Chapter Three
THE DAY BEFORE HURRICANE CARL HIT
Despite evidence to the contrary, Web Stockbridge did not believe himself to be an obnoxious asshole, spoiled brat, troubled teen, coddled prick or any of the other code names the Secret Service privately bandied about before settling on "Dictionary." Web thought it was cool. The Secret Service thought it was easily abbreviated.
At sixteen, someone had deemed him old enough to participate in some of his father’s official duties. Who this person was Web was still trying to identify and take appropriate action against. Still, Web was making an effort as evidenced by the white button-down shirt he’d put on that only had the one small stain on the front. Fortunately, the jacket his father had insisted he wear covered most of it. He tugged the front of the jacket tighter across his stomach, but it didn’t go all the way anymore. That was weird. He should drink more diet coke with his nightly bowl of ice cream, he thought. For now, he sat quietly along the side of the room sighing heavily every three minutes or so to ensure his silence was being adequately noticed and appreciated by his father and the small gaggle of reporters asking stupid questions.
"Are you concerned about the retaliatory tariffs Japan is putting into place?"
"What do you say to CEOs who can't find the workers they need due to your immigration ban?"
"Will you change your stance on emergency aid for Sudan?"
"Are you really going to close embassies in the Netherlands and Finland?"
"Do you still think calling North Korea a “bunch of pussies” was a good idea?"
President Stockbridge took in the barrage like a man sucking helium from a balloon, his eyes sparkling in anticipation of the mix of horror and glee his squeaky-voiced answers would provide.
"No. I have more tariffs than Japan could ever have.
"If the CEOs need workers, hire Americans.
"America had to fight a civil war to work some things out. Let's see if Sudan can do it.
"Most Americans don’t even know the Netherlands is a country and I didn't have anyone I owed anything to who wanted the job. They have phones over there. Tell 'em to call me if they have any issues.
"Well, okay, maybe I shouldn’t have used that word on the old North Koreans. I got in a little trouble with a few of the ladies in the secretarial pool for the feminine implication, but that's my problem to work out."
An aide rushed over to whisper in the President’s ear that there was no secretarial pool at the White House and hadn’t been for over thirty years. The President smiled his winningest smile and held out both hands to forestall the barrage of outrage that he adroitly assumed must be building among the young liberated women who now worked for a variety of media organizations. They were clearly hiding their outrage at this very moment by moving to collect their notebooks and coats and heading quickly toward the door.
“Let me clarify,” he called out. “North Korea is acting extremely dickish.”
With that, he spun away from the podium feeling next-level victorious, brushed his fingers through his self-perceived mane of messy brown hair, and walked out of the room. He left behind a press corps certain that nothing they just heard made any sense at all, but equally certain that their deadlines were going to pass by the time they figured it out, so they just went with it.
Still seated along the side of the room, Web sighed one last time for dramatic effect, then sighed again for real when he realized no one had seen or appreciated his drama. Shaking his head at life’s injustices, he turned to watch his father exit the room. Web was not so easily fooled by his father’s bluster. He was certain that he alone saw a critical flaw in the President's approach to the world's challenges. And like a chocolate cake with no sugar, that, right there, was a recipe for disaster.
Meanwhile, the maelstrom of self-deluded confidence known as President Stockbridge strode into the Oval Office and launched immediately into a verbal sigh. His Chief of Staff jumped up from the couch he’d just slumped into after the press conference.
"They're so annoying, Jack." Really it was a whine, but this is the President of the United States we are talking about, so history shall record it as a "sigh." Apparently Reagan was a bit of a whiner as well, yet it was recorded by staff as impatience, for the good of the nation.
"I can't argue with that, sir." In fact, he had several justifiable points he could have made about the President's proclivity to patronize the press (Jack had some annoying verbal alliterative tendencies of his own), but he had learned through painful trial and error that the President liked to argue most over trivial matters, such as whether the press was being annoying and, therefore, Jack kept his cunningly cutting criticism quietly contained.
"Did I do anything to make your job more difficult today?" the President asked.
"Nothing that we can't handle," Jack lied.
"Good. What do have for me today?"
"I'd suggest a close read of your security briefing. Some increased chatter from the North Koreans about something big, which is odd, because normally there's no chatter about anything out of that black hole. The House Speaker is asking, and about to demand, that you agree to a date for the State of the Union speech and was not overly amused at your suggestion of a short, hand-delivered memo instead. And, the head of the Secret Service has asked for a few minutes of your time to discuss a sensitive matter regarding Web."
"Oh, come on, seriously?" the President whined (sighed) vaguely giving no indication as to which of the topics pained him so.
Okay, Jack thought, you got yourself into this, you can get yourself out. He was guessing the Speaker, but Web was a possibility. Korea was probably already forgotten.
"Yes, sir. I'm afraid so," he prompted. The President wanted to do vague, he could do vague.
"Well, I'm not going to put up with any bullshit. You can tell him that."
The Speaker.
"Of course not. It's just a pro forma thing. Thirty minutes. They will be courteous, for the most part," Jack assured him.
"They damn well better be courteous. They work for me. And, I thought you said it was just Eddie. How complicated is it to keep an eye on one kid?"
Damn. Secret Service.
"Yes, good point. I'll ask him to come in and explain," Jack replied, defeated.
"Fine. And tell the Speaker I'll give him his talk, but he isn't going to like it."
"Oh, I'm certain of that," Jack said. As he left the room, he indicated to Edward Pikney, the man in charge of keeping the President alive for four years, that he could enter the Oval Office.
Pikney was an imposing man. A former Marine, six-four, close cropped receding hair and not an ounce of fat to be discerned. The President greeted him from behind his desk, so he could exhale and let his belly ripple comfortably over the edge of his belt.
"Good morning Ed. I thought you aren't supposed to be ratting out Web to his old man. How can he trust those youngsters with guns you've got tailing him everywhere, if you come tattling to me every time he sneaks a beer or something?" the President asked, secretly hoping the kid would try to sneak a beer or do anything remotely similar to what he’d done when he was sixteen.
"It's nothing like that, sir. We are concerned about his use of the smartphone he's been given for communications with you and his security detail," Pikney said, a slight shift in his stance the only indication that he would rather be slowly boiling in hot oil than having this conversation.
"What the Hell are you talking about, Eddie?" the President demanded, instantly losing patience with a conversation that was clearly going to be about technology that made him feel old and stupid.
"Well, sir, it's probably nothing . . . "
"Yet, here you are taking up the time of the most important person in the world," noted President Henry Clay Stockbridge without the slightest hint of self-awareness.
"Yes, sir. Understood. As you know, since the phone is government property, we can and do monitor its use," Pikney dipped a technological toe into the water.
"I swear to God if you are about to tell me this conversation is about pictures of naked women, I will seriously question your sanity and qualifications for this job."
"Sir, I have two teenagers and can assure that I am well aware of the futility of trying to regulate hormones. The issue is that he has loaded programs onto the phone that make it impossible to monitor who he is talking to and what’s being said."
"And."
"Sir?"
The President sighed. "Why do you need to monitor my son's conversations?"
"I don't understand the question, sir. It's what we do. We’re the government."
The President stood, sucked in his gut, almost passed out, exhaled spraying spit on a bill awaiting his signature, tried not to laugh at the irony of it all, yet not realizing there was nothing ironic about it, and said, "Not with my son."
"But . . ." Pikney tried.
"Eddie, you are treading on thin ice. Web knows how to handle himself and would never do anything to hurt me or betray my trust."
So . . . about that . . .
Did you download and install the encryption?
The ganoo?
Er, yes. It's actually GNU.
Whatever. Yeah it was easy.
Good. Now we can talk without being spied on.
So, u really think I can help my dad?
Certainly. Clearly diplomatic channels are hopeless with your father's outspoken opinions of our country.
That's just talk. I don't think he cares about you at all.
I see. Good to know. Thank you for telling me.
Sure. This is fun.
Can we talk again tomorrow? A colleague of mine has some questions I think you could answer for us. Important questions.
Definitely. So cool.
So cool, indeed . . .
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