Newly minted President Zachary Brenner sat quietly in the briefing room situated in the basement of the White House as his cabinet discussed the latest Mexican crisis. His eyes kept darting back to the brooding woman on the other side of the room. She watched the debate intently, occasionally clenching her jaw.
Prudence Layfield’s unstable, unbalanced, he thought. I don’t trust her and never will: my Vice President thrust upon me by the exigencies of politics. Will I ever be rid of her? Dammit, I hate idealists. Nothing’s more dangerous than a true believer. They don’t understand that the number one purpose of power is to maintain power, not to wield it on crusade. If she had her way she’d scrap the lot of us and burn down the world.
As if she could read his thoughts, she turned her dark eyes toward him. They stared at each other, neither turning away as the talk droned into the background. Eventually the President forced a reassuring smile and gave her a slight nod. She nodded in return, and then looked back at the debate.
“But if we don’t do something soon about Mexico,” argued the Secretary of State, a no-nonsense woman in a no-nonsense pantsuit, “the government is going to fall completely. They’ve already lost control of most of the north, and Mexico City is under martial law. If the capital goes, so will our allies.”
“Why should we care?” asked the hawkish Secretary of Defense. “That was the same government that undermined us in Texas. I’d say they’re getting what they deserve.”
The more pragmatic Secretary of State sighed heavily. The President had the impression she wanted to roll her eyes, but held herself in check. “They didn’t undermine us, really. They merely decided not to actively engage in hostilities. As for why we care, this rebellion is led by the uneducated masses, which are largely against us and in favor of the disruptive elements.”
“The sickos,” said Layfield abruptly. “Let’s call them what they are.”
“Regardless,” said the Secretary of Defense, “we should see how everything plays out and make our decision then.”
“By then it will be over and cost us much more to resolve. We have another option.”
“What is that?” asked the President.
“Foreign Minister Julez has signaled the Party that he is willing to break with President Fuentes. He has the backing of the military and the more clearminded elements, who want to put down these rioters with a strong hand,” Layfield said.
“The anti-Eden Contra Party, you mean? Backed by the military?” asked the Director of the Security Service.
“Yes,” she shot back. “Who else would I recommend we deal with?”
“Anyone but them. The Contras and the military are in bed with the drug cartels, who see their business declining. Most Edens don’t buy recreational drugs.”
“That sounds like treason!”
The Director stood. “Madam Vice President, it’s not treason to squarely face the facts. If we back the Contras, we’re backing cartels and strengthening the very military that refused to help us.”
“Once Julez is in power, he and the military can bring the cartels to heel.”
“And why would they do that? They’d lose the cartels’ money…money that comes from our citizens buying their drugs.”
Layfield smiled a nasty smile. “Because we’ll pay them more than they make with the trafficking to do it, and threaten them with the full weight of the United States if they don’t. Carrot and stick.”
The Secretary of State looked at the President, who was watching the debate among his subordinates. “Don’t you think the United States has learned its lesson backing Latin American coups? Decades of meddling got us nothing but ill feelings and mistrust. Let the Mexican people decide for themselves. We’re better off not sticking our hand into that hornet’s nest. Fortify the border and let them work it out.”
“That sort of attitude is naïve and dangerous,” Layfield responded. “For the first time in nearly two hundred years our northern border isn’t secure because the Canadians have turned against us. We need to control the south, and the border has never been enough.”
“The Canadians haven’t entirely turned against us, but they’re sure heading that way, thanks to your pet invasion,” snarled the Secretary of State. “The Unionist Party is about order and discipline at home. America first, not foreign adventurism. We have enough problems right here.”
Layfield snarled back, “What do you know about the Party? You’re still a Republican at heart. You joined at the last minute because you saw which way the wind was blowing.”
“I switched parties because I’m the best woman for the job and I care about this country. I’m trying to help the President hold it together in the face of the Eden threat, the military failure up north, a shaky economy, and a growing list of enemies around the world. Now you want to make one more, right on our doorstep!”
“Besides,” chimed in the Secretary of the Treasury, “we’re already borrowing too much. We’re running out of people willing to buy our bonds. Inflation is rising. Paying off Julez and the Contras would take tens of billions.”
Layfield said, “Cheaper than Mexico collapsing, which is what will happen if these communist peasants take over. Once they’re done looting, where do you think they’ll go? Meanwhile, we’re struggling to contain a biological weapon within our borders unleashed by the most dangerous terrorist group this world has ever seen.”
“I think you’ve summed up the situation nicely,” said President Brenner, finally speaking, “but I don’t think backing a Mexican coup will fix everything.”
“It won’t. Not everything, but it would be a start.” Layfield looked around the room at those assembled. “It strikes me that some in this chamber do not truly appreciate the gravity of our situation.”
“Oh, we appreciate it,” said the Secretary of State. “That’s why we don’t want to add one more problem to our list.”
“I’m glad you pointed that out again,” Layfield said.
“Pointed what out?”
“The problem of these sickos.”
“I never –”
Layfield cut the woman off. “If the sicko problem were solved, everything would get easier. So it stands to reason we need to solve it, in the most straightforward manner possible.”
“By genocide, you mean.”
“That word, that horrible act, only applies to people.” Layfield turned to the Secretary of Agriculture. “You described your efforts to destroy the Cantonese Blight that is ravishing our potato crops in the northwest. Destroying the ‘Edens’ is the same as getting rid of that blight.”
“Here we go again,” said someone in the back.
“Enough,” said the President. “The Eden problem is being contained. We don’t have time for your…your obsession, Ms. Layfield.”
Layfield apparently realized she was overplaying her hand. “Indeed we don’t have much time, Mister President.” She softened her face and smiled at him. “Appoint me to handle the Mexican question. I’m familiar with the situation from my time as National Security Advisor. I can work with all parties and brief you on recommended courses of action.”
“Sir,” the Secretary of State said, on her feet again, “That’s my appointed function, dealing with foreign affairs.”
“And I serve at the pleasure of the President,” Layfield said with a sweet, almost genuine smile.
The President’s eyes shifted from hers to several others in the room, exchanging glances, making sure of his ground. The new Presidency, under a new party, meant he had to proceed carefully…but firmly nonetheless. And he might be a new President, but as a former Speaker of the House, he was an old hand at politics.
Eventually Brenner shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, Madam Vice President, but I think others have it well in hand.”
“Who?” asked Layfield, pointing at the Secretary of State. “Her? She’s a bureaucrat. She has no vision, and she’s a coward!”
Brenner’s face went from relaxed to angry. “That’s enough, Miss Layfield. Might I remind you that you’re here as a courtesy only?”
Layfield felt the blood drain from her face. “I see. My apologies if I have overstepped my position. It was only my intention to offer sound counsel.”
The President turned to the Chief of Staff. “Perhaps we should move on to the Alaskan Rebellion.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the Chief of Staff with evident relief. “What do we have?”
“Not too much has changed, I’m afraid,” said the Secretary of Defense, rubbing his liver-spotted hands together. “Our forces are in disarray, those we have left anyway. The weather has been terrible.”
“So much for global warming, eh?” muttered someone.
“And the Canadians aren’t going out of their way to help us,” the SecDef continued.
“We need to pressure them more,” Layfield said.
“Prudence,” the President said, warning in his voice.
“I spoke with our Ambassador in Ottawa this morning,” said the Secretary of State. “The Canadian government is fully behind us, but faces serious challenges. Our intrusion into the Yukon was extremely unpopular.”
“Unpopular?” asked Layfield her voice rising. “Both our countries are facing an existential threat!”
“Existential threat?” said the Chief of Staff. “That’s a great line to scare the electorate. It allowed us to take power, but don’t try to feed it to us, Madam Vice President.”
“The Eden Plague threatens us all,” she said, nearly yelling. “Both countries, all countries and our ways of life. Am I the only one here who realizes that?”
“I suppose you’d nuke them into compliance,” said the Secretary of State with an icy stare.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Excuse me?” said the President.
“Why not nuke them?” Layfield insisted. “Oh, not Canada. Alaska. We have the right. It’s American soil. It worked in Texas, didn’t it?”
The room was still and silent for several long seconds as most stared at Layfield, aghast. “I have to agree,” said the Secretary of Defense eventually. “It must be considered. Or at least the threat of it, to bring them to heel.”
“Use of strategic weaponry was an extreme measure taken by my predecessor,” said the President. “It might have been necessary to preserve our territorial integrity, but this is different. Alaska isn’t even connected to the Lower Forty-Eight. We can afford to take our time, wear them down. We’ll invade in the spring, when the weather doesn’t favor the defense.”
“By that time it may be too late, sir,” replied Layfield. “Give them six months and you’ll have other nations recognizing their independence. Hell, North Korea and Iran already have, just to spite us. No, sir, Alaska must be returned to the fold. The Union must be preserved. Lincoln did it, and it was the right decision. You have to do it too.”
“The situations are different between Alaska and Texas,” interrupted the Secretary of State,
“How? Please enlighten me,” Layfield said with evident sarcasm.
“Alaska is made up largely of vast open areas. The only real major target is Anchorage, and that’s where all the American prisoners from the Battle of Haines Junction are being held.”
“We have to consider them already dead,” Layfield said. “They’re likely all sickos by now. Our enemy wouldn’t let them remain uninfected. We have to write them off. Killing them in a nuclear strike would be a blessing...a mercy killing, if you want to call it that. Like I said before, these sickos aren’t people anymore. They’re abominations.”
The Secretary of Defense rose and glared at Layfield. “My daughter and her family are in Anchorage. I’ve spoken to her on the phone. She doesn’t seem any different. And when we find a cure, we can treat everyone and be certain.”
“There never will be a cure, because the damage is already done. I’m very sorry for your loss, but whatever is left is a host for an evil parasite. Let her go.”
“What the hell happened to you?” the Secretary of State asked. “You think Edens are inhuman, look at yourself, abandoning your own son! I can see why your husband left you.”
“Enough!” barked President Brenner, stepping between the two. “We’ll have no more talk of killing our own soldiers, or about using nuclear weapons in Alaska.”
“But, Mister President!” said Layfield.
“You heard me,” he said turning a dark look in her direction. “You may have browbeaten the former president into taking the easy way out, but not me.”
“It wasn’t the easy way,” she replied softly. “It was the only way.”
“I think it’s time for you to leave, Madam Vice President. Tony, please escort Ms. Layfield to her vehicle, will you?”
The look Layfield gave Brenner would have poisoned an ox, but he was clearly done with her. He’d been forced to give her a position of status to appease the Party’s extremist base, but he was glad he’d maneuvered her into the Vice Presidency, where both by tradition and by law she had little real power.
Unless, of course, he died or became incapacitated. Brenner reminded himself to review security with his chief of the Presidential Secret Service detail. In her current state of mind, Layfield seemed capable of anything, and there was no dearth of lunatics who shared her view. One suicide attacker could change everything.