The eighth cigarette of the day pressed against his lips. An orange ring descended towards the filter as his lungs pulled the smoke inwards.

A low-level staffer, some tall, athletic guy he had met with a few times, stood by the side entrance talking with a secret service agent. Something about the staffer made him sick to his stomach. A Josiah leftover. Wouldn’t come in on Sundays. Acted so holy, but who knew what he did behind closed doors.

“I’m sure he got a few on the side his wife doesn’t know about, just like the rest of those self-righteous jackasses,” he muttered to himself.

The agent followed him everywhere. Stocky, powerful. He called the agent his pet gorilla. Never to his face. A puff of smoke snaked into the air as he imagined the things he could do in bed with his pet gorilla.

The eighth cigarette of the day landed on the edge of the asphalt. A toe ground the stick into ashes. He exhaled one last cloud of smoke and headed towards the door. The tall guy entered before he arrived.

“Mr. Ahab, sir. All ready?”

Charles let his eyes glide over the agent’s body. “Yeah. Take me in.”

They walked down the hall together, Mel to the left and slightly behind. Charles took his time as though he couldn’t be bothered to hurry anywhere. Mel slowed his pace to match that of the much taller man.

“We’re going to be late, sir,” Mel urged.

Charles raised one eyebrow and let slip an annoyed huff. “I’ll get there when I get there. They can’t start without me.”

Mel clenched his jaw to keep the comment from flying out. Twelve years in the military taught him how to stay quiet around authority. He checked a mental calendar. Two months on this rotation. One more month and Ahab would be someone else’s problem. The countdown had already begun.

Mel hoped the slime would eventually wash off. Three nights a week minimum, he trailed Ahab to the hotels along K Avenue. Men in suits, ties half undone, clambered for the attention of barely dressed women with heels high enough to break an ankle. Ahab’s gaze never wandered away from his phone or the drink sitting on the bar. The phone would buzz twice. Ahab would down the rest of his drink and summon Mel to follow. Their journey invariably ended outside a locked hotel room.

“You can come inside if you’d like,” Charles offered more than once as he tapped on the door.

“No, thank you, sir,” Mel said. “Regulations state I must remain outside.”

“Come in with me. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, sir.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Mel wouldn’t let his mind run wild nor did he particularly want to. He stood with his back to the door and endured the hour or so until Ahab would return. The odor of whiskey and sex would exit the room with him. When Mel mentioned the nightly engagements to his supervisor, the reply came back, ‘To each his own.’ Mel didn’t see it that way. They would not have tolerated this in the military. He had to remind himself daily why he had given up his stripes.

“Twenty-nine,” Mel said.

“I’m sorry?” Ahab said.

“Nothing, sir. I was thinking out loud.”

Ahab raised one corner of his lips, cocked his head to the side, and continued his march. A gray overcoat came off his shoulders. He held it out for Mel to take with nothing more than a, ‘Here.’ Sweat and cologne and tobacco infused the fibers with a tangible affirmation of Ahab’s vices. Mel draped it over his arm and breathed in lightly. The carpet absorbed all but the softest drumming of their shoes.

They reached their destination at the end of a corridor lined with portraits of former presidents. The latest, Josiah’s, perched an inch or two higher than the others. Painted a couple months before his death. All but his eyes smiled as though in unconscious expectation.

“Your coat, sir,” Mel said.

“Hold on to it for me.”

“No, sir. You’ll have to take it.”

Thick, dark brows scowled. The scar tracing his hairline frowned along with them. Three people looked up as Ahab entered.

“Morning, Charles.”

Ahab nodded back then gave a slight shake of his head. “What’s he doing here?” he said, indicating the tall man standing off to the side.

“This is Ben Ahikam,” President Jehoiakim answered. “He’ll be sitting in on the meeting with us.”

“I know who he is, but why is he here?”

“He was recommended to me.”

“As your chief of staff, shouldn’t I decide who’s here and who’s not,” Ahab said.

“As the president, I think I get the final vote.”

Ahab let out a grunt and took his seat to the left of Jehoiakim. On the president’s right, a man with one eye caught in a perpetual half wink, wearing a smirk as if he knew more than anyone else could know, greeted the incoming chief of staff. His hair had thinned to the point where few options remained.

“Charles.”

“Jimmy.”

James Shemaiah insisted on the nickname. It disarmed the people on the other side of the negotiation table, putting them at ease and making it that much more delightful when he lowered the boom.

“Who are we waiting on?” Shemaiah asked.

“Immerson.” Jeohiakim shuffled through a stack of papers in front of him. “Security said they sent him through five minutes ago. I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he can drag himself away from whatever conversation he managed to find himself in.”

Ben shifted in his seat. Six months ago, he had charge of a thousand men. Mel’s recommendation brought him to the Presidential Palace and a position about as low as they had. He felt a deep sense of gratitude towards his former sergeant yet, at the same time, had the urge to strangle him for helping him get his foot in the door. Victoria cheered Ben on during the good days and prevented him from carrying out his threats against Mel on the bad ones. This was turning out to be one of the not so good ones. In his mind, his hands went to Mel’s throat.

A quiet knock preceded the turning of the door handle. A man with gnarled hands and round-rimmed glasses entered. Ben’s stomach churned. He felt the same fear as when he sat outside the dean’s office in college. Pashur Immerson studied the faces in the room. The new guy looked familiar. From where, he couldn’t recall.

“I got hung up at the Secretary of State’s,” Pashur submitted as an explanation. “Did I miss anything?”

“We were just about to get started,” Jehoiakim said. He glanced at Ben. “I shouldn’t have to remind you, but nothing leaves this room.” To the others, he said, “Ben is former military with expertise in this area. He will be listening and giving advice when needed.”

“What exactly is the issue?” Shemaiah asked. “I assume the Chinese have given us another ultimatum, or you wouldn’t have brought me in.”

“It’s along those lines,” Ahab replied. “With some other concerns.”

“Which require my presence, I imagine,” Immerson said.

“You could say that,” Ahab said.

“What’s the ultimatum?” Shemaiah asked.

President Jehoiakim took over. “The Chinese gave us until the end of the week to send in the tribute.”

“How much do we still owe?”

Jehoiakim cleared his throat. “Half. From the first quarter alone. The second quarter’s tribute is due in three weeks.”

“Do we have the money?”

“Not even close.”

“What have they threatened?”

“The standard list,” Jehoiakim said. “They’ll send troops to occupy. They’ll blockade our goods, devalue our currency. You know. The usual.”

“You seem worried this time. For what reason?” Shemaiah asked.

“Chairman Tzao was on the call.”

“Oh,” Shemaiah said.

“Yeah,” Ahab said. “We need to get the money to them, but the reserve is dry. We’ve already increased taxes to the point where complaints are about to turn into action. You saw the protests in Alexandria.”

Shemaiah nodded.

“The treasury has already printed loads of money just to keep the recession from worsening,” Ahab continued. “If it prints much more, the currency values will spiral downward on their own. Nobody will have anything left to pay.”

“The Chinese have to know that, if they continue with this level of burden, we won’t be able to pay anything,” Shemaiah said. “How does this help them?”

“They’re aware,” Ahab said. “Apparently, they’re willing to use us as an example for the rest of their territories.”

“Unfortunately,” Jehoiakim said. “We have no choice but to increase taxes even more.”

Ahab started to protest, but Jehoiakim cut him off.

“I know what you said, Charles, but I don’t see a way around it. The people will have to bear some of the burden.”

Ahab grit his teeth. “Even if we do, it won’t suffice. The budget office ran the numbers on your proposal. It’ll still be a couple billion short for this quarter.”

“Then, we’ll increase taxes even more,” Jehoiakim said. “It’s not like the people can’t afford it. Bunch of whiners.” He looked as if he wanted to spit out his disgust. “Always demanding. After all I’ve done for them, they can’t make a small sacrifice.”

“It’s not that small,” Shemaiah said.

Jehoiakim’s face turned red. “Convince them that it is! That’s why I brought you on board.”

Pashur Immerson examined his cuticles, looking up when he heard Jehoiakim’s voice rise. Seeing as how the outburst didn’t pertain to him, he let the personal grooming reoccupy his attention.

“Actually, as you might recall, it’s my influence that put you here in the first place. And that keeps you here,” Shemaiah added. His expression never changed.

Jehoiakim seethed at the implied threat but didn’t respond. Ahab ran his fingers along the side of his leg, a nervous habit prompted by the awkwardness and his growing fears. Images from Alexandria came to mind. Signs and marches, shouts and threats. Hurled rocks bouncing off law enforcement shields. A group of officers hunching over a fallen protester, batons raised in the air. Burning grass and tires. One step away from a riot. He had pulled his collar up and his hat low so the protesters wouldn’t recognize him. Two of the eight cigarettes gave their lives as he made his way around the demonstrations.

An idea came to him, and the tapping stopped. “Blame it on Josiah,” Ahab said to Jehoiakim. “There’s no need to take responsibility for his failures. Tell them, if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Better yet, tell them it’s a policy he put in place. We’re simply trying to figure the best way out of it. Let them think it’s only temporary.”

“What happens when they realize it’s not?” Jehoiakim said. “They’ll eventually figure it out. They’re not that stupid.”

“Never underestimate their stupidity,” Ahab smirked. “Have you seen the latest poll about the direction the country’s headed? Sixty-two percent said it would be better under a strong Christian leader. Idiots.”

“You’re not helping, Charles,” Jehoiakim said.

“Actually,” Shemaiah said, “he has a point.”

Jehoiakim’s lip trembled a moment before he could stop it. “You really think a Christian leader would do a better job than me?”

“Not that,” Shemaiah said. “Make Josiah the scapegoat. After all, he is responsible for the mess we’re in.”

Ben didn’t like the direction of the conversation. A thousand comments rolled around his brain without any rolling off his tongue.

“Throw all the blame on him,” Shemaiah continued. “Get it out to your media sources. They’ll soften the people up. By the time their taxes come due, they’ll be angry but not at you.”

“It won’t work,” Jehoiakim said. “Josiah has too large a cult following, especially in the Christian community. He’s like a god to them. You say a bad word about him, and I’ll have a thousand church leaders banging on my door. Not to mention the negative press they’ll bring. I don’t need the headache.”

“You’re afraid of church people?” Ahab said. “They’re a bunch of sheep. The worst they’ll do is pray over you.” A chuckle escaped. “The other people, the ones with real weapons, they’re the ones we need to worry about.”

“It won’t happen,” Jehoiakim emphasized. “He’s still too popular.”

“Then, blame the Christians who back Josiah. Tie them to his failures. Every chance you get, accuse them of being complicit. Shame those jackasses. They’ll shut up.”

Jehoiakim turned to Immerson. “What do you think, Pashur? They’re your people.”

Immerson raised his eyebrows. “First, Charles, I don’t appreciate your characterization of Christians. They may be a little misguided at times, but that’s why they need a shepherd who’ll look out for them, help them navigate a modern world.”

“So, you think you can get them on board blaming Josiah?” Jehoiakim asked. “Or, at least, to not cause problems?”

“I think it’ll be an issue.” Immerson paused. “Not an insurmountable one. I’ll just have to talk to the right people who can help spread the message that maybe this isn’t the battle we want to fight. Those people may want something in return, though.”

“Such as?”

“Bishop Rosen is in need of some funds to restore the roof on the National Cathedral. Annandale Bible College could use a new library. Gestures like that. Maybe a few more.”

“How much would it cost?”

“Not nearly as much as the Chinese are demanding,” Immerson said.

“What do you get out of it?” Ahab asked.

“I’m not asking for anything,” Immerson replied. “Just a continued seat at this table.”

Ahab glanced at his watch, the craving for nicotine intensifying with each tick of the second hand. “It wouldn’t hurt to distract the people either,” he said. “Maybe relax some of the restrictions Josiah put in place. As a sign of good faith.”

“Such as?”

“Make harmless drugs, like marijuana, legal again. Get rid of those archaic, useless sodomy laws too. There’s no need for them. They just make you look like a Neanderthal. I know it doesn’t affect many people, but they would be grateful. Everyone else would see your benevolence, see how different you are from Josiah.”

Jehoiakim scrunched his lips but said nothing.

“None of this discussion resolves our original issue,” Shemaiah said. “No matter how much you raise taxes, it won’t bring in enough revenue. You know it. The Chinese know it.”

“You have a suggestion?” Jehoiakim said.

“I have a thought or two,” Shemaiah said. “Truth is, the Chinese don’t really want our money. They have something else in mind.”

“Which is?”

“Our resources. Two things in particular. The oil reserves off the coast and the uranium deposits south of Richmond.”

“The ones your management company invested in.”

“The ones we control,” Shemaiah corrected. “They would love nothing more than to get their hands on either or both of them.”

“Are you saying you’d be willing to give them up, use them to buy off the Chinese?” Ahab asked.

A laugh came out, amused and condescending. “Not in the way you suppose,” Shemaiah said. “I would be willing to give them exclusive rights to purchase from me.”

“Give up our uranium deposits? Are you out of your mind?” Jehoiakim said.

“Would you prefer riots?” Shemaiah asked.

“What’s stopping the Chinese from just taking it?” Ahab asked.

“The same thing stopping them now,” Shemaiah said. “The Russians. If the Chinese forcibly went after our deposits, the Russians would do everything they could to prevent them.”

“Why wouldn’t the Russians try to stop the sale?”

“First, they wouldn’t know the details. All they’d know is we entered into a contract with the Chinese wherein they obtained rights to some mining land. We’d make sure the Chinese had to buy other resources from us – zinc, copper, iron – in large enough quantities so the Russians wouldn’t be aware of the uranium and oil purchases. Besides, we could always cut the Russians in on their own deal. Without the Chinese knowing, of course.”

“Wouldn’t that require Congressional approval?” Jehoiakim asked.

“You’re the president,” Shemaiah said. “Act like it. They’ll do what you tell them.”

Ahab pressed his lips together and squinted as though it would clear up the image in his mind. “Let me get this straight. Tell the Chinese we’ll give them uranium, at a discounted price – not for free of course, force them to buy our other product, and use the money to pay off the tribute.” He paused to reflect a while longer. “I think it’ll work. Jimmy would make money, which I’m sure will flow back into our campaign.”

Shemaiah nodded.

“And we won’t have to raise taxes.”

“We could probably cut back,” Jehoiakim added. “The people would love me for it.”

This time, Shemaiah shook his head vigorously. “Cut taxes? No,” he said. “Keep them uncomfortable. Blame Josiah for their burden, like you said earlier. An angry people with a common enemy is better than a happy people looking for one.”

“May I make a suggestion?”

The room turned to look at Ben.

“By all means,” Jehoiakim said. “I didn’t bring you here for decoration.”

Ben swallowed hard. “Why don’t you consult Jeremiah? When Josiah did, things went well for the nation. The one time he didn’t ….” Ben let his words hang.

Ahab exploded. “Who’s this idiot?” he said, purple coloring his face.

Ben blocked out the rest. He already knew how it would go. Mel had described Ahab perfectly.

“Six more hours and I’ll be back with Victoria,” he told himself. “Maybe, she can explain to me why I took this job.”