Walter Williams - The Rift

Jessica’s head swam. This was decidedly strange. The President seemed to be calling her from well beyond the ozone layer.

“I wanted to give you a little friendly advice in view of your current celebrity,” the President said. “You’re going to start hearing from people now- people in my line of work, you understand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“They’re going to want to talk to you about running for office. Maybe even for my job.”

Jessica answered quickly. “Mr. President, I have never even for a moment considered-”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Jessica,” the President said. “I don’t give a hang if you run or don’t. What I wanted to say is this- they won’t be approaching you because they admire your brilliant political thinking. They’ll be approaching you not because you’re the best candidate, but because you’re a viable candidate. Because of that Newsweek cover and because you’ve got a very prominent job where you can score a lot of points with the public. And it won’t be about you - it will be about them, you understand? It’s their job to find people like you and groom them for office. It’s their job to approach people and awaken ambitions that people never knew they had, and the more ambition they can find in you, the more they can generate business for themselves. That’s how these people work.”

Jessica’s head swam. “I understand, Mr. President.”

“Now if you’ve always wanted to run for office, that’s fine. I can even introduce you to some people- people who work for my party, you understand. But if you have never thought of a career in public service, then I urge you to think long and hard before you give any kind of answer at all to these people.”

“The only career in public service I’ve ever wanted,” Jessica said, in all truth, “was in the military.”

The President cackled. “That’s a good one, Jessica!” he said. “That’s exactly what you tell those bastards! That’s my little politician!”

Jessica blinked. “Thank you, sir,” she said.

The President cleared his throat. “Now, if you don’t mind one last piece of advice …”

“By all means, sir.”

“If you value your career, Jessica, try not to shoot up any more churches. Because then even I won’t be able to save your ass, okay?”

Jessica hesitated, trying to read the tone of the President’s voice in order to determine whether he was joking again or not. She decided she might as well reply with the truth, pedantic though it might be.

“Well, Mr. President,” she said, “it wasn’t actually a church. It was a radio station.”

The President paused for a moment, then barked out another laugh. “Oh, it was the media !” he said. “In that case, I’m sure they got everything they deserved!”

The conversation ended shortly thereafter. Jessica put down the handset and walked past expectant-looking techs to her tent.

Gamsakhurdians, she thought. The President had mentioned the menace of the Gamsakhurdians. She made a note to herself to find out who the Gamsakhurdians were, and what they were up to.

Once her present job was over, the President might need an officer who was on top of the Gamsakhurdian situation.

She passed Nelda at her desk, then entered her tent and sat behind her desk.

Pat looked at her. “What’d the man say, Jess?”

Jessica pitched her voice so that Nelda could hear. Give her a thrill, she thought.

“He said it was okay by him if I run for President,” she said.

*

The President returned the handset to an aide, then looked at Stan Burdett. “There we go,” he said.

“Do you think she’ll bite?” Stan asked.

“I think it’s more than possible. Give her a couple days to let it all sink in, then have Bill Marcus give her a call.”

“Bill’s the best in the business. If he can’t talk her into running, I don’t know who can.”

The President leaned back into the deep leather armchair and put his feet up on the coffee table. One thing you could say for the semirustic decor of the presidential retreat of Camp David, nobody cared if you got scuff marks on the furniture.

The President scratched his chin. A faint sadness penetrated his detachment. “Jessica’s a nice lady,” he said. “I should feel like a complete shit for doing this to her.”

But the Party needed a winner, and here was Jessica Frazetta piling up endless good-will points throughout the heart of the country. It was hard not to endear yourself to people by feeding starving families and plucking their children from floods. In the next election, three senatorial seats and a half-dozen governors’ positions would be up for grabs, all from the Mississippi Valley. Jessica had made herself a viable candidate for any one of them.

“The only question,” the President said, “is whether she decides she’s a member of the Party or not.”

“She’s always registered as an Independent,” Stan said. “A lot of those military types do.”

“Well,” the President said, “if she has the good sense to decide to come to the aid of the Party, I can help her out before she declares, pin a nice big medal on her- the Soldier’s Medal, maybe? And if she decides she’s a member of the opposition,” he sighed, “then we conclude she blew religious freedom to tiny pieces when she went into Rails Bluff, and the attorney general takes her down while our hands stay clean.”

He swung his legs down from the coffee table and rose to his feet. He looked at Stan. “It’s a no-brainer,” he said. “You want to go for a walk?”

Pine scent filled the air as the President strolled along the open paths. Wind floated through the trees with the sound of a mother hushing her child. It was pleasantly cool here in Catoctin Mountain Park, and a pleasant change from Washington, where summer heat and humidity was already smothering the city.

It was a beautiful, tranquil moment. But then all the President’s moments were tranquil these days. All moments were more or less like the next. It was an illustration of the Steady State theory of the President’s psyche.

The President let his eyes drift over the tree-lined crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Hawks circled overhead, thermals lifting their outspread wings. “The Chinese fired three missiles,” he said. “They all landed more or less where they were intended to land. The U.S. Navy gallantly protected Taiwan by being nowhere in the vicinity. The Chinese government has announced that this round of tests is over, and it looks as if their military forces across the Straits have stood down.”

“The Seventh Fleet saves the day,” Stan said.

“But for how much longer?” the President asked. “We’re in no state to fight a war. The quakes have wrecked all that. Even if we have the capacity, the people won’t stand for it- we can’t fight any kind of conflict while millions of our own citizens are condemned to living in tents. We’re going to have to pull in our heads for ten years or more.” He looked at Stan. “You’re the expert on spin. How long can you spin that?”

Stan adjusted his spectacles. “Sooner or later, you think someone will call our bluff?”

The President watched clouds drifting beyond the Blue Ridge. He’d had an insight about clouds some days ago, he seemed to remember, but he could not bring it to mind.

“Some people have nothing left to lose,” the President said. “Others have everything to gain. There’s a worldwide recession in progress, and that will make people desperate. And there are so many flash-points now. Conflicts are almost all ethnic or religious these days, and those are the kinds of wars that are most difficult to stop once they get started. Once you start to kill your neighbors, you can’t stop, now, can you? Stopping just gives them the opportunity to kill you. And it’s worse when God starts telling you to kill. You can’t stop if it’s God doing the talking. The Ayatollah business is really prospering. Like that fellow in Arkansas that Jessica had to put down. How do you stop someone who wants the world to end? There’s no way to negotiate. There’s no common ground.”