Chapter 3: Last Day: July 3, 2013

President/Vice President Cheney grumbled gutterally, “Where the fuck is fucking Prince?”

Blackwater Secretary of Defense Jonah Goldberg lowered his cell phone and cleared his throat. “I am here and fully capable of dealing with matters pertaining to…”

Cheney bellowed irately, “I said I want Erik Prince, not his fucking buttboy!”

Goldberg lowered his head. “My staff is attempting to locate him, sir. As soon…”

“Fuck you and fuck your fucking staff,” Cheney growled crossly. “It fucking reeks that Prince is AWOL tonight. He knows the fucking ChIranians are getting set to fuck with us. The fucker's up to something. I don't fucking like it.”

American Express Secretary of State Michael Ledeen was furtively texting on his Blackberry, held under the massive table that dominated the US Cabinet Room. Ledeen was booking passage to Argentina on a private jet. He waited as they verified his Swiss bank account balance. Departure time 2300 hours. Ledeen glanced at his watch - 2130 - still texting under the table.

The door opened and Taco Bell Secretary of Immigrant Affairs Michelle Malkin was wheeled into the room by two male nurses.

Cheney growled gutturally, “How's my favorite little anchor baby?”

Her eyes were swaddled by a belt of white bandage.

Cheney needled cruelly, “Fucking post-operatic trauma my sources tell me. You picked a lousy fucking time for cosmetic surgery, babe. With the chinks moving in you shoulda fucking hung on to those slanty lids.”

Malkin's mouth clenched into a tiny trembling knot. She snapped out, “Epicanthoplasty is not cosmetic. It's a medical…” She caught herself. Now was not the time to anger Biggus Dickus. The ChIranians were invading at midnight. At 10:35 a black Saab would meet her by the White House service entrance and speed her to a copter waiting on The Mall which would whisk her to a cigarette boat docked near Bangor, Maine which would smuggle her into Canada. Tonight keep her mouth shut until it's time to plead a call of nature and run to the service entrance for her journey to Canadian asylum.

Cheney snarled egregiously,”I call this fucking cabinet meeting to order. Looks like a few fucking pansy-asses cut and run. Fuck ‘em.”

In attendance:

• American Express Secretary of State Ledeen
• Moneytree Secretary of the Treasury Liz Peek
• Blackwater Secretary of Defense Jonah Goldberg
• Smith & Wesson Director of the Committee of Public Safety David Addington
• Corrections Corporation of America Attorney General Ken Starr
• Kennecot Copper Secretary of the Interior Italia Federici
• Halliburton Secretary of Commerce David Lesar
• Kaiser Permanente Secretary of Health and Human Services Michael Brown
• NASCAR Secretary of Transportation Roger Penske
• Purdue Pharma Director of National Drug Control Policy Rush Limbaugh
• University of Phoenix Secretary of Education Ann Coulter
• Taco Bell Director of Immigration Affairs Michelle Malkin
• White Castle White House Chief of Staff "Dr." Laura Ingraham
• BP Secretary of Energy R. W. Tillerson
• Tesoro Administrator of the Environmental Protection Agency Philip Cooney
• GlaxoSmithKline Secretary of Veterans Affairs Paul Wolfowitz

In absentia:

• Pinkerton Secretary of Homeland Security Bernie Kerik
• Wal-Mart Secretary of Labor H. Lee Scott Jr.
• FOX News Secretary of Information Bill O'Reilly
• McDonald Corporation Secretary of Agriculture Alvarez

Cheney fumed acidly, “Scott and Kerik and O'Reilly and Alvarez fucking scrammed, huh? Figures Scott would fucking hightail it – the Chinese government owns Wal-Mart. Fuck Alvarez, but I need Kerik and the Felafel-fucker.”

Cheney pressed a button under the table impatiently. “Get me a fucking Secret Service agent. I need to track down some fucking yellow-bellies.”

Silence.

Cheney mashed the button and bellowed peremptorily, “I want the fucking Secret Service.”

Silence. Cheney yelled grimly, “Lesar, run out there and see who's fucking off.”

Secretary Lesar scurried from the room.

Cheney snorted hotly, “So the fucking ChIranians think they are going to fucking invade us. You all read their fucking Authorization?”

Nods and yessir's.

Cheney read sarcastically, “Whereas the current United States regime has demonstrated its inability to establish effective control over its own fucking population.”

Cheney glowered testily, “Where'd they fucking get that from? We've got our population under fucking control. Fucking tell them, Addington.”

Smith & Wesson Director of the Committee of Public Safety David Addington nodded vigorously, “The rate of increase of attacks on Public Safety personnel is down by thirteen percent this quarter. Thanks largely to increased application of high impact interrogation methods to Phelps sympathizers.”

Cheney pursed his eyes and peered round the table intently. “Ha, you fucking see? Fucking Phelps are in their last throes. In six months it'll be fucking back to business for America.”

Secretary Goldberg started to clap. The others quickly joined in. Cheney's face smoothed into blankness, his best approximation of a smile.

Cheney flicked his hand to cut off the ovation and bent to read the Authorization. He sneered nasally, “Fuckers say they'll kick the ass of ‘those nations who planned, authorized, committed or aided the terrorist attacks on fucking Iranian research facilities that occurred on July 3, 2010.'”

Cheney looked up, lip curled sneeringly. “Anybody fucking have a clue what these fuckers mean by that? All I remember happening on July 3, 2010 is I ordered a fucking allied attack on that fucking Iranian nuke lab. Research facility my fucking ass.”

Secretary Lesar walked slowly into the room looking troubled. He walked to Cheney's side and bent to say, “There's no one out there, sir.”

Cheney bellowed madly, “What the fuck do you mean there's no one fucking out there? I told you to get me a fucking Secret Service agent you fucking piece of shit. Sit the fuck down.”

Lesar cowered back to his seat.

Cheney pointed at Chief of Staff Ingraham furiously. “This joint is your fucking turf. Get me a fucking agent.”

She scuttled out the door.

Cheney turned to Secretary Goldberg and barked hoarsely, “You got fucking Prince?”

Goldberg slowly lowered his cell phone from his ear and said quietly, “I can't get through, sir.”

Cheney goggled at him , “Can't fucking get through? You can't fucking work a fucking phone?

Goldberg stuttered, “I called the Pentagon, sir, but no one answers, not even an answering machine. I think we have a problem, sir.”

Cheney mocked him mercilessly, “We have a fucking widdle pwoblem, sir.

“Just what the fuck are you doing making your own fucking calls? Where's your fucking aide?”

Goldberg's eyes flicked. “He seems to be missing, sir.”

Cheney stared at him unbelievingly. “Erik Prince fucking AWOL, your fucking aide AWOL, the fucking DoD not answering your fucking calls. Fucking perfect. You run a tight fucking ship, Secretary.”

Cheney slumped in his chair to think and didn't like what he thought.

The President's eyes went microscopic and he whispered softly, “I bet that fucking Prince Erik decided to stand down the fucking US military. Save it some fucking wear and tear not to mention fucking disability payments. Hell, Prince fucking owns the Department of Defense. He owes it to his fucking shareholders to preserve assets.”

His jowls trembled with rage. He looked for something heavy to throw.  He reached for his water tumbler.

Secretary Peek spoke urgently, “Senor's on-air, sir. I'll put him on the big screen.”

Cheney slumped back and grumbled grumpily, “Damn TV is not going to fucking work, is it.”

Dale Carnegie Presidential Spokesperson Dan Senor's face flicked onto the screen. “…heard about the ludicrous Authorization of Force issued by the Axis nations. President Cheney says to the Iranian and Chinese leaders, ‘Bring it, punks.'

“Tomorrow is about remembrance, not empty threats. No one in America can forget where they were on July 4, 2010 when the Phelps terrorists attacked our country.

“Although tomorrow is a sacred anniversary I assure the American people that at this moment President Cheney is meeting with his cabinet and our assembled military leaders. Blackwater Defense Secretary Goldberg has issued a statement saying that his corporation is ready to repel any conceivable invasion by the Chinese and Iranian forces. American Express Secretary of State Ledeen has assured President Cheney that no Axis nations has access to the fleet of ships or troop-carrying aircraft needed to mount an invasion. In any case any such mythical invasion force would be easily blasted from the sea or sky.”

Senor smiled, “I can assure you that President Cheney will sleep soundly tonight. He calls on all true Americans to join him in a refreshing night's sleep.”

Spokesman Senor smiled into the camera until the station cut to back to the FOX news faces. Secretary Ledeen blanked the screen.

Cheney scowled cheerfully, “What do you guys fucking think of that? Wasn't that fucking unreal? Senor is fucking brilliant. The fucking people love that guy.”

In the past month as the threat of ChIranian invasion mounted Senor's popular nickname had become "D.C. Dan" after "Baghdad Bob".

Cheney shook his jowls and snorted wetly. “‘Bring it, punks.' Fucking brilliant. That fucking kicks ass.”

“So…” Cheney stopped and looked round at the secretaries slowly. “Any of you fuckers worried that the big, bad ChIranians are going to fucking appear at midnight and cram Korans and rice down your fucking throats or some such nonsense?”

Secretary Goldberg chuckled loudly. Other joined in or shook their heads smiling widely.

Cheney peered at Secretary Ledeen shrewdly. “Any of you planning to fucking sneak off like Kerik and O'Reilly and Alvarez and that fucker Prince?”

Universal shaking of heads.

Cheney pursed his cheeks and nodded slowly. “You guys are fine fucking civil servants. By the fucking power of my executive authority I command all of you to remain in this room until four o'fucking clock this morning.”

Secretary Malkin waved her hand, “Sir. Sir. I need to visit the ladies room.”

Cheney snapped imperiously, “Fucking hold it.”

He rose and rumbled loudly, “You guys know the fucking drill. During a security situation the President heads to the fucking executive bunker. When the Secret fucking Service shows up they are going to haul my fucking ass out of here on a chopper. You guys get to hold the fucking fort.”

Chief of Staff Ingraham entered the room. She approached Cheney and whispered to him.

Cheney pushed her away and fumed angrily, “Fucking no one? What the fuck? Where the fuck is the fucking staff?”

Sound of boots marching down the hallway toward the cabinet room.

Cheney glared at Goldberg and slumped back into his chair triumphantly. “About fucking time.”

A squad of four Blackwater Marines marched into the room.

Cheney yelled at them rudely. “Here at fucking last!”

The camo-clad Marines halted behind the President. They each cradled a compact black automatic weapon. The squad leader saluted.

Cheney stood and smiled. He was Commander-in-Chief. These men and their guns were his to command. He ordered commandingly, “Keep these fuckers here while I ride the chopper.”

The Marines chuckled. One yawned and rolled his eyes. Cheney's head jerked back at their insolence. He'd leak their names to Erik Prince. Cheney's lip twitched with pleasure at the thought.

The squad leader gave Cheney a hard shove toward the door. “After you, Mr. President.”

Cheney turned and glared at the Marine. What he saw decided him to hold his tongue. Prince would hear about this fucking rudeness.

The squad leader marched behind Cheney who trotted briskly down the empty hallways of the White House. The shriek of a turbine grew loud. As they exited the White House onto the lawn Cheney stopped short. The helicopter was not the usual bulbous blue civilian model but a matte-black faceted shark.

On its side in red: Blackwater's bear-paw logo over an angled anchor topped with an eagle – the privatized Marine's symbol.

The squad leader gave Cheney a shove into the chopper. The black machine screamed and jerked into the sky.

The three Blackwater Marines in the cabinet room were firm with their charges. No talking. No leaving the room for any reason. No fidgeting. They stood silently at the head of the table, correcting miscreants with a “Hey” and a threatening jerk of a weapon.

The Secretaries looked often at their watches. Escape schedules blown to hell.

At midnight the sergeant of the squad announced, “Secretary Limbaugh, Secretary Coulter, I need to talk to you privately.”

The two looked at one another and at the Marines, unsure.

“Please get up and approach us. Now!” He emphasized.

Secretaries Limbaugh and Coulter stood up sharply and hustled to the head of the table.

“Stand behind us.” The sergeant motioned the two to walk toward the wall.

He leaned toward his men and shook his head. “Should I tell them this is a hostile takeover?” That got laughs. He turned to face the cabinet.

“Secretary Ledeen, please drop that gun,” the sergeant ordered mildly.

Ledeen smiled and held up his Blackberry to show the Marine his mistake.

“He's got a weapon,” The Marine said coolly.

Ledeen shook his head and laughed, “Gentlemen, let me show you…” He stood up and held out the PDA.

The squad leader nodded to his men. All three Marines clicked off their safeties and faced the seated officials.

“Self-defense time, boys.”

Secretary Goldberg blanched and shit himself.

The Blackwaters' guns erupted. Bullets riddled the cabinet members into jerking lifeless red-spattered meat. Silence and stillness. A moan stifled with a burst. Blood dripped down the walls and into pools on the carpet.

Limbaugh and Coulter stared open-mouthed at the carnage.

Erik Prince walked into the cabinet room and saluted Secretary Limbaugh, “Congratulations, Mr. President.”

A cursory bow toward Coulter, “And Ms. Vice President.”

Limbaugh stammered, “President? What about President Cheney?”

Prince smiled. “Let's just say that Dick is not competent to perform his executive functions. Can we leave it at that?”

At midnight in the helicopter Richard Cheney was arrested as an enemy combatant. They landed at Guantanamo base four hours later. Cheney was stripped and locked into a small cold wet concrete room.

Prince went on, “As I was saying, when a President is incapacitated Drug Control Czar beats Secretary of Education in the order of succession. So you win the top spot, Rush. Sorry, Anne – you're VP.

“Secretary Limbaugh, ready for the oath?”

“Why, I, why…”

“Repeat after me.” Prince read from a sheet. “I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and so forth help me God.

“Your turn, Mr. Secretary.”

Limbaugh looked dubious and started, “I do solemnly swear that I will, uh, execute the, uh, the powers.”

“Good. Good. Don't forget God.”

“Oh, oh.” Limbaugh nodded. “So help me God.”

Prince extended his hand and shook Limbaugh's. “Congratulations, Mr. President.”

President Limbaugh's pilonidal cyst throbbed a nasty, itchy, delicious throb. Rush closed his eyes and thought of that skinny Dominican youth who had been fascinated by his cyst.

Prince drew a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. “I need you two to sign this incident form.” He held it in front of President Limbaugh, who mouthed the words as he read.

Limbaugh humphed, “I can't sign this. It says that your men defended themselves against attack and that there were unfortunate collateral damages.” He became indignant, “Your men slaughtered…”

Prince snapped, “I need you to sign this,” and reached into his pocket once again.

Limbaugh opened his mouth to protest but left it hanging open when he saw what Prince held in his hand. A large orange plastic prescription container filled with long blue pills. President Limbaugh started to salivate. Blue bombers – the real thing – 160 mg. Oxycontin tablets. Hundreds of them. Enough for a week if he went easy.

Prince shoved a pen into the President's hand and held out the form. Limbaugh kept his eyes steady on the orange jar. The tip of his tongue curled over his bottom lip.

Prince said, “Sign.” And slowly shook the container of pills so that they rattled.

Limbaugh said, “But…”

Prince rattled the pills.

Limbaugh glanced at the form and scribbled and then stared at the orange plastic jar. Prince handed him the prescription container and patted him on the shoulder.

Prince turned and looked at the destroyed bodies of the Cabinet and shook his head. “Tragic. Tragic. But unavoidable when a member of the cabinet shows his true colors as a Phelps terrorist. Sad that he took his colleagues with him.”

He turned back to President Limbaugh, who was fumbling with the lid of the container.

Prince snapped his fingers and Limbaugh glanced up at him. “Mr. President, Ms. Vice President, this next piece of business is a bit awkward.”

Prince stood straight. “I am here to demand the unconditional surrender of the United States of America.”

Coulter shrilled, “Can't your armed forces stop the ChIranians?”

Prince shook his head. “You weren't listening, Vice President Coulter. I am doing the demanding, not my ChIranian partners.

“This will explain it.” He handed Coulter a letter. “The Blackwater Department of Defense hereby terminates our security contract with the United States Government. As per our contract all military hardware becomes the property of Blackwater and all military personnel remain Blackwater employees.”

As Vice President Coulter read the message her Adam's apple bobbed in tiny jerks.

Limbaugh stopped fumbling with the top of his pill bottle and looked quizzically at Prince. “You're quitting?”

Prince explained, “I just signed a substantial security contract with the Axis. They are paying 31% over Blackwater's annual contract with the US.”

Coulter's Adam's apple bobbed as she took that in. “You have got be fucking shitting me. You're fucking going to stand there and let the ChIranians invade us?”

Prince chuckled, “Blackwater will not stand by and let the ChIranians invade. In fact, the Axis has contracted with Blackwater to lead the invasion.

“Consider yourself invaded, Mr. President.”

Limbaugh started to bellow a curse but cut himself short. His little eyes unpursed in admiration for the mercenary soul of this entrepreneurial traitor.

Prince beamed, “The wisdom of the marketplace.”

Back Forth