Chapter 5
THE HORN
A sudden screaming came across the room – the shrill ring of one of the President’s six bedroom telephones, any of which he invariably called, "the horn." This particular ring, which sounded rather like the amplified cry of a homunculus trapped under glass in the underground lair of a mad scientist, which the President had once seen in a horror movie on television, had only one possible source – the Undisclosed Location.
“Hell,” said the President, “it’s Rod. Gotta take this, Hon.”
The First Lady bit her lip again, this time in irritation. Rod Meaney. The man was always coming between her and the President. It wasn’t that she minded the President tending to his responsibilities – she understood that he was a busy man, an important man. She knew full well that her husband was in fact the most powerful person or creature or entity of any kind ever to have walked upon the surface of the earth. In fact she and the president had discussed this many times – it was even she who had thrown, so to speak, the tyrannosaurus rex into the discussion. The First Lady was thrilled by the fact that the man who shared her bed was mightier than a tyrannosaurus rex, or Attila the Hun, or a narwhale, or even a whole tribe of stampeding elephants. She knew as well as anybody that a man of such power must have great responsibilities, even in peaceful times, let alone during a Global Crusade Against Evil. She did not begrudge the Free World the many hours her husband spent defending it from Evil.
The First Lady also knew that Vice President Rod Meaney was her husband’s most trusty lieutenant, a capable and experienced man whose advice was invaluable and whose loyalty was beyond question. Anyone in the administration could have told you that. In fact, if you had spent any time at all in the presence of anyone in the administration, you probably had been told that at least several times in precisely those words: “Vice President Rod Meaney is the President’s most trusty lieutenant, a capable and experienced man whose advice is invaluable and whose loyalty is beyond question.” The words had been composed by Kurt Vole, the President’s chief political adviser, and whether or not they expressed the truth (the point was debatable, although no longer safely in public) there was no question that they expressed The Truth, which had better be good enough for anyone who presumed to call himself a Patriot and lover of Freedom in this Time Of Uncertainty.
President John Quincy Junior had no supporter more steadfast and ardent than the First Lady, and she would never have perturbed the clear waters of Presidential certitude by casting even the slightest of doubts on The Truth. And yet, in the dark hours of the night, in the privacy of her own troubled conscience, she couldn’t help having doubts about Vice President Rod Meaney. There was nothing in particular that he had said or done to provoke her suspicions. It was just that he was deeply and inexpressibly creepy – creepy in the way he walked, creepy in the way he talked, and creepy above all in the way he looked at the President, with a kind of sidewise, thin-lipped leer that combined deference with hunger. Although she had never allowed the thought to formulate in her conscious mind, deep down she suspected that Vice President Rod Meaney was secretly in love with the President.
For his part, the President had no doubts about his most trusty lieutenant, although he did find him rather stiff. He could never resist having a little fun with him. He picked up the receiver and assumed what he imagined to be a Russian accent, which was indistinguishable from what he imagined to be a French accent, and in fact most closely resembled the accent of a middle-class Dutchman from the vicinity of Utrecht.
“Da, this is Kremlin.”
“Uhhh...”
“Speak, comrade.”
More than a hundred miles away, deep in the heart of the Undisclosed Location, Vice President Rod Meaney sat in the Central Nerve Terminal surrounded by the most sophisticated encryption and decoding systems ever devised by humanity, and yet none of them had the capacity to decipher a joke. Nor did the Vice President himself. But he knew from experience that the President employed humor on many occasions. He knew also that the chances were very slight, to the extent of being infinitesimal, that his direct line to the President could somehow have been diverted to the Kremlin. An instant or two of further analysis brought the Vice President to the conclusion that he was most likely implicated in a Presidential joke of some kind.
“Mr. President?”
“Ah... you got me. I guess you gotta get up pretty early in the morning to fool Rod Meaney, huh?”
“Good morning, Mr. President.”
“Mornin’, Sunshine. How’s it hangin’?”
“Never better, sir.”
This was, of course, a lie – it wasn’t hanging at all. It was fully erect, standing to attention, on alert and ready for action. And nobody knew – nobody in this whole wide blessed world had even the slightest idea. The fools. Not even the President himself knew. Vice President Rod Meaney allowed himself a slight, crooked smile, then popped another Priapax™, his third of the day.
“Never better, sir.”
Next chapter:
ELIJAH, in which relations briefly become awkward between the President and his most trusty lieutenant.
A sudden screaming came across the room – the shrill ring of one of the President’s six bedroom telephones, any of which he invariably called, "the horn." This particular ring, which sounded rather like the amplified cry of a homunculus trapped under glass in the underground lair of a mad scientist, which the President had once seen in a horror movie on television, had only one possible source – the Undisclosed Location.
“Hell,” said the President, “it’s Rod. Gotta take this, Hon.”
The First Lady bit her lip again, this time in irritation. Rod Meaney. The man was always coming between her and the President. It wasn’t that she minded the President tending to his responsibilities – she understood that he was a busy man, an important man. She knew full well that her husband was in fact the most powerful person or creature or entity of any kind ever to have walked upon the surface of the earth. In fact she and the president had discussed this many times – it was even she who had thrown, so to speak, the tyrannosaurus rex into the discussion. The First Lady was thrilled by the fact that the man who shared her bed was mightier than a tyrannosaurus rex, or Attila the Hun, or a narwhale, or even a whole tribe of stampeding elephants. She knew as well as anybody that a man of such power must have great responsibilities, even in peaceful times, let alone during a Global Crusade Against Evil. She did not begrudge the Free World the many hours her husband spent defending it from Evil.
The First Lady also knew that Vice President Rod Meaney was her husband’s most trusty lieutenant, a capable and experienced man whose advice was invaluable and whose loyalty was beyond question. Anyone in the administration could have told you that. In fact, if you had spent any time at all in the presence of anyone in the administration, you probably had been told that at least several times in precisely those words: “Vice President Rod Meaney is the President’s most trusty lieutenant, a capable and experienced man whose advice is invaluable and whose loyalty is beyond question.” The words had been composed by Kurt Vole, the President’s chief political adviser, and whether or not they expressed the truth (the point was debatable, although no longer safely in public) there was no question that they expressed The Truth, which had better be good enough for anyone who presumed to call himself a Patriot and lover of Freedom in this Time Of Uncertainty.
President John Quincy Junior had no supporter more steadfast and ardent than the First Lady, and she would never have perturbed the clear waters of Presidential certitude by casting even the slightest of doubts on The Truth. And yet, in the dark hours of the night, in the privacy of her own troubled conscience, she couldn’t help having doubts about Vice President Rod Meaney. There was nothing in particular that he had said or done to provoke her suspicions. It was just that he was deeply and inexpressibly creepy – creepy in the way he walked, creepy in the way he talked, and creepy above all in the way he looked at the President, with a kind of sidewise, thin-lipped leer that combined deference with hunger. Although she had never allowed the thought to formulate in her conscious mind, deep down she suspected that Vice President Rod Meaney was secretly in love with the President.
For his part, the President had no doubts about his most trusty lieutenant, although he did find him rather stiff. He could never resist having a little fun with him. He picked up the receiver and assumed what he imagined to be a Russian accent, which was indistinguishable from what he imagined to be a French accent, and in fact most closely resembled the accent of a middle-class Dutchman from the vicinity of Utrecht.
“Da, this is Kremlin.”
“Uhhh...”
“Speak, comrade.”
More than a hundred miles away, deep in the heart of the Undisclosed Location, Vice President Rod Meaney sat in the Central Nerve Terminal surrounded by the most sophisticated encryption and decoding systems ever devised by humanity, and yet none of them had the capacity to decipher a joke. Nor did the Vice President himself. But he knew from experience that the President employed humor on many occasions. He knew also that the chances were very slight, to the extent of being infinitesimal, that his direct line to the President could somehow have been diverted to the Kremlin. An instant or two of further analysis brought the Vice President to the conclusion that he was most likely implicated in a Presidential joke of some kind.
“Mr. President?”
“Ah... you got me. I guess you gotta get up pretty early in the morning to fool Rod Meaney, huh?”
“Good morning, Mr. President.”
“Mornin’, Sunshine. How’s it hangin’?”
“Never better, sir.”
This was, of course, a lie – it wasn’t hanging at all. It was fully erect, standing to attention, on alert and ready for action. And nobody knew – nobody in this whole wide blessed world had even the slightest idea. The fools. Not even the President himself knew. Vice President Rod Meaney allowed himself a slight, crooked smile, then popped another Priapax™, his third of the day.
“Never better, sir.”
Next chapter:
ELIJAH, in which relations briefly become awkward between the President and his most trusty lieutenant.
© by N. Ominous 27.12.04
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