Inside the White House, the violent images flashing across the panel of Internet television screens deeply troubled President Virgil Corland. He shook his head and wondered exactly how much PR damage was going to result from the coverage of heavily equipped riot police overpowering unarmed truckers in the heart of the nation’s capital.
Corland fidgeted uncomfortably in his swivel chair like a man with a bad back problem.
“I don’t like what I’m seeing here, Hank. You’d think this was Somalia, not Washington.”
Chief of Staff Henry Strand was seated near the president on a white leather sofa, nodding in agreement. He too was concerned with the fiasco taking place down the street and over the airwaves, but he wasn’t about to let it show.
The president’s eye was then drawn to the third screen from the left where a young female reporter, standing with a mic along Constitution Avenue, was about to go live. With his remote, Corland selected that particular screen’s volume and pumped it up.
“The protesting truckers,” the reporter announced, “are angry with the administration’s recent decision to allow the four-month-old federal gas-rationing initiative to remain in place for the trucking industry. Last month, President Corland sent special envoys to OPEC and Russia to try and resolve the oil crisis that has been escalating since August of last year. The administration’s resolution to lift the rationing order for some industries and not others has been controversial, particularly with our continuing financial crisis. Most Americans realize that a crippled trucking industry will lead to even higher prices for goods. And with the president’s approval rating dwindling in recent weeks due to…”
Corland huffed as he squeezed the mute button quite a bit harder than necessary. “Who is this woman? I don’t recognize her. She must be new.”
“A recent hire,” Strand responded. “I’ll have Finley talk to her boss this afternoon. As you know, Mr. President, it’s sometimes difficult to control these kinds of media events when they’re happening live. I wouldn’t get worked up too much over this. By seven p.m., after all the network anchors have signed off from their nightly newscasts, the majority of the American people will believe that you are the hero and that these foul-mouthed truckers are the bad guys. Because that’s what they’ll have been told to believe.”
Corland glanced over at Strand, who simply smiled. Both men recognized that to make such a statement was the height of arrogance and elitism. Yet both men also knew it was true.
Strand continued. “I don’t know how heated this thing is going to get, but we’ll make sure our PR people get us booked on the Sunday shows just in case. We can send our assistant secretary of commerce, Bud Meyerling, over to handle the TV stuff. He’s great on the talkinghead shows. Two weeks from now, no one will remember any of this. The streets will be clear.”
“Hank, I hope you’re right. But you and I both know nobody watches those Sunday shows,” Corland replied with a slight laugh. “Heck, they’re not even watching the nightly news anymore. Who knows? Maybe the conservatives are on to us.”
Strand paused for a moment before reacting, unsure whether or not Corland was trying to be funny. “I’m sure some of them are, Mr. President.”
“So what’s the latest timetable for keeping this inflation business going?” Corland asked. “Remember, I’m the one who’s taking the brunt of the blame for it.”
“Sir, as you know, this economic crisis is actually helpful in moving our global agenda forward. We can get a lot more things pushed through when the American people are sidetracked with concerns over their finances. Obama’s guys proved that a few years ago. The conservatives out there would want our hides if they knew what we were doing, just like they wanted to with Barack. But it’s to everybody’s benefit that we go global, even if the pick-up truck crowd in the Bible Belt does’t recognize it.”
“Hank, you’re stalling. How long?”
“Till the end of next year.”
“What? That’s cutting it awful close!” Corland retorted.
“It still gives us ten months before the November elections to get the economy back on track, which, of course, will be a direct result of your policies. You’ll easily win reelection. In fact, I predict a landslide,” Strand reassured.
“And what if the economy doesn’t respond in time?”
“Sir, I like being in the White House. I want to be here for another term just as much as you do. We won’t let that happen.”
“Okay, keep me posted.” Satisfied, Corland paused, then turned his attention to another challenge. “Now, let’s talk about national defense for a moment. Is the secretary of state going to be at the briefing?”
“I believe so, Mr. President.”
“And the fellow from the Joint Chiefs?”
“Yes, sir. The Pentagon is sending over the vice chairman.”
“What’s his position on the North Korean incident?”
“The Joint Chiefs have been informed of the secretary’s suggestion that we share our Return-to-Sender weapons technology with several other nations. However, several people at the Pentagon are opposed to the idea,” Strand reported. “Hopefully we can get around them.”
“Well, the Return-to-Sender technology would be a great leveraging tool. It’d be nice to get some more oil flowing in our direction. And more credit. We can never have too much of that. So what’s their objection?” Corland asked.
“They still have national-security concerns about other nations having the technology. You know, the risk of it being leaked to rogue nations or terrorists. Unfortunately, these Pentagon guys are really dug-in on this. They’re even arguing that the congressional committee ought to ease off a bit on Joshua Jordan. They don’t want him pressured into giving up his documents.”
Just then Hank Strand’s digital memopad buzzed.
“Excuse me, Mr. President. Madam Vice President is here.”
“Okay. Let’s get her take on all this.”
The door to the Oval Office swung open, and Vice President Jessica Tulrude confidently strode in. The forty-six-year-old brunette ex-senator had helped Corland take the swing states in the last election—aided by the media’s palpable love for this outspoken feminist.
“Mr. President…Henry,” she began, smiling politely.
“Jessica, let’s talk about this briefing.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Tulrude responded, charging ahead without waiting for a wider opening. “It’s critical that we back up Secretary Danburg. He wants to begin immediate negotiations with the EU, Russia, India, and, of course, China, who, after all, remains our biggest financial creditor, to try to do something in terms of a swap—their economic chips to us in return for the RTS technology.”
“How do you suggest we broach the subject?” the president inquired.
“Well,” Tulrude offered, “the peace conference in Davos, Switzerland, is coming up soon. We haven’t responded to their invitation yet. We have a lot of nations outraged at us over this North Korean incident. The president of the European Union has called us ‘warlords’ because of our use of the RTS system.”
“Is he still asking for proof that we didn’t provoke the North Korean navy into firing their nukes?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Tulrude responded with eyebrows raised. “So this conference would provide an excellent platform for the administration to address the issue.”
“Would you say this would be a good opportunity for me to start laying out some of our global agenda?” Corland asked.
“Actually,” Tulrude replied, “I would counsel against that, Mr. President. This peace conclave is not a high-profile-enough venue for a personal appearance by the president of the United States. I feel, frankly, that Vance Danburg should be there. Let’s have our secretary of state make a short speech. Drop the hint that we might be willing to share our weapons technology. Open up some dialogue…that sort of thing.”
“All right.” Corland paused to think it over. “Any other suggestions, Jessica?”
“Yes, Mr. President…about the congressional hearings.”
“Yes?”
“It is an international embarrassment that this Joshua Jordan, a private defense contractor, is creating the impression that he’s holding the president and the U.S. Congress hostage by refusing to release information on his weapons technology.”
“That’s valid,” Corland agreed. “One single private citizen can’t be allowed to direct our national defense policy.”
“Send a message to Congress,” Tulrude continued, “that they had better do their job. Don’t tolerate this man’s defiance. You must pin Joshua Jordan to the ground.”
Tulrude then turned to the flickering TV screens, which were filled with images of truck drivers with zip-tied wrists being hauled off by riot cops.
“Pin him to the ground like you would any other criminal,” she added.