The clear voice of Tom Hall pointed it out, extending to the man in front of him the two-hundred-page document of the Bill.
“Fine, Tom. I will clean my arse with this stupid bill anyway, while Miss Bomb Shell sucks me on and on.” Mike made it clear to mention.
Tension rose suddenly. The words were so rude, like the smell of his cheap cigar floating in the air. Tom was sickened by the comment and was angry to be the one who had to speak with someone who was little above an idiotic beast. A criminal who was the president of a country and caused the division of the so-called perfect America.
“Mr Yard, we have little time for this. Better keep your dirty words to yourself; remember what we can charge you with.” Tom turned his head for a few seconds to clean his glasses, dirty from the smoke of the cigar. Like a dirty window, a clean window allows you to see the beautiful weather outside. Tom intended to show Mike the pure hate in his eyes for whatever this small man did.
He continued to clean his glasses, now turning again to the person he saw as pointless to give attention to. It ain’t simple to be a bringer of messages or the one who must take on a dirty job.
“Mr President, remember that we invited you here with all respect. More than you ever deserve. It pains me to force you. However, this Bill is too important to whatever side or party. See this as a way of letting you be whatever you are for some more years until we manage to restore order. The very same order you destroyed. See, Mr Yard? It ain’t so hard, right?” Tom commented.
Yard, after opening his mouth for a failed insult, ended up writing down his name on the Bill together with all the names of the presidents of all sides concerning the document.
“MY PROMISE STAYS TRUE!” threatened and yelled Mike. “My dearest Texas people will forever turn their machine guns toward the laughable people in the North.”
He rose heavily, took large puffs on his cigar, and left.
Tom went to open a nearby window and make sure that idiot man left the building.
“SECURITY!” Tom yelled. “Make sure this man leaves this side of America yesterday. He is no longer welcome here, and I will make sure of NATO too.” He spoke with authority.
“Tom, please calm yourself; that heart cannot hold another stroke.” A voice came, calm, as if soothing the chaos in the room.
“My heart couldn’t hold another puff of that air coming from that cheap cigar,” Tom joked.
All the men in the room laughed.
“Garry, this... whatever we call this, cannot stay any longer. We need to make America that our grandparents and parents built. My pops went to war, and his pops went before him. They fought to balance the Wheel of Power; Uncle James died in the process. I am old, but not old enough. I am young, but not young enough. I have seen enough. I have been blind for too long not to see that this man should never be in power. He is not a shepherd. He is the chaotic slaughterhouse man who drives his cows to a slow and unclean death. He laughs at it. He takes pleasure in it. He puffs his cheap cigar over it. He is the joke and the stereotype of the bad America we condemned. Fake-news addicts and dead models. The ‘lucky’ ones are being sold to human-trafficking cartels. In my fucking hands, here, I have all the real reports from that miserable country where once there was the prestige and fairness of Texas, California, beautiful Tennessee, and my favourite... Georgia. When I was there, my band gigged there. We brought the Blues. Now, my dear friends, it will take ten fucking years to rebuild when we take that arseling from power.”
The others heard Tom, nodded, and yelled, “Aye!”
The report indeed contained all the reports of the weekly events from the RFA country.
There were riots every day, mostly by those who were paid by the government to do so.
One hundred buildings that belonged to the former US government had been destroyed and bombed.
Minor refugee houses were destroyed every day, while millions of people who did not meet the standards of their new laws were hanged, slaughtered, and left in the open air until they fed the ravens and other carrion eaters. Mike’s party was to blame for all of that.
Tom went outside to breathe fresh air. Mr. Hammer was right; his heart would not hold another flash of anger and hatred toward a despicable man such as Mike. Nor would it withstand the poisonous puffs of that cheap cigar or the ridiculous smell of his eau de toilette, cheaper than the fake newspaper he had the courage and stomach to bring and display on the table.
“Shameless sinner, and I don’t even believe in God,” Tom voiced. “I must do something soon. I have balanced the Wheel of Power and do not mind if it will be against the law. Balance is my law.”
Young people were listening to comedians’ jokes about “Karens” on their phones, having fun with their friends.
“It is a ‘Mike Country.’ The North mocks you, Mike. ‘Talk to the mic, Mike,’ others comment.”
Comedians made this a joke, and it went viral.
“There, there is the country where all the ‘Karens,’ ‘Mikes,’ and ‘Kens’ are. Forget the Barbies, all sadly sold in containers back to China and converted into sex toys. That went south. In addition, if you have neighbours who have been a ‘Karen’ to you, tell her to go to ‘Mike’s country.’ If a ‘Karen’ tells you that you should go back to your country, tell her to go back to her ‘Mike’s country.’ Being a ‘Karen’ should be punishable by law. Deportation is a sure thing.”
Tom appreciated his freedom to laugh at this bad joke called “Mike’s Country.” More comedians joined in and made different comments to mock it. But the South was not the only target. At least here, they were free to express themselves without oppression from the government.
Not so far away, the birds were singing. It was spring, and it was a beautiful day, sunny, and the sky was too blue.
Tom appreciated the fresh air.
“Tom Dot, my beautiful father!” a soft voice called. “Come inside. The air is fresh again. It is cold here.”
“Jane, thank you. I must purify that room. Nothing will ever kill that cheap Eau de Toilette unless... hmm. We kill the source of it. Not yet. Not yet, Jane. Oh, my wild dreams,” smiled Tom while he put his hand gently on her chin. She gave a gentle laugh.
“Yes, Dad, it was the worst time ever. I am young, but I believe that we have one hundred years less because of those horrendous puffs. That tongue. Father, please promise you will cut it and throw it into wildfire. Swear it to me,” Jane begged.
“I do, daughter. Of my own free will, I do. I would do it without you begging me to. I would do it with pleasure. Jane, do not judge me. I am aware I taught you never to hate anyone. I know all that I have taught you. You are my rock and pillar, just as your dearest mom was too. She forgives me. I saw your flash of hate, and you were fearless in showing it to that man. This is all that man deserves. My daughter, let us join our dearest Mr. President. James will be bored in the room, and Mr. Hammer loves to snore in that chair,” Tom joked.
Jane gave her gentle laugh again and hugged her father.
“I love you, my amazing Dad. I miss Mom, our queen of happiness. Our rock and our pillar. Let’s go inside. Mr. Hummer hates it if you wake him with your bear paws. He will be grumpy all day long and tell me all about the Constitution of the United States and state weird facts about our Founding Fathers. Let’s go inside. How is the heart?” Jane asked, concerned.
“Full of love now. Let us get inside,” Tom answered.
Mr. Dot did not hesitate to put his large right hand on the handle and rotate the knob of the glass-and-white door. Jane and Tom entered the lit and modern room.
A long, round conference table lay in the middle. It seemed fragile but elegant at the same time. Rosewood made the frame around the glass plates separate into triangles. Rosewood supported the rest of the table. For each triangular glass section, there was a grey chair. Fine cotton and balanced fibres. A thin white line shaped the contours of each rounded chair.
The Nest of the Eagles.
On the right side was a window with red, or perhaps salmon, curtains, twins of the ones in the Oval Office. Next to it stood the Flag of the United States, with the sacred Eagle on top in gold.
An eagle statue occupied the right corner of the room, striking her pose and displaying her majesty.
On the floor lay a carpet with the symbols of the United States flag.
The place at the table where Mike had been now meticulously cleaned, disinfected, vacuumed, steamed, and purified, and sprayed with expensive Eau de Toilette.
Mr. Hummer was not sleeping as they expected but was apprehensive and alert.
In his hand was a secret dossier.
TOP SECRET INTEL – DO NOT OPEN WITHOUT THE AUTHORIZATION OF THE PRESIDENT.
James was pale. The air seemed dark now.
“Tom, darker news!” said the President, requesting the dossier from Mr. Hummer. “The Bureau got this intel at the cost of one of their own men’s lives.”
“Ten fucking minutes. I needed ten fucking minutes to break away from that despicable and disgusting man, and this room is already on fire. Mr. President, he went away fourteen minutes ago, and these are the poisoned breadcrumbs he left behind. Mr. Hummer, take all the people in the room with you and come back. We must talk in private. Not a single soul else shall read this dossier. Not even the devil. Then we burn it,” Tom commanded.
Mr. Hammer nodded in agreement.
“Yes, sir,” confirmed the old and wise man. “You heard them, lads. Time to catch some air and go home to your wives,” he joked.
Then he drove the members of the CNP out of the room. He tried to do it as fast as he could, opening the door, waiting for the visitors to finally leave, and then closing the door behind him.
“Very well... what do you prefer? The good or the unwelcome news first?” James, the President, asked, nervous and anxious.
“This is the price of a good president’s job: to bring the bad news first and be the first in line to rip the bandage off the hopeless,” he said, shaking. “I take no pleasure in this, my friends. In this honest document lies the very definition of chaos. One man, one national hero. He gave his life for this intel.”
He opened the dossier but suddenly stopped himself. He had a feeling that something was not right. He closed the dossier. He made a gesture of silence with a finger on his lips. Then he made the secret gesture indicating there was a “bug” in the room.
James was grateful that he had been in the army and had learned a great deal about such things. The breadcrumbs were like a code to him, and this made him alert. A dirty politician always does all he can to get dirt, even when there is no dirt.
“Tom was right. Breadcrumbs with poison. How dare he? What a fucking nerve. May whatever gods are protecting you, may he or they bless you,” James thought to himself.
Mr. Hummer was also a veteran of Special Ops and, before that, a Marine. He recognised the signal and quietly went outside to call a special agent to quietly remove the bug while James continued to give false clues to whatever had been listening.
As quietly as he went, the old gentleman came back with a uniformed lady in her thirties. The agent quietly searched for the bug, and the three continued to feed false and improvised intel.
The agent found the bug under the seat where the dirty President had been sitting. It was no larger than a board pin, pinned into the soft material beneath the chair.
“Good sharp eyes, Agent Hanna. Thank you,” thought James.
As soon as she found it, she left and closed the door as quietly as a cat.
James, Tom, and Mr. Hammer thanked the agent with a silent and respectful nod and a brief eye-closing gesture.
“Puff... what the... this dirty man... Let a bolt strike me down now... now, if I am still dirty, then I have done something wrong lately to my precious country. Tonight, no one will go to bed without checking for bugs. All available agents will verify their own houses, and then each of our properties and homes, or no one sleeps. Every bug found will be destroyed in front of my eyes tonight and tomorrow morning. Every phone shall be checked, whatever time it takes, mine included. And if we find spies, we will charge them all with High Treason against the real Government of the United States. The one and only.”
James paused briefly and continued:
“The price we all pay for bringing democracy, not only to ourselves but also to the world that wants to embrace it, is peace. But peace is forever contaminated by the deeds of small-minded people who see profit above all. We are now almost the perfect country in the world. We saved the world; we healed it. We stopped the refugee crisis two years ago. We created new jobs for every one of those people. We made strong laws against the evils of the past; xenophobia, segregation, racism, homophobia, and so on are no longer part of our country. A simple racist slur is punishable by five to ten years in prison and a ten-thousand-dollar fine. We are almost the perfect country in the world. We are not perfect because I, too, had a dirty past. But then I saw the birth of my beautiful daughter. I saw her growing up, and I saw her mother die from one of the consequences of the Civil War. She died in a shooting eight years ago. She died in my arms and made me promise that I would redeem myself forever and make this country clean of all the evil that men do. Punish the monsters and clean up their deeds, while still respecting their human condition and rights. We almost built a country in six years. This is my last mandate, and I will pass my chair to another man, to be fair to my dear American people and win their trust. I hope he will be as fair and good as I am. I am still crucified by certain things I make happen. However, politics is a sword with two blades; you are always exposed to love and hate and their repercussions, whatever they are.”3
“In Morocco, the embassy of our DSA was bombed. The intel says that at least ten agents of the Neutrals got dirty and allied themselves with the GORE.”
Cold silence fell upon the room. James had to continue the tale.
“They are not from us, and they do not belong to ‘Mike’s Country. They are a shadow government. An organisation that wishes to make the Wheel of Power spin and create a wave so large that it would swallow our side whole, once and for all. They also plan to do the same to countries that are at peace. They love and breathe chaos. The Republics are just a piece in their game. They have not conquered us yet because, for now, we do not have corruption. The Morocco terrorist attack was a sample of their terror. They are corrupting and financing Mike’s government as we speak. But when they are tired of him, they will come for us. That is what the report says.
One agent of the CNP got dirty and started leaking classified intelligence about us. The agent discovered this through a ‘Rabbit Hole’ on the dark web. Our agent confronted the dirty agent and was killed. Fortunately, he sent a backup of the files before the dirty agent could destroy the intel.”
James stopped talking and turned to the window to watch the sun setting. Still, Washington was beautiful.
“Good Lord. What do we do? We shall not allow this to happen. I recommend that we coordinate a meeting with the Bureau and plan what we shall do in the future. I will check on my dearest family and do what you told us to do. Let us stay vigilant and keep an open eye on the South,” said Mr. Hummer in his smooth voice, still uneasy and worried.
He continued in his soft Scottish accent:
“Please, call me if you need anything, my dear lads.”
Turning to James, he added:
“Mr. President!” He gave a small nod.
“We will, Mr. Hummer. Thank you for your care,” thanked James.
They raised their palms, saying good night to the wise man. He smiled a shy smile and left the room.
“I should go too. My daughter might be hungry because she is a teenager. You know, Tom, when we were young, our moms would arrive home and find the fridge half-empty. No dinner that night. So let us hope she does not empty the fridge. The manager of our food is a very grumpy one and says we eat too much and always blames me.”
Both laughed.
“To the best daughters, ours. May they be wise, grow strong, and always take care of their old ones,” toasted Tom.
James smiled.
Both finished their whiskey glasses and placed them on the tray behind them. Tom pressed a button, and a small elevator door hidden in the wall opened. Then he placed the tray on the platform of the mini elevator. Closing the small door, he pressed the button again.
The elevator descended with a small mechanical noise.
*Good Original Republicans Embrace