It is like pulling teeth. I should not have to ask several questions, in order to get to the truth.
—Senator Joseph McCarthy
The president turns on Bulls-Eye Ball. “So Slater doesn’t become suspicious.”
I scoot back farther into the chair to be more comfortable. “I studied about the McCarthy period in school.”
“Good, good. I’m not an idiot, you know.”
“No, sir.”
“Cut the crap, Thompson. I’ve been yapping around here like a mad cow in a funny farm, and we both know it.”
He sure has, but I’m not going to say anything.
“I get confused sometimes,” he says. “A lot more lately. I might not be the smartest president, but I’m a damned good speaker. Used to be a TV anchorman in Jackson.”
“I recall that, sir.”
“Said what they told me, and said it good, and played stupid all the way to the White House.”
What is he trying to tell me? “Who are they?”
“Slater and the Big Mac Party. They’re always watching every move, making all the decisions.”
The Big Mac Party appeared in the 1980s, when Reagan called the Soviet Union the “evil empire.” These old zealots, mostly men who had been supporters of Senator Joseph McCarthy’s 1950s witch hunts, got all fired up on the anti-Communist bandwagon again. They spouted on about how McCarthy was right about all the Communists infiltrating America and about how we were doomed to collapse from within. In the late 1990s their ranks grew, and they formed the Big Mac Party and turned their un-American rhetoric to more contemporary issues. They have a few people in the House and Senate, but they’ve made little impact nationally—even with their greater electoral presence these days, the Big Mac Party is still on the fringe. It’s incredible to learn that Slater’s part of Big Mac.
“I thought you were a Democrat,” I say to the president.
“I am. And I was a Republican my first two terms in Congress. Slater didn’t care what we were—winning was the only thing that mattered. Don’t look so shocked, Thompson. Everyone’s a sellout sooner or later.”
Regardless of the situation, I’m not going to argue with the president. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Emergence.”
The word means nothing to me. “Is that like a support group or something?”
“No. It’s a secret program.” President Wright looks around the room. “So secret, even I don’t know about it.”
“But . . .” I stop myself from pointing out the inconsistency of his statement. An antique grandfather clock indicates five minutes to three. I need to get to Scotty’s concert; presidential meeting or not, Karen will be pissed. “I have another appointment, sir.”
The president raises his index finger. “A few minutes. I want to explain the invasion.”
“What about the invasion?”
The president chuckles. “It’s a complete farce.”
“What do you mean a farce?”
“The invasion is not real,” he says, as if it’s no big deal. “It’s a program inserted into border patrol surveillance computers that mimics illegal crossings. Some kid from Arizona State created it for me.”
“A college kid created this emergency?”
“One of my daughter’s friends I met out in Mesa during parents’ weekend.” The president gets a scared look on his face. “At least I hope he’s just a friend. That kid’s a real wacko. He’s called Wizkid.”
“Wizkid, huh?” That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’ve obviously been called here because the president is completely out of his mind and he needs someone to entertain him. Who better to make a fool of than the man who outsourced apple pies? I want to go home. I need to talk to Karen. “Perhaps we could discuss these issues when they become more readily defined?” I say.
The president looks at the ceiling. “McCarthyism!” he shouts.
I can’t help myself and laugh. “McCarthyism?”
“The issue has been defined.” The president puts his hands in the air and flutters his fingers. “McCarthyism is alive and well within Big Mac. And they keep popping up everywhere.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No. It might be unreal, but it’s no joke.”
“No offense, Mr. President, but I have to leave for my son’s concert.”
“Your son will understand.”
“My wife won’t.”
The president strokes his chin. “Probably not.” His face is calm. He touches my arm and looks at me with sincerity. “Your country needs you.”
I reconsider. Despite the craziness, something in me trusts him. I decide to hear him out. “Why me?”
President Wright points his finger at me. “The Big Mac Party. They’re more powerful than you think, Thompson.You’ll find that out soon enough.” He swivels his chair around and types on his computer. “Check this out.”
I look over his shoulder to an email.
“This must have been sent to me by accident. The sender’s address is blocked, but it has to be from someone who has my classified email.”
Tim,
Emergence program is Big Mac’s greatest asset, but also a huge potential liability. We should consider terminating if Big Mac Party becomes self-sufficient. Thoughts?
EAGLE.
“Do you know anything about the Emergence program?” I ask.
“It’s on the books as a CIA intelligence-gathering center, but I can’t figure out its true purpose. McCarthy started the program in 1951 and had it funded to last a hundred years. The program is self-sufficient and exists outside the known command structure.”
The president confiding in me relaxes me somewhat. What he has been saying is mysterious, thrilling even. McCarthy’s insidious influence and support were far and wide. Congressmen, senators, the army, even the president were afraid to take him on. And now the president is implying that a secret McCarthy program that’s somehow tied up with the Big Mac Party is still influencing the government. It frightens me. I suddenly feel inclined to help.
“But what can I do?”
“You’re my best shot.”
“Best shot for what?”
“To find out what’s going on at Emergence. I’ve heard Slater mention it on the phone before, but every time I try to find out what it is, I get blank stares. The bits I’ve picked up were from some old classified Truman files I was able to get access to.”
I close my eyes for a second. “If you can’t find out about Emergence, how am I supposed to find out about it?”
The president points at me. “I’ll tell you. I just found out in one of these files that the president can send a liaison to Emergence, but only in times of a national emergency. I want you to be my liaison. I want you to find out what this program is all about and how it relates to the Big Mac Party. From what this email says, it could be a weak point for them. I’ve always wanted to obtain something I could hold over Slater.”
“There’s an actual national emergency?”
“The stealth invasion.”
“You said it’s a farce.”
“Only you, me, and Wizkid know that.”
“Not Slater?”
“He’s actually concerned about the stealth invasion. Concerned enough to let me prepare to declare a national emergency. Having Canadians and Mexicans running over the border any time they want is the last thing Slater wants.” The president smiles. “Smartest thing I’ve ever done.”
“You’re going to declare a national emergency over a farce?”
“Wizkid’s virtual invasion is real enough for the government to prepare for a national emergency. And that’s enough for me to send a liaison to Emergence. What do you say, Thompson? You’d be helping out the president of the United States. Let’s see some American pride, my boy.”
He’s right. I’ve always wanted to help my country in an exciting position that mattered. I could be the president’s spy in a secret world. James Bond images reel through my mind.
Thunderball! Dr. No! I’ll never again get a chance like this. I clear my throat. “I feel honored to be chosen.”
The president frowns discouragingly. “Let’s face facts, Thompson. You’re not exactly super-spy material. I requested a liaison, and Slater found you to appease me. He did a search through the government’s ancient HR database and came across that bad analysis you wrote. He probably figures you’re harmless. You’re the best I’m going to get.”
Ugh. I feel small. My shoulders sag. “You’re the president.
I wasn’t good enough for the CIA.”
The president punches me in the shoulder. “Cheer up, Thompson. I checked you out and looked beyond what Slater saw. Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts, computer club, all-conference high school football player, and straight As your last three years at Georgetown. Chris, you’re the all-American, smart, athletic boy that I need.”
“But I’m a lazy-ass man.”
“A straight-up honest family man. And what a coincidence—you predicted a stealth invasion and I made one happen. We think alike, Thompson.”
“Well, I . . .”
“Sylvia Fontaine! You passed the Sylvia Fontaine test.” The president raises his voice when he says the name.
“Sylvia Fontaine?”
“The most beautiful operative in the world. And sex is her only weapon.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Oh, you did more than imagine. You met her.”
I try to think. “I did?”
“Met her and rejected her.”
“I did?”
“Remember last night when you and your friend Archibald went out for a couple of beers?”
“The redhead!”
“Sylvia Fontaine!”
“She’s fantastic looking. And she did hit on me.”
The president rubs his hands together greedily. “Sylvia Fontaine.
And you snubbed her. Simply amazing.”
“I’m a married man.”
The president looks bewildered and shakes his head.
“Pshaw! Didn’t stop me.”
“You and Sylvia?”
The president rubs his temples. “Another thing Slater has on me.”
“Archie said he hooked up with her.”
The president slaps the desk. “Ha! Archibald’s a big fat liar.
He took the female bouncer home.”
I laugh. “So I finally passed the CIA test?”
“Absolutely. The right stuff is still inside you. Chris, I need someone who will make the right decision when it counts.
Now, are you with me?”
The president sure knows what to say. I remain silent as I consider. They keep popping up everywhere, the president had said. I think of Hitler and Stalin. If the people aren’t vigilant, a dictatorship could happen here in the United States. McCarthy nearly proved it.
“There are few pivotal moments in life. Step up or squirm back,” he says.
The president is right. So what if this is all a little odd? It’s time to stop being a mope and do something that matters for a change. Tomorrow Never Dies! The World Is Not Enough!
Bring on the adventure. “I’m in.”
The president smiles, and we shake hands just as Vance Slater walks into the room.