G Hopf - The Long Road

At first Alfredo resisted his touch, but he gave in when Pablo grabbed him forcefully.

“Come on, Pops! Aha, should I call you that from now on? It’s a gringo term. Would you like it better if I referred to you as that instead of the old stuffy Father bit?”

Alfredo still remained silent.

Dragging him the last distance to the top, Pablo said, “There! Feast your eyes! That there is one piece of my puzzle to conquer parts of the United States and Mexico.”

“Mexico?” Alfredo now spoke.

“Yes, I couldn’t be completely honest about what I was up to. You see, the new dawn happened the day those beautiful bombs blew up there,” Pablo said, pointing up in the air. “The sun has been rising in our favor since then, until I saw that my small, amateur army wouldn’t be able to complete the task. You know something, Father? You bringing me back here was the break I needed. I was able to clear my head and see what I had to do.”

“My son, do you really think you can be successful?”

Shooting him a hurt look, Pablo answered, “Yes, I do, Father. Everything is going the way I wanted it to; there were just a few corrections needed. Some fine tuning. Today marks another step toward my new empire.” Pablo finished, then spread his arms out in front of his father.

“I never thought I’d say this, but you’re crazy.”

“People who didn’t have the depth of understanding said the same thing about all the great leaders. From Alexander to Caesar and Napoleon; now me, Pablo Juarez.”

Alfredo shook his head. Disappointment was etched along every deep wrinkle on his face.

“Father, I brought you out here so that you could see with your own eyes. Today is the first day of my new empire,” Pablo said and again held out his arms. “Tomorrow, along with the Villistas, my guerrilla army, we will begin the invasion of the United States!”

Lifting his weary head, Alfredo looked over his son’s outstretched arms. What he saw did amaze him. In his entire life he had never seen an armada as large. Stretching for over two miles, naval warships numbering in the dozens were sailing up the coast. As his gaze followed them toward the Friendship Park along the U.S.-Mexican border, some ships were off-loading hundreds of ground troops.

“Father, I present to you the army of the Pan-American Empire!” Pablo declared.

Portland, Oregon

Cruz looked with awe through the small window of the plane at the skyline of the city. Decay had already begun to take hold of the area. Abandoned cars had riddled every road and highway he saw on his approach to the airport. Now on the ground, he could see the decay in closer detail. Weeds were already growing out of cracks in the runway. Garbage lay discarded. Luggage sat on conveyor belts just outside planes, not touched for weeks. Some of the windows of the main terminal were smashed. Reports from his advance team were that most of the damage was cosmetic. Still, it would take a long time to get all electrical equipment back online.

So much to do, he thought.

The door to the command center opened, and Bethanny Wilbur stepped in.

“Mr. Vice President. Sorry. Mr. President.”

“It’s alright. What is it? You have that look,” Cruz said, swiveling away from the window to face Wilbur, who stood there holding a piece of paper.

She walked over and fell into a chair.

“Really, more bad news?” Cruz asked.

“Your pick for VP has declined. She’s staying in Texas,” Wilbur said, tossing the sheet of paper on the table.

“Shit. Well, back to square one.”

“When I talked to her, she told me it’s really no better there than here. They are dealing with starvation, murder, and rioting en masse. These are her words, mind you, but she said large herds of people were coming into Texas from the East.”

“Large herds, huh? Well, that’s not surprising. People thought that since they went independent they must be surviving okay, when all along this breaking away from us was more bravado politics than anything else.”

“Maybe so, but it doesn’t look like we’ll get much from them since they’re knee-deep in it. Have you thought about the former governor of Alaska?”

“Yes, I have. I need someone who’s willing to work hard. He just seems, I don’t know, lazy. I mean, he’s a good guy. I just don’t know if he’d be a good part of our team.”

“The only reason I mention him is that he was a successful governor, popular. We could use Alaska’s support. I think they’ll come on board, but if one of their own were in the administration, then that would kinda marry them to us.”

“Ha, we sound like some medieval chancellor whose job it is to find the appropriate bride for the king.”

“We sorta are now. The days of politics are gone; it’s about getting things accomplished.”

“I wish things were that easy; politics is such a pervasive thing. It would find a way to penetrate and pollute anything. That’s why it’s important to find the right match,” Cruz stated. He swung his chair around, stood, and began to stretch.

“Where the hell is the advance team to take us to the secure location?” he asked, bending down and looking at the window.

As if fate had heard him, a small parade of Humvees appeared from around one of the Jetways at the end of the taxiway.

“Good, finally,” Cruz said. He began to gather his belongings and pack them up.

The Humvees pulled up next to the plane. Moments later gunshots ring out.

“Get down!” Cruz yelled as he ducked under the table, his preferred hiding spot for instances such as these.

The sound of gunfire moved like a snake from outside to inside.

Loud voices and yelling reverberated off the thin interior walls of the plane and made their way to just outside his door.

Wilbur pulled out a pistol and held it to defend herself. She had taken up a position behind a chair.

A loud banging on the door was followed by a gruff voice. “President Conner, come on out. We won’t hurt you.”

Cruz looked puzzled.

Wilbur shot the door several times.

Cruz jumped, not expecting her gunfire, and covered his ears with anticipation of more shooting.

Wilbur was terrified. She held the pistol straight out with her shaking arm.

Nothing happened after her shooting. Then voices began to talk. But it was too difficult to understand them.

Cruz didn’t know what to do. It was a mistake for Wilbur to think that she could defend them. Whoever had come in those Humvees had men and arms, enough to take out his security team.

“Wilbur, put it down,” he ordered.

“What? No, sir,” she replied defiantly.

“Wilbur, we can’t win this!” he yelled at her.

Just then automatic gunfire ripped through the door. Papers, pieces of wood, plastic, metal all were flying through the air as the bullets tore in, hitting the table, chairs, and cabinets in the small room.

Cruz flinched again and ducked his head.

Wilbur fell to the floor and held her hands over her head. Her desire to resist now gone, she dropped the gun.

The gunfire stopped as quickly as it had started, and a voice filled the empty air. “President Conner, we’re coming in. Don’t shoot. We don’t wish to harm you.”

“Then stop shooting!” Cruz yelled back.

A moment passed before the door was kicked open.

Cruz saw three men in camouflage uniforms enter and take up positions on either side of the table. One walked over to Wilbur, kicked the gun away from her, and commanded her to stay put.

“I’m coming out!” Cruz said as he began to crawl out from under the table.

He heard someone else enter the room as he was getting up. He looked and saw a tall, burly man wearing a desert camouflage uniform.