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The forecast was grim, but typical for an Iowa January. Ten degrees and chin deep snow. Stowed on Air Force One was their heaviest winter clothing. The passenger list included the traveling staff, members of the campaign media, Ben Sage and President Tennyson. Weather or not, Iowa would be voting in four weeks. The events of recent months denied Tenny a proper start for her re-election campaign. If she survived impeachment, she had said, she would run. But it would have been presumptuous to actually begin campaigning for a new term while the Senate was considering whether to end her current one.
As a sitting president, her primary election victory most certainly would be assured. But not if she took voters for granted, not if she failed to show up at the town hall meetings and familiar road stops where she was expected. Louis Gorland, Arizona’s governor, and Arnold Ledbetter, a digital age billionaire, both had been in the field since summer, counting on Tenny to be damaged goods, maybe an ex-president, possibly being so fed up with the whole business that she would say to hell with it and not run, even if she could. In politics, there are few free passes to power. If she wanted a second term, Tenny would have to work for it.
And she wanted a second term. She really wanted it. Her wave of weariness ended within moments of Chief Justice Kamrath’s call informing her of the remarkable turn of events that would preserve her presidency. Her wounded leg felt so much better. Even her head wounds looked like they would heal a lot faster. Winning is its own tonic. Within twenty-four hours, Ben Sage and Lee Searer were in her office with instructions to pull the re-election team together, set up a travel schedule, get polls in the field, develop a strategy. Three weeks later, they were on the road.
“Before you shake the first hand,” said Ben, “Tell me you’re doing this for the right reasons. Not just to settle scores, or restore your own image or because you can’t think of anything else to do with your life. Not being able to answer the simple question why you want to be president has brought down more than one candidate. It shows. It’s deadly. This may sound like a silly question after all you’ve been through. But you have to answer it and answer it convincingly. Why do you want to be president?”
Ben and Tenny were sitting together in the president’s private area of Air Force One, separated from the 120 reporters covering this, her first actual campaign swing, and from her own traveling staff. They were reviewing the schedule, the speeches, the names of key people who would meet them on the ground.
From her window seat, Tenny looked down 30,000 feet to the snow covered checkerboard of the Midwest landscape. Farms and farm homes clearly visible in the sun’s bright reflection. Life down there. Real life. But made impersonal through distance.
“There was a time when I couldn’t answer that question. I was at a crossroads in my my life and went to Carmie Sandoval for advice. She said I’d been seeing the world from 30,000 feet. I had to get on the ground, where real people live to find the answer. She sent me to Hal and to the barrios of L.A. Within days, hours maybe, I knew what I wanted to do.
“Now here we are, at 30,000 feet. Ironic that you’re asking me this question. And you should. This time I know the answer. I’m going to finish what I started. Twice now I’ve underestimated the power I was trying to change. That won’t happen again. Frankly, Ben, I had stars in my eyes when I was elected president. I felt I could do anything. Queen Isabella could write a check or whatever they did in those days and send Columbus on his way. If she had a problem, she could cut off heads or send the Spanish Armada out to fix it. I guess somewhere in my genetic makeup, those ideas haven’t died with time. I thought if I said do this, it would happen. I thought if I had a challenge, I would overcome it. Anything. Everything.
“I gave them plenty of openings to bring me down. I wasn’t on guard. I was careless. I didn’t have enough allies. I went after them like the Light Brigade, charging at top speed into the valley of death.
“But, I came out alive. Thanks to you, and Kamrath and others and incredible good fortune to still be alive. They corrupted my family. They murdered by brother, my dear, sweet, brother. And with all their money and power they’re still the most destructive force on earth. We’ve wounded them with all this exposure, with all they did to try to impeach me. They’re weaker than they were yesterday. One more term, four more years, I’ll have more protective armor, more weapons to fight them, more allies. We’re going to get them, Ben. We’re going to get them.
“We’re going to rewrite my America’s Future plan to include a much tougher fight against the corrupt and greedy bastards. By the end of my second term they will be on the ground, my foot on their back.
Hearing her own words, she suddenly paused, reminded of something. Her head tilted back on the cushioned seat rest. Her thoughts drifted to another place, another time.
“Ben, have I ever told you about the Mayan warrior princess Ix Wak Chan Ajaw?