President of the United States,

Stephen C. Jefferson

 

My trip to visit the troops was extremely productive. I already knew how brave the men and women who served our country were, but to meet them up close and personal was more than an honor. They were overly excited about my presence at Camp Victory. The entire place was packed, and as I stood at the podium to speak, with a huge American flag waving behind me, I realized how much support I had. Nearly everyone took pictures, and when several soldiers shouted that they loved their president, it damn sure made my day. I signed autographs, took plenty of pictures, and toured as much as I could while I was there.

I had an opportunity to meet with numerous soldiers who had been injured or had lost limbs during combat. It totally impressed me how they had remained so upbeat. After meeting them and seeing how the soldiers lived day by day, I told myself that I would never, ever complain again. I and members of my staff spent several nights in army barracks with the soldiers. We listened to them tell stories about what they had faced during combat, and we also listened to the many concerns they had about being away from their families for too long and about the lack of support they received from the government. The defense budget had been cut over the years, which was another one of those things where I needed Congress to step up.

Due to what had happened with Raynetta, and because I had received a call about my mother leaving the institution, I decided to cut my trip short by one day. There was no telling where my mother was, but I didn’t have time to deal with her stupidity. As for Raynetta, I was worried about her. She had sounded as if she was okay, but she was good at putting up a front. After tonight, I figured it would be wise for me to leave, anyway. Things were about to turn real ugly.

But before I left, there was one thing that I had to do. We had received notification from a member of a special forces team who had been on a specific mission for me that it was time to pay a visit. The armed forces team had captured not one, but two of the top leaders of the terrorist organization that had contributed to Joshua’s death. One of the leaders was dead, but the other one was still alive, and I couldn’t let an opportunity to come face-to-face with him go by.

It was close to midnight when we tackled the rocky dirt roads and made our way to a compound that was surrounded by other houses in an urban setting. The compound stood out because it was approximately 4,500 square feet and four stories tall, it barely had windows, and it was topped with barbed wire. The structure was severely damaged. I could only imagine what the inside looked like.

As soon as we hopped off the jeep, we headed inside. The inside was mostly dark, but a few lit candles here and there, gave off light. I couldn’t see everything, but from what I saw, the place was a complete mess. Mattresses were on the floor, newspapers were scattered everywhere, wires drooped above our heads, and the damp, musty smell tore into my nostrils. It was a good thing that I had on camouflage gear and black boots. Puddles of water were on the floor, and we could hear drips every few seconds.

“I . . . I think it would be best if I stood by the door with Levi and the lieutenant,” Andrew said in a fearful voice. “You guys look as if you have this under control.”

The atmosphere was a bit frightening, so I understood Andrew’s concerns. I had never entered a place like this before, either, but I felt safe with Levi, one high-ranking general, and a lieutenant.

“This way, Mr. President,” General Stiles said. “Follow me.”

General Stiles was an African American woman who was braver than any woman I had ever met. She had earned a lot of respect from the other soldiers; I definitely knew why. I followed her up a tight concrete staircase, and when we reached the third floor, we entered a small room with concrete walls. There was no window, no bed, no nothing. Two candles barely lit the room, but General Stiles’s flashlight helped me see. The terrorist leader was on his knees, with his hands tied behind his back. He had been stripped of everything, with the exception of a piece of cloth that was draped around his lower body. His coal-black hair was soaking wet. Beard was scraggly. Skin was sweaty and dirty. Face appeared swollen, and beady eyes showed no fear whatsoever. His eyes grew slightly wide when he saw me enter the room. Apparently, he knew who I was.

I saluted the member from the special forces team, David Burrage, who stood close by the entrance. He saluted me back. He had a flashlight on his belt and a machete in one hand. He shined the bright light directly in the terrorist leader’s face, causing him to squint.

“It is my pleasure to introduce you to the president of the United States, Mr. Stephen C. Jefferson. This is our gift to you, Mr. President. We told you that we would eventually catch him,” David said.

The terrorist leader spoke with his evil eyes as he glared at me. He licked his dry lips, and even as I removed the machete from David’s hand, he did not flinch or attempt to move.

“I’ve been practicing with one of these things.” I looked at the sharp blade, then swung the machete back and forth. I told myself that while I was in America, my hands would always stay clean. This, however, was no America. “Hope I don’t fuck up, but if I do, there are other options.”

The leader started chanting multiple words that I couldn’t understand. He dropped his head back to look up. That was when I swung the machete like a bat, using all my strength to take that muthafucka’s head off, like I had witnessed him do in plenty of top secret videos I had watched. Unfortunately for me, though, his head did not detach from his body. It was hanging off, and that was when General Stiles lifted her boot and placed it on his chest. She removed the machete from my hand, lifted it high. In one clean chop, the job was finished.

“That’s how you do it, Mr. President. After a little more practice, you should be fine.”

“It was the blade,” I said. “And I do want my trophy.”

I saluted both soldiers before getting the hell out of there. And on my journey back to the barracks to join the troops, who were already celebrating, I couldn’t help but to think that this world would never be the same. All credit would go to David Burrage. It would be reported that he was the one who had captured and killed two terrorist leaders. Without a doubt, we were proud.