American Fascist

by Malcom James

  The implications were disturbing, but Eli played it stone cold. “Okay, I’m on it.”

  “Keep me posted on your progress,” Martins said, and he hung up. Eli just sat, lost in his thoughts. He was glad to have something to work on, because there was only so much web surfing one could do in a cubicle before it began to feel like prison. On the other hand, the idea that the government, especially the Franks Administration, would have a single database with every registered voter and their party affiliation and entire voting history was now incredibly creepy. He knew the power that kind of consolidated data could yield. It would enable a level of micro-targeting and other forms of mass manipulation or suppression that had never been possible.

  But like the taping system, he knew that delivering on this task, or at least appearing to, would maintain his status as a valuable White House asset, and that needed to continue.

  ***

  Eli spent the next few weeks designing a database to house over two hundred million voter records the Administration hoped to obtain from the individual states. Once per week, and without advance warning, he was asked by Ken Miller to come over and check the recording system. He carried a USB thumb drive in his pocket, in the off-chance he was left alone with the system long enough to find and copy recordings that might be useful to Tate. But inevitably, Ken was watching over him every time. Eli would confirm the system was working, the credenza was re-locked, and that was the total of his visit.

  On the fourth occasion, he told Ken all was operating as expected, and Ken locked the credenza. Eli was walking down the hallway, wondering why Ken was so concerned about the system, when he bumped into Natalie as she was headed toward the Oval Office.

  “Hey there,” he said, a bit more energetic than usual.

  “Hey,” she answered, struggling with a bundle of printouts of charts and graphs in her arms.

  “You look like you’re on a mission,” he said, looking down at the printouts. She was frazzled. She looked down at the printouts.

  “Polls, and polls of polls, whether his base thinks he’s succeeding or failing.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t get paid to offer my opinion around here,” she said.

  “What about somewhere else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As in, would you share your opinion with me if we were somewhere else?”

  “Maybe. Where would we be?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, we could be anywhere. Somewhere around town.”

  “Not a bar or restaurant. I actually go out once in awhile, but you don’t seem to inhabit any of those places, so the odds of that would be low.”

  “True. Maybe we’d be someplace I’ve never been. Doing something ironic, taking a tour of the Capitol, who knows?”

  “I’ve never done that either,” she said. “And we’d just both randomly be there, and bump into each other?”

  “I think the odds of that are also low. We’d have to plan it. If I ever hope to hear your opinion, that is.”

  “You really must want to know what I think,” Natalie said.

  “I’ll admit it, I’m curious,” he said.

  Her eyes brightened.

  13

  Founding Fathers

  It was Saturday. Spring was supposed to be arriving, but the sun was glaring on a fresh coat of snow which blanketed the city overnight. Eli and Natalie stood on the Capitol steps, overlooking the National Mall with the same view as Franks when he gave his inauguration speech that fateful day, which felt like a lifetime ago.

  It was a postcard view, and Eli took a few pictures with his phone, and Natalie did too, both bundled in thick coats and hats, their breath condensing in the air.

  “You ever feel like you’re so caught up in all the crazy that you’re missing what’s right in front of you?” he asked, as he took a few last shots of the snow-covered, rectangular park that extended to the towering Washington Monument in the distance.

  “All the time,” she replied.

  They went inside, and spent the next hour getting the formal tour of the Capitol that was available to every visitor after clearing security.

  Just like that first day at the White House, Eli couldn’t help but marvel how the seat of power, the people’s government, was so open; right there, in front of anyone who wanted to see it. It wasn’t a movie set, and it wasn’t in their imagination. It was real. It had that strange feeling of the extraordinary, the history and the meaning of the place, mixed with the very mundane. The marble floors lead to the Rotunda, where the view looking up at the Capitol Dome from inside was stunning. And yet there was a janitor across from them, mopping the same marble floor.

  Eli noticed someone’s gum had stuck to the floor in front of the statue of George Washington. It would be removed. Washington would stay. It was epic history and common reality, co-mingled in space and time.

  They saw the House and Senate floor, the polished mahogany desks that looked so much larger on television. They walked the hallways between the chambers, and the familiar curving staircases around pillars that were always in the background of some senator or representative being interviewed on cable news.

  They took their time, and made small talk as they went along. He was mesmerized by the history. She felt they were doing a slow dance, to music only they could hear.

  When the tour ended, they found themselves overlooking the Library of Congress, the aides and researchers who had access to the main hall below going about their business like silent mice in a cage.

  They wandered into a recreation of Thomas Jefferson’s library, one of the prize possessions of the Library of Congress. Arranged in a circular floor-to-ceiling, acrylic-encased display were hundreds of originals and backup copies of invaluable books from Jefferson’s personal collection. Jefferson had been a voracious reader and his personal library, sourced from around the world, was the largest book collection in the United States at the time he sold it to Congress to replace the original library, which was was burned down by the British in the War of 1812.

  Unlike other libraries of the time, which were arranged alphabetically, his library was organized by the categories of Memory (History), Reason (Philosophy) and Imagination (Fine Arts). Eli and Natalie found themselves alone, standing inside the circle of Jefferson’s books. Eli felt they were standing inside Jefferson’s expansive mind. This man, and a small group of others, had created modern democracy out of the sheer power of their intellect and the enlightenment of their thinking, changing the destiny of humanity in the process. It was the physical echo of Jefferson, the ghost of his thoughts surrounding them.

  Eli saw a metal plaque inscribed with a quote from Jefferson, and read it aloud: “‘I cannot live without books. But fewer will suffice where amusement, and not use, is the only future object.’ Sounds like old Tom was just like Harry, too busy reading documents,” Eli said.

  “What’s that?” Natalie asked, turning to him.

  “The other day on the plane. He told that reporter he doesn’t watch TV because he’s too busy reading documents.”

  “Very funny,” Natalie said, as she stared at the titles in the Memory collection.

  “He’s no Thomas Jefferson, that’s for sure.”

  She turned and looked at him.

  “No he’s not. But you two seem thick as thieves.” He hadn’t considered that.

  “It’s all an act, on both our parts.”

  “So why do you work for him?”

  Eli walked over. “I helped him win,” he said. “I think I stick around hoping to be reminded why sometimes. I don’t know, it hasn’t happened lately.”

  Natalie searched his expression. Eli stepped closer to her.

  “Don’t you ever get disillusioned?” he asked.

  “I try to separate my career from the things I can’t control.”

  “That sounds like a cop-out.”

  “I thought we weren’t go
ing to talk politics,” she said, turning away.

  “I never said that. I told you I was curious about what you think.”

  Natalie turned back to him.

  “I’ll tell you what I think. You’re a white male, with above average intelligence, in the richest country in the history of mankind, run by white males.”

  “With below average intelligence,” Eli replied.

  “Right, but apparently ‘white’ and ‘male” offsets that. Point is, I’m not a man. I’m a Jewish girl who’s not from money and didn’t go to medical or law school. If I want to get anywhere, I have to keep pushing. This isn’t an opportunity that comes up twice in a lifetime. I have to make it work.” She looked up at him, a flash of defiance in her eyes. “If you knew some of the things… I’ve stopped him from tweeting, you would thank me.”

  “I can imagine. Thank you.”

  He looked at the books all around them, then tapped on the thick acrylic casing. “It would be nice if we could actually read these. So, you getting hungry? I know it sounds sketchy, but I hear the chili in the cafeteria is amazing.”

  ***

  Whoever told Eli was right, they did have pretty good chili. As they ate, Eli decided not to probe her feelings about the boss any further. She made her point. She was conflicted, and there was no need to enflame it further.

  He also didn’t want to expose himself as disloyal, in case that got back to Franks. He was comfortable showing concern for the direction of the country because he wanted to be real with her, and everyone who worked in the White House who had at least a partial soul had concerns, but there way no way he could reveal what he really thought, or what he really knew.

  So they talked technology, and social media strategy, and pop culture, and the “Golden Age of Streaming Television.” She was up to date on all the hot shows. The only one he’d seen was “House of Cards.”

  There was a spark, but he didn’t want to push it. It had only been revealed when he pulled back, so he continued that approach. If they took it slow, it might become something.

  After lunch, he walked her to her ride, they exchanged a hug, and both agreed they had a good time, and would try it again soon. He felt good for the first time in months.

  14

  Meltdown

  As spring arrived with the explosion of Washington’s famous cherry blossoms, the Russia story simultaneously exploded in the news again. It was revealed that during the campaign, Franks’ second campaign manager Bruce Maxwell, plus Franks’ oldest son, Harry Jr., and his son-in-law Bradley Carter, had met with a Russian attorney and several others in the Franks Tower offices in Manhattan. The meeting had been arranged by a Russian promoter from Franks’ past, and the emails arranging the meeting openly stated it was “part of the Russian government’s support for the Franks Campaign” and offered dirt on his political opponent, Eleanor Wilson.

  It sent the White House into a tailspin for days. The president was in Europe when the news hit, and a quick series of denials on the subject of the meeting quickly proved false, and then the White House had to revise the story several times when the content of the emails, including Harry Jr.’s reply of “I love it!” all became public.

  To stem the bleeding from the ever-expanding scandal, it was announced that a new White House director of communications had been hired; a former hedge fund manager and frequent loudmouth talking head on mid-day financial TV shows, Mario Sanducci. He was coming in to bring “order” to the chaos of the White House communications strategy and put a stop to “all the leakers.”

  Eli watched the drama unfold from his cubicle, even though the actual drama was unfolding only a few hundred yards away. By late-afternoon on the day of the announcement, Press Secretary Steven Stevens had resigned, and Deputy Press Secretary Michelle Banks had fled with him, both apparently in protest of working for Sanducci, and brand-new Deputy Press Secretary Mary Oakwood Hawkins, the daughter of evangelical former Governor of Kansas Tom Oakwood, was working the podium for Franks, in a down-home “awe shucks” manner that gave a new shine to the same old denials and lies.

  Sanducci arrived by limousine and gave a press conference on the White House lawn. His bespoke suit, slicked-back hair, aviator sunglasses, and fast New York accent all reeked of “Wall Street-stockbroker-thug.” When added to the homespun wisdom of Mary Oakwood Hawkins, it all gave Eli the impression that he was watching a reality TV show where random characters from everyday American life were thrown into a cutthroat competition to represent the White House. Anyone could be fired at any time, and it was a day-to-day death match to see who could spin the best lies, and twist logic far enough to make Franks look good amid the growing dumpster fire, and possibly survive one more episode. It was chaos, but it sure made good television.

  Five days into his job, Sanducci gave an on-the-record interview in which he accused Chief Strategist Mack Martins of wanting to “suck his own cock.” Sanducci tendered his resignation the following morning.

  ***

  With Stevens and Sanducci gone, Mary Oakwood Hawkins was promoted to press secretary, and became the new face of the Franks Administration in the daily running battles with the media.

  One morning, Eli went down to watch the daily circus in person. He had to admit, just like her boss, she had a bizarre ability to spin any scenario into sounding like a positive for Franks, without the burden of articulating any connection to concrete reality. The icing on the cake was the way she would arch her eyebrows and heap derision onto reporters who pushed too hard, like a disappointed schoolmarm scolding her misbehaving students.

  The crowd was dispersing when Eli spotted Natalie in the hallway, and made his way over as she huddled with the press team and Hawkins. As the gaggle broke apart, Natalie turned and saw him.

  “Hey stranger,” he said.

  She walked over and gave him an honest but quick hug.

  “Hey,” she replied. “Sorry I’ve been tough to pin down, things have been nuts, Sanducci, what a train wreck,” she said as she brushed her hair back.

  “Can we talk over here?” she asked, pointing to a corner away from the group.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  They shifted down the hall, out of earshot from the crowd.

  “I’ve been thinking, we should check out the new baby pandas at the National Zoo. Kinda cheesy, but damn, they are really cute,” he said.

  She smiled at him, saccharine. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she said under her breath. “I wanted to let you know, Brandon is in town. We’re going to see where things go.”

  “Brandon?”

  “My ex-fiancee.”

  “Brandon, right. Sure, you should do that,” he said, heart sinking.

  She looked at him for a moment, searching to see how badly she might be wounding him. He lamely pulled his game-face on.

  “Eli, I’m sorry, it’s just…”

  “Hey no worries, we hung out one time, I get it. I hope it works for you guys this time. I do. You deserve it.”

  “Thank you,” she said, appreciating his sincerity. She gave him a big hug. “I’ll see you around here, right?”

  “You will,” he said. She smiled, squeezed his arm, then turned back to the crowd.

  ***

  As the cherry blossoms gave way to a semi-permanent layer of summer smog, Eli gave up on running. It was too hot, and with Natalie out of reach, he lost interest in maintaining himself. Days and nights now consisted of a predictable pattern: wake up with a hangover. Pump the bloodstream with ibuprofen and coffee. Head into the office, and continue building the database to house the voting records of the entire nation, if the states ever agreed to turn over the data. Watch the chaos unfolding in the West Wing while everyone around Franks pretended it was an intentional strategy. Leave early, get home to the A/C, order food delivery, watch the news, occasionally yell at the television like Franks, and then drink until a hopefully dreamless sleep descended.

 
There was plenty to yell about. While the country was distracted by the constant White House chaos and the growing Russia investigation, Franks was methodically dismantling every policy, department, and institution he could get his hands on. He signed Executive Orders overturning clean water rules so that coal companies could once again dump toxic waste into mountain streams. He overturned financial rules that prevented predatory lenders and unscrupulous financial advisors from ripping off their customers. He signed orders rolling back pollution standards for power plants, eliminated new overtime pay rules for workers, cut the incentives for clean energy, reversed a prior EPA decision to ban the use of a childhood cancer-causing pesticide, eliminated the anti-bribery rule for energy companies doing business overseas, made it easier for fugitives and the mentally ill to buy guns, rescinded protections for student loan borrowers, eliminated federal after-school programs, revoked federal protections for transgender students in schools, reduced the size of federal parks and monuments, eliminated rules designed to protect threatened baby bears and wolves from being shot in their dens by hunters, raised housing payments for new home buyers, reversed an order to prevent the deportation of immigrants brought into the country as children, eliminated a heating-assistance program for the poor, reversed rules that prevented civilian deaths in military engagements overseas, made it harder for the SEC to hold Wall Street accountable, and eliminated an EPA program that protected children from lead-based paint.

  He continually demanded that the institutions designed to enforce the laws and the Constitution, the Department of Justice and the FBI, begin using their awesome power to investigate and jail his political opponents and the media, crossing a line that no president had ever crossed before. The aggression on every front, against the common people, the environment, the other countries of the world, and the institutions and traditions of the country was so constant and pervasive that people were becoming numb.