by Dan Gutman
“Secret Service Agent John Doe, sir,” he said in a quick, clipped voice. “Presidential Protection Division.”
“John Doe?” I asked. “That’s not your real name, is it?”
“Yes it is, sir.”
“Come on,” I kidded him. “The Secret Service just gave you that name for security reasons, right?”
“No, Mr. President, John Doe is my real name.”
“You’re not even allowed to reveal your real name to the president, are you?”
“Sir, I am duty-bound not to lie. John Doe is my real name.”
“Your parents couldn’t think of anything else?”
“They considered many alternatives, sir. Decided they liked John Doe best.”
“Well, if they like it, I like it, too.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m going to have to ask Chief Usher Honeywell and your family to exit the Oval Office at this time, sir. Vice President Syers, too. Security, you understand.”
Honeywell escorted everyone out of the Oval Office and shut the door behind him. Agent Doe and I were alone.
“You look like you must have been a football player, Agent Doe.”
“Never played the game, sir. Decided it wasn’t physical enough, sir.”
“Is that a joke?” I asked.
“I never joke, sir.”
“Do you end every statement with the word sir?”
“Usually, sir.”
“Do you ever smile?”
“Rarely, sir.”
I made a mental note. If I could make this guy laugh — just once — my presidency would be a success.
“Maybe you should relax a little,” I suggested. “Being so stiff like that can’t be good for you. Lighten up. Have a little fun.”
“Not advisable, sir,” he replied. “For the next four years, I have one specific goal — keeping you alive, sir.”
“Do you really think somebody would try to hurt me?” I asked.
“Sir, the Secret Service has files on hundreds of individuals who have made threats against the president. Some people will disagree with your policies enough to want you dead. Others are mentally unbalanced. Some just think they will become famous by killing you.”
“I’m not worried,” I laughed.
“Sir, four of our presidents — Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, and Kennedy — were assassinated. Attempts were made on the lives of several others.”
“If anybody tries to kill me, I’ll just hide behind you,” I joked.
“That’s why I’m here, sir. Actually, the Secret Service is more concerned about kidnapping. If somebody were to kidnap the president or a member of his family, it would bring the United States to its knees. Cannot be too cautious, sir. You’ll need to listen carefully to everything I say for your protection and the protection of the nation.”
“I understand.”
“Whenever you leave the White House, you will be accompanied by myself and about ten other agents. In public, when people put out their hands to shake, it is important that you just touch hands with them, sir. Don’t clasp.”
“Why not?”
“Someone could grab you and pull you into the crowd, sir. Very dangerous.”
“Okay.”
“Do not accept anything that anybody hands you in a crowd, sir. I don’t care if it’s a teddy bear. Don’t take it.”
“It could be a bomb, huh?” I guessed. “An exploding teddy bear?”
“Right. Move through crowds as quickly as possible. If you’re a target, be a moving target. See this window behind your desk? Don’t stand in front of it. A sharpshooter perched on the roof of that building across the street would be within firing range.”
“Wow,” I said, peeking through the curtains.
“Sir, you should be aware that outside the White House are a series of five-thousand-pound concrete barriers that should stop any suicide truck bomb. If they don’t, the White House is surrounded by an eight-foot iron fence. The gates are crashproof. If an enemy somehow made it past the fence, there are pressure sensors on the lawn. Ground-to-air missiles are hidden nearby. If we give the order, the missiles will be launched and will destroy a tank. We also have dogs that sniff for explosives. And all guests entering the White House must pass through a metal detector.”
“Is that it?” I asked.
“No, sir. If an enemy submarine was hidden off the East Coast, it could launch a nuclear missile that would level Washington in six to eight minutes. We have satellites orbiting hundreds of miles above the earth with cameras so powerful they can photograph objects on the ground the size of a large horse. If our satellites detect missiles heading for the White House, you will be led to the bomb shelter in the basement under the East Wing.”
“What if somebody attacks on very small horses?” I quipped, trying to get Agent Doe to laugh. He didn’t.
“Missiles are more likely, sir. If there is time, you will be evacuated. We will get you to a 747 jet at Andrews Air Force Base that has been specially reinforced to absorb the heat and impact of a nuclear blast. It is on alert twenty-four hours a day. In the event of a nuclear war, it will serve as the temporary headquarters of our government.”
“So I could watch as Washington gets blown to bits?”
“No, sir,” Agent Doe replied. “The plane has no windows.”
He pointed to a red telephone on the desk.
“Sir, this telephone is the hotline. It is a two-way system that links the White House and the Kremlin in Moscow. If there is an international crisis, the leaders of both the United States and Russia can communicate directly. You do not have to dial. Just pick up the receiver and there is an instant connection. Hopefully, this will reduce the risk of war because of a misunderstanding. Any questions, sir?”
“Do you carry a gun?” I asked.
“Certainly, sir.”
“Did you ever shoot anyone?”
“I have never fired my weapon, no, sir.”
“Do you know jujitsu and kung fu and stuff?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could you, like, paralyze a guy in ten seconds?”
“Three seconds, sir, if necessary.”
“Wow! You have the coolest job in the world.”
“Some would say the same of you, sir.”
“Can you show me how to do that? Paralyze a guy in three seconds?”
“I will have to check regulations, sir, to see if that is allowed. Right now, there is one more thing to go over. I have to show you how to use the football. Where is it?”
“Football?” I asked. “What football?”
“The football,” he said, his voice rising with urgency. “The brown briefcase you were handed right after you were sworn in. We call that the football.”
“Oh yeah!” I recalled. “The briefcase. The president gave it to me.”
“Where is it, sir?”
“I, uh … guess I left it at the podium.”
Agent Doe grabbed for his walkie-talkie like he was reaching for his gun.
“Code red!” he barked. “Repeat! Code red! We have a fumble situation! Repeat! Fumble situation! Live ball near podium at Capitol Building! Code red! Return immediately! Urgent!”
Instantly, a siren went off outside. A bunch of cars gunned their engines and screeched away. Agent Doe spat out a curse word in his disgust and immediately apologized to me.
“I’ll go back and get it!” I said frantically. “I can skateboard over there in a minute.”
“You’re not to leave this room!” Agent Doe warned forcefully. “This is a matter of national security, sir. If the football has fallen into the wrong hands, you will be needed here.”
“What do you mean by the wrong hands?” I asked.
“Terrorists, sir. Mentally disturbed persons. Unfriendly governments.”
“I’m sorry!” I moaned. “Oh man, I messed up big time! How could I have been so stupid?”
“What’s done is done, sir,” Agent Doe said. “Let’s just hope our team can recover
the fumble.”
I sat there sweating for a few minutes as the siren got farther away. Any idiot on the street could have picked up the suitcase and launched a bunch of nukes for the fun of it. Millions of people could die. I couldn’t breathe. Agent Doe paced back and forth. He wouldn’t look at me. I was afraid to look at him. Then his walkie-talkie beeped and he had it on his ear in a flash.
“Fumble recovered!” he shouted excitedly.
I exhaled.
“A janitor found it behind the podium, sir, and turned it over to the police.”
“We should give him a medal or something,” I suggested.
“Wouldn’t advise that course of action, sir. Better to keep this incident quiet. If word gets out that you misplaced the football, it will make you look bad. Nasty headlines have ended more presidencies than bullets.”
In seconds, another Secret Service agent entered the Oval Office, carrying the brown briefcase. He handed it to me, saluted, and left without saying a word.
“This is of vital importance, sir,” Agent Doe said, staring intently at me. “The football must be with you at all times. It must go with you everywhere. It must be with you when you eat, when you sleep.”
“I won’t let it out of my sight,” I promised.
“Good,” Agent Doe said as he moved toward the doorway. “It has been a long day for you, sir, and you have a busy night ahead of you. I’m going to leave you alone now. I will be right outside the door if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Agent Doe.”
“Oh,” he said, picking up the box he had left on the shelf. “This is for you.”
“You didn’t have to get me a gift!” I said, embarrassed.
“It’s from the Defense Department, sir,” he said. “Bulletproof clothing.”
“I’ve got to wear bulletproof clothes?” I asked, opening the box. The suit inside looked like a regular men’s suit but heavier and stiffer.
“It would be advisable, sir, for your protection.”
“Bulletproof underwear?” I asked, holding up a pair of briefs. “Do you really think some lunatic’s going to try and shoot me in the butt?”
“They’ll probably try to shoot you in the head,” he replied. “But they might miss and hit you in the butt, sir.”
The things a guy’s gotta do for his country! I thanked Agent Doe and walked him to the door.
“Agent Doe,” I said, putting out my hand again to shake, “what do you think would have happened if the football fell into the wrong hands?”
“Sir, there are enough nuclear weapons in the world to incinerate it and leave it uninhabitable. Right now, half the planet could have been destroyed. Man has the power to destroy mankind.”
“Thank you, Agent Doe.”
“You’re welcome, President Moon.”
I was exhausted, but my day wasn’t over yet. On the evening of the inauguration, the new president and First Lady have to attend a ball. When I knocked on Chelsea’s door wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, she almost fainted.
“You’re supposed to wear a tuxedo, Moon!” she shouted. “It’s a ball, not a ball game!”
“I don’t have a tuxedo,” I explained.
I went back to my room and put on a suit I had gotten for a friend’s confirmation last year. It didn’t fit that well, but it was okay.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to go to a ball that night. I had to go to a dozen balls that night. Basically, they were fancy dinner parties where rich and powerful people get to dress up and hang out with other rich and powerful people. Chelsea and I would enter the ball arm in arm, say hello to everybody for five minutes, and then get back into the limo and go to the next ball. By the second ball, I was sick of it.
Chelsea loved every second, though. She looked great. Lane told me Chelsea had spent $10,000 on her gown. That was hard to believe. Chelsea hadn’t given me the bill yet, so I couldn’t say for sure. I didn’t even know you could find a dress that cost so much money.
When I finally got back to the White House, I was so tired I didn’t even put my pajamas on. I just lay on my bed in my suit and fell asleep.
Chief of Staff Lane Brainard made it a point to stay out of the way during the inauguration and tour of the White House. He told me he didn’t want to be seen with me all the time, because people would get the impression that he was really running everything.
Of course, we both knew that Lane really would be running everything. What did I know about being president?
Lane told me to enjoy my first weekend as president, because starting Monday morning, we would have to get to work running the country.
I thought about it and decided the best way to really enjoy the weekend would be to invite my seventh-grade class to the White House. No parents, just kids. Chief Usher Honeywell called all twenty-four kids personally, and every one of them accepted the invitation. I sent my parents off on a tour of Washington to keep them out of the way. Chelsea Daniels decided she’d rather go shopping with her parents than hang out with us kids.
At first, my classmates were a little shy about being in the White House for the first time. They were afraid to touch anything or sit on the chairs. With Secret Service Agent Doe always nearby and Honeywell hovering around, I could understand the kids being a little nervous.
I explained that the White House was my home, at least for four years, and they could treat it just like they were going over to anybody else’s house.
Everybody loosened up when I showed them all the cool stuff around the White House. On the South Lawn is a tennis court that’s surrounded by trees so people on the street can’t gawk. Jenna Peeples and Sean Donaldson love tennis, so even though it was cold they grabbed rackets and began to play.
I took the rest of the class to the White House bowling alley, which is under the driveway. President Nixon bowled a 233 there once, Honeywell told us. Richard Fries and Joshua Hertz are in a bowling league back home, so they decided to roll a game.
The rest of us went to the White House game room, where there’s a pool table, a Ping-Pong table, and some video games. Kids started peeling off from the group to play whatever they wanted. Video games are my passion, but I wanted to show everyone around, so I didn’t get a chance to play.
There are television sets all over the White House, and some of the rooms have five or six TVs lined up together so the president can watch the news on all the major networks at the same time. Kira Ferrie turned on a roomful of TVs, putting one on MTV, one on the Cartoon Network, one on Nickelodeon, one on ESPN, and one on Bravo. A bunch of us gathered to watch all the TVs at once, with the sound turned all the way up. After a half hour, our heads felt like they were splitting open, but it was great fun.
Maybe the coolest thing about living in the White House is that it’s got its own movie theater. There are sixty-five seats, and cushy reclining chairs line the front row. “What movies do you have?” I asked Honeywell.
“I can get any movie you want, sir. Even movies that haven’t been released yet.”
“How about Gore, Guts, and Guns, Part II?” I asked.
“I don’t believe I’ve heard of that one,” Honeywell replied.
“It comes out next month,” I informed him. “I saw the preview on TMZ.”
“I’ll see if I can track it down, sir,” Honeywell said, and he went trotting off. I was beginning to appreciate the power of the presidency.
With Honeywell out of the way for a while, my classmates started getting goofy. Things started to get out of control. Lucas Weiner and Elliot Liebling had a skateboard race around the East Room, knocking over Woodrow Wilson’s candlesticks. Julian Lautzenheiser and Jack Irvin went up on the roof of the White House and dropped water balloons on the Secret Service agents stationed outside. Kirsten Petro dumped pepper into a bag of Cheez Doodles and we had my food taster eat them to make sure they weren’t poisoned. Somebody scribbled MILLARD FILLMORE WAS A DORK with a bar of soap on a bathroom mirror.
When Honeywell came back
and saw what was going on, he looked a little frazzled, but he didn’t yell at us or anything. I don’t think he was allowed to. He politely whispered to me that perhaps my friends could burn off some of their extra energy if they went for a swim. It sounded like a great idea.
There’s an underground tunnel that leads from the White House to a big pool not far from the Oval Office. It was freezing outside, but the pool was heated and most of the kids couldn’t resist jumping in.
Agent Doe stood at the side of the pool, keeping an eye on things, I guess to make sure none of the kids tried to dunk me or anything.
“Come on in, Agent Doe,” I called. “The water’s fine!”
“No thank you, sir,” he replied.
“Hey, Mr. Secret Service Man,” Jacob Beerbower called, “can I shoot your gun?”
“No.”
“Hey, Moon!” Ian Dabrowka shouted. “Why don’t you put on your bulletproof underwear and we’ll take turns shooting you in the butt?”
“Not a good idea,” Agent Doe said seriously. I had made the mistake of telling my classmates about the underwear.
“Hey, if one of us attacked Moon,” asked Hilary Hunt, “would you kill us?”
“No, I would just render you unconscious.”
“Can you do that to our teacher?” asked Marissa Cook.
We were all having a great time. Even Agent Doe seemed to enjoy the wisecracks.
I didn’t notice that a bunch of the boys had climbed out of the pool and snuck around behind Agent Doe. He didn’t notice, either, because he was watching me. It wasn’t until they were running toward him that I saw them out the corner of my eye.
“No!” I screamed. “Don’t!”
It was too late. The boys rammed into him at full speed and Agent Doe toppled over. He hit the water like a bomb. I actually felt the water level in the pool go up a little because his body took up so much space.
Everybody thought it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen. I did, too, until I noticed that Agent Doe was flailing his arms around and struggling to keep his head above water.
“He can’t swim!” I shouted.
“Somebody rescue him!” Katie O’Banion yelled.
“I can’t rescue him,” hollered Kate Winstead. “He’s too big!”