The Benghazi Affair: A Parody Novel

by Ward Salud

  “We don’t have a name for him,” Obama explained, putting away the classified folder and folding his hands together atop his desk. “He’s merely called #2, second in command in the Al Qaeda hierarchy.” Hillary caught a single glance from Barack, but he turned his gaze back at Huma. “As you know,” he continued. “Al Qaeda has metastasized in various parts of the globe. Yemen, Somalia, Iraq, Syria, they’ve been able to find new adherents and gain operational capacity despite our counterterrorism efforts and despite bin Laden’s death.”

  Hillary put the page to her side to concentrate on the briefing. “We don’t know #2’s whereabouts,” Obama continued, “but wherever he is, he’s provided the various Al Qaeda outfits recruits, financing, even spiritual guidance.”

  RING RING

  The phone rang on the President’s desk and Obama pressed the speakerphone.

  “Mr. President,” the voice of Anita Decker Breckenridge said. “Mr. Plouffe, Mr. Messina, and Mr. Axelrod are here to see you for debate prep.”

  Obama sighed upon hearing the news. “Send them in Anita,” he said, and then, he rubbed his temples. The 2012 election was nearing against Dee’s father, Mitt Romney, and though Obama had a slight lead in the polls, it was an endless source of distraction. Hillary had noticed he’d been dreading the debate prep sessions, and he’d been neglecting it to concentrate on the very real world threats the United States faced. She wanted to warn him, however, about the upcoming first debate. From her experience as First Lady, she knew the adage that incumbent presidents tended to lose their first debates, something that Bill took to heart when they won their first debate against Dole. Barack had to be told, she knew, but the awkward nature of their relationship right now made her pause. Maybe she should warn Axelrod, she thought.

  “You’re both dismissed,” Obama said to them. Huma looked over at her, waiting for her to go first, and tentatively, Hillary stepped back to head for the door. She had wanted to say a word to Barack, apologize for her actions, but he didn’t give her a chance.

  Huma made a move to follow her, but Obama held up his hand. “I need you stay for a moment, Huma.”

  She seemed surprised at the request but nodded nonetheless. Hillary gave her a glance. She had to follow orders this time, though, and headed for the door. Her footsteps tromped through the Presidential Seal rug, and she almost made it past the sofa to the northwestern doorway of the Oval Office before Obama called to her.

  “And, Hillary,” Obama said, causing her to turn back. His visage was like stone. “Don’t disobey my orders again,” he said.

  There was nothing she could say. She merely nodded and headed out the door hoping that whatever damage she caused in their friendship, time would heal.

  •••

  The door closed behind them in the Oval Office, and Huma remained alone with the President. She didn’t know why the President held her back, and somewhere buried inside her, she feared they would accuse her as a Manchurian candidate similar to a character in Homeland, the hit show on Showtime, however irrational that was.

  “I didn’t want Hillary to hear this,” the President said, still seated behind his desk. Huma listened in closer. Why would he tell me this and not her? she asked herself. She was only an aide after all.

  “I’m giving you a secret mission,” The President continued. “Our agents died in Cairo because of a mole. He revealed to the Muslim Brotherhood our exact plans and strategy.” He looked as if it pained him to say what he was about to say next and then leaned in closer with a grave look on his face. “We think the mole’s in Hillary’s operation . . .”

  CHAPTER SIX

  SHERATON NEW YORK HOTEL

  NEW YORK CITY

  UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  SEPTEMBER 24, 2012

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” a lady’s voice blared on the loudspeaker in the ballroom of the Sheraton New York Hotel, “PLEASE WELCOME PRESIDENT BILL CLINTON,”

  The crowd clapped politely at the mention of the former President’s name.

  “AND SECRETARY OF STATE, US DEPARTMENT OF STATE, HILLARY RODHAM CLINTON!”

  At the mention of the former First Lady, the crowd, the men in suits and ties and the women in designer dresses, roared with approval and stood up for a standing ovation.

  Hillary, in a turquoise patterned suit jacket and black pants, strode onto the stage with her husband who led the way past the ergonomic speaking chairs and towards the podium even as the theme to “Jurassic Park” played in the background. She thought John William’s theme to the dinosaur film franchise and the book by Michael Crichton of the same name was an odd choice of music, but she went along with it. Bill looked back bemused, and she cackled with her boisterous laugh. He was thinking the same thing she was.

  It was the Clinton Global Initiative’s annual meeting and she was invited to headline the opening speech. It was also coincidentally the State Department’s annual weeklong pilgrimage to New York when the world met for another UN General Assembly. Hillary had come to look forward to it now. The machinery of State, entire departments and sub-departments, would take over the twenty-fourth floor of the Waldorf Astoria, the famed hotel nearby, to set up shop and host the world’s leaders or her foreign minister counterparts. When this happened, she and Bill could spend some quality time together, a difficult task with their hectic schedules.

  The backdrop of the ballroom stage was bedecked with blue along with signage stating simply the words “Clinton Global Initiative” or its logo, stars forming a slanted letter C along with a triple arc through the C’s center. They reached the podium, and looking over the assembled crowd seated around elegantly-draped circular tables, Bill took in the crowd’s applause and obvious affection for them.

  Hillary, off to her husband’s side, smiled and waved at the crowd to no one in particular.

  “Thank you very much, Thank you,” Bill said, wearing a sharp dark striped suit. Someone in the crowd whooped and hollered. “Of all the useless introductions, this would top the list,” he deadpanned, and the crowd laughed at the properly timed joke. As her husband continued his introduction speech, Hillary looked out over the crowd. It was a diverse crowd, as diverse as those interested in the minutiae of NGO work could be, and in the audience, she noticed Chelsea, Huma, their old friend Terry McAuliffe, astronaut and former Senator Glenn and his wife from Ohio, and lots and lots of rich people. Former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright sat stoically in her seat joining the motions with the crowd, though Hillary could tell she knew the gravity of her work.

  “And for that reason more than any other, I’m glad, she could join us here this morning, thank you very much,” Bill said. Finished with his speech, he turned to leave the podium and kissed his wife on the cheek.

  Her husband left the stage, and smiling, she took to the podium as the crowd continued their applause.

  “Good morning, Good morning,” she said aloud. The crowd continued to clap, and then another swell of applause and cheers occurred. “Thank you, thank you,” she said, raising her hands up trying to calm them.

  Then, for some reason, they gave her a standing ovation and cheered even louder. “Thank you all, thank you,” she said, getting more worried. If they had known what happened in Cairo, she thought bitterly, they wouldn’t be so ecstatic.

  “Thank you, thank you,” she said once more, and at last, the crowd calmed down and sat back onto their seats, finally allowing her to give her speech.

  Hillary took in a breath and finally began. “It’s good to be amongst so many friends . . .”

  Her prepared remarks was titled “Designing Diplomacy in the 21st Century,” but hidden in the speech, her speechwriter, Dan Schwerin, inserted coded messages of her other job as one of America’s elite secret agents.

  Finally, the end of her speech came. “And unity on this throughout the international community is crucial,” she warned. “Because extremists around the world are working hard to drive us apart. All of us need to stand together to resis
t these forces and to support democratic transitions under way in North Africa and the Middle East . . . so let’s get to work for more freedom, democracy, opportunity, and dignity. Thank you all very much.”

  The crowd clapped and stood up but not as excitedly as before. She didn’t know if that was due to the effects of the dour message of her speech or just fatigue from a wonky half-hour long speech. Probably the latter, she thought.

  She and Bill hugged backstage, and soon, Chelsea joined them. Occasions like this came far too few and far between for her liking, and sure enough, Huma came to take her away, to the next event. First, she had to mill with the assembled people, taking pictures and chatting with them all the while Madeleine Albright watching her from a distance.

  Did she know about Cairo? Hillary thought. It wouldn’t surprise her if she had sources inside the DSS keeping her apprised of the situation.

  She and her entourage: a collection of aides; DSS bodyguards, who knew she didn’t need one and perhaps would be honored to defend them from any danger; and of course, Huma went out to the lobby of the Sheraton and towards the waiting Cadillac DTS where she was to be taken straight to the Waldorf for official State business.

  Past the pillared lobby of the Sheraton Midtown, newly renovated with marble floors and a contemporary design, they went out onto the busy streets of New York. Doormen opened the door for her, and soon, under the canopy of the Sheraton Midtown, she stepped foot into the Cadillac with Huma following shortly thereafter.

  Hillary tried to make herself comfortable, and beside her, Huma, in a designer green Chanel dress, situated herself as well. “What’s next?” she asked Huma as the car pulled away from the curb and joined the teeming traffic. All around them, skyscrapers rose into the sky, car horns honked, engines rumbled, and a recent addition, increased pedestrian rush in Times Square due to Mayor Bloomberg’s Times Square pedestrianization initiative.

  “Um,” Huma said distractedly at first seeming to have lost her phone and then finding it by her seat. She picked it up and looked at her BlackBerry. “Asif Ali Zardari at 11.”

  Hillary looked out the window towards the teeming sidewalks where tourists and non-tourists alike milled about. He was Pakistan’s president, she knew, the husband of the slain women’s rights icon Benazir Bhutto, who was slain by terrorists. Another attack she failed to stop . . .

  “Mrs. Clinton?” Huma asked beside her, concern on her face.

  She was shaken out of her thoughts and then looked at her aide intently.

  “There’s something you have to know.”

  Hillary's eyes veered left and right at the sudden request. “What is it?” she asked uncertainly.

  She waited as Huma gazed at her as if something pained her. It was as if her deputy chief of staff and fellow secret agent wanted to say a deep, dark secret, but then, she looked away. “Jake,” she said quietly. “He said he received word from the DSS.”

  She wondered what it could be about, perhaps an update from the encrypted files they found in Cairo, but it was another thing to add to her itinerary. “Alright,” she said to her. Of all the people, this young woman knew what this life was like.

  Huma only smiled back pained and then looked out the window.

  The Cadillac turned right onto Park Avenue, and Hillary too looked out the window of the slow moving vehicle. Her day was only beginning, she thought, with meetings with Magariaf of Libya, Karzai of Afghanistan, and lastly and most begrudgingly, Morsi of Egypt. The Muslim Brotherhood leader of Egypt still had the legitimacy of state, though she knew what his organization was up to. She’ll have to hold her nose for that one. Or perhaps . . .

  Hillary turned to Huma. “We’ll send the other Hillary,” she told her, referring to her body double when she couldn’t attend functions due to her clandestine occupation. The CIA supplied the other Hillary and was a life-saver for many occasions not to mention incredibly close to the real article if she said so herself. Those whiz kids at the CIA even got her hair right, though sometimes she forgets to inform them forcing one time for the CIA to improvise with scrunchies and other hair accessories to hide their mistake.

  Huma didn’t seem to have heard her and continued to look out the window.

  “Huma,” Hillary said, this time louder.

  Hearing her voice, she turned her attention back to her boss. “Oh yes, right,” she said, shuffling in the car’s leather seating. “I’ll inform Philippe,” she said. Once more, she gave a pained smile.

  Hillary nodded back. It seemed like she wasn’t the only one distracted from her official duties this morning. The limestone clad Waldorf Astoria rose into view from the canyon of skyscrapers as the Cadillac came closer and closer to the stately skyscraper hotel once home to legendary figures like General Douglas MacArthur and Marilyn Monroe.

  Already the front entrance of the hotel teemed with the vehicles of visiting dignitaries. Hillary sighed. It was going to be one of those days, she thought.

  •••

  CHEVY CHASE, MARYLAND

  UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  SEPTEMBER 24, 2014

  I know what I want, and I get what I want, Alessandra James thought as she swiped on the screen of her iPhone, displaying luxury shoes and designer dresses. She sat in the mega deluxe kitchen of her ten-thousand square foot McMansion in the tony town of Chevy Chase, MD, a suburb outside of DC situated in one of the richest counties in the entire United States. Around her, the kitchen gleamed with marble countertops, a center island, and the latest in kitchen appliances.

  A cashmere sweater worth $725 displayed prominently on the iPhone screen, and Alessandra immediately pressed “Buy” taking her straight to the checkout screen. I’ll give it to the dog, she thought, continuing to shop using her black Am-Ex card, which of course, had a $250,000 spending minimum. It was such hard work.

  In a cute fall outfit from Saks Fifth, she didn’t notice her husband amble into the kitchen to head to the door that led to the garage. A balding but still fit man, he held his bag lunch in his hand. He opened the door slightly, revealing a momentarily glimpse of the Benz parked in the garage, but he turned around to his wife, who still concentrated all her attention on her iPhone e-shopping.

  “Goodbye, snookums,” he said, his voice quivering a tiny bit.

  Alessandra pretended like she didn’t hear. Maybe he’ll think I’m deaf or something, she thought, staring at the screen and refusing to make eye contact with her husband. Fortunately, a cute purse showed up in her search, making her momentarily forget about the someone else in the room.

  “Goodbye, snookums,” her husband repeated, this time louder but with the same quiver in his voice.

  Her finger swiped the screen down, but it was too much. The screen swiped all the way down to the bottom of the webpage and away from the Buy button. “God, Phil!” she shouted, frustrated at him as much as what had happened on her phone. “Look what you made me do!”

  Phil gulped and looked as if he was about to cry. But he only looked away and clutching his bag lunch, headed out to the garage to head to the office.

  As soon as the door shut, Alessandra rolled her eyes and went back to shopping. Now what was she going to do? Ugh. She tried to pick up the pieces and find the Buy button somewhere buried in the confines of her phone.

  Her daughter sulked in from the living room, featuring floor to ceiling heights, and immediately headed to the refrigerator, which she opened to inspect its contents.

  “Shouldn’t you be at school?” Alessandra said, not taking her eyes off her iPhone.

  An audible sigh came from behind the opened refrigerator door. “I’m too hot to go to school,” Courtney said. She got a soda in her hand and placing it on the center island, she twisted the cap. As the fizzy sound of the soda sounded in the air, a momentary glimpse at her Mom caught her attention and a disgusted look crept into her face.

  “Oh my God, Mom” she said horrified, staring directly at her smartphone. “That’s like an old model. They came out
with a new one like a week ago.”

  Alessandra stopped what she was doing and turned her attention slowly to her daughter. She didn’t know about a new model. No one told her, and inside her head, the amused laughter of her friends sounded. Feeling sick to her stomach, she held up the smartphone with her forefinger and thumb as if it was garbage, pressed the foot pedal on her stainless steel trash can, lifting up the lid, and threw the offending smartphone in the trash. Yuck, she thought. And she was shopping on that phone. She immediately reached over to her purse to search for her compact.

  Courtney drank from her soda bottle and then headed to the door that led to the garage. “I’m spending the night at Max’s condo,” she said.

  “Uh huh,” Alessandra said, holding up the compact and checking her makeup. Max was Courtney’s boyfriend. He once said to her that she was hotter than Courtney, but he was too young for her. Besides, there was only one man who could please her . . .

  The door opened to the garage, revealing a parked BMW, and then shut again. With Courtney gone, Alessandra picked herself up and headed to the oversized mirror, located in the foyer of her house.

  Past the oversized living room with the seventy-inch television and accompanying surround sound system she went until she stood before the mirror. There, she reveled at the sight before her, which revealed a gorgeous woman with only the tiniest amount of work done. She was so hot, she thought, running her hands through her blond highlighted hair.

  It was noon, and thinking it best to begin her day, she thought of all the things she had to do. She was a socialite prominent in the DC scene after all. Let’s see, she thought. Oh yeah, and her spirits flagged. She had to have lunch with that bitch Brianne. She didn’t have a choice, though. Brianne was her friend, and it’s not like she had that many . . .

  Her thoughts ran to other things on her to do list including shopping at Bethesda, and then, she remembered something—something very important.