term senator without having an intuitive grasp of popular opinion… and right now popular opinion scared the hell out of him. The only point both sides agreed on was that the time for compromise had passed.