The Rationing

by Charles Wheelan

  “She’s the toughest person I know,” the President offered.

  “She’ll pull through,” the Majority Leader said. “This calls for a drink.”

  “I’ll go find some of the good stuff,” the President agreed.

  “This is great news,” the Chief of Staff said. “I’m going to head home.” She handed the President his schedule for the next day. In the morning, he would be making a brutal trip to California, where wildfires were ravaging eleven counties. He would tour the area briefly and then fly back across the country in time for the Prime Minister’s arrival.

  “The guy knows how to make a departure, doesn’t he?” the President said. His mood was noticeably improved, almost buoyant.

  “At least he’s in the air,” the Chief of Staff said. “That’s precious cargo.”

  “Get some sleep,” the President advised her. “Give my best to Dan and the girls.” The Chief of Staff walked wearily out of the study. The President went in search of a bottle of rare Irish whiskey the Prime Minister of Ireland had given him on his last visit.

  Twenty minutes later the President, the Majority Leader, and the Strategist were sipping Irish whiskey and watching cable news coverage of the Air India flight when the Chief of Staff walked briskly back into the study. “I thought you went home,” the President said quizzically.

  “We have a problem,” she announced.

  The President set his tumbler on the coffee table, leaned back in the sofa, and exhaled audibly. “Do you know what I dream?” he said with resignation. “I dream that one day you’re going to come bursting in here and exclaim, ‘Great news: Something went much better than we expected!’ ”

  “Not today,” the Chief of Staff said, unamused.

  “What?” the President asked.

  The Chief of Staff explained, “Three governors are saying they won’t allow Dormigen to be moved out of their states. They’re refusing to allow their National Guard units to participate—”

  “Hold on,” the President said. “Why does any Dormigen need to cross state lines?”

  “The Homeland Security plan has Dormigen moving from metro areas to rural areas,” the Chief of Staff answered.

  “Okay,” the President acknowledged.

  “Well, look at a map,” the Chief of Staff said impatiently. “The fastest way to get Dormigen to northern Wisconsin is from Minneapolis. If you want to get it to northern Mississippi, it comes from Memphis.”

  “Of course,” the Strategist said.

  “And three governors won’t play ball,” the President said, absorbing the situation.

  “Correct,” the Chief of Staff said. “The federal government can’t tell them what to do, they have an obligation to protect lifesaving medicine from federal bureaucrats, and so on, all the usual claptrap.”

  “Let me guess,” the President conjectured, “Hazlett, Goolsbee, and Spencer.”

  “Congratulations. A couple of others are making similar noises,” the Chief of Staff said.

  “Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana,” the Strategist added. “I sometimes find myself wondering if we should have just let the Confederacy go.”

  “You’re welcome to wonder that,” the President said sharply. “I would appreciate it if you would not say it out loud.”

  “I’ve asked the General Counsel’s office for our options,” the Chief of Staff said wearily.

  “I can nationalize the National Guard units,” the President said. “Do we have time?”

  “I’ve called some staff back in. They’re working on it,” the Chief of Staff answered.

  The President sipped his whiskey and stared at the television. There was a graphic on the screen of the Prime Minister’s projected flight path from New Delhi to Washington. “They’re just trying to make a point, more partisan grandstanding,” he said bitterly.

  “This is more serious than they realize,” the Chief of Staff replied. “If they mess up the plan, then the logistics go off the rails. And if that happens, we run out of time. Every hour means unnecessary deaths—”

  “I understand that,” the President said, his former buoyancy long gone.

  “These fuckwits think they can have their Dormigen and flip off the federal government, too,” the Strategist offered.

  “They can’t,” the Chief of Staff said plaintively. “These are complex algorithms. It’s not like we can just redraw the maps so that no Dormigen crosses state lines. Even if we could, if we make some concession to these guys, then every other governor will want the same thing. Then the plan unravels and people start dying because the Dormigen isn’t going to make it to some places in time.” She paused to breathe. She was worn out, and this political play—so gratuitous—felt like one more kick. “They’re playing with a loaded gun,” she added.

  “But they don’t think it’s loaded,” the President said. “That’s what makes it so dangerous.”

  “That happens, you know,” the Strategist interjected. “If you take the clip out of a semiautomatic pistol, there’s still one bullet left in the chamber. Most people don’t know that.”

  The President stared at him, too fatigued to tell him to stop talking. “If I have to nationalize the National Guard, so be it,” the President said.

  “If they resist, or even delay—we don’t have hours to play with,” the Chief of Staff lamented. “Every minute they dick around in front of the television cameras is going to put some areas of the country at risk.” The room went silent as the four of them absorbed the potential cost of this political ploy. “And it’s totally unnecessary,” the Chief of Staff added angrily.

  “With respect, Mr. President,” the Majority Leader said quietly, “I’m wondering if there isn’t a better option here.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Can you get me an office with a phone?” the Majority Leader asked. “I might be able to persuade these esteemed elected officials—”

  “Fuckwits,” the Strategist declared.

  “Yes, well, I might be able to get these fuckwits to think about the situation differently,” the Majority Leader continued.

  “You know who you’re dealing with,” the President said. His exhaustion was evident. For the first time during the crisis, there was also a hint of sadness, as if the ongoing parade of self-interest and narrow-mindedness and partisan grandstanding had finally begun to erode his belief in basic human decency.

  “I do know who I’m dealing with,” the Majority Leader said confidently.

  “I’ll get you an office downstairs,” the Chief of Staff offered. The Majority Leader stood and retrieved his suit jacket from a nearby chair. He put on the jacket, buttoning it over his paunch. He picked up his empty whiskey tumbler and shook the ice cubes against the expensive crystal.

  “Might I get a refill?” the Majority Leader suggested. The President fetched the bottle and poured two fingers for the Majority Leader. “Now, can someone get Governor Hazlett on the phone for me?” he asked.

  “You’re going to try to talk sense to Hazlett?” the President asked skeptically.

  “He’s the least decent of the bunch,” the Chief of Staff said.

  “That’s exactly why I’m going to start with him. I’m going to talk his language,” the Majority Leader said.

  “In that case, here,” the President said as he poured more Irish whiskey into the Majority Leader’s glass.

  The Majority Leader rattled the ice cubes gingerly in the expensive glass, creating a pleasant clinking. “Thank you. I’ll be back.”

  As coincidence would have it, I was working on a press release on our new discoveries regarding Capellaviridae in one of the small communications offices below the living quarters in the White House. The print media may have been dying a long, slow death, but Americans still liked to wake up to their news, even if it was no longer in a newspaper lying on the front porch. Tens of millions of Americans would start their mornings by checking their phones and tablets and computers. We were hoping to control that narrat
ive, pushing out all of our good news through every possible channel.

  The Chief of Staff appeared at the office door with the Majority Leader standing just behind her. “Are you using the phone?” she asked. I shook my head no and moved to a small chair in the corner of the office, so the Majority Leader would be able to sit at the desk. She turned to the Majority Leader. “Do you need privacy?”

  “Oh, no,” he assured her. “This will be a very public exercise. Do we have Governor Hazlett on the line?”

  “He’s not taking our calls,” the Chief of Staff answered.

  “Try again,” the Majority Leader said confidently. “Only this time, tell him I’d like to discuss the Sea Snake Sonar appropriation.” The Majority Leader took off his suit jacket and placed it delicately on the back of his chair. He loosened his tie and sat down at the desk, fully expecting the phone to ring. Sure enough, within minutes the Majority Leader was on the phone with Alabama Governor Sterling Hazlett. I continued to type at my laptop, but mostly I was watching the Majority Leader do what he does.

  “Governor Hazlett,” the Majority Leader intoned, “I don’t have a lot of time for pleasantries. This is a courtesy call. I thought I would let you know that I’m withdrawing my support for the Sea Snake Sonar in the Defense Appropriations Bill.” He listened briefly and then continued, “It’s over budget and it doesn’t work. You know that, I know that, the Navy knows that. I spoke to the Chair of Armed Services, and he agrees. We shouldn’t be spending a billion dollars on a sonar system that can’t tell the difference between a Russian submarine and a school of tuna.”

  “That’s six thousand jobs,” Governor Hazlett answered on the other end of the line, loud enough for me to hear clearly.

  “I understand that, which is why I wanted you to be the first to know,” the Majority Leader said with faux-sincerity. “You’re going to want to do some damage control.”

  “Is this about the Dormigen thing?” Governor Hazlett asked.

  “What do you think?” the Majority Leader asked coldly.

  “I can certainly reconsider,” Governor Hazlett offered.

  “That ship has sailed, Governor,” the Majority Leader said, “if you’ll forgive the nautical metaphor.”

  Governor Hazlett began to protest, but the Majority Leader cut him off. “We have a lot going on here with this Dormigen situation. Thank you for your time.” He hung up.

  I stared at the Majority Leader quizzically. “He’s not willing to participate in our plan to move Dormigen where it needs to go,” the Majority Leader explained. Now, the good thing about crappy weapons systems is that they come in handy when you need to get rid of them. And it really will save a billion dollars.”

  After a few seconds, I worked up my courage to ask, “But you just hung up . . . Don’t we need him to agree to the Dormigen plan?”

  “Oh, no. This is about sending a message to the other governors,” the Majority Leader said. “Sometimes you have to shoot someone like Hazlett in the head to get the others to pay attention. How do I get someone around here to issue a statement?”

  I hustled down the corridor and returned with the Communications Director, who had been working to push out his own good news. The Majority Leader, leaning back in his borrowed chair, issued instructions: “Put out a statement over my name saying I’m withdrawing my support for the Sea Snake Sonar. It’s over budget, it doesn’t work, budgets are tight, blah, blah. Put a quote in there from the Armed Services Chair saying this will allow us to devote more resources to our troops. Then call the Armed Services Chair at home to tell him what he said.”

  “Do you want to look at it before I send it out?” the Communications Director asked.

  “No, it’s not that complicated,” the Majority Leader answered jauntily. After the Communications Director disappeared, the Majority Leader sipped his whiskey with evident satisfaction. “Now we’re going to use a little sugar,” he said to me. “Can you have someone connect me with Charlotte Johnson in Texas?” He looked at his watch. “In about half an hour.”

  “It’s late,” I said, almost instinctively.

  “Texas is an hour behind us,” the Majority Leader answered. “I need Governor Johnson to learn about what happened to Hazlett before we get her on the phone.”

  I felt like I was a student in some kind of backroom political science tutorial. The Majority Leader sat patiently at the desk, sipping from his drink. He seemed perfectly comfortable with the silence, the waiting. After five minutes or so, I asked, “Is Governor Johnson refusing to ship Dormigen out of state?”

  “Oh, no,” the Majority Leader replied, eager to share his strategy. “Charlotte’s a good egg. But she could waffle, and she’ll feel pressure to follow these other assholes. Texas is big and important. That’s where we need to hold the line. It’s like Lincoln in the Civil War: he knew he couldn’t afford to lose the border states.”

  We went back to our silence. After a few more minutes, a young aide stuck his head in the door. “Governor Hazlett is on the line for you. He said you and he were just talking and there was some confusion about the Sea Snake Sonar—”

  “Tell him to hold,” the Majority Leader said, exchanging a knowing glance with me.

  “Of course,” the aide said compliantly.

  The Majority Leader and I both looked at the phone on the desk, where a small red light began blinking hypnotically. “That’s Hazlett?” I said, pointing at the light.

  “I would assume so,” the Majority Leader said. He sipped his drink.

  The minutes passed. I finished my press release. The small red light continued to blink. I have never watched anyone sit still so contentedly. The Majority Leader did not check his phone. He did not make notes to himself. He did not feel compelled to make small talk. He sat stiffly in the chair, sipping his drink periodically, but mostly just still, like a hunter in a blind. Eventually the aide reappeared. “We’re going to place the call to Governor Johnson in Texas. Shall we send it in here?” he asked.

  “Yes, please,” the Majority Leader said pleasantly. The small red light on the phone panel was still blinking. After a minute or so, both because I was uncomfortable with the silence and because I was curious, I asked, “How long are you going to keep Governor Hazlett on hold?” But before the Majority Leader could answer, the phone rang and he picked it up.

  “Charlotte,” the Majority Leader said warmly. “It’s so good to hear from you.” He listened to pleasantries on the other end and then continued. “The President is up to his eyeballs in this Dormigen thing. He needs all the help he can get.” The Texas governor, not nearly as loud or as agitated as her fellow Alabama governor, said something about the Texas National Guard. “You are absolutely correct,” the Majority Leader assured her. “But as a personal favor to me, can we have that conversation another time?” he asked. The Majority Leader laughed loudly and warmly at whatever Charlotte Johnson said in reply. “Yes, that’s right,” he continued. “News travels fast. That Sea Snake system never did work.” He looked in my direction and gave a little smile. “Why not save the taxpayers some money?” the Majority Leader told the Texas governor, laughing some more. “Look, if you could spread the word among your buddies that the President could use a favor on this one, I would appreciate it. I owe you one, and the President owes you one.” He listened, nodded, and then chuckled. “My God, you really are something, Charlotte. Yes, that’s two favors: one from me, and one from him.”

  After the Majority Leader hung up, the aide stepped back into the doorway and said, “Senator, I just want to remind you that Governor Hazlett is still on hold.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Line one.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  The Majority Leader stood and carefully lifted his jacket off the back of the chair. He was clearly invigorated by the phone calls. He put on his jacket, buttoning it deliberately. He was not a thin man, as I have noted, but he must have had a good tailor, because the jacket fit neatly over
his sizable girth. The aide continued to linger in the doorway, looking at the phone on the desk, where line one was still blinking red. As the Majority Leader buttoned his last button, he looked at me and said, “There are sandwiches upstairs in the kitchen. Are you hungry?”

  87.

  THE PRIME MINISTER’S FLIGHT—DESIGNATED AIR INDIA One—landed in Germany and refueled without incident. The camera crew on board broadcast footage of the Prime Minister and his family resting comfortably in a small compartment built especially for them at the front of the cargo plane. There were beds, a bathroom, and a makeshift shower. The Prime Minister walked the camera crew through the cargo hold, showing off the pallets of Dormigen. “Five hundred thousand doses,” he explained to the viewers. “Each with the potential to save an American life.” As Air India One left Germany, the President was landing in Orange County for his tour of the areas that had been wiped out by the wildfires. “The Dormigen flight is on schedule. No more delays,” the Chief of Staff informed him.

  “Then let’s make sure we stay on schedule,” the President replied. He wanted to be back in D.C. with a comfortable cushion for the Prime Minister’s arrival. The California visit went as planned—some pro forma visits to damaged areas, a breakfast with firefighters, meetings with local elected officials, and most important, a declaration of the affected counties as a federal disaster area. On the flight back to Washington the Chief of Staff briefed the President on the process for distributing the Dormigen upon the Prime Minister’s arrival. “Governors Goolsbee and Spencer are back on board with the plan,” she said.

  “They had a change of heart, did they?” the President replied. “What about Hazlett?”