60

IN THE MASSAGE CABIN of Air Force One, a navy corpsman works on the president’s back while the leader of the free world, prone on the padded table, becomes increasingly more tense.

“Well, what the fuck does the damn press expect us to do? Go to war with the entire Middle East?”

Flo Spier, out of the burqa and into a red jogging outfit, stands to the side with Felix George, who wears a three-piece suit and his usual look of disdain. “They are American citizens, sir.”

“They’re damn fool American citizens mixing themselves up where they got no beeswax.”

“Mr. President, the simple takeaway is American citizens on a humanitarian mission are about to be attacked. It’s not going to play well on TV. They’re flying the American flag.”

“Illegally on non-US vessels,” St. George says.

“I’m talking optics, Mr. President,” Spier counters.

The president is having none of it. “And I’m talking pissed off. You mean to tell me the US of A is got to send in the Marines every time some lunatic bible-thumper inserts his dick in a foreign war? Isn’t there some law, Felix?”

“Neutrality Act of 1935, Mr. President.”

“Remind me again how that goes.”

“In essence, American citizens on warring ships travel at their own risk.”

“Sir, these are not warring ships.”

“Neutrality Act of 1937,” St. George says. “US ships are forbidden from transporting passengers or articles to belligerents in a foreign war.”

“You just said these are not US ships,” Spier tells him—and the president.

Felix St. George loves to play poker when he has all the cards. “Good one! That specific loophole was closed by the Neutrality Act of 1939. American citizens and ships are barred from entering a war-zone.”

The president grunts as the corpsman leans hard on a nerve. “Flo, I think that’s pretty clear.”

“Mr. President, the American people—”

“Flo, the American people don’t want to keep on spending ten bucks a gallon for regular,” the president says. “Case closed.”