When the phone in Marty Gurevic’s bedroom rang at 3:40 AM, Marty, though asleep, wasn’t the least bit surprised. As the President’s Press Secretary for the last 18 months, late night calls had become the rule rather than the exception. Just seven weeks ago, President Stevens had managed to extricate himself from yet another fictionalized Oval Office sex capade, the third of his administration. Only what Marty didn’t know was that, on this particular occasion, on this night, the one thing that had always been lacking in previous allegations would be all too present: the element of truth.

"Gurevic,", she yawned into the receiver of her secure-line.

"Marty, it’s Ken."

Marty sat up ram-rod straight. The President never called personally. "Mr. President, is there a problem? What’s wrong?"

"Don’t get so excited, Marty, it’s not good to wake up with a rapid pulse. I’m fine at the moment, but I need you down here."

"At the White House, sir?"

She heard the President snort. "No, at Dunkin’ Donuts across the street... of course at the White House. I sent a car to pick you up. It’s not a black Caddy, it will probably be some kind of SUV. I don’t want to attract unnecessary attention."

Marty switched to speaker phone, thanking her lucky stars that her ex wasn’t here to complain about the noise, and started throwing on yesterday’s clothes. "OK, sir, I’ll be downstairs in 5 minutes."

"Make it 15. Have some coffee, take a shower, wake yourself up. I need you ready to listen and think when you get here, not in a mental fog. Do you have a cover story in case anyone sees you?"

Marty replied, "I run over at the track at Georgetown whenever I can. I’ll say I’m going jogging, and I'll do a few laps if I need to."

"Good, that’s good. Marty, this is some serious business we're going to be talking about here. Serious and ugly. Some of what's going to be said, and some of what you’re going to see, will make you pretty upset with me. I need to know I can count on you, no matter what. And I mean, no matter what."

Marty took off the blouse she had started to put on, and grabbed a sweat shirt and shorts. "Ken, I’ve known you since you’re 10 and I’m 5. As long as you didn’t kill someone...".

"No, Marty, I haven’t killed anyone. At least, not yet. I’ll see you in a half hour." The phone went silent.

Marty shut off the phone and went through her morning rituals and libations at triple speed. Then she went downstairs and made herself a cup of double-strong instant coffee, nearly scalding her throat drinking it down, scribbled a quick note to the housekeeper, and went outside to "limber up".

For an October day in Arlington, it was pretty damned cold, maybe 45 degrees this morning. There was already a pre-dawn glow in the sky, but the sun wouldn’t poke up over the horizon for almost 3 hours. She looked up the street, around the curve leading from her little cul-de-sac, and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Sometimes, political stalkerazzi camped out around the bend, wanting to get a quick sound-byte for the papers when the big stories broke. It looked like she had awakened before they came out of their coffins.

Soon a gold Jeep Cherokee came around the corner and stopped in front of her. It was being driven by one of the President’s Secret Service agents, a former college track star and long-time guardian of the Chief Executive named Steve. Steve was dressed in athletic attire as well, probably at the President’s command.

Marty got into the car, which was already warm from the heater. "Morning, Steve."

"Good morning, ma’am," came the crisp reply. "I’ve got coffee in the back if you want it."

Marty was going to say no, but thought better of it. She still felt some cobwebs in her brain. While she sipped her brew, which was as black as Steve was, she looked out the window at the road. There were no other vehicles in the vicinity, which was a very good thing. The moon, at waning crescent, was just about to sink out of view.

Marty asked Steve, "Any idea what’s going on?"

Steve shook his head. "No clue. But between you and me, the President and his wife had a big blow-up last night."

Marty’s heart sank. "What kind of... ‘blow-up?’"

Steve hesitated for a second before replying. "The kind that left the President with a nice shiner under his left eye, and the left side of his bed empty this past evening."

"Oh, shit. Did she take the kids?"

"What do you think?," Steve asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The way she was screaming at him, I’m surprised that she didn’t leave with his nuts in her suitcase. Pardon my French."

Marty crumpled her now-empty coffee cup. "Damn it. God damn it"

The Jeep reached the turnoff to the underground tunnel, a patch of high grass nestled between some tall oaks lining the Capitol Beltway, and disappeared from view. They reached the White House in 10 minutes, and succeeded in eluding unwanted attention.

The President was sitting at his desk in the Oval Office when Marty got there, his shirt sleeves rolled up. Ken Stevens was 54, a decorated Vietnam veteran and Rhodes Scholar. He had briefly considered a career in football, and had even appeared as an actor in several low-budget but profitable action movies, before turning to politics in his home state of New Mexico. Stevens had the distinction of being the first "grass-roots" third-party candidate to successfully take the country’s highest office.

President Stevens’ politics were bizarre in the current scheme of things, in that his ideology could not be pigeon-holed. Conservative and tough on crime, liberal on most rights and freedoms, aggressive on economics, stealthy in world affairs, deaf to Special Interest groups, attentive to the man next door. Translated: everyone in Washington who was part of the "machine" seemed to hate him, because this Chief Executive was beholden to no one. Further translated, he was the most popular President to hold office in the recent memory of the American people. His landslide election, and his even bigger margin of victory the second time around despite some nasty rumors about his personal life, proved it. And now he was in trouble.

"Sit down, Marty," the President said quietly. An uneaten bowl of fruit and cottage cheese sat in front of him, as did a stack of files and boxes. His left eye was noticeably puffy.

Marty did as she was told. She counted four chairs set up in front of the President’s desk, but three were as yet unoccupied. "Are we expecting guests?"

Stevens nodded. "Later. After I meet with you."

"Heard you had a bit of a spat last night," Marty said, keeping her voice as neutral and unemotional as she could.

The President looked at his agents, who stood at the door to the office, their arms folded behind their backs. "Gentlemen, if you would wait outside, see to it that no one comes up to this floor until I give the ‘all-clear’."

The agents immediately left the room. After they’d gone, the President picked up his spoon and began to eat. "You want some?", he asked with a full mouth. "It’s good for your cholesterol."

Marty waved him off. "No thanks, it’s too early for solid food."

"Y’know, since I took office, I’ve learned how to eat anything at any time. Thank God for good genetics."

Marty sighed. "Ken, let’s cut the crap. What the hell happened to you?" She pointed to the shiner on the President’s face.

"Oh, that. Jen left me. For good, I think. She’s staying at Blair House down the road. And she took the kids with her." He popped a strawberry into his mouth.

"You think you can fill in on the reason why, or am I being left to play ‘20 Questions’?" Marty was trying really hard not to lose her temper.

Ken shrugged. "I messed up, Marty. You know that secretary over in Public Relations? Kelly’s her name."

Marty thought about it for a minute, then remembered. About 30 years old. Redhead, 5’6", 34C, green eyes, and as a drunken Santa Claus might sing, ‘Jiggle All the Way’.

"Jesus H. Christ, Ken... why in the name of all that’s holy did you go and do this? This is suicide!"

"I know. But if you knew Kelly like I knew Kelly… then again, I guess I didn’t know Kelly like I thought I did, even after two years." The President opened a locked draw in his desk, the one that required a thumbprint-scan security check. He pulled out a big yellow envelope, ripped at the top, and removed some photographs from within. He gave them to Marty to peruse.

Marty couldn’t believe what she saw, couldn’t believe that her boss, her old pal, had the audacity to actually let her view the pictures. There were the President and Kelly, in flagrante delicto. Nothing left to the imagination. In about 20 different positions. Ropes, handcuffs, whipped cream... you name it, it was on display. And Kelly was, indeed, a 34C... and a natural redhead.

"My God. Oh... my... God." Her face turned several shades of crimson. "Who sent these to you?"

Ken laughed, which sounded really odd at this particular moment. "To me? Who sent them to me? C’mon, Marty. That would have been the decent and smart thing to do. I could have been blackmailed for years, and hell, yeah, I would have paid." His voice quieted, and he looked almost wistful. "I would have paid."

Marty was confused. "Sir, I don’t understand...".

"They... whoever ‘they’ are... they knew if they sent the pictures to the White House, I would never open the mail first. Security and such. They probably didn’t want to take any chances on damage control, either. They sent this particular envelope to my wife’s mother. Certified Mail, Return Receipt Requested."

Marty felt the breath leave her lungs as if she had been slugged in the solar plexus. She couldn’t even find enough air to make sound come from her vocal chords. The President saw this and gave a sad smile.

"I know, I know. This goes way beyond politics."

Marty laid the photos face-down on the desk and whispered, "Who else has these pictures?"

Ken looked out the window absently at the quickly-pinkening sky. "Everyone, Marty. Everyone. Newspapers, TV, Congress…hell, there’s already an Internet site. WWW.XXXPRES.COM. Pay $14.95 for zipped downloads of Presidential porn videos. I checked it out myself. Sure enough, they’ve got video, hours of it. Good quality, too, I have to admit. Sound, color, close-ups… much better than that Pamela Anderson schlock from the 90’s." He finished his breakfast, then stood up to stretch. "At least the country will see that I don’t suffer from performance anxiety."

Marty stood as well, and joined the President at the window. "How can you stay so calm, Ken? This is your life we’re talking about here."

"Let me correct you," Ken interrupted. "This is my sex life we’re talking about."

"No, Ken, it’s your political life. Your legacy, your chapter of the history books. It’s ruined. Because of…," she waved her hand at the pictures, "this." She spat out the last word like spoiled milk.

Ken smiled again. "Marty, look at the whole picture for a minute. Think this through with. me. I’m in Year Seven of my Presidency. The Stock Market is high, unemployment is low, inflation is gone. No American troops are fighting anywhere on Planet Earth, there’s no oil shortage, and the auto strike is resolved. Things are good all over, and in large part, it’s because of my Big Plan. Someone’s trying to bring me down. This is personal."

"None of that will help you," Marty said. Her voice sounded like Hal the Computer, completely devoid of feeling.

"True. But let’s look deeper. Even before this mess, I had no plans to run for office again, I’ve made that perfectly clear. Jen’s out of the picture now… unless I make a public show of profuse apology and take a nice long beating. I’m not going to do that. I’m not apologizing for this. Besides, Jennifer knew about Kelly from the start."

Marty nearly swallowed her tongue. "Whaaaat?!"

"Yeah, she knew. Don’t tell me you’re surprised, I thought women could read each other’s minds. Or is that just an old wives’ tale?"

"Honestly, Ken, I knew there was some friction, but I never thought for a second that you would… do this to her. To your children. You love them so much…".

"Marty, Jen and I were only staying together for the kids anyway. The second they turned 18, I would have divorced her. I haven’t loved Jen for a while now, for too many reasons to count. I only started up with Kelly after Jen and I decided to split. My wife was fine with that. She’s had ‘friends’ of her own. Except she was a little better than me at concealing it, and more importantly, at selecting her companions. She only slugged me because my kids… saw the pictures, too. Now they know that Daddy doesn’t love Mommy anymore. She couldn’t believe I was that stupid."

"I think I’m gonna be sick," Marty groaned.

The President patted her lightly on the back. "Well, hang on to your entrails. There’s going to be an impeachment proceeding, that I can pretty much guarantee."

Marty looked stunned. "Why?"

"Because of all of the times I denied cheating on my wife these past few months. Some of them were on national television. Some were under oath. I paid for limousine rides, the occasional hotel room, one or two plane tickets. Even though the money came out of my own pocket, you know the House will say I used public funds. I’m sure there’ll be an argument that I endangered national security by intermingling so closely with such a low level Civil Servant. And I’m not exactly Mr. Popularity with the Congress, either. Both major parties want me out, they’ll have no problem getting the votes they need, even on a bunch of trumped-up charges."

Marty closed her eyes and rubbed them. Stevens smiled gently and went on. "Sad, isn’t it, Marty? If I was really getting as much action as people thought, I’d have to be Long Dong Silver. Looking back at the shipwreck that is my marriage, maybe I should have…. indulged myself more often. Truth is, Kelly was the only one. The only woman I ever fell for, out of all of the ones who made up stories and spliced audio tapes together. The only time… I was ever weak. And she was a plant, Marty. She was on somebody’s damned payroll."

"You don’t know that for certain. Maybe she planned and perpetrated it all herself."

The President shook his head. "No way. Problem with that is, we usually had our trysts at this log cabin over in Deep Woods, Virginia. It was her place, but it had no electricity, no running water. And that film is digital, taken by cameras that cost thousands and thousands of dollars. Kelly makes about 45 grand a year, before taxes. She couldn’t possibly afford the hardware or the independent power source, the camera angles and lighting are of an extremely professional quality. And quite honestly, I didn't pick an intelligence operative to screw around with. I was set up."

"We have to check her bank records, Ken. Receipts, purchases, prior employers, off-shore accounts…".

"I’ve already got Charles Zegland at the CIA working on it. He’s got suspects, he’s got leads. Nothing solid yet."

Marty's shoulders slumped under the weight of all of this news. "Ken, I’ve got to know. How did you hide this for so long? From me, especially? I see you damn near every day, and I’ve never seen you look at another woman!"

"Timing." The President turned on CNN, on the television which hung from the ceiling. There were Bernard Shaw, Wolf Blitzer, Pat Buchanan… and lots of digitally fuzzed pictures, made family-friendly for broadcast. He muted the sound; there was no need to hear what the pundits were saying. "You know how I’d always go up to Camp David on Sundays while my wife would take the kids to church. Well, Kelly’s place was on the way, right off the same road, in fact. If there was ever any danger of being followed or seen, I’d just head on over to C.D. If not… it was party time."

Marty nervously rubbed her lips with her finger; luckily, she hadn’t had time to put on any make-up. "Who else knew about this?"

"All my agents. Jennifer. Me and Kelly. At least, that’s where I thought the circle ended."

"You think that maybe one of the Secret Service guys blew the whistle?"

The President shook his head. "No. No way. They’re all loyal to me. Besides, every one of them has girls in multiple cities, all of whom I know about. Quid pro quo, Marty."

Gurevic sat back down heavily in her chair, just shaking her head slowly back and forth. She couldn’t believe what had happened, she just couldn’t. The Domino Effect of this disaster would sweep and clear everything the Stevens team had worked so hard to accomplish. Everything would be gone, a mere ripple in a sea of sleaze.

But Marty thought about it further. If the First Lady knew about Ken and the secretary, and had lovers of her own… well, who had the President really hurt? They were staying together for their children. They were two consenting adults. They were being as discreet as possible, at least until the President had been stabbed in the back. This had been between the two of them, and should have remained between the two of them, period. Had Kelly not turned out to be a paid shill… Marty started to chuckle, slowly, sadly.

Ken turned around from the window, and smiled himself. "Well, I’m glad you’ve found some humor in this situation. Would you care to share?"

"Damn it, Ken, you are one stupid bastard, and you did one hell of a stupid thing. But I just can’t be mad at you. This was dirty pool. Dirty effin’ pool. I would have loved to have read your encyclopedia entry if this had never happened."

Ken sat down next to her. "I know. I know, hon’."

Marty turned to look at the President, her friend and her leader. "So, when are you going to resign?"

Ken’s face went blank for a minute, then his smile returned, bigger than before. "Marty, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not going anywhere."

"But you said it yourself, they’re going to impeach you. Look at these pictures, those tapes… do you really think that any Senator on the Hill will vote to keep you in office with your… with this stuff out there for everyone to see?"

Ken’s neck seemed to tense up a little bit. "I’ve always been a fighter, and now I’m extremely pissed off. Every Congressman on Capitol Hill hated my guts before I got caught with my britches down, and now they’re all going to be licking their chops to get me out. Of course, the Veep is even more independent than I am, they’d really love to have to deal with him. But now my adrenaline’s flowing along with my blood. I’m a wounded animal, a dangerous wounded animal at that. And I’ve got a plan."

Marty let out an explosive laugh. "A plan?!? A PLAN?!? Oh, great, this I’ve just got to hear. Lay it on me, Ken."

Ken picked up a gold pen and started clicking the point up and down. His face betrayed nothing. "We’ve got a mole."

Marty’s smile disappeared. "What?"

"A spy. An agent for a foreign nation. And he… or she… is a Senator."

"Your joking," Marty whispered.

The President continued. "Information was given to the CIA by completely reliable sources, whose identities must, of course, remain anonymous to ensure their safety and continued ability to operate undercover. This information reads to the effect that one of our Senators is on the take for an enemy power. In the interest of National Security, and as head of the Executive Branch, I have unlimited authority to investigate such matters, up to and including having the CIA, FBI and NSA put together file dossiers on every one of those sons of bitches. None of which requires Congressional notification, as you well know, since that would defeat the purpose of a top-secret investigation."

Marty felt her heart beating faster. "This ... this is too good to be true."

Ken’s smile returned. "You’re right. It is too good to be true. I always knew you were smart."

Marty’s head cocked to the left, her hair swinging onto her shoulder with a rustle. "What do you mean? You just made this story up?"

"Yup."

Marty shook her head. "Too bad. You really had me going there for a minute. It would have made a hell of a movie."

"It should; that story line was suggested by Brian Savian."

"The film director?" She could feel her head pulsing with her heartbeat.

"Director, writer, producer, special effects innovator… and extremely generous contributor to my campaigns. I was in some of his early films, you know. They helped to establish his reputation. Once I got into politics, I arranged a permit for him to film on some government-owned property, which just happened to have some threatened species of plant life. The nature people weren’t pleased, but even they had to admit, after it was over, that no damage had been done. In fact, with all the attention the whole thing caused, contributions to Earth charities went way up. Anyway, Savian’s had a few flings himself, and he’s been through the ringer. I called him even before I called you, and he flew that scenario past me. He gave me the ‘film rights’ gratis. And I’m going to use his story now."

Marty’s face went ashen. "Wait a minute. You’re not going to…"

"Yes, I sure as hell am."

"Whoa, Ken. This is completely nuts, this is like ‘Wag the Dog’ on acid."

"No, this is a lot better. We’re going to take this slow. I’ll refuse to respond directly, walk the fine line between being contrite about my affair and pissed about my privacy being invaded. I’ll make a stink about the pictures being sent to my family and my children, and I’ll raise hell about blackmail. I’ll also hint at the sins of my accusers, without being too specific. I’ll just get angrier and angrier. While the press is having their field day, Savian’s company will be working on some perks for me, which should be ready in about a week."

"Perks? What kind of perks?"

"Just things to fall back on for added effectiveness. Best you don’t know the details. I don’t want you to be involved in this any more than you have to be. The less you know, the less trouble you’ll be in later if things go wrong."

Marty sighed. "Well, I appreciate that, at least."

Ken grinned. "I thought you would. The files, courtesy of Zegland, will be ready at about the same time. I’ll let events take their course, let the Congress set up the impeachment procedures… then turn on the car and step on the gas."

Marty closed her eyes. "It will never work, Ken. No way in hell."

"It’s got to," the President replied. "Look, Marty, we don’t live in a parliamentary system, where our nation’s elected leader can simply be removed and replaced by the will and whim of the Congress. Just look what that’s done to Russia, to Israel, to England. Someone is looking to weaken the Presidency, not just ruin me. If I go, no one who holds this office will ever be effective again. They’ll have to live the life of a saint, or they’ll be tossed out the door. Remember the last time we elected a saint to be President… does the name Jimmy Carter mean anything to you?"

Marty nodded. "Yeah, Jimmy was a real sweet man."

"I don’t disagree with you. He’s a great guy with a heart of gold. And he damn near wrecked this country because he didn’t have it in him to be the liar, cheater, bully and overall ball-

buster that a President sometimes has to be. Has to be, Marty."

"Hey, Tricky Dick was certainly all of those. Look where it got him."

The President waved a finger slowly in front of her. "Because Nixon didn’t know how to balance the good with the bad. He was paranoid, he was greedy... he turned to the Dark Side, and couldn’t be saved. I’m not paranoid, Marty. I know that everyone’s against me."

Marty nodded. "Point taken. What about the Veep, Ken?"

The President stood up and rolled down his shirt sleeves. "Mosely’s on his way back here from Saudi Arabia, he was visiting our base in Riyadh. When he gets back in town today, I’ll fill him in on the details. He hates Congress more than I do. He’ll understand, and I guarantee, he’ll play along."

"And the CIA?" Marty was, strangely enough, starting to believe this scheme might work.

"Zegland’s my buddy from Vietnam. I saved his ass from a land mine in ‘73, and all he lost was a few toes. Don’t worry about him. He’s part of my ‘Kitchen Cabinet’... just like you are. The people I trust most in the world. Hey, do you think I would have shown you those pictures myself if I didn't trust you? They’re not exactly family portraits ... although I guess you’d have seen them eventually." The President began to put on his tie.

Marty stood up again, folding her arms in front of her. "I wish I’d never seen them."

"Me, too."

Marty squinted involuntarily, as if trying to see something far away that wasn’t there. "I don’t know, Ken. I just don’t know. You’ve got the pieces in place. But it sounds an awful lot like we’ll be pulling wool over the eyes of the American people."

"On the contrary," said the President. "The Congress is chock full of people who have done things a lot worse than me. And America deserves to know who they’ve elected to lead them and represent their interests. There’s going to be a bunch of sermonizing and holier-than-thou bluster coming from the Rotunda in the next few days. There will be a public debate on my moral and ethical fitness to hold this office. Someone over there is using me to destroy this country. We’re going to show the American people the truth, even if we have to lie a little bit to do it." He slipped on his suit jacket, now looking fully presidential. "And where they once were blind, now they shall see."
 
 

Later that morning, the President called an emergency press conference. Suffice to say, there were hundreds of reporters and cameras prepared to snap into fiction; the atmosphere in the room was like a feeding frenzy waiting to happen. All over the nation, televisions and radios were tuned in. Media study groups were in place to measure public response and mood. Pollsters were prowling the countryside. America stood on the precipice, waiting to jump.

Ken Stevens approached the microphone, right on time, flanked by Gurevic, three Cabinet members and Secret Service agents. His eyes were clear, and the puffiness around the left one was gone, as if by magic. His complexion was its normal pale hue, his hair neatly swept into place. He looked almost regal, every bit like the movie star he once was. The room became as silent as the vacuum of space. The President cleared his throat and began to speak.

"I’d like to preface my remarks this morning by saying that this will be my only statement on this matter, until such time as the government decides to take official action. My words today are in no way directed towards any print, broadcast or Internet commentator, nor are they directed towards any private citizen who honestly believes at this point that my immediate resignation is called for. As you know, the First Amendment has no greater champion than myself, and I would never want to be mistaken for a politically correct liberal or a puritanical conservative... although at this juncture, the latter seems highly unlikely."

The reporters in the room laughed nervously. They were surprised that, despite the obvious discomfort and shame he must be feeling, Stevens still had the composure to tell a joke, and a self-deprecating one at that. Perhaps his acting talents had been underestimated. The President continued.

"That being said, I now aiddress directly the 535 members of Congress, particularly those who have been so quick this morning to unsheathe their swords and scream for my head. I hope you call for the commencement of impeachment proceedings with the same alacrity and enthusiasm, I really do. Because I am letting you all know right now- I am the duly elected President of these United States of America, and I intend to keep this post until the last minute of the last day of my term. Get used to it. I will not be scared away."

An uproar by the Press Corps was immediately quelled by the President pounding a gavel on the lectern in front of him. It was a completely unexpected and dramatic move, and it worked to perfection.

"The Constitution provides for one method, and only one method, for my permanent removal, one over which I have no power to control. I challenge the distinguished members of our governing body to use that method if they so desire. Because if all they can do is call for me to step down without using the means at their disposal to make that wish a reality, if my critics cannot muster the will to act in the face of my 70% approval rating, then they are people without courage who have lost their right, and their mandate, to govern this great nation."

"Maybe the calls for my resignation that are still resounding so loudly in the Rotunda this morning are simply sauce for the goose, or more accurately, carrion for the carnivores. A way to muster votes and polish resumes, in anticipation of the elections that will be held less than two years from now. Perhaps the Congress realizes the inherent weakness in the case for my removal, and will simply wait for a more politically opportune moment to strike to use these new revelations. Either way, it makes no difference. To the Congress I say this. Impeachment proceedings have little meaning or significance to me. If they have none to you, then begin them now, this very day. I'm already growing tired of your moralizing."

"I apologize to the members of the White House Press Corps, for the many thousands of questions you have for me that I will not be answering. I know that you’re just trying to do your jobs, and I’m sorry that, for a brief time at least, you're going to have to go home with empty steno pads. I hope that you will understand the many obligations and time constraints I have working against me. But you can quote me on this: when this is all over, and we look back on the storied past of our country and its government, we will remember this day, this particular moment, as the start of one of the most important and frightening chapters in this nation’s history. My legacy is still being written, and it is my obligation to see that what is recorded for posterity is factual, honest and true. Let me assure you, I take my responsibilities in that regard very seriously. I warn the members of Congress to do the same."

Stevens walked briskly off the podium and out the door. And then, the universe began to spin on its ear.
 
 

Senator Alden Ketchum (R-Utah) had arrived at his office on the Hill at 6:30 AM to start his work. That was two hours earlier than normal, and it was just past 8 PM now, but Ketchum felt particularly invigorated on this Thursday evening. Just two days before, the House of Representatives had voted by a count of 377 to 58 to bring impeachment proceedings against President Stevens. 54 of the 58 dissenters were members of Stevens’ own Populist Party, who had given their leader 100 percent support. Out of the other four, one was a gay Democrat, two were Libertarians, and the last was a Republican backbencher, disgraced by his own sexual misbehavior while in office.

Ketchum hated Stevens, hated him with a passion. And now, as head of the Senate Judiciary Committee, he would be a key voice in making sure that Stevens was handed his pants and shown the door from Washington. Of course, thanks to his brilliant planning and impeccable execution, he had already gone a long way towards making that conclusion inexorable.

MS-NBC was playing on the television which hung suspended from his ceiling. Every 30 seconds, a different Congressman or public figure appeared with a sound bite. There was Senator Pine ("…that escapee from Sodom has soiled his office worse than any other..."), Representative Kennedy ("...just think we ought to sit back and wait before..."), Senator Dos Passos ("...question whether this is the kind of moral leader America truly..."), Senator Reinig ("That’s what happens when you allow non-party affiliated politicians and glorified actors..."), Press Secretary Martina Gurevic ("No Comment. No Comment. No Comment..."), Larry Flynt, smut peddler ("...can’t believe someone beat me to the punch..."). And in between, President Stevens appeared with a young nymphet, certain anatomical areas pixilated for the public’s protection, but the picture still perfectly clear.

Oh, how he had revelled in watching those tapes of Stevens and that bimbo from the White House Secretarial Pool. Even though his religious background and upbringing told him that such material was obscene, he watched them over and over again, and enjoyed every minute of it. Watched the President fornicate with this trollop, bathing in lust, sinning against the good Lord. She had been so easy to black mail, so easy to dupe... all he had to do was fund a little "extralegal" background check to discover her three arrests while in college for possession of marijuana... three arrests which she had conveniently left off of her employment application.

Once he had threatened Kelly with revealing these past indiscretions, thus costing her a job she had worked so hard to get, the cut of her blouse had lowered by three inches. Her skirts were a foot shorter. Her underwear had gone from cotton to silk. And she willingly turned her attentions to a man who she would never once have looked at. Not that Stevens wasn’t a good-looking guy, but he was over 20 years her senior, with two young kids and a pit viper for a wife. Funny how such things are forgotten when your life and livelihood are at stake.

As for the Senator, he felt no guilt about anything. He didn’t consider what he had done to be wrong, even if it was illegal. He had done it for the greater good, the good the America, the good of Conservatism, and of course, the good of Christ. He’d made sure as best he could that his trail would be untraceable; but even if they did eventually connect him to the tapes, he didn’t care. He’d simply say that he suspected the President was lying about his marital fidelity all along, and that for the good of the Presidency, he had taken matters into his own hands. The content of the tapes would cement his case, at least among the people who counted.

Ketchum went back to working on his opening line of questioning, preparing to grill Stevens so badly that he would fall to his knees and beg for mercy... which of course, would not be forthcoming. After a few minutes he felt as if he were in a trance, as if a divine power had taken hold of his pen and was channeling the Word through him. Suddenly a knock came at his office door, and his page entered, a young man of about 25 hailing from the Senator’s home state.

"Senator, are you watching?"

Ketchum looked up, rather annoyed that his train of thought had been interrupted. "Watching what, Andrew?"

"Look at the TV, sir. The Emergency Broadcast System has been activated."

Ketchum’s pen dropped out of his hand. "What do you mean, the Emergency Broadcast System?"

"Exactly what I said, sir. It’s flashing a bulletin, that the President of the United States will be making an urgent statement of the utmost importance in 55 minutes. All Senators are to report to the Chamber and take their places. Giant screens have been set up on the floor, along with special phone lines. I think... this could be it. And it’s Prime Time Thursday. Everyone in the country is going to be watching."

Ketchum slammed his hand on his desk, and let out a whoop of delight. He’d done it! He’d gotten that piece of garbage to call it quits! He was a hero, and after the next election, he would mop the floor with Vice President Moseby and become President himself. He jumped out of his chair like a kid, despite his 63 years of age and an arthritic hip, and practically danced down to his seat on the floor. Because of the innumerable hearings and votes of late, there would be full attendance, which was all the better.

Ketchum took his place, looking at the cellular phone on his Senate seat with some confusion, but otherwise exhilarated. Senators bandied about, exchanging pleasantries and secret smiles. There were no pages or aides allowed on the floor in this session; the only invitees were the members of the Old Boy’s Club. And all of them seemed to be thinking the same thing; no one seemed particularly displeased about what was about to happen. The 55 minutes seemed to take years, but finally, at precisely 9:03 PM EST, the screen activated, and the President was on the air. He looked haggard, he looked exhausted... he looked defeated. At least, that what Ketchum thought.

"My fellow Americans, I wish you a good evening. I have been forced by certain developing circumstances to come on the air tonight and address you directly. I know I haven’t been forthcoming with you these past few weeks, and I’m sure that based on what you’ve seen, and what you have and haven’t heard, your confidence in me to lead this great nation has eroded. I know that if I was in your place, I would feel the same way.

"That said, I would like to take this opportunity to set the record straight, once and for all. The tapes and photographs which have been so prominently displayed by all manner of the media in recent days... are legitimate. I admit that, over the past two years, I have been carrying on an extramarital affair with the young lady who has been identified by the press as Kelly Drurry. My relationship with Ms. Drurry was carried on with the full knowledge and consent of my wife; Jennifer and I have been living together for the sake of our young children, but our relationship has not been one of marriage for the past four and a half years.

"My wife and I had hoped that our children would have an opportunity to grow up in a stable environment, at least until they were old enough to understand why their parents didn’t love each other anymore. Because of the release of these tapes and photographs, the vindictive action of a completely amoral, unfeeling, ethically challenged individual, we will not have that chance. My children have seen what all of you have seen, and they are now traumatized by it, perhaps beyond repair. I blame myself for not waiting until I was out of office to begin another personal relationship. I was in love with Ms. Drurry, and sometimes love can make you do things you later regret. I certainly do. I apologize profusely for acting in a manner unbecoming of a man in my position. I apologize for lying under oath in depositions last year, when I said that I had never had an extramarital affair. While my innocence has been borne out in each and every other case against me, and rightly so, my guilt in this particular regard is undeniable.
 
 

"I am sure that there are a good number of you who join with the members of Congress in seeking my removal from office. Again, based on what you’ve been shown, I can’t say I blame any of you. Most of us do not want a liar leading their nation. And I know that the salacious nature of the evidence you've been presented doesn't make any of you feel any better.

"But I would like to say this: I do not apologize for loving Ms. Drurry, or for making love to Ms. Drurry. I enjoyed every minute I was with her, as I’m sure the tapes have amply demonstrated; I had hoped to spend a good many more years with her down the line. As I told you a few weeks ago, in my press conference on the day this travesty became public knowledge, I will not voluntarily leave office, under any circumstances, simply because my love life has been documented for posterity."

One hundred smiles, whether interior or exterior, disappeared in the span of one heart beat. Ketchum felt a wave of fury rise up inside of him; how dare that son-of-a-bitch flout his sins in my face!, he thought to himself.

Stevens continued. "My private life should have remained private, and has been horribly invaded. My lies about the existence of the relationship between Ms. Drurry and myself were to protect my children, and I hope that you, the people who elected me, would go to the same lengths to protect your families from the embarrassment, humiliation, and grief that mine has suffered. Further, the detailed transcripts of my encounters with Ms. Drurry clearly show that at no time were matters of national security brought up between us. Clearly, the American people have nothing to fear in that regard, and I thank the press for taking the time to report objectively on this fact at the very least.

"Now, I realize that this may sound strange, but everything I’ve said to you so far tonight is only in prologue. My confessions and apologies this evening are not the real reason I am addressing the American people. Were that the case, I certainly would not have used the Emergency Broadcast System to do it. My real purpose tonight is to reveal to you a matter of national urgency that each and every one of you out there has a right, as citizens of this nation, to know about.

"It has recently come to the attention of your President that there is a traitor among us, whom we have determined to be a U.S.Senator, in point of fact. This Senator, who was entrusted

with his or her office by you, the citizens of this great nation, sold highly guarded military secrets and other sensitive and classified information to the outlaw nation of Libya, which resulted directly in the deaths of 247 American servicemen and women in last year’s bombing of our base in Incirlik, Turkey. This Senator has endangered all of our lives, and put his or her personal interests above and beyond his constitutional duty to protect the life, liberty and property of the American people. Thanks to the tremendous efforts, diligence and skill of the Central Intelligence Agency, who discovered this information, a secret investigation was launched approximately five weeks ago. This is a full two weeks before news of my extramarital affair became public, so it should be clear that this is not an attempt to draw attention away from my own sins.

"As Chief Executive Officer, and as Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces, it was within my purview to conduct said investigation without the approval, or even the knowledge, of the Congress. This was especially important in light of the fact that seeking such approval would have been self-defeating, as the guilty party would have time to cover his or her tracks. The CIA, FBI and National Security Agency have put together files on all 100 current members of the U.S. Senate. These files cover the activities, whether legal, illegal, immoral, or even questionable, of every member of this governing body over their lifetimes, starting from the age of 18 in most cases, earlier in a few. This was necessary in order to track exactly how long this particular Senator has in fact been an agent for a foreign power.

"The good news, my fellow Americans, is that we have found the traitor. I will reveal that person’s identity tonight, as well as display the voluminous evidence the Executive Branch has collected against this individual. I am sure that, after you view it, you will have as little doubt as we have about that person’s guilt. I realize that the manner by which these actions are being taken is extremely irregular, and perhaps, technically illegal; however, the Senate doors have now been locked, to insure that the traitor’s escape is impossible. Units from the Maryland and Virginia National Guard are stationed outside the Capitol building and throughout the city. When this evening is over, the Senator in question will be arrested and charged with treason, a high crime against the state for which the penalty of death is a punishment option.

"There is some bad news, I’m afraid. In putting together these files, it was discovered that the people you have chosen to lead this nation, to make the laws which you and I live by every day, to look out for our best interests and put our needs above their own, are all, without exception, corrupt. You have been deceived, and I cannot in good conscience allow this deception to continue. There is an added personal relevance for me, one I’m sure you will have no difficulty understanding. This group of 100 men and women are to be my judge and jury. You put them in the chairs in which they now sit, and they are the ones who will pass judgment on me for my indiscretions.

"It might be difficult to tell from the tone of my voice tonight, but I am extremely angry, and bitter, and hurt by what has been done to me. I am addressing the Congress directly, and not the American people, when I say that I am furious at the complete lack of support and understanding I have received since I took my Oath of Office. I know that there are political differences, party alignments, favors denied and legislation vetoed, that might cause hard feelings between us. But our job, regardless of party affiliation or personal belief, was to work together for the greater good of this country. My efforts to carry out the will of the American people have been sabotaged left and right, simply because I refuse to be bought by anyone, or be indebted to anyone. This is unforgivable.

"I am also a very vengeful man when thrown against the wall. I have held myself in check for six long years, hoping that the Congress would understand their responsibilities and put aside their animosity and partisanship. Things have only gotten worse, despite my best efforts. My patience is gone. My tolerance threshold has been exceeded. To paraphrase William Holden from ‘Network’, I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore. Call it payback. Call it blackmail. Call it vindictive. Call it what you will. I call what I am about to do... justice.

"I have decided that the public has a right to know everything in these files. And I mean EVERYTHING. I will not allow any further deception. No more games. I will not go off the air until the contents of every one of these files become public knowledge. I will sit here for days, or weeks, if necessary, to bring candor and honesty back to the fabric of this government. I have instructed my own Vice President and my Cabinet members to come clean on their own accord, and they have all, without exception, agreed to do so. In particular, Vice President Moseby has agreed to join me on the air this evening, as a gesture of good faith, to begin clearing the air in the halls of this government which right now reek of dishonesty.

"I warn the American people in advance; some of what you will see and hear this evening will sicken you. Frighten you. Infuriate you. Shock you to the very foundations of your soul. I apologize in advance for the nature of this material, and strongly suggest that parents supervise their children’s access to the television accordingly. My team here has attempted to make the material as fit for broadcast as is possible, and I believe, for the most part, we have suceeded. But I do not want to take any chances. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Vice President of the United States, Henry Moseby."

The camera shifted to the President’s left, and there sat Henry Moseby, the first black man to hold the position of Vice President. He was just as popular as his running mate; a proper recounting of the hardships he had overcome to reach his current level of achievement would be to do unbelievable for even Hollywood to dream up.

Moseby was a little younger than Stevens, but had done an awful lot during his time in the political arena. Mayor of Cincinnati, Governor of Ohio, Ambassador to the United Nations. And yet, in all that time, he had refused to join any political movement, had maintained his independence from party platforms with unmatched effectiveness. Although Stevens and Moseby had grown up thousands of miles apart, and lived very different lives, that one common fact made them the best of friends.

"Good evening. First off, I would like to take this opportunity to tell all of my fellow citizens out there that I fully support my friend and Commander-in-Chief, President Stevens. Quite frankly, I don’t care what he does with his private time, as long as it’s legal and enjoyable.

"It hit me very hard when I learned of this atrocious attack on our nation’s leader. I saw him left as a sheep amongst the wolves, and let me say that it sickens me to no end. When the President suggested that we bring full candor back to national politics, I enthusiastically agreed. Not necessarily because I feel that the public has a right to know about the intimacies of my life, or anyone else’s life, but because I simply did not want to see my friend left to fend for himself all alone.

"I’m going to keep this short and sweet, so that we can get back to more important business. When I was 26 years old, and a graduate student at Ohio State, I was arrested and charged with driving while intoxicated. The arrest resulted from my involvement in an automobile accident, in which I seriously injured two occupants of my own car. I had severe difficulties with alcohol during my mid-20’s, and this served as a wake-up call in my life. However, because of my family’s political ties, I managed to get the incident expunged from my record, and a large cash settlement was paid by my family to keep the incident quiet.

"Honestly, I do not even remember the names of the people I was with; they were acquaintances of mine from the campus town. If they feel like coming forward to confirm the story, I wholeheartedly support their doing so. If the press feels like following up the story, they should feel free to dig. I’m sorry I won’t be able to provide any help in that regard, but again, it happened 25 years ago, and I had almost forgotten about it. I’ve seen how the press likes to open old wounds, and even rip new ones on occasion, so I figure, if Ken Stevens is going to be humiliated for this trivial peccadillo, then as his partner in running this country, I should at least join him.

"I'm sorry I never divulged this incident in the course of my political campaigns. I’m sorry I had the nerve to address MADD and SADD conventions, and throw my support to anti-alcohol groups, without letting them know who was standing before them. Perhaps, if this mistake from my younger days had been public knowledge, I would not even be here today telling you about it. And I would regret that, because I have enjoyed every minute of my time in the political ring. I’ve enjoyed stirring things up, shaking the foundations, and most of all, working for you, the American people."

Tears began running down Moseby’s cheeks, although his voice remained rock-solid. "If this is to be my last night in office, I would just like to say thank you to every person who ever voted for me, for giving me this priceless opportunity. I am forever in your debt. God Bless You, and these United States of America."

Moseby wiped his tears away with his suit-jacketed arm, and his image left the viewing screen. Moseby walked out of the frame, back behind the cameras, to a man sitting in a Hollywood-style Director’s Chair. The name on the back said "Brian Savian".

"Well, how’d I do?" Moseby asked.

Savian flashed a wolfish grin from ear to ear, and swung his shaggy rock-star’s hair from the left to the right. "Hank, my man, I swear to God, you’re better than fuckin’ DeNiro! And the tears! You didn’t even need the glycerin drops! A primo touch."

Moseby smiled right back. "Thanks. You’re a great director." He turned to see that Stevens had begun addressing his audience again. "How do you think that went over with Joe Peoria?"

Savian considered. "I think that if an election were held tomorrow, you’d probably get the highest percentage of your life."

Moseby nodded, satisfied. "I’m almost sad that the story’s not altogether true. What about the guys in Ohio? Everything in place?"

"Yup. It wasn’t hard to find those two buddies of yours. I gave ‘em a nice stack of greenbacks and a little coaching, and in return, they’re willing to turn your little innocent fender bender into the worst traffic accident in automotive history. Unbelievable how money talks."

"And you’re sure they'll do it? They’re not going to rat us out?"

"Henry, with the cash I gave them, those guys have already convinced themselves that they lost limbs and had to be revived with defibrilators. They’ll swear you chugged a quart of Jack Daniels before you got behind the wheel, and they’ll probably believe that for the rest of their lives. But pretty soon, it won’t matter worth a damn what they say."

Moseby nodded again. "True enough."
 
 

Stevens took to the air again. "I want to thank my partner Hank Moseby for having the courage to come forward to help a friend. There aren’t many people on this planet who would do that for anyone. I’m pretty damned lucky, all things considered.

"Now, to move on. I would first like to tell you, my viewing public, who is responsible for the procuring and release of my bedroom activities. Although he took great pains to cover his tracks, it was not particularly difficult to find the culprit. My special thanks to Ms. Drurry, who confessed to me the reason why she agreed to take part in this attempt at political black-mail. I have accepted her explanation, and I have forgiven her, despite what happens to me.

"The guilty. party is Senator Alden Ketchum from Utah. Congratulations, Senator." A smile appeared on Steven’s face. "Your efforts to advance the agenda of the Radical Right are unprecedented in their zeal."

Every head in the Senate Chamber turned to Ketchum, who sat at his desk, a blank look on his face. Where were the cheers? The pats on the back, the shouts of support and gratitude for what he had accomplished? What was this silence? This cold, creeping silence? He was trying to think of some sort of aggressive verbal counterpunch, but he was distracted by the grimaces of anger and disgust on the faces of his peers. He was bewildered by the fact that Drurry actually had the gifts to confess her role. He was stunned that his damage control and concealment measures had failed so quickly and miserably. He hadn’t expected that. No, he hadn’t foreseen any of this at all. Then, before he could react, the President began to speak again. Ketchum had run out of time.

"Senator Ketchum has long held himself out to be a moral paragon, a poster boy for family values and the champion of a good, Christian America." The smile disappeared from his face, replaced by a look of unadulterated rage. "HYPOCRITE!!!"

The Senate Chamber reverberated that word so loudly that everyone in the room cringed in terror. Ketchum, the lone exception, didn’t move a muscle. He was paralyzed.

Stevens let the rage die down for a few seconds, then found his calm voice again. "It’s time for payback, Alden. Good, Christian payback. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. That’s what the Good Book says, right? Well, you can add dignity for dignity."

The President reached under his desk, and pulled out a video tape. "I have something to show you, Alden. Something I’m sure you never wanted the American people to see, or your voting base at the very least. You didn’t think that anyone was watching, but you forgot the cardinal rule; when you enter the world of politics, everyone is watching you, ALL THE TIME. I apologize that I'm forced to resort to simple video. DVD would have been better, but this is the original, not a copy."

He stood and walked over to a VCR, placed above a television on an entertainment center wheeled into the Oval Office for the occasion. He inserted the tape, and picked up the remote control.

"My fellow Americans, this tape was taken 13 years ago, right here in Washington. Senator Ketchum was only a Representative back then. Apparently, the noble Senator from Utah also has quite a sexual appetite. But while mine runs the more conventional route, his tastes... well, I’ll let the tape do all the talking."

He hit the ‘play’ button, and his face disappeared from the screen, replaced by a view of a dimly-lit side entrance to the Capitol building. The eyes of every Senator were transfixed to the screen; Ketchum had begun to turn deadly pale.

It was an above-ground view, taken from the second or third floor of a nearby building, or perhaps even a large tree. The doorway opened, and out stepped Ketchum, dressed nattily in a suit and tie. He looked nervously to his left and right, his face moving in and out of the available light, then put his fingers in his mouth as if to whistle. Unfortunately, there was no sound on the video.

Seconds later, a teenaged boy appeared in the picture. His face was obscured by shadow, but the rest was easy to see. Ketchum began to shake in his seat; he wanted to cry out, but his throat could not produce a sound.

The boy knelt before Ketchum, pulled down the Senator’s suit pants, and engaged in an activity considered illegal in several states, even if both parties involved were of age. It didn’t last long, only a couple of minutes. Not much could actually be seen; in fact, it was only the movement of the boy’s head which made what was going on abundantly clear. Several Senators fainted at the sight of it. There were cries of horror all over the room. Two Senators vomited at their seats, sending an appropriate cloud of sickness wafting through the air. Others ran to the doors to try to escape, but as the President had warned, they were securely locked and guarded on the outside. At least one Senator began to laugh hysterically.

When he was finished, the Senator put his clothing back in order. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what was obviously U.S. Currency. The boy accepted it with a Cheshire Cat smile; to top it off, Ketchum patted him appreciatively on the rump. The boy then slinked off into the darkness; two minutes later, apparently satisfied that his "service provider" was long gone, Ketchum strode out of view as if nothing had happened.

Then, mercifully, the tape ended, and Stevens reappeared. He began to clap, very slowly, very sarcastically. "What a performance, Alden. Bravo! I’m sure that the Prince of Darkness approves. Now, Senator, there is a phone on your desk. Pick it up and dial 101."

Ketchum, who looked as though every ounce of blood had been drained from his body, reached for the phone with a quaking hand. He dialed the number, and then a phone in the Oval Office began to ring. The President picked it up.

"Hello, Alden," he said darkly. "Anything you’d like to confess?"

Ketchum squealed, his voice an octave higher than normal, "YOU BASTARD! THAT TAPE IS A FAKE!! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Language, Senator. Watch your language, this is Prime Time. There might be other pedophiles watching, and the network censors won’t have time to bleep you out."

"You’ve ruined me, you son-of-a-bitch! That tape's a fake, and you’ve ruined me!!" The veins in Ketchum’s neck looked as if they were about to blow apart. "I’LL KILL YOU FOR THIS!!! I SWEAR I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!"

"Hmm." Stevens rubbed his chin with mock severity. "That’s a pretty serious threat to make against the President of the United States, Alden. One I’ll have to take literally, I’m afraid. But before I have you arrested for threatening to assassinate me on national television in front of 300 million witnesses, I’d just like to ask one more question." He pulled out a box from under his desk, and reached inside. His hands produced 5 more videos. "If that one’s a fake, are all of these tapes fakes, too? I don’t know if I should show your further escapades to this wonderful nation of ours. I’m not sure how much more of this we can stomach. Senators Blanchard and Quinn have already lost their stomachs, to be perfectly frank."

Ketchum looked around the Senate floor. Every person in the room had already made up their minds that Alden Ketchum was a perv, that he and Michael Jackson were fast friends. Ketchum began to cry.

Stevens snorted in disgust, "Oh, for Christ’s sake, Alden, be a man, will ya? I know it’s hard for you, but you’re caught, and you’re not going to be able to weasel out of it this time. Just admit it. Come clean, like you forced me to do. Tell your family, your wife and your children, how you get your kicks from the Macauley Culkin jet set. I’ll tell you what- confess now, and I’ll drop the terroristic threat charges. You’ll still go to jail for life for conspiracy, black-mail, bribery, extortion, and of course, the little NAMBLA connection. But at least you might have a chance for parole before you die."

He waved the tapes on the screen, waiting for an answer. Ketchum stopped crying, and just stood there in a funk. Stevens didn’t let that last long.

"All right, Alden. Let's just put it this way. If I don’t get an answer from you in 10 seconds, I’m going to play all of these tapes without stopping, including the one from Ocho Rios. 10... 9... 8...".

"ALL RIGHT!! DON’T DO IT, FOR GOD’S SAKE!! I CONFESS!!! I CONFESS!!!" He began to sob again. "Please ... please don’t... my wife... my kids... they… don’t, please. Not Ocho Rios!" His body was racked by near convulsions of guilt. "I don’t remember the... the boy on the tape. I thought there was only one boy... just one boy ... or maybe two, I don’t remember any more...".

Alden Ketchum cried uncontrollably now. He fell back into his chair, broken and battered. Everyone within 20 feet of him got up and evacuated the area.

Stevens smiled. "Stop being so wishy-washy. One, two, twenty-two... it doesn’t really matter. There, now. That’s much better, isn’t it? Doesn’t it feel good to get that dirty little secret out in the open?" He threw the tapes back into the box, including the one in the VCR. "How does it feel to be free, Alden? Liberated! Ohh, yeah!"

Stevens threw his hands in the air and spun like a whirling dervish. Then, after his end-zone dance, he sat behind his desk and took off his tie; he almost appeared to be enjoying himself. Savian flashed a quick "thumbs-up" from his off-camera director’s chair.

"Well, now that you’ve confessed to being a kiddie-lover, and destroyed yourself in the process, I have some even worse news, Alden. Another confession of my own, if you will. That tape I just showed everyone in America, the one that got you to pull your skin off and reveal the skeleton ... you were right. It IS a fake. A digital construct, a fabrication, a sham."

Ketchum stopped crying, and began to wheeze like he had whooping cough.

"You’ve been had, Alden, you sick jerk. We had the paper trail on your Ken Stevens Video Enterprise all figured out, but all we could come up with on your private life was a bunch of unsubstantiated rumors. The best lead we could dig up was a papparazzi photographer in Jamaica, who thought he might have seen you near that club in Ocho Rios on your last vacation. But he didn’t know for certain whether you even went inside. Now, he does. We all do. Thanks for your remarkable candor. America is grateful."

In a specially-prepared room at CNN in Atlanta, 200 people sat in front of computer terminals. They were a random sampling of the general populace, with a built-in margin of error of +/- 5.5 points. Their purpose: to track the President’s approval rating minute by minute during his television appearance. At the start, the little blue line on the screen (created by each person’s movement of a small joystick) hovered at around 25%. In an instant, it was now at 75%... and climbing with a bullet.

Ketchum grabbed his chest, cried out, and fell to the ground in a heap. Immediately, with almost preternatural speed, a side door reserved for aides and pages opened, and two paramedics with full gear and a stretcher entered the room. They were accompanied by six National Guardsmen armed with AK-47 Assault Rifles. Before anyone had time to say anything, or do anything, Ketchum was carted out, on his way to Bethesda Naval Hospital. The door closed and locked behind them.

Stevens shook his head, almost sadly. "Luckily, we also checked into the Senator’s physical condition. We found out that Mr. Ketchum managed to conceal the existence of a congenital heart problem from his constituents, while claiming throughout his campaigns that he was in perfect health."

He took a sip of water from a personalized Presidential mug, sighed contentedly, and turned the page of a small loose-leaf binder which was open on his desk. "Time to move on to the next Senator."

The Senate floor sounded like a bunch of howling wolves, with screams of ‘DON’T DO IT!’ and ‘OH MY GOD!’ punctuating the jumbled cacophony. Stevens interrupted the din. "But before I do, I’d like to give you all an opportunity to save yourselves some mortal embarrassment. I’m not sure that I want to punish the whole Congress like I did Alden Ketchum. After all, my sources here and in the FBI have informed me that there was no Senatorial conspiracy here. That Ketchum acted only with his Radical Right cronies, and left the rest of you out of the loop.

"Then again, I have to wonder how many of you would have jumped at the opportunity if it had been presented to you. Since I’m not exactly Mr. Popularity with you guys and gals, I’m sure there would have been more than a handful. Therefore, I can’t let you completely off the hook. I’ve thought long and hard about what to do at this moment. I could end this here, and use Alden Ketchum as a warning to the rest of you. But these files...". He motioned to the 99 remaining FBI dossiers, "Well, if I don’t come to the defense of the American citizenry against the evil that is being done behind their backs, that would be criminal. Sooooo, this is what I’m gonna do.

"I’m going to give you all a chance to come clean. Voluntarily. There’s one copy of each Senator’s file here on my desk; no other copies have been made. The FBI has disposed of any and all other records of what is contained herein. Now, I’m going to have my director place a clock on the screen, set for 30 minutes."

A digital time display appeared miraculously in the upper left corner of the screen. "Simply dial the 3-digit code taped onto the back of your phones. At the sound of the tone, you will leave a confessional of up to 5 minutes in length. What you say and how you say it is left to each of you. As the messages come in, my staff will rate them for accuracy and thoroughness. If everything is found to be in order following said review, then your message will be played in the order it was received, starting at 9 AM tomorrow. After broadcast, I will burn any and all materials collected against. you. My staff and I will refrain from commenting publically on every Senator who cooperates, whether this evening or any evening hereafter. You’ll have the night to prepare your explanations to the nation, and then, like me, you’ll have to let your fellow citizens be your judges.

"If your message is incomplete, or if you choose not to call in your confessional, we will call you, and give you five minutes additional time to make any corrections, or rethink your choice. If, after that extra time, this office is still not satisfied, the contents of your file will be revealed to the American people. By me. TONIGHT. Let all the poisons that lurk in the mud hatch out. There will be no more manufactured charges or fakeries. Everything seen tonight from this point on will be completely legitimate. And that's a guarantee.

"And to our treasonous Senator, I sure hope to hear your voice on one of these messages, but I expect I won’t. You’ve acted with such cowardice, and such complete disregard for this nation’s government and citizens, that I’m not certain you even care about your own miserable hide. Again, to encourage candor, I will make this promise. Confess now, and when the Attorney General appoints a Special Prosecutor to handle your case, I will make sure to recommend life imprisonment over the death penalty. Stay silent, and you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, and this government will seek the harshest possible penalty against you.

"One last thing, if I might. Many of you out there watching this broadcast are probably thinking that I’m taking an awful lot of pleasure in exposing other people’s misery, especially in light of my own moral turpitude. Nothing could be further from the truth. Just as Senator Ketchum wept, I cried for hours and hours after my life became the open book it now is. I will have to feel the pain from my humiliation for the rest of my life, and I will have to answer for it to a higher power when I leave this dust ball we call Earth. All of you in the Senate Chamber ought to think about that. Think of the room in which you sit as a deep dark hole, from which your only means of escape is to face your own demons of truth. No one who ever falls down a well gets back up again unscathed, but life can, and does, go on. How do you want your lives to be judged, by your fellow man and your God? Think about it carefully ... but not for too long.

"Now, I’d like to have your statements catalogued in time for the 11 o’clock news. So let’s get that clock running."

Thirty minutes started to drain away before the country’s eyes. Within 5 seconds, the Senate chamber became a madhouse.
 
 

Stevens exited from camera view and sat down on a couch in the corner of the Oval Office, rubbing his tired eyes. Marty plopped down next to him.

"Ken, you want me to get you some coffee?"

"Nah, I’m all right for now, and that’s not your job, anyway. Besides, I’d hate to have to take a commercial break to take a leak in the middle of the whole thing."

Marty laughed a little, then her smile faded from her face. "Ken, I’m worried."

"Marty, you’re always worried. That’s why I hired you." When Marty didn’t seem amused, Ken asked, "What's bothering you?"

Marty pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her shirt pocket, and her lighter seemed to magically appear out of nowhere. As she lit up, she thought that Stevens would comment about smoking in the Oval Office, a big no-no in the current administration. But Ken let it slide, as he always did with her. One of the reasons Marty had stayed so close to Ken and supported his quest for political power over the years was that he was the only man she ever knew who truly treated women as equals:. Ken was always gallant, always chivalrous, always a gentleman, even when they were growing up... maybe that was the Hollywood in him. But when the shit hit the fan, gender played no part in his thinking unless gender was the actual issue.

"You want to know what I’m worried about? I’ll tell you, although I’m pretty sure you know. How upset would you be if you went to a horror movie and the butler did do it? I know I’d be pretty pissed, myself."

Ken smiled. "I get you. You think that when the public finds out that there is no traitor, that this whole investigation is a sham, there’s gonna be a big backlash against me. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. Does that about cover it?"

Marty took a long drag, puffed out a few rings. "Uh huh."

"Marty, I knew coming in here that this was a kamikaze mission. My chances of coming out of this as the leader of the Executive Branch were almost zero to begin with. But just like my Japanese friends, I figure, if I gotta go, I’ll take as many with me as I can. And who knows?" Ken took the cigarette Marty left in the ashtray and puffed it himself; he turned Vulcan green and coughed up a good piece of lung, much to Marty’s amusement. "Maybe more kamikaze pilots would have lived if they had carried parachutes. I always fly prepared."

Marty looked at the stack of files on the President's desk. "Interesting reading, I take it?"

"You have no idea. Turns out that Mr. Savian didn’t have to put his special effects house into overtime after all. Sorry I can’t let you go through them, but I’m afraid of what effect that might have on your virgin soul."

Marty snorted out a laugh. "You’re a pretty funny guy, Ken. Maybe you should try stand-up comedy if they run you out of town."

"I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I’ll still have Secret Service agents after I leave, even if I’m booted out. Those guys can be a real drag, especially on stage. I can just picture the audience. ‘If I don't laugh, will they shoot me?’ Nah, I think I’ll stick around D.C. for a while longer."
 
 

"Are you just going to sit there and do nothing?", Senator Harvey Schmerliwitz (D-NJ) yelled. He was directing his question to his long-time friend and political rival, Senator Donald Dos Passos (R-Tex.). Dos Passos, majority leader of the Senate Armed Services Committee, was considered by most members of this elite "100 Club" to be the unofficial spokesman.

"That’s right, Harvey. I am just going to sit here. He doesn’t have anything on me. I’m clean as a whistle." Dos Passos opened his briefcase and pulled out a ham-and-swiss sandwich he had forgotten to eat earlier.

"Oh, cut the crap, Don. Nobody’s clean. And don’t eat that sandwich in front of me, it stinks!" Harvey looked as if he had slept in the suit he was wearing. His hair was already white as snow; a cigarette dangled from his lips, half-turned to ashes. "We have twenty-eight minutes to do something, and I say we make a break for it. Pick a doorway, ram through it, and make a break for it. All 100 ... I mean, all 99 of us."

"I’m with you, Harv," chimed in Senator Johnny Mullis (R-Ore. ). "I don’t know what he thinks he’s got on me, but I don’t want to stick around to find out. After all, what’s Stevens gonna do, have the National Guard shoot us?"

Dos Passos nodded. "He just might. Remember, according to Stevens, there’s a threat to national security in here, a Libyan agent who helped murder over 200 of our soldiers. Any one of us who tried to take off and run would create a justified impression of guilt. He’s got nothing to lose; hell, if they do shoot us, his approval ratings will probably go up."

"You’re right," Mullis conceded glumly. He ran his hand through his sweat-caked hair, then dried it on his shirt. "He really thought of everything. Y’know what? I can’t take this any more. I mean, Ketchum might be dead, for all we know."

Schmerliwitz shook his head. "Hey, as far as I’m concerned, Ketchum got off lightly. I’m no particular fan of Stevens, but he’s got a right to be royally pissed off. Ketchum black-mailed the President of the United States, for God’s sake. He bugged his freakin’ bedroom."

"More to the point, Ketchum consorted with teenage boy prostitutes." Dos Passos looked nauseated, but kept eating anyway. "For all I care, he can drop off the face of the Earth."

Mullis shrugged. "Hey, I’m more concerned about the rest of us."

Harvey looked around the room, and saw that several Senators had already begun calling. Some were calm and composed, chatting away and giving up their secrets over the phone with apparent ease. Others wore glazed-over eyes, beet-red faces, tear-stained cheeks. "Well, as a wise man once said, that’s all I can stands, I can’t stands no more. I’m calling, guys. I don’t know what the hell I’ll say, but I’m saying something." He started to walk back to his chair, then stopped and turned. He smiled and chuckled a little. "And I thought I was the master of diverting attention away from my own shortcomings. Who knew that Stevens was God? I’ll see you on the Unemployment line." He walked back to his chair, phone in hand.

Mullis sat with Dos Passos at his chair. "You know, Don... I wonder if I should call, too. I didn’t want Harvey to hear, but I know what they have on me, so maybe it would be a little easier if I did."

Dos Passos turned to him slowly. "What’d you do?"

"I dipped into the campaign till. Put a few hundred thousand dollars worth of soft money contributions into some foreign bank accounts. A little here, a little there." Mullis sighed. "A lot of good it did me."

"Well, at least I can still look at you without throwing up," Dos Passos replied. But he did take off his glasses to wipe them off.

"Thanks," Mullis smiled. "Don, are you sure you’re clean? Absolutely clean?"

"Sure enough to tell you that I’m not calling. Consider this. When we do call, we’ll be leaving a recorded message, not talking to a ‘priest’. There’s no way we can verify that the President has anything on any of us. We have no proof other than a stack of files on his desk. Maybe he emptied his clip with Ketchum, and is counting on our fear and panic to spur us on. To give him what he needs to get us without actually doing any of the legwork to get it."

Mullis looked non-plussed for a minute, as if there might be some validity to Dos Passos’ idea. But the look quickly faded away. "I don’t know, Don. He’s had a while to come up with files on us. He has friends in high places, like Zegland over at Justice. And he’s pretty damned peeved. I ... I don’t want to take any chances."

Dos Passos smiled just a little, and put his glasses back on. Unlike most of the people in the room, there wasn’t a hair out of place on his head, not a crease in his clothes. He seemed totally sure of himself. "Hey, Johnnie. I don’t blame you. Like I said before, it’s not as if you killed anyone; you’d probably get off with some country club time at most. But I’ve been a prisoner of war, and I’m well familiar with the virtue of patience under fire. I’m not going to give in to Stevens. No matter what."

Mullis put a hand on Dos Passos’s shoulder. "Then I’m not calling, either."

Dos Passos leaned back in his reclining chair and looked at the ceiling, as if searching for a hidden camera. "Good. The Two Musketeers. Besides, it’ll add to the suspense. Maybe there is a spy somewhere in this room. It could be any one of us. And honestly, I’m interested in seeing who it is."

Thirty minutes seemed more like thirty seconds to the men and women in the Senate Chamber. When the clock on the screen finally reached 0:00:00, the President reappeared on the screen, looking more determined than ever.

"Well, I’m back," Stevens said softly. He sat behind his desk, tapping the pile of files with his right hand. "I’m sure you’re all happy to see me. My staff here has reviewed the calls we received, and you’ll be pleased to know that, almost without exception, your confessions were satisfactory. After we broadcast them tomorrow morning, these files, as promised, will be destroyed."

He quickly picked up the stack, and put them into a lock-box behind him. It then became apparent that not everyone had called. Stevens held up a pile of files with red tags attached to them. He fanned them back and forth towards the screen.

"However, forty-four of you have chosen not to call, and three other Senators have provided incomplete or diversionary information. Therefore, I've been forced to notify the major networks that our business this evening is not finished. And as I feared, the traitor is among our list of absentees."

Suddenly, a sharp, high-pitched squeal echoed through the Senate. Everyone jumped out of their seats, not recognizing immediately that the sound was 99 cel phones ringing simultaneously.

Everyone answered their phones; the 52 Senators who had given satisfactory answers heard their own confessions played back. The other 47, including Dos Passos, got a live voice.

"Donald Dos Passos, this is Zegland from the CIA. We have your file, sir. It’s quite extensive. Are you sure you’d like to remain silent?"

Dos Passos stayed completely even-headed. "Yes, Mr. Zegland, I’m quite sure. I’m also quite sure you’re bluffing. You don’t have jack-shit on me, and I’m going to watch your puppet master Stevens look like even more of a fool than he already does."

Before Zegland could reply, Dos Passos deactivated the phone, opened up the battery casing, and removed the tiny nickel-cadmium disc from within. He allowed himself a smug, self-appreciative smile. That is, until the side-door burst open, and a group of soldiers stormed over to Dos Passos’ chair. With their rifles drawn, the squad leader picked up the cel phone and carefully replaced the battery into its slot. He then told the Senator, "Sir, it is my duty to inform you that if you try this sort of thing again, you will be handcuffed to your chair and provided with a headset phone. Your cooperation is not requested... it is demanded."

The soldiers backed away slowly from the stunned Senator, their rifles aimed at his head the whole time, then exited and relocked the side-door. Dos Passos’ phone rang again, and he gingerly answered it.

"Zegland here. That was a very foolish gesture on your part. I would not suggest that you try it again, if you catch my drift. Now, you and I both served over in Asia, and I have a lot of respect for what you went through over there. I’m not gonna bullshit you, because there’s no point to that. So I hope you appreciate my courtesy when I tell you that you are being given a second and final chance to deliver the goods. What’s your answer?"

Dos Passos stayed quiet f'or a moment, then replied, "Mr. Zegland, my answer is still the same. No dice. And when this is all over, I’ll see to it that your head is put on a stick and marched down Pennsylvania Avenue."

"I’m sorry you feel that way, sir. I really am. You could have saved yourself. Get ready for a rough ride, Donald." The phone connection went dead. Dos Passos looked around him, and saw that the eyes of nearly everyone in the room were on him. The look in those eyes was not hopeful.
 
 

Stevens started his show again. "Well, ladies and gents, heeeeeerrrrrrrrrre we go! First up of our dissenters... Senator Barbara Pine, Republican from Kansas. Would you please stand up?"

There was a collective gasp from the captive audience. Barbara Pine was an ultraconservative Radical Rightist, buttoned up to the neck and, along with Ketchum, in the vanguard of the Moral Majority and Family Value clique. It was inconceivable to the crowd that she might be involved in some sort of wrongdoing, the idea itself seemed absurd. But here was her name, being called for all to hear.

Pine, a 70-ish little firecracker who could out-talk anyone, did not stand up. She remained in her chair, prim and proper, wearing a look of indignant defiance.

Stevens smiled. "Not inclined to stand, hmmm? OK, then. Let’s open the file and see what’s inside." He sorted through some documents and photos, laughing to himself on occasion, raising his eyebrows at other times. Pine started to squirm.

"Wow, Senator Pine. Can I call you Babs, or is that reserved for that fossil you call a husband?" Pine’s spouse, Selwyn Pine, had held a Kansas Senate seat for nearly 40 years, until physical deterioration caused him to retire. His wife, now in her second term, was rumored to be filling in as her husband’s mouthpiece, much like George Wallace’s wife had done. "There sure is a lot of stuff in here. You’re sure you have nothing to say?"

Pine scowled at the President like an angry dog. "Not to you, whoremonger. Not to you."

Stevens feigned insult. "Whoremonger? Moi? Well, I guess it does take a slut to know a whoremonger, doesn’t it?"

Pine did a double-take worthy of Buckwheat from the Little Rascals. "How dare you insinuate...".

"Ahh, shut your yap. I’m not insinuating anything, I’m calling you a whore to your face. Does the year 1946 ring a bell? If your memory is anything like your husband’s, probably not. So let me remind you." He picked up a long piece of paper, clearly identifiable as a RAP sheet. "My people spent days rummaging through the Kansas State Criminal Archives, and we can dig pretty deep, Babs. Or are they still calling you by your working name? You know the one I mean... Firebird?"

Barbara Pine turned whiter than the Pillsbury Dough Boy at that moment. You could actually see the blood rush down her body, as if trying to hide under the soles of her feet.

"Yes, Firebird. Nice, catchy name, a good show-biz moniker." Stevens unspooled her record, and it ran down to the floor of his office. "Ladies and gentlemen, before Senator Pine began her less than illustrious career in politics, she was Barbara Keely, exotic dancer and provider of... special services for the Gotcha! Burlesque Club in Topeka."

Stevens held up a picture of Senator Pine that must have been over 50 years old. There she was, no wrinkles or liver spots, but most definitely her, body wrapped in a feather boa and little else, a wicked smile on her face, her not-overly-generous but certainly perky chest peeking out and saying "HELLO!"

Pine tried to crawl within herself, turn inside out so no one could see her. It didn’t quite work. "No... no... oh, no...", she kept repeating to herself.

The President went on. "It would appear that she took quite a bit of relish in her work. She was arrested for prostitution on... let's see, now... 15... 16... 17 occasions! The first time when she was only 15 years old. In fact, on one of those little trips to the clink, she assaulted a police officer with a steak knife."

"You sleazy old bag!", yelled Schmerliwitz. He and Pine had a little difference of opinion in regards to freedom of the press and expression. "Who’d a thunk it? Then again, the way you look now, it’s easy to see why no one would!" Harvey started laughing, as did several other liberal Democrats in the area.

Stevens interrupted with a wave of his hand. "Please, a little decorum, Mr. Schmerliwitz, especially in light of your own checkered past. I’m in control here, and the rules can change at any time. So unless you want your whole file to become public domain, I’d advise you to shut the hell up."

Schmerliwitz’s smile seemed to disappear in a microsecond. He quickly took his chair and looked straight down.

"That’s better," Stevens intoned. "Actually, Mrs. Pine’s arrest record isn’t even the worst thing in her file." His eyes seemed to catch Pine’s directly, seemed to hypnotize her. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "Now, Barbara, I’m going to give you another chance. I’m sure you realize that we do have a complete file on you. You shouldn’t have any more doubts now. You still have your phone in front of you. If you pick it up, and call in your confession, I’ll spare you a public reading of the rest of what’s inside. If not...", he grinned the smile of a wolf, "then it’s open season."

Pine began to shiver, uncontrollably it seemed, almost as if she was having a seizure. But she still made no move to submit to Stevens’ will.

However, a group of other Senators, who had apparently chosen not to call earlier, stood and moved slowly to the back of the room, phones in hand. They had probably believed, like Dos Passos, that Stevens had been bluffing. When they saw that he wasn’t, they folded their cards.

Dos Passos turned to Mullis, and saw that Johnnie had already started dialing. Mullis mouthed, "I’m sorry". Donald allowed a small smile of understanding to cross his face, but his disappointment was unmistakable.

"It looks like some of your co-workers have gotten the message. A little late, but better late than never. And out of the generosity of my heart, I’ll allow their confessions to be recorded, for a grace period of 10 minutes. Who knows? Maybe we’ll make it off the air in time for Letterman after all."

The clock timer reappeared in the corner of the screen and started counting down. The President’s eyes seemed to lock in to Pine’s, even though he wasn’t in the room. "Now, Barbara, what do you say?"

Pine remained still. "Too bad," Stevens sighed. "I had hoped to spare you further humiliation in this forum, but I guess you’re just a glutton for punishment."

He reached into the file and pulled out a small stack of papers, enclosed in a red folder. "Members of the Senate, after an exhaustive review of Senator Pine’s past, we have determined that Mrs. Pine, as well as her husband, are members of Citizens for Life, an anti-abortion group which ignores federal mandates, blocks the doors of abortion providers, and intimidates young women who are already making one of the most difficult choices life has to offer."

A look of defiance made a brief return to Pine’s face. "There’s nothing illegal about belonging to Citizens for Life. The liberals and... the liberals are murdering babies, thousands of them, every day, and we have to do something to stop it."

Stevens stopped her. "I’m sorry, liberals and who?" When Pine didn’t answer, he continued, "Let me try to finish for you. Were you going to say liberals and Jews? I’m pretty sure that’s what you were going to say, because Citizens for Life is also a well-known bastion of Anti-Semites and racists."

Pine squirmed a little, but did not budge. "We’re a perfectly legitimate private organization. I’m proud to belong to it, and so is my husband... even if we don’t necessarily agree with all of its positions."

Stevens nodded assent. "I'm sure you’re very proud of your selective membership, although I’m fairly certain that the ‘liberals’ of whom you speak are aborting fetuses, not murdering babies. And I’m also fairly certain that the Rabbinate frowns on abortion as well, which is too bad for your group, really. If you were a little more inclusive, you might get yourself a decent membership base. But there’s one thing I’m completely certain of. Abortion is every woman’s right, at least according to the laws and courts of this country."

"Citizens for Life is trying to change that law."

"That’s also one of your rights. And you’re correct when you say that belonging to Citizens for Life is completely legal."

Pine smirked. "Then what’s your problem, Mr. President?"

Stevens waved the file briskly, almost fanning himself. "My problem is this. While belonging to hate groups like Citizens For Life might be legal, bankrolling murder is not."

The temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees in a few seconds. You could almost see the icicles forming on the sweat pores of Pine’s skin. "What... what did you...?"

Stevens interrupted her stuttered question. "Citizens For Life, to which Senator Pine has proudly admitted her close affiliation, secretly helped to bankroll, finance and otherwise aid and abet Operation Seraph. This terrorist group, led by Richard Teague, is responsible for the deaths of 6 abortion providers across the nation ov,er the past 3 years."

Pine stood up, faster than seemed possible, walked to a small alcove in the Chamber, and dialed the number.

"Barbara, you’re a little late," Stevens answered from the other end of the line. "Everyone can hear you now, and that’s the way it's gonna stay."

Pine didn’t seem to hear or understand. "Mr. President, don’t do it. I didn’t know Teague would actually commit such violence, I had no idea! We thought he was just going to block clinic entrances and chain himself to lamp posts. Please, for the love of God, don’t do this to me!" She was whispering, not realizing that her words were being broadcast back through the giant screen and sound system.

"Sorry, Barbara. Your opportunity to save yourself has come… and gone." He held up some photocopies. "These are Xeroxes of cancelled checks bearing the signature of Barbara Pine; you will note that the account is a joint one, in both her name and her husband’s name. It is a personal checking account, and not the account provided to members of Congress. These checks are made out directly to Richard Teague, who in addition to being a Board Member in absentia of Citizens For Life and a fugitive from the law, is also the creator and voice of Operation Seraph...".

Pine dropped the phone from her hand, finally realizing it was about as useful as a dead fish. "Sir, PLEASE!!! I swear on my life I had no idea! My husband is ill, he won’t survive a trial, let alone jail time. I’ll stand up in front of this body and confess my involvement right now, just leave my husband out of this! PLEASE!"

Stevens smiled just a little, a devious, impish grin that sent chills down her spine. "But I’ve already confessed for you. And who said anything about jail time? I intend to pursue this matter to the fullest extent of the law. Aiding and abetting an outlawed terrorist group, members of which conspired to commit murder, and in fact killed 6 innocent people. Who knows what we’ll find if we dig a little deeper. Did you attend any planning meetings? Did you provide surveillance information? Did you use any government resources at your disposal to assist in any way, shape or form in the plans of Mr. Teague? If we find out that you did, you’ll be lucky if you don’t fry in Kansas’s nice, comfortable electric chair."

"Sir, show some mercy...".

"MERCY?!? Mercy for you, you murdering whore?!? Let me quote an article from the Kansas Plain Dealer from just last week. ‘Stevens and the rest of his ilk ought to just do us all a favor and blow their brains out, since they’re bound to burn in Hell for their sins anyway.’ Is that a misquote? Were you taken out of context?" He pounded his desk, which added to the dramatic effect of his outburst. "Mercy, hah! Your little pet charity killed 6 men and women, simply because they provided a medical procedure that you don’t happen to like? Hell, I’m no fan of abortion either, but I don’t go out shooting people because I don’t agree with the concept. Where was your mercy for the victims of this operation? ANSWER ME!!!"

Pine fell to her knees and began to sob uncontrollably. "Please, not my husband! Please, no, no, no, I’m sorry!! I didn’t know! I didn’t know, I swear to God I didn’t...".

Stevens let her cry for a while; then, when it became apparent that her bawling wasn’t going to stop, he said, "Shhh. That’s enough out of you. Nothing’s going to happen to Selwyn." Pine kept crying so Stevens went on. "Your husband has been clinically senile for at least five years, two years prior to the start of Operation Seraph. You did a decent job covering up his condition, but not a perfect job. So relax. No one’s going to prosecute someone who’s mentally incapacitated. As for you, however...".

The doors to the chamber burst open again, this time revealing FBI agents and D.C. Police. One agent took the forefront.

"Senator Pine, I’m Agent Dean Stergis, FBI. You are under arrest for illegal funding of a banned terrorist group. You are also going to be charged with conspiracy to commit murder of 6 citizens of this country, and if such involvement in said conspiracy is found, you will be charged with actual murder as well. Federal jurisdiction is twofold: these murders were committed over a range of 6 states, three of them on Federal property, and monies from your account were sent across state borders. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided free of charge by the court. Do you understand these rights I have just explained to you?"

Pine got off her knees and managed to stop crying. Her face was smeared nearly black with her running make-up. She nodded her head in the affirmative, wiped her nose with her hand, then put her wrists out in front of her. Agent Stergis handcuffed the Senator, and she was escorted out of the room in stony silence. The doors closed and relocked.

The tension hung over the room like a heavy smog, and Stevens savored it for as long as he could. Then, before everyone in the Chamber became entirely entranced, he broke the reverie. "My, that was exciting, wasn’t it? I don’t know about you, but I need a stiff drink." Stevens got up and walked over to a cabinet in his office; he opened it, revealing a small but well-stocked refrigerator, from which he pulled a Mountain Dew.

He held it up to the camera like an ad man. "Y’know, when it’s midnight and you have to stay up late, Mountain Dew has more caffeine than any pop on the market, with the exception of Jolt Cola. And it tastes a helluva lot better than coffee." He popped the can and took a big swig, then let out a comically long, "Aaaaahhhh."
 
 

Gurevic paced nervously back and forth out of sight of the camera. She was admittedly thrilled with how everything was proceeding thus far, but she couldn’t reconcile herself with the fact that, when this was over, Stevens was going to have to admit his ruse.

Maybe America would forgive Ken, because of all of the good, and truth, and integrity that would be restored to the government overall. But in the back of everyone’s minds, there would be that nagging notion that the President had pulled a big fake-out. That he had sold his soul to get everyone else. It just didn’t fell like justice.

She walked quietly over to the desk where the lock-box of files rested. It was open, to her good fortune, and everyone in the room was too busy to even Care what she was doing. She took a look inside; resting on top of the files was a checklist. It had been updated a few minutes ago to include the second wave of callers.

Apparently, Stevens’ run-in with Pine had nearly done the trick. After realizing that Pine’s file was no fake, that Stevens really did have the goods, there had been a cascade effect in the Senate Chamber. There were only five files outstanding now; four had red tags, one a blue (for incompleteness. She looked at the names of the stragglers, and was drawn immediately to Donald Dos Passos.

Even after demonstration of the veracity of the President’s claims against the members of the Senate, Dos Passos, the chief protester and trouble maker, still hadn’t called. Gurevic considered the life and political platform of the man, and couldn’t believe that he was clean. He was a bottom-feeder like all the rest, maybe worse. Born into money, book-smart but not savvy, a smile as fake as a nine-dollar bill. A well-dressed, well-spoken, well-bred, well-behaved, four-eyed bottom feeder. Somewhere in this guy’s life there had to be some mucking around in the slime.

She removed the rubber band on the file folder and started perusing its contents. After 20 minutes or so, her eyebrows popped up. She looked at the page, then looked at it again. And again. If possible, her eyebrows moved even higher. She snapped her head around the room until she found Zegland, who just happened to be looking at her at that moment. She frantically waved the President’s chief investigator over.

Zegland limped toward her cane in hand and cigar in mouth, and pointed a finger at the file in front of the Chief of Staff. "Martina, just what the Hell do you think you’re doing? You don’t have clearance...".

"Chuck, I think you missed something here."

Zegland shook his head. "I don’t miss, sweetie-pie. So put the file away and save yourself a world of trouble." A puff of dark smoke issued from Zegland’s nostrils.

Gurevic ignored the noxious cloud, and the sexist banter. "Not until you look at this, damn it! It’s Dos Passos!"

Zegland froze for a minute; then he took his "Nicaraguan" stogie out of his mouth. The tip of his tongue appeared, like a snake, and licked the left corner of his lip. "That weasel, huh? As I recall, the worst thing we got him for some off-shore accounts filled with some Teamster ‘gifts’. I’m not even sure we have a case against him at all. He’s a minor player, Martina."

"Right. Small potatoes," Marty said. "But I know something you don’t."

She pointed to one small entry on one unassuming bank statement. Zegland stared at it, and stared some more. He stared for several minutes, in fact. Gurevic knew that the Director was accessing his brain’s computer banks, doing thousands of calculations and equations per second. But then, just like Marty, Zegland’s brow rose several inches.

"I don’t believe it," Zegland whispered. "You don’t really think...?" He turned to Gurevic, and saw the look in her eye; the look of hope and desperation. He threw his cigar into the trash, snapped the file off the table and whipped out his cel phone.

"Kellerman, it’s me. I’m sending you a fax with a bank statement and some account numbers. Get some guys down to the NSA and tell them I authorized a Nova class deep search. If they hassle you, tell them you want to speak to Harris, and give him the following code: Jericho, Chaplin, A-908 Zegland. They should stop hassling you then. You have 45 minutes. If I don’t have the results by that time, you’re fired. Got it?" He clicked off before he heard a response.

Zegland leaned heavily against his cane, an old African walking stick etched with delicate, deceptively intricate patterns. It was once the property of a shaman, a witch doctor who must have been quite powerful with his mojo. He looked at Marty with canyon-wide eyes. "It’s not possible, is it? Is it, Martina?"

Marty cracked her knuckles. "I don't know. But if it’s true... I have to talk to Ken as soon as he’s through with his next victim."
 
 

Stevens sat back down and picked up the next file. "Now, just in case you thought I was doing to spend my time picking on only tight-assed, self-important Republicans, I’m going to prove that I am an equal opportunity justice dispenser. Senator Morton Reinig, why don’t you stand up and take a bow?"

Senator Reinig (D-Me) looked flabbergasted as he lifted himself from his chair. His ponytail, braided in the style that Paul Revere himself might have worn, swung wildly behind him. "Sir, I don’t understand. I gave a confession over the phone, surely you must know that."

"Oh, I do, Morty. But when we called you back and told you that your statement was incomplete, you never fixed the problem. Therefore, a public reading becomes necessary."

Reinig’s blood started to boil. "There was nothing to fix! Mr. President, this is an outrage! I object to this whole proceeding. You are depriving us of all of our constitutional rights and protections, and egregiously abusing your power!" A muddled roar of agreement sounded behind Reinig, helping to emphasize his point.

Stevens nodded. "I agree with you. You’re 100% right. I am trampling all over each and every one of you like you were a bunch of old doormats. But I... don’t ... care. Y’know, Morty, I’m getting a little tired of your contradictory ideas and attitudes about government involvement in the lives of the average American, so you can kiss my Independent ass. You’re a Libertarian one minute, Conservative the next, Anarchist when it suits you... you’re making me kind of dizzy. Spend Federal money to make sure my roads are plowed up in Hintersville, Maine, but tell the IRS to go screw themselves ‘cause I don’t want to pay for it! Make sure my gas and oil bills are nice and low so I can keep my heat on all winter, but don’t dare send our troops into the Middle East to stop this country from being blackmailed by tin-plated dictators who are stuffing their pockets and building palaces with our money! Hire more police to be at my beck and call and protect me from evildoers, wherever they may be, but don’t dare let them set up random DUI checks to catch me before I drink a jug of Mad Dog 20/20 and smoke a couple of doobies and kill a bunch of people while driving on that same plowed road with my car filled with cheap gas! As the man once said, ‘C’mon, Morty, make up your mind!!!"

Reinig pointed a spindly index finger at the screen. "I find it repulsive that you continue to treat this whole thing as some kind of sick adolescent joke! Movie quotes, for God’s sake!"

Stevens looked confused. "I thought you didn’t believe in God, Morty."

"Oh, shut up, Kenny! I’ve had enough of this!"

"And so have I," the President replied angrily. "I’d love to keep going back and forth with. you, but it’s time to pay the piper. When I said you were an occasional anarchist earlier, you’ll have to admit I was being truthful."

Reinig slowly put his finger down. "I don’t know what you mean. I gave you a full confession, I haven’t done anything else wrong."

"Well, you’ve confessed your little liquor and weed problems, but you never mentioned your penchant for eco-terrorism."

Reinig’s head snapped as if he’d been shot. "Oh, God."

"Now, there you go with that ‘G’ word again. I’m no priest... that’s for sure." The Senate crowd chuckled nervously, except for Morty. "But I believe there’s a little verse early on in Genesis which reads something to the effect that Man shall have dominion over all of God’s creatures. You must have skimmed over that chapter. Or is it that you just want to put man on equal terms with, and grant him no more rights under the law than a sea urchin or blue-green algae?"

Reinig fell back into his chair like a ton of bricks. His seat, which was on wheels, rolled slowly back until it collided with the next tier of desks behind him.

Stevens went on. "Your paper trail was even more complicated than Ketchum’s. I’ve never seen so many diversionary holding companies and false store fronts. A real tribute to you accounting skills, I have to say. But all the same, you couldn’t hide from us."

Reinig put his hands over his face, and drooped his head until it almost fell into his lap. Unlike Senator Pine, Morty’s bravura had apparently been used up rather quickly.

"Mr. Reinig," the President announced, "is listed as the head of a subterranean back-to-nature group called Free Earth. Of course, Free Earth has only one true member, that being the Senator from Maine. He funnels money to groups like Greenpeace, which is a thoroughly well-meaning if idealistic charity organization, and to PETA, which while also legal and legitimate, is basically comprised of a collection of idiots, goons, and time-warped hippies. However, the Animal and Forest Liberation Front is neither legal nor legitimate."

A mutter rose amongst the other Senators, as did a wave of confused faces and head-scratching. "I see that most of you are not familiar. Last month, the Hotel St. Karluv, a high-caliber ski resort in northern Vermont, was burned to the ground."

A collective sound of recognition could be heard almost immediately. "So, you all remember reading about it. Well, responsibility was claimed by the AFLF, to protest civilization’s encroachment into the independent and free domain of our forests and forest creatures. Unfortunately, the dimwits who set the blaze were not very careful or experienced. Although they tried to limit their arson to the actual physical plant, twenty-nine thousand acres of pristine and protected forest were turned to cinder because high winds swept the fire from the buildings to the trees. One guest suffered a debilitating heart attack, a firefighter is currently on life support, 171 people were injured overall, including two Federal employees, hunters licensed to cull the deer population."

Stevens sipped his soda before going on. "And in the ultimate insult, our estimates put the animal death toll at 500 deer, 15-20 bears, some of which were on the endangered species list, 3 bald eagles, two of which had been raised in captivity, tagged and released back to the wild by Federal Wildlife Protection programs, and untold numbers of squirrels, raccoons, birds, etc. Senator Reinig not only helped to hide and move the money and materials used in this vicious attack... we have sworn affidavits and recorded and signed written confessions from members of the AFLF that Mr. Reinig in fact germinated the idea himself."

Reinig still did not look up. Gasping sounds could be heard coming from behind his hands, and his body began to quake irregularly.

Stevens vocal tone grew dulcet, almost soothing. "I just don’t get it, Morty. You were a peacenik. A flower child. I know it’s not in you to even hurt a fly. That's why you give so much of yourself to these eco-groups in the first place. And yet here you are, sucked into this morass of violence and death."

Reinig was obviously weeping now. "I know. I know, sir. I didn’t want ... anyone ... to get hurt, really I didn’t. You have to... believe that."

"I want to believe, Morty. But you’ll also have to explain to me what your motive was here. Because according to the stooges from the AFLF who did the job for you, this was your baby, your plan. And now you're going to be charged with arson, killing endangered species, and if any of the injured take a turn for the worse, quite possibly manslaughter or murder. Why?"

Reinig’s face was as red as his tie. "I don’t know. I... I just don’t know."

"I think you do know. In fact, I’m sure of it. Think hard, speak carefully, because you just might be able to save yourself from some heartache."

Reinig shook his head back and forth, slowly, as if he himself couldn’t believe what he was about to say. "It was the money. God-damned money twisted this whole thing around. Maine’s not exactly doing very well financially right now. I live in a great state, sir, and you’d think the only things of interest here are Stephen King and lobsters. My constituents are suffering through some hard times, we’ve got a long winter ahead of us, my state is dying, and I’m just plain sick of being powerless to do anything about it."

"And how was setting this fire to a resort hotel in Vermont going to help you get Maine back on its feet?" Stevens seemed genuinely curious.

A little ire returned to Reinig’s voice. "Hey, Vermont gets all the major ski revenue on the Eastern Seaboard, and we get stuck with the leftovers. This Congress hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with some extra dollars to help boost our economy...".

"Tell me about it," Stevens interjected.

"... and I needed to get the tourist business up to speed," Reinig went on. "I have a responsibility to my electorate, right? So I figured that by diverting people away from the Vermont resorts, maybe making them scared of a repeat attack, they might decide to come to Maine, a much less visible target. All I wanted to do was close down that hotel before the season started. I never thought this operation would be... butchered... so badly. It seemed like a great idea when you’re stoned or liquored up. I haven’t been able to think straight, I’ve been so drunk so often it’s like I’m living in a perpetual hangover."

Stevens rubbed his chin absently, not looking at all like he was taking any relish in this sad story. "Well, Morty, given your high percentage of grey hairs, this certainly can’t be chocked up to youthful indiscretion. Maybe your mind was being affected by the substances you’ve been poisoning yourself with."

"I know it was, it still is being affected." Reinig shook his head slowly back and forth, as if he himself couldn’t believe what he’d done. "If I could take it back, I would in a minute. I’ve got to get detoxed."

Stevens nodded. "You’ve done a horrible, horrible thing. Believe me, I know exactly how you feel right now. But we’ve all got to face the music for our sins."

The doors opened, and again, a team of police and agents entered. Reinig did not resist as the cuffs were put on. Before he could be led out of the room, Stevens told the officers to stop for a moment. "Morty, get. clean, and get yourself some help. I think there's hope for you, and for me. We’ve just got to take ourselves in hand and do what we can to correct our mistakes."

Reinig nodded. "I’m sorry I wasn’t more up front on the phone, Mr. President."

"I know you are. But maybe it will work out for the best."

Reinig allowed a small, bittersweet smile. "And sir, please tell the people of this country that I’m sorry, and that I’ll take full responsibility for what I did, no matter what it costs me. I mean it."

Stevens smiled. "I know you mean it. And you just told them."

Reinig breathed a little more easily, and allowed the guards to lead him from the Chamber.
 
 

Just as the President was about to continue on, he saw some commotion out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see Savian, giving the universal "end transmission" sign, the old index finger across the neck.

Stevens turned back to the camera. "Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been on the air for...", he looked at his watch, "whoa, over four hours now. I’m sure you’ll understand that I need to run to the ‘little boys room’ , so I’ll be taking a short break. Any fence-sitters who wish to take this opportunity to confess, please feel free. I make no guarantees, but cooperation is always appreciated." The screen went black.

Stevens stomped over to Savian. "What in Holy Hell are you doing? You’ve completely destroyed all the momentum I’d built up! Are we going for a national catharsis here or what?!?"

Marty answered. "Ken, be quiet for a minute, huh? Sit down and listen. This won’t take long."

Ken saw the concern in the eyes of Savian, and Zegland, and Marty, his three closest friends in the world, and decided to hold his temper and energy in check. "OK, Marty, I’m taking a deep breath and sitting down. Now, what’s the deal?"

Marty looked nervously over at Savian and Zegland. Zegland nodded, and Marty went on. "Ken, I know you told me not to, but I did a little research of my own into the files in the lock box."

Stevens face got red so fast that Marty thought the President’s hair was going to catch fire. "You idiot! Is this what you want? Because now you’re going to be implicated in this, too! I tried to keep you out of it, to keep you safe, and you just go and...".

"Shut up, Ken, I care too much about you to let you go down in flames by yourself, so LET ME FINISH!" Ken, shocked by her fervor, did as Marty told him. "I checked the file of Donald Dos Passos, and I found something that Zegland and his boys at the CIA missed."

Stevens looked at Zegland, but before the CIA director could reply, Marty put a hand on his shoulder. "It’s not his fault, Ken. It was easy to overlook, even under intense scrutiny. A few entries on one bank statement. And remember, we had less than a month to put this all together, and a bunch of different agents from different sections of the Agency working day and night. Not everyone knew what everyone else was doing."

Stevens sighed, shook his head and slumped over. "So, you’re telling me now that we have nothing on that asshole, right? No off-shore account, after all. No Teamster bribes. The guy is perfectly clean. That is just God-damned great!" He slammed his fist into his own leg. "I’m going to look like a complete fool."

Marty looked confused, as did the others. "No. No, Ken, that’s not what I mean at all. You want a ‘national catharsis’? Well, I may have just guaranteed it for you."

The President stood up, so exacerbated that he was shaking all over. "Martina, stop playing games. What's the story?"

"Mr. President," Marty continued, "the possibility exists that Dos Passos is a mole."

Stevens took a step back, then another, then tripped over a wheel of his chair and fell back into it. He tried to talk, but he couldn’t.

Zegland pulled out a folder, labeled "Designation: Nova", and opened it up. "I’ve authorized that Mr. Savian and Mrs. Gurevic have been given special dispensation to hear this, due to prevailing exigent circumstances. Dos Passos was a wealthy man before he took office, and he uses a whole bunch of banks all over the world. However, we found a group of transactions with a particular bank which caught our attention."

He laid down the folder in front of the President, and a copy of a bank statement lay on top. "Look here, in the middle of the page. Five transactions, electronic transfers if you want to get particular, from Banque Ariel in Paris to 4th Union in Galveston, Texas, in the total amount of $2.S million dollars. Seems ordinary enough, given that Dos Passos has several private companies that do overseas business. However, all of these transfers took place over a span of 28 hours, and when put together, the amount transferred was twice as large as any other in his whole file. What’s more... Banque Ariel is in business with us."

Stevens was totally bewildered. "Do you mean it’s a fake bank?"

Zegland shook his head. "No, it’s real enough, in that several thousand European citizens and corporate entities have accounts and do business there. But it’s controlled by the Central Intelligence Agency. A false front, set up during your first term in office."

Stevens thought about it for a moment, then suddenly snapped back into focus. "I remember now. We set up banks throughout Europe with the hope of monitoring transactions that might emanate from the Middle East and terrorist nations in particular."

"Right. Sixteen in all. None of them have ever produced anything substantial, and the whole project was put on the back burner. But your girl Marty has a good memory." He puffed at his stogie, and almost smiled. "Lucky you."

Ken looked at Gurevic. "What’s he talking about?"

Marty said, "I was the one who code-named the banks. Remember, Ken? I was in the House at the time, on the Banking Committee. This project came through us."

Ken could see where this was headed. "And you remembered ‘Banque Ariel’ specifically? After all this time, and all the other legislation and projects you’ve worked on in the six years since then?"

"You’re right. It sounds pretty strange. Normally something like that would have just left my head as quickly as it came in," Marty replied. "But when I saw that name on that statement, it just came back to me. When we wrote this project up, I was baby-sitting my sister’s daughter for a month. My sister was having some surgery done, and it was a pretty tense time for me. My niece watched this film, ‘The Little Mermaid’, every single day she stayed at my place, and made me watch it with her as much as possible. The main character’s name was ‘Ariel’. That’s where I got it, and that’s why I remember now."

Ken smiled in near-disbelief. "Marty, I love you. Why didn’t we end up together?"

An age-old private joke, followed by the age-old reply. "Don’t you remember? When you joined the Army I was still in 8th grade."

"Of course." Ken smiled wider, then turned to Zegland. "I assume you did a check on these transactions. What did you find?"

"Well, they were each just one transfer in a chain of dozens, and someone did a fantastic job hiding their tracks, but in the end, it was all traceable. Harris over at NSA Headquarters determined that the money itself originated from Libya. Three weeks before the barracks in Incirlik were blown to smithereens."

"Holy shit." Stevens turned to Marty, both of them now pale as ghosts. "I can’t believe that this might actually be true. It defies all logic and reason."

Savian’s Hollywood instinct triggered in his brain, and he butted in. "But you’re gonna use it, right?"

"Of course I am."

Marty shook her head. "I’m not sure you should, Ken. It’s a dangerous tack. It could backfire, blow up in your face. Maybe we should wait until we get this a little more solidified...".

"I see your point, Marty. We don’t know what these transactions really are. We know money was exchanged, but not for what. Maybe it was for an oil deal, or money for medical supplies or for a bunch of flying carpets, or maybe it was a campaign contribution from Qaddhafi. No matter what, Dos Passos is in trouble, because he broke the law by dealing with Libya under any circumstances. But there’s no guarantee he was selling secrets."

Zegland interrupted. "We can’t just sit on this, not now. Not with things the way they are."

Stevens nodded. "I know that, too. It’s a tough call, and I don’t have a lot of time to make a choice." He turned to Vice President Moseby, who up to this point had been sitting with the sound technicians, watching them work. "Henry, you’re my second in command for a reason. You’ve heard all of this. What do you think?"

Moseby considered. "If I was in your shoes, I’d probably strike while the iron’s hot. Everyone else has folded up shop except for Dos Passos. We let him leave that Chamber unscathed, then you fail to live up to your prior blanket statement. ‘They are all, without question, corrupt.’Your words, right?"

Stevens nodded. "Right. My words."

Moseby stood up and took off his borrowed headphones. "Dos Passos, as I recall, was a prisoner of war in Vietnam because of his activities as a Military Intelligence operative. If anyone would have the wherewithal and ability to trade high-level secrets, it would be him. He’s trained to do it. Make the public aware of that, and they’ll connect the dots themselves, even if they shouldn’t be connected."

Stevens turned to Zegland. "Chuck?"

Zegland answered firmly. "I agree. It’s sounds good in theory."

The President looked at Gurevic. "And you, Marty?"

Marty hesitated for a moment. Then she replied, "It’s not my place to say, Ken. This is a unique situation in a state of continuous flux. You’re the President, and it’s your play."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only answer I can give you, Mr. President."

Stevens eyes met with those of his trusted friend and advisor, for what seemed like a long time. Then he decided. "I’ve got to play this right. Just right." He looked at the clock and saw that he’d been off the air for 15 minutes. "Well, 15 minutes is long for a bathroom break. I have to get back on the circuit, and it’s time to walk the tightrope. Brian, you know what to do?"

"Absolutely, sir. Lots of close-ups. Localize sweat, lock in on tremors and shakes. Harsh on his microphone, ugly lights if possible. Don’t worry, Mr. President. I don’t even need extra set-up time. You go do your thing."

The President turned Zegland. "How many others left on the list besides Dos Passos?"

Zegland checked. "None, sir. Everyone has now called in except for our two-faced chump from Texas. Our Guardsmen are all in place, awaiting orders."

Stevens took a quick drink of water, straightened his tie, combed his hair, and returned to his mark. "Then let’s do it."
 
 

The Senate Chamber was a big buzz of murmurs when Stevens visage returned to the screen. When everyone had quieted down, Stevens began again.

"Sorry about the delay, folks, but I clogged up the crapper. Well, I’m pleased to announce that the scoreboard shows we’re down to our last contestant. Donald Dos Passos, would you like to stand so we can all get a good look at you?"

Dos Passos was the picture of calm. "No, thank you, Mr. President, I’ll stay seated, if you don’t mind."

"No problem, Don. Well, lets see if we can put this all together. There’s only one Senator left, and we haven’t announced the identity of the traitor yet. Can you help me with this, Don? ‘Cause I’m a little tired. Any idea what I’m getting at here?"

Dos Passos's face didn’t change much, but somehow he looked just a bit more smug. "What it means, Mr. President, is that you’re full of shit, right up to the brim. There never was a traitor, and you set this whole thing up to take us all down with you."

Stevens snapped his fingers. "You know, you almost took the words right out of my mouth. I was going to hold up this file," which he now did, "wave the empty cover back and forth, and tell everyone that this whole circus was based on a big lie."

Dos Passos smirked. "I figured as much."

A mild roar reverberated through the room, as the stunned and enraged politicians tried to figure out what to do with themselves.

Stevens smiled a little, wan smile. "You know, when this all started, I figured that I didn’t stand a chance in the world of going on as Commander-in-Chief. And since I don’t particularly like most of you in the Senate Chamber very much, my anger drove me concoct this charade. I mean, how else could I lock all you guys in a room together and rip open the curtains of your lives? I needed someplace to start, right?"

Dos Passos did stand up now. His voice rose several notes with anger. "So you’ve brought everyone down to your level, except me. And meanwhile, we’ve all been humiliated on national television, we’ve been threatened with violence... there’s no way you’re going to stay in that office, pal! In fact, since it looks like you, the VP, your Cabinet, and every other person in the line of succession have pretty much eliminated themselves from the equation, why don't you just appoint me President? After all, even you have to admit it... I’m squeaky clean."

"Hmm, President Dos Passos. Aside from circumventing the Constitution, that does have kind of a nice ring to it. It might even have taken with the public, too. At least, before now."

Dos Passos didn’t blink. "Before now? Before now what?"

"Before we did find you out."

Dos Passos let out a guffaw. "OK, Stevens, I’ll bite. What did you find out about me?"

Stevens shrugged. "Just one little thing. The tiniest of things." He held up a bank statement. "Just some small irregularities in one of your accounts."

Dos Passos looked confused. "What, do you mean the Caymans account? The monies I received from the Teamster union were perfectly legitimate, according to current statutes controlling campaign finance."

"Maybe they are. But that’s not what I'm talking about. How often do you do business with Banque Ariel?"

Dos Passos froze, just for a split second. Under normal circumstances, no one would have even noticed it. But every eye in the room was focused only on him. The whole Senate caught it. A crack in the armor.

"I... I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s Banque Ariel?"

Stevens gave a look of mock surprise. "You don’t know what Banque Ariel is? Well, it only appears in this stack of your account statements a grand total of five times, and with all the international business you transact, I guess it's conceivable that you might not know... nah, I take that back. You’d have to know something about a bank that transferred $2.5 million dollars into your Galveston 4th Union Account. Especially since you received that money from the Libyan government."

Dos Passos didn’t answer, didn’t move except for one little twitch in his left cheek. Stevens continued. "You’re not the only person who can follow a secured transaction, Donald. Even if you did take great steps to throw your scent. And I’m sure that I don’t have to remind you that doing business with the current Libyan regime is forbidden, and more to the point, illegal under any circumstances. I believe you co-authored that resolution yourself."

Dos Passos swallowed, then swallowed again, but his glare remained fixed on Stevens’ image on the screen. He still did not make any attempt to speak.

Stevens shrugged. "I’m pretty sure I’m correct on that point, but let me move on. Now let’s look at the timing of those transfers. You don’t exactly outline the context and substance of your bank transactions for us. But it would appear," he pointed to the circled entries on an enlarged photocopy of the statement, "that these payments were wired to your account last year on September 6th, only three weeks before our barracks in Incirlik were bombed. You’d have to know something about that, right? I mean, it looks suspicious as hell, doesn’t it? Can you see where I’m leading with this?"

Again, Dos Passos didn’t move. In fact, time seemed to stand still in the Senate Chamber. Dos Passos’s eyes locked with Stevens for what seemed like an eternity. Then, Dos Passos jumped.

With an almost preternatural swiftness, he reached for his briefcase. The handle came loose, exposing two 6-inch daggers from each end; he proceeded to plunge these into the heart of the Senator sitting next to him, one Johnny Mullis. Before Mullis could even die, Dos Passos grabbed his briefcase, pulled the handle/dagger out of his "friend", and put the now-bloody weapon to the neck of a shreiking Harvey Schmerliwitz.

The side door to the Chamber burst open, and an armed assault team started to hurry in. Dos Passos spoke loudly, but with an almost calm precision. "If any of your soldiers take one more step through that door, our friend Mr. Schmerliwitz is going to be wearing a Columbian necktie."

Stevens’ eyes went wide. "Back off! Back off right now!" The team did as they were ordered, and closed the door behind them.

Dos Passos lips curled slightly upward. "Oh, and that’s not all. This briefcase," he patted the side gently, "contains a small but efficient cyanide bomb. By removing the handle from the case I’ve now ‘pulled the pin on the grenade’. One wrong move, and a whole House of Congress is on an express elevator to Hell."

"Oh, shit," was all Stevens could whisper. Bluff called.

Schmerliwitz struggled against Dos Passos’s grip, knocking his glasses off his face and to the floor. Dos Passos promptly bashed him over the head with the handle. Harvey immediately fell limp.

Dos Passos smiled smugly. "Much better."

Stevens put his hands up. "Donald, let’s not be too hasty. Just stay calm...".

"I am calm. Perfectly calm. From what I can tell, you’re the one sweating here, not me."

"Fine. You’re absolutely, right. Now, what do you want?"

Dos Passos thought about that for a minute. "You. Here in the Senate Chamber. I’ll allow for evening traffic and your logistical and security concerns, so let’s say... 60 minutes. Come alone. You’ll enter through the same door your goons have been using, and you’ll stand at the lectern when you come in, hands in the air. No jacket, no tie, no belt, no shoes. A single deviation from this plan, and everyone in here dies. And remember, you sic a sniper on me, I drop the briefcase. Got it?"

Stevens nodded. "Got it." He motioned to Savian to cut the transmission. When the red light went off, the entire television-viewing population of the United States of America engaged in a collective primal scream, left teetering over the deepest abyss in human history. Stevens fell to his knees, shoulders slumped. Gurevic and Zegland ran over to him. Marty asked, "Ken? Ken, are you OK? Ken?"

Stevens had gone the color of chalk. Gurevic swore that she could see flecks of grey in what had been until now a head of dark hair. "I don’t believe it. I just got John Mullis killed. What the hell was I thinking?"

"It wasn’t your fault, Ken."

"Don’t tell me that, Marty! You warned me! You told me not to do screw around with this, and I went and did it anyway, and now Mullis is dead!"

Zegland shook his shoulder. "Cut that crap out right now, soldier! We don’t have the time. Now, are you going down there or not?"

Stevens looked incredulous. "Of course I’m going down there, Charlie! Do you think I’m going to let him execute his hostages? Better me than them."

Moseby interjected. "Charlie, maybe Dos Passos is bluffing about a cyanide bomb. Doesn’t that seem just a little out of whack?"

Zegland shook his head. "Can’t take the chance. He’s trained by MI, he was an Army spy, foi- Christ's sake. He could make an explosive out of white wine and refried beans. He knows his shit, and now he’s gonna use it."

Moseby replied, "Charlie, this is nuts! Why would the guy be carrying a cyanide bomb around with him? Just for this sort of occasion?!? This guy isn’t James Bond! What if he dropped the briefcase by mistake, or someone else pulled the handle out, or...?" 

Stevens waved his hands in the air. "It doesn’t matter if he has a bomb or he doesn’t. Fact is, Senator Schmerliwitz has a blade to his carotid artery right now. If I don’t go over there, Dos Passos is going to kill him. Johnny Mullis is dead already, so you know he’s not bluffing about taking out Harvey. I won’t allow that to happen."

Savian approached the huddle and knelt down next to the President. "Kenny, I’ve got an idea. Maybe even a good one. I’m not an expert in all this spy bullshit like Mr. Zegland, but I do know Hollywood. Here’s the pitch."

The director spent two minutes detailing his treatment, his listeners enraptured by the yarn. When it was over, no words needed to be spoken. It was obvious from the look on Stevens’ face that this was the course of action they would take.

Moseby wiped some sweat off his brow. "Just one thing. In order for this to work, it would be better if it were done by the right person. Not you or me, but the President's greatest enemy. Someone who has no reason to help or aid him at all would be good, someone who despises him even better."

Stevens replied, "Most of my ‘enemies’ are in there with Dos Passos. The House leaders are lightweights, and they might not even be in town." Then he stopped, dead in his tracks, and stared into space. For a moment, Marty thought that the President might be having a stroke or an embolism, so completely vacuous was his expression. Then, before she could speak, Stevens turned to her.

"Marty, get me my personal phone, now."

Marty,without questioning why, ran out of the office, and returned 45 seconds later with a small cel phone. Ken went over to the window, and had a 2 minute whispered conversation. Then he returned to the group. "We’re all set."

Marty started to ask who he had spoken to, but Ken waved his hand in the air. "No time for questions, Marty. You were right. It’s my play." He looked at Zegland. "Open the East Gate in 15 minutes. We’ll have a visitor. And you’ll all know what to do."

Zegland sighed. "OK, then. It’s a 5 minute drive from here to the Capitol, and we’re clearing the streets now. I’ve got a couple of things I want you to wear when you go in, for your own protection."

Savian smiled. "So do I."
 
 

In the 57 minutes since Dos Passos had taken his hostages, not one Senator had so much as moved, let alone spoken. Dos Passos, however, had used this break in the action to thoroughly lambast and belittle as many of his colleagues as he could.

He ridiculed them for giving in so easily to Stevens. He questioned their courage, their moral fitness, their intelligence. He wondered aloud if their blood was as red as Johnny Mullis’s. He spat out rhetorical tirades against the Evil Empire that was America. But as soon as he heard the left side door of the Chamber unlock, his focus turned to the approaching confrontation.

The door opened, slowly, and Stevens entered. His hands were raised above his head. His blue dress shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, his pants hung loosely around his waist, his socks made a ‘swish’ sound as they scraped against the carpet. He turned around 360 degrees, showing Dos Passos that he was unarmed. Dos Passos motioned with his head toward the lectern, and Stevens walked up to the Speaker’s Podium. Then he put his hands down, and placed them on the edges of the wood, gripping them hard.

"All right, Donald. I’m here on time, and exactly as you wanted. No tricks, no nothing. OK?"

Dos Passos smiled, a small, ferret’s smile. "OK, Mr. President. You’ve done as I asked, and that’s just fine."

"So, what is it that you want from me? Do you want to make some sort of exchange?"

"Hmm. Interesting question, Ken. Yeah, I do want to make an exchange. Life for death."

"For who, Don? For me? I’ve got no problem with that. But for Harvey?" He looked at Senator Schmerliwitz, who was awake now but in an obvious mental funk. "What’s he ever done to you? I listened to his confession. The worst thing he ever did to anyone was accept some cash from lobbyists that he shouldn’t have, and snort some bad coke a few times. And he once plagiarized a speech. Criminal and impeachable, maybe. But should he die for that?"

Dos Passos said nothing, so Stevens went on. "And the rest of your colleagues here. None of them are going to be beatified by the Holy Father, but c’mon! Kill them, too?"

Dos Passos shrugged. "Mr. President, I’m very realistic about my situation. What’s going to happen to me when this is all over? You found me out, you’ve blown my cover. I don’t know how, but you did. I underestimated you, and the people who work for you. So tell me, what’s the going penalty for treason and over 200 counts of first-degree murder? Maybe I should ask Timothy McVeigh ... oh, I forgot, they executed him a while back, didn’t they?"

Stevens nodded. "That they did. But listen. I’m still the President, Donald. I don’t know for how long, but I’m the Chief Executive officer of this country and the Chief Enforcer of the Law and the leader of the free world until they kick me out. I’ve got some power left, and I can use it."

Dos Passos blinked. "How?"

"What if I told you that I would guarantee that you will not be executed? I can’t pardon you, I think you realize that. But we can put you away in a prison cell for the rest of your life. You’d die an old man."

Dos Passos shook his head. "54 years old, and you’re still so damned naive. Maybe you’re not aware of exactly who I’m working for. I’m certainly not going to tell you, you’ll find out for yourself eventually. But a world of peaceful co-existence would be a hatchet in the back for them, they have too much to lose. If you think they’ll let me last for more than 5 minutes after I’ve screwed up their operations so badly, then you’re as crazy as I am."

"We’ll protect you."

"You can't even protect yourself. Just ask Lincoln and Kennedy. One day a guard will mysteriously find me hanging in my cell. Or I’ll end up in the prison gymnasium with six guys named Bubba. Or I’ll get a fatal case of food poisoning. No, I think it’s best that we all go down together, with all of America watching. The oh so great government of the United States, finally and mercifully buried by a landslide of hypocrisy. For the pleasure of knowing that, I’m willing to be buried right along with you."

"Donald, try to be reasonable about this. We could...", BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Three gunshots rang out from the back of the chamber. The first two slammed into Stevens’ chest, the third right between his eyes. An explosion of blood and brains flew against the back wall. Stevens’ expression froze in place, his body went rigid, as if struggling to stay up; then he fell like a wooden board to the floor. A puddle began to form under his head.

Dos Passos turned to the back balcony, where he saw Jennifer Stevens holding a rifle, an insane smile stretched across her face. "Gotcha, you cheating bastard!", she cheered, some spittle flying from her mouth as she cackled. Shell casings fell in slow motion, almost like soap bubbles, down from the balcony to the floor.

"What the F...", Donald started to say, his arms falling slightly away from Schmerliwitz.

Harvey wasted no time. He yanked the briefcase from Dos Passos’ loosened grip, kicked Dos Passos square in the shin and began to run toward the back of the room. Dos Passos yelped in pain, then made to throw his dagger-handle at his escaping prey. Suddenly, three more shots rang out. Dos Passos stopped running, and looked down at his chest. He saw parts of his body that no man should ever see. "Smart boy, Kenny. Smart Boy," he whispered softly to himself, a gentle smile forming on his lips. Then he fell to his knees, coughed up a few bloody chunks, and flopped on the floor face first. A puff of smoke seemed to exit through the holes in his back.

A National Guard marksman ran through the side door, his gun trained on Dos Passos at all times. He prodded the body, then turned it over. "Target terminated," he said loudly, to no one in particular.

Meanwhile, a slew of Secret Service agents and soldiers ran to the fallen President. Stevens’ eyes were still open, staring blankly at the ceiling. They were glazed over, and a tear appeared to be running down his right cheek toward the floor. Gurevic pushed her way through the crowd and knelt down beside him. She put her hand carefully on his forehead. "Kenny? Kenny?"

Stevens blinked, sending tears falling from both eyes. He wiped his face with his sleeve, then asked, "Everything all right, Marty?"

Marty smiled, not bothering to hide the tears streaming from her own eyes. "Yup. Dos Passos is dead, and the bomb squad is defusing his little toy."

"So he really had a bomb?"

"It looks that way. Zegland says it’s a nice one, complicated as hell. But we should be able to trace its point of origin from the serial numbers on the parts." She wiped her face with her sleeve.

"Good. Looks like Henry owes me and Chuck a dollar." Stevens slowly stood up and stretched. Then he gave Marty a big, long hug. "Damn, I forgot how hard it is to keep your eyes open without blinking for three minutes. I haven’t done that since ‘Dementia Unleashed’ in 1976."

Brian Savian walked in the room. "Good picture, saw it six times. Who directed that one?"

Stevens smiled. "I think it was Alan Smithee."

Savian grinned back. "I just might have to put my name back on that one. Damn, I could make a fortune." He surveyed the scene; Senators were slapping each other on the back, offering up prayers, calling relatives, and running to the bathroom. Harvey was surrounded by well-wishers, who were enthralled by his recounting of those fateful few seconds. A couple of Senators even came over to offer thanks to the President who had just "outed" their sins. Stevens accepted graciously. "So, Ken," Savian asked, "you think I might get an Emmy nomination for this?"

"I don’t know. I deserve one for my stunt work alone... but I think Jenny’s performance might have been slightly over the top." Stevens nodded toward the First Lady, who was sauntering up the aisle with the Vice President, rifle still in her hand.

Moseby gasped in mock indignation. "You do a couple of B-movies, and all the sudden you’re a drama critic. I think she did a great job."

Jen smiled just a little. "Thanks, Hank. It was a good idea... and maybe even good therapy."

Ken couldn’t help it. He started to laugh loudly. "Y’know, Jen, I think you enjoyed yourself a little bit too much."

"Must be some kind of fantasy fulfillment, I guess." She put the gun down and walked up close to him, putting her hand gently on his face. "I still hate you, you know. But maybe I hate you just a little less. You were so brave in there."

Ken blushed, but didn't avert his gaze. "Thanks. So were you."

"Besides, if Dos Passos thought I was going to let anything happen to the father of my children, he really was crazy."

"No arguments here," Ken replied. "We have to talk, you know. And I don’t mean scream and shout and cry. I mean talk. Do you think it’s possible?"

Jen thought about that for a moment. "To find an amicable resolution? Anything’s possible, Ken. You proved that tonight. I think we can settle everything without any more fisticuffs." She moved her hand up to his eye. "Sorry I hit you that night."

"No apologies, Jen. We just should have called it quits when we really called it quits. It wasn’t wrong to want to keep the kids happy. But sometimes, our own health is more important."

"Yeah," she nodded her agreement, then put her hand down.

"You gonna be OK?", he asked.

Her smile returned, just for a second. "Are you?" She answered. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and left through the side door.

Ken looked down at his shirt, which was a big red mess. "I wonder how much the White House laundry is gonna charge me for dry-cleaning this." He reached behind his head and pulled off the small hair piece which had been covering the "blood" squibs.

Zegland came over to the group, cigar in mouth. "You took a big chance, Ken. What had you so convinced it would work?"

"Because I had the world's greatest director working for me. That, and the fact that Dos Passos’s glasses fell off. He was so involved with what he was doing that he never put them back on. I saw him walk into a glass door once when he wasn’t wearing them. If held had them on, the head prosthetic would have been a lot easier to spot."

Zegland almost allowed a hint of a grin to cross his face, but suppressed it. "I’m going home now, gentlemen. I’ve got a date... with my bed." He limped slowly away, leaning tiredly on his cane.

Stevens and Gurevic, flanked by a team of Secret Service, walked leisurely up the aisle of the Senate Chamber toward the back door. Marty’s hand searched for Ken’s, found it, then intertwined with it. She looked down at the now-covered body of Dos Passos, which was still leaking.

"So what are you going to do now, Ken?"

"Me? I’m here to serve until my time is up, or until this country tells me to go. I’m going to play the recordings at 9 AM, just like I promised. I’m going to sit down with Congressional leadership afterwards and see if we can’t come to some sort of accommodation that saves all of our hides. I’m going to dismiss the National Guard right now, and thank them for doing a bang-up job. I’m going to launch a full-scale investigation of Dos Passos tomorrow, and see if we can figure out exactly who he worked for. I’m going to hash things out with my wife so that we’re both happy, and compromise until it hurts. I’m going to think about the convergence of miracles that happened here today, and pray to the Almighty that I haven’t used up my cosmic luck bank account. Basically, I’m going to be pretty busy, Marty."

"Y’know, the blood is never going to come out of that carpet. They’ll never get it clean."

Stevens nodded grimly. "As well it shouldn’t. I think what’s happened to this government over the last few weeks is going to leave a permanent scar, both literally," he pointed to the floor, "and figuratively. It’s appropriate that every time someone walks into this room, they’ll have that stain to remind them. Nobody here is clean, and maybe we’ll never be able to get clean. But at least... we fumigated the room."