by Bob Smith
He shot me a look that was the gestural equivalent of unloading a shotgun directly at my face.
“You need an intelligence briefing on my record. I voted for wilderness protection for Wyoming. Helped protect almost a million acres. Liberals never mention that.”
I was unaware that Dick Cheney had done anything that could be considered environmental protection. Although I’d always had grudging respect that, unlike most Democratic politicians who were swishy about “gay marriage,” Cheney had come out with a memorably blunt argument for marriage equality: “Freedom means freedom for everyone.” This made me concerned that I’d end up bonding with him if we spent too much time together.
“Look,” Cheney said, “for five years we’ve been trying to drill in ANWR.” He pronounced it “Ann Wahr.” “And we’ve failed. Why? Because you and your same-sex tree-huggers have made protecting ANWR your priority. If we can’t beat you, then you should actually take it as a sign of hope.”
I hadn’t considered that, and a shudder of optimism ran down my spine.
Old Dick looked at his watch. “It’s taking longer than I thought. If they’re not back in five minutes . . .” His conversation trailed off, and he started cracking his knuckles. He rose from his chair, but his face contorted in frustration when he realized there was no room to pace and he was forced to sit down again.
“I should’ve supervised this myself,” he said, “but I couldn’t leave you with him.”
“With Bush?” I asked, confused by what Old Dick could possibly think was dangerous about leaving me with George.
“No,” he sneered. “Myself. He’s an ambitious son of a bitch and would pump you dry for information about the future. If I left you with him he’d eat you alive.”
You have to be one twisted fuck when you don’t trust yourself, I thought. Even though Junior and I had our differences, I trusted him.
“What could I tell him?” I asked.
Cheney pondered my question before answering. “He’s royally pissed that Ford never told him about the time machine—he was his chief of staff. But Gerry was right not to tell him. He’s a loose cannon. Bored being a congressman and feeling ambitious. He wants back in the driver’s seat. If he found out Clinton became president, he’d be tempted to trip him on his path to the White House. Back in the day I had a Wyoming-sized chip on my shoulder and could be mean and vindictive. I’ve mellowed with age.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Those prisoners in Guantanamo think of you as a big ol’ softie.”
Cheney chuckled at my sarcasm. “The only reason he’s here is because I needed his help. He had to meet privately with Bush’s father to tell him his son was in danger. Barbara’s trained them well. With that family you can’t do anything over the phone. It’s face to face or no deal. Two hours after he met with Daddy Bush, presto: black ops.” He shook his head in admiration. “Those CIA bastards never forget a friend.”
I was impressed Old Dick actually double-crossed Bush’s father into unwittingly using his CIA connections into helping ensure that Cheney would be able to blackmail Young George.
Old Dick looked at his watch again. “Jesus, how long does it take to get hard and stick your cock in someone’s face? Let’s see what’s taking so long.” He nodded to the guards, one of whom opened the door, stepped outside, looked both ways, and then nodded to Old Dick. “You’ll have to come with me,” Old Dick said to me, with a nod toward Elena’s room.
We reached the door of her room just as Elena opened it. Junior and Taylor could be seen inside tucking in their shirts and buckling their belts, while Young Dick stood in the doorway holding a brick-sized cell phone in his hand. It was one of the early Motorola models. Michael and Elena appeared exhausted as they shouldered their overnight bags. “We gave him a shot of that CIA knock-out drug,” Young Dick announced to Old Dick when he entered the room. George, naked, was passed out on the bed. Elena took the sheet and pulled it over him. “It’s not right leaving him hanging out,” she said.
Old Dick watched George sleep. “He’ll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow. I feel sorry for whoever’s working for him; he likes to think he’s tough but doesn’t handle pain well. One jogging bruise, and he’s a son of a bitch for days.”
“How do we know that he won’t go to his father and tell him what happened?” Young Dick asked. “We could wake up tomorrow with a roomful of black ops.”
“He’ll never tell his father,” Old Dick said. “It’s too embarrassing.”
Old Dick stared at Young Dick.
“Did you get what we need?”
Young Dick nodded. “Yes.”
“Did you play it back?”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“I’m just making sure we’re covered. You’re not always careful. You made that crack about Ronnie. “
“One slipup,” Young Dick said. “It doesn’t matter. It was at a Republican caucus.”
“It could’ve caused problems. We’ve got two more years to go. People can’t know Ronnie’s losing it.”
Oh my god, I thought. Did Reagan’s Alzheimer’s kick in during his second term? And did his administration cover it up? Then I considered why they would talk about this sensitive matter in front of us. My stomach churned when I concluded why they felt safe discussing state secrets in our presence: they knew we’d never be able to tell anyone. Guantanamo Bay had room for five more prisoners.
“I’m not comfortable leaving these five out of protective custody,” Young Dick said.
A throbbing vein appeared on Old Dick’s forehead. “We’ve gone over that. They can’t be eliminated or locked up.”
“Do you even hunt anymore?” Young Dick asked. “Because it sounds like you’ve gone catch-and-release on everything.”
Old Dick looked as if his two lips were debating and the con side was winning.
“I’ve killed and locked up more people than you can even dream of !”
“You keep saying that. But you treat these five as if they call you ‘Grampy.’”
“Look, hotshot, I’ve given orders to shoot down passenger jets and then five minutes later asked, ‘What’s for lunch?’ No one’s tougher than Iam, including you. I’d love to lose these five at some undisclosed location, and my trigger finger’s been itching hard for this one.” He pointed at me. “So hard I’m tempted to use it to poke out his eyes. But if these five people disappear that’s a huge disruption of the timeline. We think the system has some play but we don’t know its tipping point. We can’t get rid of them or we’ll risk everything. What is it that you don’t understand? It’s like I’m working for Gerry Ford again. He needed a three-hour gab session with his advisors and his ass signed in triplicate before he could take a shit. It couldn’t be clearer. In my time, all five of them are leading lives, which unfortunately means they’ve got to continue doing so.”
Young Dick looked at his feet. “I’m just trying to be thorough.”
“You’ve got to learn to relax or you’re going to have another heart attack.”
His comment bewildered Young Dick.
“Really?”
“Actually two more.”
Young Dick looked as if he had chest pains.
“Two? Fuck.”
“Ah, you’ll be fine. I tell people heart attacks are like wives: once you’ve had four, they don’t scare you anymore.”
Old Dick’s homemade folk saying put a smile on his face, but Young Dick still seemed distracted, almost as if he was trying to check his own pulse by listening hard.
“Can’t you use this time machine to go into the future and secure us an artificial heart?”
“Done.”
“Really?”
Old Dick patted his chest. “I had the I-Pump installed in 2098.”
It was comforting to have confirmed what I’d always suspected: Dick Cheney was actually heartless.
“So you’ve gone into the future too?” I asked. “What were the effects of global warming?”
“I
tried to find out, but they wouldn’t allow me to learn anything. I was operated on at an undisclosed government location. Turns out they’d been waiting for me to arrive for almost a hundred years. They’re afraid knowing anything about the future can be as disruptive to the timeline as changing the past. They put in my new ticker, but wouldn’t answer any questions. I was impressed with their nondisclosure policies. After a month spent recuperating, I wanted to hire all of them to work on my staff.”
I thought it odd that people in the future would want to help Dick Cheney. But then I thought that perhaps in a century people would look back and see that we needed the disaster of the Bush/Cheney administration for our country to make progress, just as Europe seemed to need World War II to finally bring a semblance of peace to that continent.
“So just let them go?” Young Dick asked.
“Why not?” Old Dick said. “Even if they talk, no one will believe their story. We’ve actually got a leak planned that will cover this. Shirley MacLaine’s going to talk about men from the future trying to change history on The Tonight Show tomorrow night. After that, anyone who talks about time travel will be seen as a dingbat.”
“All right,” Young Dick replied. “But it seems risky to me.”
“You can’t see the big picture,” Old Dick said. “But I’ve got your back.”
His soothing comments just seemed to tantalize Young Dick further. His body visibly wrenched, giving the impression that if a cobra bit him, it would die from his venom.
“I never thought I’d turn into a wuss.”
“Please,” Old Dick said. “You’re a Girl Scout compared to me.”
Young Dick stepped back from him, slightly cowed by his accusation.
“I do appreciate your help in this.” Old Dick held out his arm with an open hand and waited. Young Dick smiled menacingly and gripped his cell phone more tightly.
“I’ll keep it safe,” he said.
“No. You’ll receive it when you need it.”
“That’s not necessary.”
Both men’s jowls became steely.
Old Dick said, “I don’t do negotiation.”
“You think I do?” Young Dick nodded and the guards pointed their assault rifles on Old Dick. As soon as they moved, Old Dick pressed a button on his watch. Instantly, twenty-five women soldiers in camouflage uniforms surrounded us. They appeared out of the air and scared the bejesus out of us, including Young Dick, who squealed embarrassingly. They quickly proceeded to Taser the six original black ops, then injected them with something that made them pass out. I could smell the ozone from the Tasers, but it felt surreal, almost like we were modeling for the cover of a pulp adventure novel. The grim-faced women aimed their weapons at Young Dick. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “Women soldiers. That’s different.”
Old Dick showed his teeth. “It was Mary’s idea,” he said. “She said, ‘Dad, you should try women soldiers.’ She was right. They’re tougher than the guys and keep their yaps shut.” Old Dick held out his hand. “I’ve got twenty years on you,” he said. “Now hand over the tape.”
Young Dick smirked. “The tape has been sent for safekeeping.”
“Well, you’re going to call and get it back,” Old Dick said.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’ll do it now, or soon you’ll be pissing your pants.”
“What are you going to do? Kill me?” Young Dick grin-grimaced. “I guess you can’t do that. That would alter the timeline.”
Old Dick out-grimaced him. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” He nodded at the commander. “Bind his legs and arms.” Old Dick looked around the room. “We need something to tip him back on. Check the closet for an ironing board; that might work.”
The soldiers did as they were told, and soon Young Dick was bound, hand and foot, to an ironing board. “I’ve always wanted to try this,” Old Dick commented. “Lynne and I used to watch the videos but I’ve never seen it done live.” Old Dick looked at Elena. “We’re going to need your water bottle.” She innocently handed him the two-liter bottle of spring water she had in her backpack. In 1986 only historians and ex-POWs were familiar with waterboarding. Old Dick gazed down at Young Dick, who appeared unconcerned but confused about what was going to be done to him. Old Dick fished a small cell phone out of his jacket pocket and offered it to Young Dick.
“Grab hold of this. When you’re ready to give me my tape, drop it. Do you understand? We’ll stop as soon as you drop it.”
Young Dick seemed confused. “I need you to say that you understand,” Old Dick said.
“I do.”
“Good.” Old Dick looked at the commander. “Bind his mouth, then get me a T-shirt.”
The commander nodded and turned to the woman on his left. “Soldier, we need your T-shirt.” As the commander gagged Young Dick, the soldier unzipped her black fatigues and removed her black T-shirt. She had an elite-force trained body and looked impressive in her camouflage bra. Old Dick took her T-shirt and instructed two other soldiers on how to cover Young Dick’s face. Once that was done, Old Dick poured water on the T-shirt to wet it. Young Dick squirmed.
“I think this is how it’s done. Well, here goes.” Old Dick poured water into Young Dick’s nose, and his body immediately pulled against his restraints and muffled cries could be heard over the sound of water being poured. Young Dick thrashed like a fish out of water.
Elena shouted, “Stop!” and stepped forward, but a soldier grabbed her, preventing her from interfering. Junior, Taylor, and Michael also lunged at Old Dick.
“You’re torturing him!” Taylor yelled. He froze when two soldiers aimed their rifles at him. Junior and Michael were also restrained and warned not to try anything. Old Dick glanced at them, shook his head, and chuckled.
“The future’s not for sissies,” he said before pouring more water in Young Dick’s nose.
We heard the cell phone hit the floor. Old Dick signaled for a soldier to remove the mouth restraint. Young Dick spluttered for a second and then said, “I’m not telling you anything.” Old Dick seemed fine with that and with a nod of his head signaled for him to be gagged again. He raised the water bottle again and said, “This hurts me more than it hurts you.”
Old Dick calmly refilled the bottle in the bathroom as he water-boarded Young Dick eight times before he caved. It was horrible to watch. Elena began crying uncontrollably when Young Dick pissed himself. Junior and Michael asked if they could sit down. On the sixth try, Taylor vomited into a wastebasket. I forgot how sensitive he was to animal suffering. Taylor always teared up when Bartleby yelped in response to our kindly vet putting medicine in his ears. Old Dick appeared to be satisfied but sounded disappointed. “That was quick. We had to do that 183 times with one guy. I thought I was tougher than that.”
Old Dick ordered them to remove Young Dick’s mouth restraint.
“You ready to talk?”
“Yes.” He asked for his cell phone, and Old Dick nodded and a soldier handed the brick to him.
“Don’t even think about double-crossing me,” Old Dick warned. “I know you’ve already made copies of the tape. I want them and the original. With this time machine, I can find you anywhere. And if you fuck with me in any way, I’ll come back here and lock you up with enough spiders to make the skin crawl right off your fucking cock. Do you understand?”
Young Dick trembled as he nodded. He called on his cell phone and gave some orders and what sounded like a series of code words: “Alpha-Hardass,” “Foureyes360,” and “Sureshot.” As we waited, Young Dick asked, “How does taking these tapes to 2006 help us? Don’t you need them earlier?”
Old Dick truly smiled. “I’m two steps ahead of you. I’ll be stopping in 1999 and leaving these at an undisclosed location.”
Young Dick beamed at Old Dick.
A short time later, we heard a helicopter land in the parking lot. I wondered what the other guests thought about that at two a.m., imagining a vending machine distributo
r being pissed about being woken up when he has a big meeting at nine with the head of Midland’s bus depot. A soldier then knocked on the door and handed a briefcase to Young Dick. Old Dick opened it and looked inside. “That’s everything,” Young Dick said. “The original and all six copies.”
Old Dick half smiled. “And people keep telling me torture doesn’t work. They keep saying you get false information.” He spoke to Young Dick. “Can you believe it?”
“Oh, it works,” Young Dick replied, rubbing the back of his head. “You’ve made a believer out of me.”
I was mortified. Had we caused the chain of the events that ensured Dick Cheney would become America’s leading cheerleader for torture, or had we merely underscored what was already in Cheney’s heart?
“See you in twenty,” Old Dick said to his Junior before pressing the button on his watch. He and the women soldiers disappeared, although surprisingly we didn’t.
“I thought he was returning us to my time,” I said to no one in particular.
Young Dick smiled. “So did he, but two can play double cross. We haven’t figured out how your bracelets work but we did figure out how to disable them. He’ll have to come back, because I have you. He’ll learn to negotiate.” I imagined Old Dick returning in the next minute with a thousand soldiers and decided we had to get the hell out of there. I immediately grabbed Young Dick and twisted his arm behind his back. “Give those soldiers more of that knock-out stuff before they wake up,” I shouted. Everyone appeared stunned and unsure of what to do. “Do it! He’ll lock us up and throw away the key!” Michael grabbed one of the soldiers’ supply bags and found a case containing thirty fully loaded syringes. He proceeded to administer a half dose to each of the six soldiers and a full dose to Young Dick.
“I’ll track you down,” Young Dick threatened. “You can’t hide . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence as he passed out. I ordered everyone to tie up their hands and feet and bind their mouths, and then tried to think of what we should do.
I needed just one day with Carol, one day to convince her that her life was in danger. I scrambled to think of what we could do to give me the time I needed. It would take a full day to drive to Crescent City and then one day to speak with her. Two days, I told myself, as if adding one plus one under pressure was a daring feat of logistical reasoning. “I’m not exactly sure what we should do with them,” I admitted. “But we should move them inside.”