William Bernhardt - Capitol Betrayal

“My people tell me that your control is spotty and inconsistent. You may be able to launch a few missiles, but certainly not all.”

“Mr. President, how many missiles do you think I need to bring your puny nation to its knees?”

The president’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You are the new Hitler.”

“Hitler? You self-righteous fool. Perhaps you should ask your secretary of defense to give you a history lesson when we are done talking. I understand he is a student of history. I am no Hitler, my friend. I’m the new George Washington. I am a freedom fighter. Everything I do is to free my people, to cast off the yoke of the bully tyrant nation that attempts to control us and treat us like slaves.”

“That’s absurd. We never-”

“Do not attempt to persuade me with your ethnocentric view of the world. The American oppressor interfered in the Middle East for fifty years, and now you are planning to bring your oppression to my country. I will not sit idly by and let my nation become the next Iraq. We will fight. I have a duty to my people.”

“You weren’t even elected by the people. You took over by military force.”

“And if I recall correctly, there was much military force involved in the formation of your own country, true? Of course there was. But I did not call to debate history. You have declared war on my nation. And this is a war I intend to win.”

“We never declared war on Kuraq.”

“Your troops are just outside our gates! I can see them now on our radar. Do you expect me to wait until it’s too late to respond? I will not.”

“If you fire another one of those missiles, people will die.”

“In every war there is collateral damage. But still the war must be fought. The price of freedom is eternal vigilance. Did George Washington take lives at Yorktown? I believe he did, but he did it to defeat Cornwallis and to secure a new nation. I will do nothing less for my own. You may label me a madman if that makes it easier to carry out your aggressions. But I am a patriot, sir. A patriot. And like any good patriot, I will defend my nation till my dying breath.”

“What’s this all about, Zuko? Why now?” While he spoke, the president was gesturing to Zimmer, who was quietly whispering into another line. Ben couldn’t know for certain, but he assumed they were making an effort to trace the call. Did that mean they thought he might be somewhere nearby? It seemed impossible. Or perhaps they knew he was in Kuraq and were trying to target him for some kind of military strike. “All we’ve asked is that you let our people cross your border and perform a simple rescue operation.”

“Do not treat me like a fool, Mr. President. I may be many things, but foolish is not among them. I hold all the cards in this poker game. Do not pretend that we do not both know that your military forces have been swarming around our borders for weeks. We have intelligence, too, sir. I have seen your aircraft carriers in the Gulf.”

“They are in those waters on peaceful missions and with the permission of the Saudi Arabian government.”

“Do not treat me like a child!” Zuko barked. “I know what the planes aboard that ship are capable of doing. You have a least a thousand troops ready to invade at your command. I know that you have aircraft in Saudi Arabia that can be in our airspace in fewer than twenty minutes! I know you have planned an invasion of my sovereign state. Your own people have confessed it to me. Under torture, yes, but they confessed just the same.”

The mention of torture cast dread into the hearts of everyone in the room. Zimmer was at a computer keyboard now. He appeared to be pulling up some kind of logistical or tactical information. Aerial maps came and went with such speed that Ben could not identify them.

“Does that mean you’re responsible for the Mymidon attack and kidnapping?” the president asked.

“I assumed you would know it was me, given how flawlessly the operation was executed. Today’s exercise will be no different. You are but the sand of the desert in my hands, Mr. President. You will bend to the shape and will of my hand, or you will slip through my fingers and fall apart. Permanently.”

The president sat down in the chair at the head of the table. He leaned in very close to the speakerphone. “And was it also your highly efficient men who raided the Arlington armory a few hours ago?”

Ben held his breath and waited for the answer. If this sadistic madman had a portable nuclear device, they would be permanently helpless, even if they did recover control of the computer networks.

“Do you not understand, Mr. President? We are everywhere. We control everything. And now you will do everything I request-everything! Or the consequences will be horrible.”

“Colonel Zuko, I will not permit you to commit genocide in the Benzai Strip.”

“What action I take I do to secure our borders. And that is no business of yours! But it does not matter. There is nothing you can do about it.”

Although he wasn’t taking notes, Ben had been clenching his pencil with a white-knuckled grip throughout the entire conversation. He dropped his pencil, and without really thinking about it, bent down to pick it up.

While bent over, he looked under the table.

The president’s feet were moving. Not swaying. Not tapping. But tap-dancing. Moving back and forth in a sprightly manner that did not affect what the others saw above the table. One of the darker secrets in Ben’s past was that in the second grade his mother had forced him to take tap-dancing lessons. He knew a shuffle-ball-change when he saw it.

A foreign dictator was threatening to take out a large portion of the nation. And the president was tap-dancing.

The president and Zuko continued talking. Ben knew his expression must have changed, because Sarie gave him a concerned look. “Is something wrong?” she whispered.

He pointed under the table and mouthed, “Look.”

“Trying to get a look at my cleavage?”

Ben’s face flushed. He continued pointing.

She looked.

When her face came up again, it was ashen.

“What’s going on?” Ben whispered.

She spread her hands wide in a gesture of bafflement and helplessness.

Ben didn’t know what to make of her reaction. But the situation didn’t seem to be shocking her as much as it was him. He asked: “Have you seen this before?”

She hesitated before making any response, then, with considerable reluctance, nodded.

“What’s going on?”

She shrugged.

“What does his doctor say?”

She shrugged again, then added quietly, “He’s concerned.”

Ben was glad to hear Dr. Albertson understood the president was exhibiting strange behavior, but somehow concerned didn’t seem nearly adequate.

“How long?” Ben asked, careful not to attract attention.

Sarie thought for a while before answering. “Month or so.”

“Who else knows?”

She shrugged again.

Ben thought about that for a moment. More than once he had been amazed by the number of people the president met in the course of a single day. If he had been exhibiting these strange symptoms for a month, anyone could know.

Even the dictator of a foreign nation.

Ben began to whisper again, then caught a glance of Admiral Cartwright on the opposite end of the table, glaring at him. He felt as if he were being scolded for telling secrets in class.

The conversation with Zuko must have been reaching a fevered peak, because for the first time ever, Ben heard the president raise his voice.

“Colonel Zuko, the United States will not tolerate this!”

“When will you get it through your sun-baked brain that you have no choice in the matter?”