«Very nice, Vinnie.»
«Please, Big Man, we’re all a little stressed here.» The director leaned forward, his apprehensive eyes on the White House legal aide. «You,» he continued, «put away the chalk and let’s have the news. And do me a favor, don’t spend a week getting there, okay?»
«As you wish, Mr. Mangecavallo,» said the White House attorney, placing the colored chalk on the blackboard ledge. «I was merely trying to diagram the historical precedents relative to the altered laws where the Indian nations were concerned.»
«What nations?» asked the Vice-President, in his voice a trace of arrogance. «They’re tribes, not countries.»
«Go on,» interrupted the director. «He’s not here.»
«Well, I’m sure you all recall the information our mole at the Supreme Court gave us about an obscure, impoverished Indian tribe petitioning the Court over a supposed treaty with the federal government that was allegedly lost or stolen by federal agents. A treaty that if ever found would restore their rights to certain territories currently housing vital military installations.»
«Oh, yes,» said the President. «We had quite a laugh over that. They even sent an extremely long brief to the Court that nobody wanted to read.»
«Some poor people will do anything but get a job!» joined in the Veep. «That is a laugh.»
«Our lawyer isn’t laughing,» observed the director.
«No, I’m not, sir. Our mole sends word that there’ve been some quiet rumors which may mean absolutely nothing, of course, but apparently five or six justices of the Court were so impressed by the brief that they’ve actually debated its merits in chambers. Several feel that the lost Treaty of 1878, negotiated with the Wopotami tribe and the Forty-ninth Congress, may ultimately be legally binding upon the government of the United States.»
«You gotta be outta your lemon tree!» roared Mangecavallo. «They can’t do that!»
«Totally unacceptable,» snapped the pinstriped, acerbic Secretary of State. «Those judicial fruitcakes will never survive the polls!»
«I don’t think they have to, Warren.» The President shook his head slowly. «But I see what you mean. As the great communicator frequently told me, ‘Those mothers couldn’t get parts as extras in Ben-Hur, not even in the Colosseum scenes.’»
«Profound,» said the Vice-President, nodding his head. «That really says it. Who’s Benjamin Hurr?»
«Forget it,» replied the balding, portly Attorney General, still breathing heavily from the swift journey through the underground corridors. «The point is they don’t need outside employment. They’re set for life, and there’s nothing we can do about it!»
«Unless they’re all impeached,» offered the nasal-toned Secretary of State, Warren Pease, his thin-lipped smile devoid of bonhomie.
«Forget that, too,» rebutted the Attorney General. «They’re pristine white and immaculate black, even the skirt. I checked the whole spectrum when those pointy-heads shoved that negative poll tax decision down our throats.»
«That was simply grotesque!» cried the Vice-President, his wide eyes searching for approval. «What’s five hundred dollars for the right to vote?»
«Too true,» agreed the occupant of the Oval Office. «The good people could have written it off on their capital gains. For instance, there was an article by a fine economist, an alumnus of ours, as a matter of fact, in The Bank Street Journal, explaining that by converting one’s assets in subsection C to the line item projected losses in—»
«Prez, please?» interrupted the director of the Central Intelligence Agency gently. «That bum’s doing time, six to ten years for fraud, actually… A lid, please, Big Man, okay?»
«Certainly, Vincent… Is he really?»
«Just remember, none of us remember him,» replied the DCI, barely above a whisper. «You forgot his line item procedures when we had him at Treasury? He put half of Defense into Education, but nobody got no schools.»
«It was great PR—»
«Stow it, gumball—»
«‘Stow it,’ Vincent? Were you in the navy? ‘Stow it’ is a navy term.»
«Let’s say I’ve been on a lot of small, fast boats, Prez. Caribbean theater of operations, okay?»
«Ships, Vincent. They’re always ‘ships.’ Were you by way of Annapolis?»
«There was a Greek runner from the Aegean who could smell a patrol boat in pitch dark.»
«Ship, Vincent. Ship… Or maybe not when applied to patrols—»
«Please, Big Man.» Director Mangecavallo stared at the Attorney General. «Maybe you didn’t look good enough into that dirtbag character spectrum of yours, huh? On those judicial fruitcakes, as our high-toned Secretary of State called ’em. Maybe there were omissions, right?»
«I used the entire resources of the Federal Bureau,» replied the obese Attorney General, adjusting his bulk in the inadequate chair while wiping his forehead with a soiled handkerchief. «We couldn’t hang a jaywalking ticket on any of them. They’ve all been in Sunday school since the day they were born.»
«What do those FBI yo-yos know, huh? They cleared me, right? I was the holiest saint in town, right?»
«And both the House and the Senate confirmed you with rather decent majorities, Vincent. That says something about our constitutional checks and balances, doesn’t it?»
«More about checks made out to ‘cash’ than balances, Prez, but we’ll let it slide, okay?… Owl Eyes here says that five or six of the big robes may be leaning the wrong way, right?»
«It could simply be minor speculation,» added Washburn. «And completely in camera.»
«So who’s takin’ pictures?»
«You misunderstand, sir. I mean the debates remain secret, not a word of them leaked to the press or the public. The blackout was actually self-imposed on the grounds of national security, in extremis.»
«In who?»
«Good heavens!» cried Washburn. «This wonderful country, the nation we love, could be placed in the most vulnerable military position in our history if five of those damn fools vote their consciences. We could be obliterated!»
«Okay, okay, cool it,» said Mangecavallo, staring at the others around the table, quickly passing by the eyes of the President and his heir apparent. «So we got us some room by this top-secret status. And we also got five or six judicial fruitcakes to work on, right?… So, as the intelligence expert at this table, I say we should make sure two or three of those Zucchinis stay in the vegetable patch, right? And since this sort of thing is in my personal realm of expertise, I’ll go to work, capisce?»
«You’ll have to work quickly, Mr. Director,» said the bespectacled Washburn. «Our mole tells us that the Chief Justice himself told him he was going to lift the debate blackout in forty-eight hours. In his own words, Chief Justice Reebock said, ‘They’re not the only half-assed ball game in town’—that’s a direct quote, Mr. President. I personally do not use such language.»
«Very commendable, Washbloom—»
«That’s Washburn, sir.»
«Him, too. Let’s skull, men—and you, too, Miss … Miss …»
«Trueheart, Mr. President. Teresa Trueheart.»
«What do you do?»
«I’m your Chief of Staff’s personal secretary, sir.»
«And then some,» mumbled the DCI.
«Stow it, Vinnie.»
«My Chief of Staff …? Gosh ’n’ crackers, where is Arnold? I mean this is a crisis, a real zing doozer!»