American Fascist

by Malcom James

  Again Simpson surveyed the crowd, as if to be sure they were still listening. They were.

  “In over thirty years of service, I was privileged to serve this country as an FBI agent, a federal prosecutor, in numerous leadership posts within the Justice Department, and for more than ten years as FBI director, under both Republican and Democratic presidents. I always attempted to conduct myself with restraint and professionalism, and acted with one single guiding set of principles: the Constitution, and the rule of law, which are the foundation of our democracy. Today, I find myself in uncharted waters, as does our country. For the first time ever, today I find myself… forced to violate those same policies and processes which I spent my entire career obeying, and which are designed to protect the integrity of the outcome. I must do this in order to call the public’s attention to the fact that this investigation has been halted, and the very idea of objective and equal justice is now at stake. Recently, the new Deputy Attorney General, Al Boons, terminated my assignment as special counsel, and appointed a new special counsel, who has put all continuing investigative matters on indefinite hold pending his review, only hours before we were scheduled to bring additional indictments from the grand jury against extremely high-level defendants, which sit at the very nexus of this case. These charges are of a very serious nature, including money laundering, wire fraud, obstruction of justice, and conspiracy and treason against the United States of America. The new special counsel has not said when or if these charges will ever be filed. I do not take these steps lightly, but I have a sworn duty to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, and that duty does not end with my termination. My hope was that the new special counsel would continue this critical work for the American people, and that perhaps my removal from the investigation would allow a final conclusion to this investigation to be met with less partisan disagreement and greater acceptance when the time comes. If that was possible, I was happy to step aside. After all, the truth does not belong to a political party. And this has never been about me as a person, or the team of career investigators and prosecutors, but only, and always, about the search for the truth, and the delivery of justice. However, today it appears that my removal was not for the sake of the integrity of the investigation, but rather for the exact purpose of blocking the forthcoming indictments.”

  Cameras continued clicking, flashes popping, as Simpson let his words sink in. He drew in a long breath and continued.

  “This is an extremely dangerous moment the country finds itself in. The Russia investigation must be allowed to continue to its conclusion, without interference from the president or the attorney general or the deputy attorney general or Congress, until all evidence of crimes by any and all persons, up to and including the president, have been reviewed, and either the appropriate charges are filed, or the investigation is closed as properly completed, without further indictments.

  Simpson looked up and over the edge of his glasses, and stared straight into the cameras, his eyes burning with conviction.

  “If the president is allowed to decide which charges he, his aides or his own children will or will not face, or can direct the Justice Department to terminate any investigation, including into himself or his family or friends or associates, then we no longer have an objective rule of law in this country, and the very soul of our democracy will be compromised, perhaps beyond repair.”

  Simpson folded his notes and removed his glasses as reporters shouted questions, but he simply turned and walked away from the microphones, while the man standing behind him came forward, and introduced himself as Simpson’s private attorney and spokesperson, and began reading a prepared statement of his own. The news cut away to the dumfounded Fox anchor, who forced a vapid smile and began to explain what an extraordinary sight had just been witnessed. Her first question to the panel would be whether he should be arrested for betraying the Department of Justice. When the old man turned back to his customer, Eli was already gone.

  ***

  The sun was setting behind a cloudy skyline, and the temperature had dropped considerably by the time Eli found himself back at the foot of the Frederick Douglas Bridge. He had stopped at a Goodwill along the way and found some decent sneakers and jeans and a thick coat for a few dollars. He didn’t want to carry anything more than he had to, and so his Cole Haans had been left in the donation bin outside, destined for someone who could use a quality dress shoe with only one or two high-speed foot chases on the odometer.

  He had also filled his belly with a double chili cheeseburger at a corner burger joint, and now he was bundled up and resigned to sleeping once again on the embankment under the bridge, and was working his way down through the scrubby brush off the road when he heard a scratchy voice call out to him. “I wouldn’t take a chance down there two nights in a row, young man.”

  Eli turned and saw the same old black man pushing his overloaded cart that he saw the night before. The man stopped and was just staring down at him from the road.

  “Why not?”

  “Man, they’s all kinds a bangers and killers walking around here, someone might shank you just fo’ that jacket you got on,” the old man said sternly.

  “Well, I don’t have a lot of options right now.”

  “Follow me, I’ll show you someplace better. We got a tunnel over here, we got heat, light, it’s like a regular Holiday Inn, know what I’m sayin’?”

  Eli looked at him, unsure. The wind was picking up off the river as the last rays of light were fading. The thought of sleeping under the bridge in the open was not appealing.

  “Well, suit yo self,” the old man said, and he gave his cart a push and the wheels squeaked as it rolled forward. Eli sucked in a breath, then scampered back up the embankment and began following the old man, who turned and stuck out his hand to shake Eli’s.

  “Lonnie Carson, Jr.,” he said. Eli shook his rough hand.

  “Tom Sawyer,” Eli said. Lonnie looked at him sideways for a moment, then pushed on.

  “Have it your way,” Lonnie said. He pushed his cart two blocks down Potomac Avenue, Eli following along as they went down a curving ramp paved with unfinished, lumpy concrete; it appeared to be little more than a giant hole going into the blackness beneath the river.

  Eli hesitated, but Lonnie just kept moving. “Come on, you’ll see here in just an ol’ second,” he mumbled. Lonnie really didn’t seem to care whether Eli came or not, and that helped Eli relax. He continued forward behind Lonnie as the ramp curved down farther, and as they turned the corner in the dark, suddenly Eli saw a long tunnel lit up by the faint flicker of two small fires burning near piles of personal belongings, or maybe just garbage, and several huddled figures around the fires that appeared to be cooking something in a pot. There were tents and shopping carts, and even farther down he saw a dangling light bulb hanging from the tunnel wall by a bare live wire.

  Lonnie parked his cart next to a small, broken mattress, then plopped himself down on it with a loud groan.

  “Welcome to our home,” he said. Eli could see the people near the fires checking him out, but they didn’t seem to be alarmed. Maybe because he was with Lonnie; just one more homeless person looking for a place to sleep.

  “Safety in numbers my man, safety in numbers,” Lonnie said. “Have a seat, take a load off,” he said, pointing to a dirty green cushion on the ground nearby. Eli was tired, and collapsed onto it.

  “Nice place you got here,” he said quietly.

  “They was buildn’ a tunnel under the river but they ran outta dough I guess, been sittin’ like this for years. Cops don’t come down, they don’t care as long as they don’t see us, right? Keeping the streets clean for our blessed President Harold P. Franks. So we just stick together, you know? Safety in numbers.”

  “Sure,” Eli said.

  “You eat?” Lonnie asked, his eyes twinkling in the dim firelight.

  “I ate earlier, thanks.”

  “Oh that�
��s good, good for you, Mr. Sawyer,” he said, and pulled out a folded piece of cardboard with the words “I’m just hungry” scrawled across it, and set it on the ground, then pulled out a foil-wrapped burrito from his jacket pocket and began attacking it.

  Eli leaned back against the tunnel wall, the cushion supporting him from underneath, and closed his eyes.

  21

  Lost

  He dreamed of the girl on and off all night in the tunnel. He finally gave up on sleep around dawn, when Lonnie began pushing his cart with its grinding metal wheels back up the ramp toward the gray morning light.

  “Gotta get out and earn a livin’,” Lonnie announced as Eli rubbed his eyes.

  Eli was pleasantly surprised that he had survived a second night on the streets. His neck was sore from leaning on the tunnel wall, but between his jacket and layers of clothing, and the heat in the tunnel from the small fires and the other inhabitants, he stayed warm, and when he checked inside his jacket, what was left of the cash from the locker was still there. He just needed to find coffee.

  Ten blocks and a few minutes later, he came upon a Starbucks near the ball park, ordered a tall coffee, and was leaving when he saw the cover of the New York Times by the door: “PRESIDENT FRANKS PARDONS SELF AND SONS.”

  He grabbed the paper, went back to the counter and paid for it, then went outside and found a concrete planter to sit on as he read. The article was straight-forward, and exactly as he feared: in the middle of the night, Franks had issued a written, full and unconditional pardon for himself, his son Harry Franks, Jr., and his son-in-law Bradley Carter for “any and all violations of: 1. United States Code 18 Chapter 73 “Obstruction of Justice.” 2. United States Code 18 Chapter 95 §1956 “Laundering of Monetary Instruments.” 3. United States Code 18 Chapter 115 “Treason, Sedition and Subversive Activities.” 4. United States Code 18 Chapter 115 §1001 “False Statements.”

  The Times article even went so far as to publish a photo of the one-page pardon, with the signature of Franks and the Presidential Seal. The pardon was retroactive, and applicable to any of the crimes listed, up to and including the pardon date on the letter. The pardon was issued with an accompanying signing statement from Franks:

  “Today by the power vested in me as President, I brought an end to the misleading, biased, and totally fake investigation into my Presidential Campaign. As I have said many times, there is no collusion with Russia, and there is no obstruction. No crimes were committed by myself or any of my family or associates. However, I have used the pardon power granted in me to put any doubts to rest once and for all, for the good of this great nation. The Deputy Attorney General has permanently closed the Russia investigation and the Special Counsel’s Office, as everyone knows the investigation had become the greatest Witch Hunt in political history, and was a huge distraction for the country and a waste of taxpayer money. Now it is time to get back to the business of Making America Great Again! Respectfully, Harold P. Franks, 45th President of the United States of America.”

  Eli dropped the paper on the stone planter next to him. He was numb inside. Could this really be happening? Franks didn’t even bother to mention in the statement why he would pardon himself and his sons for money laundering, when that had never been mentioned by himself or his flunkies in Congress as part of the “great hoax” of the investigation.

  Whether one believed what he was doing was further obstruction of justice or not, at least with the potential charges of treason and false statements and obstruction of justice there was a narrative that had a connection back to the supposedly “fake” Russia investigation. But why did he need to pardon himself and his sons for money laundering? The answer of course was obvious. Franks had been laundering Russian mob and oligarch money for years, maybe even decades, and now he was off the hook for that as well.

  And in typical Franks chaotic fashion, there was no mention of what would become of his associates who had already either pled guilty and had been cooperating, like Lt. Gen. Dearborn, or those who had pled innocent and were awaiting trial, like Maxwell. As always, it was all about himself and his boys.

  Eli read the rest of the news analysis and opinion sections, and the gist of it was that no one could believe what was happening, it was a full-blown Constitutional crisis that went even beyond the firing of Simpson and closing of the investigation, but in the end, no one knew how to stop it.

  The investigation was now closed, and even if it had remained open, it was pointless to pursue its largest target, as Franks could not be charged with any related crimes, as he had preemptively pardoned himself with the waive of his presidential pen.

  Constitutional scholars and attorneys debated whether it was legal, most said it was continued obstruction of justice, but no one appeared to have standing to actually sue the president. Attorney General Shelby Butler appeared to be taking no further action, and he controlled the law enforcement agencies of the federal government.

  It was now up to Congress to act, to somehow reign in a lawless president, and the Times was now calling for Franks’ immediate impeachment, which it and many leading publications had previously held back on in the fading hope that the Russia investigation would be allowed to run its mandated course. Now there was no other option.

  Eli finished his coffee, tossed the paper in the trash and walked away, with no idea where he was headed.

  ***

  He walked west long P street from the Navy Yard district into Southwest Waterfront Park, and found himself wandering toward the Washington Channel, which connected to the Potomac river. A stiff wind was picking up, kicking up white caps on the water, and dark clouds were rolling in from the west.

  He tightened his coat and continued on, finally stopping when he came upon a large stone statue in a small park at the water’s edge. It was a massive, elegant granite carving of a man, his arms stretched out wide, as if about to magically take flight into the sky. It was unexpected and striking. Eli read the inscription carved into the base:

  TO THE BRAVE MEN

  WHO PERISHED

  IN THE WRECK

  OF THE TITANIC

  APRIL 15 1912

  THEY GAVE THEIR

  LIVES THAT WOMEN

  AND CHILDREN

  MIGHT BE SAVED

  ERECTED BY THE

  WOMEN OF AMERICA.

  Eli stood for a few minutes, admiring the statue, feeling its quiet power, thinking of the courage of those men in the face of such tragedy. It gave him a longing for a sense of family, a connection to home. He realized that despite any risks, he had to call his father.

  ***

  Eli walked north toward the District Wharf, until he spotted a CVS pharmacy and went inside. He wasn’t used to the suspicious eyes of a store clerk following him down the aisle, but then he saw his reflection as he passed a mirror in the make-up department, and had to admit that with the layers of mis-matched clothes, the shaved and badly bleached hair, the cheap hat and glasses, and the dirt from lying on the ground, he looked like a potential shoplifter.

  He used cash to buy a gift card and a cheap pre-paid cell phone. Outside he found a bus stop with a bench under a weather shelter, and sat underneath just as it began to rain.

  He opened the phone and used the Visa card to set up a new account, then downloaded some basic news apps so he could get his news again. The free Associated Press app showed that with the firing of Simpson and Simpson’s press conference, the closing of the Russia investigation, and Franks’ self-pardon, the political world was melting down around him. Protests had formed in many major U.S. cities, with tens of thousands of citizens filling public squares, including the massive crowd outside the White House gates, which had more than tripled over the last twelve hours. In Seattle and Portland, anarchists in black masks had overtaken otherwise peaceful demonstrations, smashing store windows and tossing homemade Molotov cocktails at riot police. The White House spokeswoman Mary Oakwood Hawkins insisted that Franks was
within his Constitutional rights to pardon anyone, including himself, and it was time to accept it and “move on.”

  The one piece of good news was that formal Articles of Impeachment had been filed in the House by a bipartisan group of Representatives, and to placate the furor that was pouring out across the world, the Speaker of the House would allow a vote to take place as soon as that very night. The Articles of Impeachment included the charges of Obstruction of Justice, Treason, and “High Crimes against the United States.” Even though a bipartisan group of four moderate Republicans and four Democrats had filed the Articles, with 238 Republicans, 193 Democrats and 4 vacancies in the House, they would need a total of 23 Republicans to join all 193 Democrats in order to pass the Articles of Impeachment with a simple majority of 216 to 215. Given all the efforts Republicans had undertaken to defend every action of the president, including openly attacking the FBI and Department of Justice, that outcome was far from assured. Assuming Franks was impeached, there would then be a trial in the Senate, which would require time to prepare and execute, plus a two-thirds vote of the Senate was needed to convict him. With the Senate currently split 51 Republicans to 49 Democrats, that outcome was even less assured. But at least the process had begun.