John Barnes - Directive 51

Weisbrod took a moment to realize that wasn’t because State and Treasury were especially important; it was because those were the two visibly-minority people present. So it’s all a photo op. Well, at least that’ll leave me out of it.

Shaunsen looked around once more. “And you say it would be half an hour before we had everyone?”

“Yes, sir,” Cameron said.

“Just doesn’t seem as special as it should. Well, let’s get it over with, an old man like me should be home in bed.”

Moments later, the lights winked green on the cameras, the tech director gestured rolling , and Chief Justice Lopez held out the Bible. Shaunsen seemed to gain three inches of height and lose three decades in that instant, looking solemn and serious, and his delivery of the TelePrompTer speech was flawless as pure performance, though it annoyed the hell out of Cameron: When it came to the messages that Homeland Security had written, asking people to be understanding about the needs of defense and law enforcement, but not to wait for authority if there was something they could do right now, Shaunsen delivered it in a pro forma rush. But when it came to the words he had added, all those promises that the crisis will generate plenty of pork, he slowed down to put a grin and almost-wink into it. Shit, shit, shit I wish Kowalski had been eligible—or Shaunsen had fallen down the stairs and broken his neck getting here.

Afterward, Shaunsen extracted a handshake and congratulation from all the Cabinet officials, including the slightly-too-late Secretaries of Education and the Interior, and told Dwight Ferein, “I know your guy here”—he pointed at Cam—“wanted to give me some kind of briefing or something about the whole situation, but I’m not that kind of micromanager, everybody should just keep doing the good job they’re doing, and I’ll get caught up sometime this week on it. Meanwhile, I’m tired, and can you believe it, I’ve been in Washington all these years, and it’s my first time sleeping in the White House? I’ve got to go before I fall over. You just tell your people to take care of it, and I’ve got total faith in them.” Three minutes later, he had climbed into a White House limo and rolled away.

Ferein said, “Mr. Nguyen-Peters, I presume you heard the president.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I just want to apologize for him. Because someone should. I suppose I should see about turning the rest of the Cabinet around and sending them home with as many feathers smoothed down as I can, eh?”

“That would be very helpful,” Cam said.

“I can see myself out,” Weisbrod said, “and I’m relatively featherless.”

Ferein had been a CEO of two different companies, an Army Reserve major, a state attorney general, and a one-term senator. He said, “If the job had fallen on me, I would not have felt up to it. I know perfectly well that I achieved adequate performance in several well-paid soft jobs, and a couple of very well-paid hard ones. But unfortunately, I think our Acting President believes himself fully up to it. I am not sure how to disabuse him of this notion, but if you have any ideas, I’ll help in any way I can. Thanks for being my Chief of Staff, Cam, and my colleague, Graham. Now and then I need someone I can make an indiscreet remark in front of; it prevents my exploding.”

“Part of my job, sir,” Cam said. “I should go upstairs and send the team home. Graham, let’s walk together.”

In the elevator, Cam said, “I suppose the White House Chief of Staff will figure out a way to shuffle Pendano out, and Shaunsen in, gently and with proper care for everyone’s dignity.”

“Most chiefs of staff can do that sort of thing,” Weisbrod said, smiling slightly.

“Yeah,” Cameron said. “Speaking as a chief of staff myself, what I actually meant to say was, I don’t envy the poor woman her job—especially since for all we know Pendano will wake up tomorrow morning and say, ‘What the hell have I done?’”

“From your mouth to God’s ears.”

“No kidding.” He stuck his hand out and shook Weisbrod’s. “Just between you and me, Mr. Secretary, my whole job is really all human contact, all I really am is a big smart Rolodex that knows where to go for help. And thank you for adding yourself to my list of people I can count on, tonight.”

“Fair enough. Honestly, I was just hanging around because there’s not much for me at home other than too much reading and not enough company, and it felt nice to be at least a little useful.”

“You were more than a little useful,” Cameron said. “Especially thanks for talking him out of turning the emergency speech into the opener for Shaunsen for President.”

“I’m just sorry that I couldn’t figure out a way to keep him from putting in that silly pork-for-everyone stuff.”

“At least you tried, and you did something. Four other Cabinet secretaries, including my boss, stood there like lumps. And Dwight Ferein called it on the nose, even if he was right about being no more than adequate; we have too many people who are adequate administrators for ordinary times, and who have attended too many seminars telling them that they’re leaders with vision, and too many of them have believed it.” Cameron nodded at Graham. “All that’s my long way of saying, I will call on you again, I’m sure, because I think you can make it up as you go, and most of these guys can’t.”

“I’ll try to live up to your faith,” Weisbrod said. “And hope it’s never tested.”

“Was that phrase of yours, ‘From your mouth to God’s ears’?”

“Perfect on the first try. You sound just like my mother.”

Most of the time, Americans live together like a colony of clams, growing and feeding by tapping into each other’s resources, with nothing much going on beyond the individual level. The whole grows and flourishes because its members grow and flourish. It’s efficient but purposeless unless you regard growth itself as a purpose—which nearly all Americans do.

Cooperation for a common purpose is about as American as sacrificing virgins to the Corn God; Americans have heard of it, but as something long ago and far away, not something they do themselves. When the force of circumstances does drive Americans to common action, usually it looks like a herd of cattle, either milling about until they calm down, or briefly stampeding. An especially urgent need or clear vision can make Americans form up more like a flock of geese, with a few out front pretending to know where they are going, and everyone else honking to keep the temporary, efficient formation together.

At midnight on October 29th, Americans were more like a wolf pack in which the alphas had just been shot: yapping, howling, growling, threatening, whimpering for comfort, barking defiance, and now and then, wheeling to maul each other.

At the curb, Heather asked Lenny, “Would you like to split a cab? We can talk while we ride. I had kind of a feeling that we were both having a lot more ideas than we wanted to put out in front of the high-level types in there.”

“Heather, you are high-level—higher than Mark Garren, you’re an assistant secretary and he’s only a deputy under.”

“Yeah, but he’s got a few hundred employees and a budget of mumble-umpty-classified gazillions, and I have nineteen employees and a copy machine. We’re equal according to the rules, but—”

“Ha. This town runs on rules. What do you call all that fretting about the Constitution?”