"Well," said Daniel. "It's not like we've gotten a lot of congratulatory messages from foreign nations, is it? Sir, until we start getting recognized by foreign powers—especially England—our position is going to be extremely tenuous. Declaring a popular general, the man in charge of one of the last hopes for defense inside our borders at the moment a rogue agent? It's just…" Daniel shrugged. "I think it could backfire."
"Well," said President Suthby with a sigh. His shoulders slumped and he put his hands in his pockets. He felt deflated, defeated, useless. But Daniel, as usual, was right to be cautious. He figured he’d better learn to trust Daniel at some point, since the young man had yet to steer him wrong.
He’s overly cautious, thought President Suthby as he peered at his Chief of Staff. But sometimes being overly cautious can be a good thing. He nodded reluctantly.
"Okay,” he sighed. “Okay, let's do it your way. If we can get State to get some foreign dignitaries to offer congratulatory messages…?"
"I'm on it, sir."
One of the staffers started clapping in the back of the room. There was an excited scuffle of people as someone tried to force their way to the front. A voice called out over the excited babble. "Mr. President!"
"Come on, folks—let him through," the President ordered quietly.
President Suthby smiled at the effect his words had on the people he’d surrounded himself with—it was like Moses parting the Red Sea. The group in front of him simply split down the middle revealing a young man with a piece of paper clutched in his hand. He looked no older than a teenager. Most of the well-known veteran statesman, federal workers, and upper-level executives had fled for the hills at the first sign of trouble, back when the power had gone out during the summer. Only a few had trickled back onto the reservation... And of those few, less than half wanted to join the new president in his secret bunker under Cheyenne Mountain.
"Well," said the President, trying to hide the note of irritability in his voice. "Let's have it."
"Sir," said the young man as he adjusted the glasses on his thin, pock-marked face. "I think I've got really good news, sir. This just came in,” he said holding up the paper like some sort of trophy. “It's from the Governor of Pennsylvania. They've successfully been able to reestablish contact with the Three-Mile Island facility! Philadelphia and it’s the suburbs have power!" The man continued to talk but the room erupted in cheers drowning him out.
The President held up his hands for quiet and was mildly irritated at the amount of time it took for his followers to understand his gesture. "Come on, folks! Settle down! Let the man talk." Once the crowd had quieted down, the President gestured for the young man to step closer. "Now, go ahead and say that last part again?"
"Yes, sir," said the disheveled-looking staffer. He adjusted his glasses, grinned at the President, and then cleared his throat. He glanced down at the paper again and adjusted his glasses once more. "It says here, that the governor has secured the facility with what National Guard troops he could muster. The engineers and technicians are confident that given proper protection and a little time, they should be able to restore power to the whole of southeastern Pennsylvania in the next week or so!" The cheering erupted again. It was the first really bit of good news that they had had since the crisis began.
The President smiled, slapped the young man on his back and let his supporters have their moment in the sun. It felt good to be happy about something again. Slowly though, thoughts of the current situation in New York City, his tenuous grasp on power, and the ever present Russian threat in Florida began to erode that happiness. He felt the smile fade from his face.
"Okay, people, let's not get too carried away. We still got a lot of stuff to take care of here. Everyone stay focused."
Daniel stepped up next to him, a curious expression on his face. He held out his secure satellite phone, which only rang for one person. "Sir, the Secretary-General of the United Nations is holding for you."
As President Suthby took the phone from his Chief of Staff, silence spread across the room like a rising tide. All eyes were on him. "Mr. Secretary-General!" he said in his best good old boy routine.
The voice on the phone did not mirror his happiness. "Good day to you, Mr. President."
Mr. President. Hank Suthby, former director of FEMA, closed his eyes in relief. If the Secretary-General of the United Nations was prepared to recognize his legitimacy, the rest of the world would not be far behind. Those two little words erased most of the doubt in his mind and gave a desperately needed shot of confidence to the new pro tem President of the United States. When he opened his eyes, the nervousness, the unease, the uncertainty, had all faded to mere background noise. He began to feel for the first time like he really was the President of the United States.
"You can't possibly know how happy I am to hear your voice," he said, trying unsuccessfully to the keep smile from his face.
The foreign voice on the other end laughed politely. "I am terribly sorry I was not able to get through to you sooner… But it appears communications have not been exactly… normal these last few terrible months."
The President of the United States nodded gravely. "Indeed, we've had our fair share of problems lately. I must confess—I have not been fully up to speed on how the rest of the world is faring in this time of upheaval."
There was a deep sigh from the other end of the line. "Most of the rest of the industrialized world is faring about as you would imagine. The United States has long supported and been the central pillar of the world's economy. These last few months, hardly anyone has been able to get communications into or out of your country. Civilian travel has all but disappeared since your airlines were grounded. Without your communication satellites, many people do not wish to risk flying. And that is just the beginning. Shipments of food and supplies your country regularly provides to so many nations around the world have all but stopped. I'm afraid we have been almost as much in the dark as you. There is great concern around the world for the fate of the United States and her people."
President Suthby smiled. So, he thought, the Secretary-General was not alone in his own office. He knows damn well what’s been going on in America—since day one. He knows how tenuous my situation is. He's playing some sort of sick game. Well, two can play at that.
Out loud, he said: "The American people— and I personally—are deeply touched that the world community is so concerned. However, I must say that the response we have seen to our troop withdrawals around the world has caused us not a little consternation. Long-trusted allies seem to have turned on us. I must formally protest the actions of the Russian Federation and their invasion of the American South.”
"I was afraid you might say that," said the Secretary-General. He sighed again. "The Russian government has petitioned me to enforce sanctions against America. Mr. President, I’m not sure you’re aware of the nature of the Russian presence in your country—the Russians are not acting on behalf of President Svoboda, but rather the people of the nations of the world. They are in your country to preserve the peace and security of the United States. Your predecessor did not agree at all with our actions. I'm hoping, for the sake of your nation, that you will reverse the official stance of the United States and accept our sincere offer of help. The United Nations," he said quickly, not giving President Suthby time to respond, "continues to strive for peace, security, and prosperity for the entire world. A fractured and warring United States, torn by civil war—which is what appears to be happening now—is good for no one. The Russian delegation was sent to bring food and medical supplies to the poverty-stricken people of south."
"Well I thank them for their generosity and thoughtfulness…but I cannot disagree more about the means by which they have attempted to carry out their so-called mission of peace." The President motioned for his staffers to return about their business. He caught Daniel’s eye and signaled for his Chief of Staff to follow him as he retreated towards a private room. He did not want t
he eyes of the people responsible for supporting his claim to power to hear what he was about to say.
"Oh, come now Mr. President," said the Secretary-General. "You can't seriously expect me to believe that you would turn down medical equipment, food, water, and portable shelter for the people of your country—who, I might add, have been without electricity and the comforts of modern civilization for some months now."
"I understand perfectly well what you're saying, Mr. Secretary-General," said the President as he watched the door to the room close. Daniel folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door. Alone at last, President Suthby was willing to get down to business. "Is this line secure?" he asked.
There was a slight pause and President Suthby thought he could hear what sounded like mumbled orders, shuffling paper, and finally a door shutting.
"It is now, Mr. President."
"Look, you and I both know what I need. The question, is what do you need, Mr. Secretary-General?"
That irritatingly polite laugh echoed over the phone again. “Mr. President, how you do so love to get directly to the point. It is a trait I have often admired about you Americans. Well," said Secretary-General's voice. President Suthby imagined the man leaning forward over an exquisite desk at The Hague. "Since you're determined to get to the crux of the issue, I shall be brief. In order for me to formally recognize your claim to the presidency of the United States… You must withdraw your forces from New York City—”
“What?”
“—and from Florida."
The President's mouth fell open. "Are you serious? You're asking me to withdraw American forces from the state of Florida? You want me to give New York City to the terrorists? To these rebels?" He felt his cheeks flush in anger. "Who do you think you are? I am the President of the United States—"
"No. You are the Director of the Federal Emergency Management Agency. You have been given presidential powers, by a small portion of a very reluctant Congress. I am the duly-elected Secretary-General of the United Nations. Now that America has stumbled and fallen, my organization is the ultimate power on this planet. And my member nations are not happy about the current situation in America. They, through their representatives, have spoken to me quite frequently—if I may be so bold—asking me to intervene on behalf of all Americans—"
"Don't try this bullshit with me—I've been playing the political game in Washington for far too long!" said President Suthby as he slammed his fist down on the table. "Just because a handful of Republican throwbacks have decided to break ranks and somehow contact you, requesting U.N. presence on American soil does not mean —”
"Oh, but it does, Mr. Suthby. It shows you do not have unity, even among your own people! It shows me that your grasp of power is weak at best. America is no longer in a position to dictate terms to the rest of the world. The time of American dominance, sir, is over."
President Suthby knew deep-down that the Secretary-General was right. He also knew he could bring America back to the forefront, but it would take time. If these damn rebels would just give up and go away. If we could just get our military forces home… If I could just get the power back on… If, if, if… He closed his eyes in frustration.
Through gritted teeth, he said, "What do you want?"
"See? That wasn't so bad, now was it?" crooned the Secretary-General. He chuckled softly, like a father who has just forced a delinquent child to understand something. "I have already explained to you what the United Nations requires. If you follow through in the next 24 hours, I will issue a proclamation declaring you to be the legitimate leader of the United States. In return, once you have withdrawn your federal forces or at least attempted to persuade the state governors to do the same, and you have applied for protectorate status—"
"Protectorate status?" asked the President. "What the hell are you saying? You want us to become the new Serbia?"
"Well, I dare say whether you like it or not, you are the new Serbia. You are the new Bosnia, too. The United Nations has watched with no small amount of trepidation as your country has begun to Balkanize. Have you not looked at the facts, Mr. Suthby? I see you have learned that power has been restored in one of your states. However, Texas has all but removed itself from the union! The West is one giant conflagration and there is nothing anyone can do about it. Your border with Mexico is non-existent and the great cities of your Eastern coast have become war zones! They are breeding grounds for disease. In fact, most of the people living along your eastern seaboard are starving. In America, of all places!"
President Suthby sighed. "I know, I know. I just need a little—"
"Help. What you need is the helping hand of the international brotherhood of countries. And I am here, offering my hand on behalf of the rest of the world. All you need do is take it. Ask for protectorate status and I will ensure that your request is granted. The General Assembly—"
President Suthby laughed, a harsh mocking sound. "The General Assembly will never approve it. You know as well as I do the United States has many enemies—China, much of the Middle East, and now France and Germany have been added to that list—” began the President.
"Believe me when I say I can handle them. When you ask for protectorate status, I will ensure that the General Assembly nominates you as the United Nations Executive Governor. If you like, you can continue to call yourself President. In fact that may be best—to keep continuity and public relations high. But you will, in all reality, be a puppet of mine. You will turn over all responsibility for national defense to the United Nations Security Council. Including," the Secretary-General said in a booming voice, "all control of your strategic nuclear missile program. The world is not safe and cannot be safe as long as a fractured America—in the throes of a civil war—still has possession of the largest nuclear arsenal on the planet. Why, any one of your generals or admirals could decide to go rogue and start a nuclear war."
"Maybe they’ll nuke the Russians," said the President bitterly.
The Secretary-General laughed. "They might! And the Russians might just retaliate in kind. Tell me, Mr. Suthby: Would you prefer to see your country in a glowing, post-apocalyptic ruin or would you rather see—temporarily, mind you—foreign soldiers, aid workers, and governors on your precious soil while peace and prosperity are reestablished?"
"I've read my history," said the President. He sighed. “Temporary control over a country is rarely that. How much is this going to cost? You’re planning on turning us into the next post-Westphalia Germany, aren't you?"
"Well, I daresay the Germans would probably appreciate the irony in that—but no. The global community understands that the world’s economy has been propped up by the United States for too long. Perhaps this is a good thing. Getting all of our eggs out of one basket, so to speak. It is now up to the United Nations to ensure fair trade practices and support growing economies. This burden has been lifted off of your nation’s shoulders. However, as you say, a mission of this magnitude in a country as large as yours will cost a significant sum of money. To prepare for this repayment, I have received recommendations from the Economic Council on possible land rights grants, mineral usage, and natural resource leases—all at extremely favorable terms to our member nations, of course—in order to offset the bulk of the anticipated expenditures required to secure your country."
The President put a hand to his forehead and sat down in a chair. He was in shock, his mind numb. At the start of the phone call, he thought he'd been on the ascendancy, rising to glory as the phoenix out of the ashes. Now he realized all he had accomplished was to walk into an international Catch 22. He didn't see that there was any way out of the situation without either dragging America into utter destruction, starting a war, or be executed for treason.
"If I do this…” he said, almost in a whisper.
"If you agree, I will personally guarantee your safety."
It was President Suthby’s turn to laugh. "How exactly do you propose to do that?"
"Well," said the Secretary-General in a condescending voice, "since you seem to have lost control of your own military forces, might I suggest they be replaced with some of the finest troops loyal to the United Nations? That is, loyal to me."
"I can't agree to that. You know I can't. Let me discuss this with my advisers and I’ll get back to you."
"Tick-tock, Mr. President. If you would like to lead your country back to prosperity, you need me. This offer will not last forever."
"Look—" the President started say. There was a beep and a click, then the line went dead. Son of a bitch, he thought, he’s really got me by the short and curlies.
"That sounded like it went well."
President Suthby looked up at Daniel and was sorry to see the concern written across the younger man's face. "No, it didn't. Come on," he said as he stood, "we’ve got some discussions that need to take place. I need you to get on the horn and call the Joint Chiefs and the leaders of Congress. See if you can track down at least one of the Supreme Court Justices. We’ve got a Constitutional crisis on our hands."
"Yes, sir."
President Suthby waited for Daniel to leave the room. He stood there in the doorway watching all his loyal staffers hard at work—talking on phones, demanding reports, gathering information. They were working so hard trying to reestablish the safety of the country. What will they say, he wondered, when I tell them my only choice is to hand over the sovereignty of the United States to a foreign power? He sighed. Oh God, what have I got myself into?
CHAPTER 12
Fall of Orlando
MAJOR STROGOLEV STOOD ON top of his BTR, watching the glorious retreat of the last remaining American stragglers. He stared through his binoculars and tried not to laugh as the last two soldiers he could see stumbled and fell over debris and burning wreckage in a vain attempt to escape his forces.
Sic Semper Tyrannis Page 17