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I didn’t let Marilyn know what had happened, and after she got out of the shower, I went in and cleaned up, and then shaved. When I was out and dressed properly, I went back out to the kitchen. Special Agent Reading was no longer in sight. Instead, a much less arrogant Special Agent Ralph Jaworski introduced himself, and promised to work with me to make sure there wasn’t any future unpleasantness in our relationship.

“Special Agent Jaworski, I would appreciate that. Would you care to see my home and give me your thoughts on the security situation?”

“Thank you, Congressman, that would be very nice.”

Sometimes you need to smack the mule with a two-by-four to get him to pay attention.

Something was still nagging at me, and then I realized that I couldn’t go to the Bahamas. Nicaragua still was screaming about demanding my extradition and still had an outstanding warrant issued on me through Interpol. Nobody really took it seriously, since political crimes were expressly excluded from Interpol’s mandate, but they had it couched in terms of murder. We were in the unique position of swearing in a wanted felon as the Vice President! While I doubted anybody would do anything, could I chance it? I called Assistant Commissioner Javier and explained my problem. He almost dropped the phone while laughing, but he promised to take care of the problem, and the next day I received a phone call and a messengered note from the Bahamian Ambassador stating that the Bahamas would ignore the request from Nicaragua for my arrest. I got the impression that they did not need to have the 82nd Airborne drop in on their little island to free me if I was thrown in jail.

Not that that was about to happen. Before I called Javier, I had called Secretary of State Madeline Albright to see if she could do something about the idiotic warrant. She was sympathetic, but told me that President Clinton had tied her hands. As it was, he was leaving office under a massive cloud, because he had issued pardons to both Hawkins and Reinhart, who would probably be investigated for their part in leaking the Nicaraguan disaster to the press. There was nothing she could do. If I did get arrested outside of the country she wouldn’t be able to help. She suggested I have Dick Cheney request it from the Nicaraugans when he took office.

I could just see that happening.

By the end of the week Marilyn and I were able to take a long weekend and head down to Hougomont. Special Agent Jaworski had taken his predecessor’s fate to heart, and was a lot politer. I knew that there were going to be some changes, but I didn’t have to put up with orders from an asshole. I stressed to Jaworski that once in the Bahamas, I would almost certainly be meeting with the Prime Minister, and that he needed to sort out security arrangements with the locals. I also gave him the name of Assistant Commissioner Javier, and suggested a call ahead of time would be a wise investment of his time. He was already aware of the issues with the Nicaraguan warrant.

My worries about George Bush doing something stupid were overblown. Dick Cheney wasn’t about to let George do anything he hadn’t already told him he was doing. I was a mistake that was not going to be repeated. Dick and Karl had a chokehold on the transition team, and on the cabinet and staff appointments that would be made. First and foremost, Dick was going to be Secretary of State. On my first run, Dick had been Veep, while Colin Powell had State. Now, since Powell was needed as both a sop to the moderate wing (like me) and because he was too prestigious for anything less, he was getting Defense. John Ashcroft, the former governor of Missouri and a staunch conservative, was getting Justice. Paul O’Neill, a Republican powerhouse and the head of Alcoa, was going to have Treasury, which I approved of; he was a moderate and a deficit hawk like me. As for the rest of the Cabinet, nobody cared.

For non-Cabinet positions, Paul Wolfowitz, a leading neo-conservative academic and former Deputy Secretary of State under George H.W. Bush, was going to get the CIA. Louis Freeh was still the Director of the FBI, but he wouldn’t last; he had a lot of baggage from the Clinton years and Cheney was already looking for a hard core conservative. Condi Rice was slated to be the National Security Adviser, which wasn’t a bad idea, actually. She was a black Republican woman, an unusual combination, and smart. Meanwhile Karl Rove would take a position in the White House as a senior counselor or some such.

Some of what was happening wasn’t amusing to me. I was also wondering to what extent George would be listening to me once he was sworn in. I may have shot my bolt simply by staying in the running when the others wanted me to drop out. We’d have to see.

In the meantime, we had about two months before the January special election for my Congressional seat. I threw my support and campaign chest into Cheryl’s corner, and she came out fighting. Rob Hollister had sworn he was going to run against whoever we nominated, but he didn’t have much money and we had whipped him soundly. The Democrats tried bringing in some fresh money, including from the national committee, but the RNC matched it. Every poll we ran showed Cheryl beating him. I even had George come up and we did a joint campaign tour for her, including a stop at the Westminster Diner, where we smiled for the camera with Nick Papandreas and his family. For a small town Greek immigrant running a diner, having the President-Elect and the Vice President-Elect show up was very big news. We ended up on the local and national news that night.

During Orientation Week I pulled out all the stops in a quid pro quo with John Boehner, and we managed to get him voted in as the new Whip. The Republican Party had pulled in another half dozen seats in the House, although the Senate was tied 50–50, so Bush would have a solid House to back him up. I suspected one of my jobs was to be the quiet liaison to Congress and the tie-breaker in the Senate.

Charlie was still out to sea through Christmas and New Year, but we expected him home any day now. He had been in about a year and a half now and had been promoted to PFC, Private First Class. I was looking forward to seeing him again, and asking him how he liked it. What I was really hoping was that he had done some growing up and was figuring out what he wanted to do with his life. If what he wanted was to stay in the Marines, fine, I would shut up and let him do so. He was an adult. If he had decided to do something else, maybe involving going back to school after his hitch was up, that would be fine, too. I had always believed that, patriotism and family history aside, he had joined up because he simply didn’t have anything better to do.

In the back of my mind, however, I was terrified by what was coming down the pike. Before the year would be out, a practically unknown Islamic terrorist group was going to declare bloody war on America. George Bush would promptly use that as an excuse to get us into two disastrous wars, causing tens of thousands of American deaths and casualties. Charlie would be smack in the middle of it, unless I could change history.

Could I change history? I just didn’t know. Some things had changed, but the overall course of human history seemed to be moving in the same general path. Reading science fiction gave you the ‘butterfly effect’, where the wafting of a butterfly’s wings, simply by moving a few air currents, could affect something bigger, which could spiral out of control until everything was different. That hadn’t happened, however. I had wafted an awful lot of air currents since 1968, but the world was for all practical purposes the same. It was as if I hadn’t done something, somebody else would have anyway. Did that mean I would have no chance to change future history?

Up until now I really hadn’t tried. How would I? I knew the space shuttle would blow up, but how could I stop it? Call it in? To whom? What proof would I have? And after it happened, everybody would want to know how I knew. What would I tell them? It was simply impossible!