The Drumbeat of War

Former John Boehner bodyguard Solomon Kane got out of the taxi on 37th Street and looked at the imposing Georgetown University campus.  He had on a black trench coat and black fedora, causing more than a few observers to think for a moment that the Exorcist had again been summoned.  He consulted his note on where to find the Jesuit professor who had summoned him here, then started walking across the campus.  He had been hired by a host of unsavory people over the years, and had done plenty of things to make him feel nervous at the sight of any type of priest, let alone an entire Catholic community, but he had been promised $5,000 for a "simple job".  Nobody would offer that low of a sum for a hit, and he was quite curious to find out what the gig actually was.

As instructed, Kane sat down on a bench outside of Maguire Hall and unfolded a newspaper to read.  The air smelled slightly moldy from the maple leaves which had already fallen, but there was a crisp, cool breeze at the same time.  He caught a whiff of a freshly peeled orange, and a fragment of passing conversation about an upcoming history test.  He was a handsome man, and regretted the scowl he felt forced to give a couple different women who smilingly thought of sitting down next to him, but he had to keep the seat open.

Finally, a man with a priest's collar peeping through a tan overcoat sat down next to him.  "Thank you for coming," began the leader of the Seekers.  "One of my parishioners needs you to kidnap her husband."

A few miles to the east, Justice Department attorney Atticus Hawk was sitting nervously in Attorney General Loretta Lynch's office for a private meeting. Hawk was desperately hoping this was going to be about praise for his progress with the Guantanamo dossier, and not his lack of progress with the Panama Papers, but he was wildly off base.

"I need you to write up a contingency plan for civil war," she began.

"What?!"

"The FBI really screwed up big time.  No matter what they do now, one side or the other is going to cry foul.  FBI analysts have privately brought me information on the threat of armed insurrection after the Election.  The current assessment is that the people prepared to take up arms are small in number, but there is no way of predicting what kind of reaction there would be.  We absolutely cannot let things escalate."  She paused for a moment to let him take this in.  "Naturally we cannot interfere with the Election itself, but we have a duty to maintain the rule of law and public safety.  President Obama has Executive Orders already prepared to activate the National Guard as needed.  What I need from you is a plan to deploy additional U.S. Attorneys to battleground states in anticipation of the need for arrest warrants and arraignments, as well as keeping a close eye on law enforcement officers and soldiers who might be tempted to stray from their duties.  This is an absolute priority, and you can set aside everything else until you complete this plan."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, though he had no clue how to do this.

Down in the secret CIA bunker beneath the "Washington Times" headquarters, psychiatrist Ermann Esse was briefing his handlers about his attempts to hypnotize his way to the top of the Trump organization.

"So, basically, you're failing?"

"Well, I've persuaded a few campaign workers to switch allegiances," replied the shrink.

"You've had no perceptible effect on Donald Trump's speeches, nor have you turned any of his KGB moles."

"I did get one operative to post embarrassing Trump videos and documents on the Internet, but it's hard to drum up interest when there is already so much denigration of the candidate out there already."

"I think we need to move to Plan B," said the female handler, looking at the male handler, who nodded his head in agreement.  "We've created a cover to send you in as a fashion designer.  Your targets are now the Trump women.  This is Operation Barbie Doll."

"I see," said Dr. Esse, who thought he might be losing his mind.

Over in Foggy Bottom, Luciano Talaverdi rapped his knuckles on the Federal Reserve Board library round table to begin an emergency meeting of the Camelot Society.

"We should wait until after hours!" protested Obi Wan Woman.  "This is supposed to be a secret society!"

"That's why I told you all to bring your lunches and look casual," said Talaverdi (who, since getting married, no longer scheduled evening or weekend meetings--both to please his wife and to avoid the temptation of table-top sex with the booted, tunic-clad woman).  He signaled an aide to Janet Yellen that she could begin.

"The Board had a secret teleconference off the record," she said.  "I've been tasked with writing up a banking contingency plan in case the country erupts in civil war after the Election."

"That's absurd!" said a housing sector analyst.  "Fringe elements cannot ignite a civil war!"

"Maybe, maybe not," she replied, "but they can certainly spook Wall Street and cause a run on the banks."

"So this is about the banks, then, not bloodshed?" asked a labor economist, sarcastically.

"This is about fulfilling our duties in the event of possible financial disruptions," she answered.  "Other people in the government will be occupied with riots and violence, but our job is to protect the liquidity.  The Board is counting on us."  She placed her right hand on her heart and used her left hand to raise a knife like a sword.  "We are the Knights of the Camelot Society!"

Back downtown, Judge Sowell Ame was also in a lunch meeting to discuss post-Election contingency plans.  "Oh, Hell no!" he reacted, as soon as the Chief Judge of the Superior Court told the group of associate judges they should be prepared to work extra hours after the Election.

"Excuse me?!" exclaimed the Chief Judge, who knew Ame was the laziest judge on the bench, even in a sea of lazy judges.  (Ame opened his mouth to say something, then decided instead to stick a sandwich in it.)  "We could have riots in the streets of this city, including armed militiamen driving in from Virginia to assault the White House, the Capitol, or the Supreme Court.  We need to be prepared to issue bench warrants and do arraignments."

"With all due respect," began one of the older judges, seated near the front of the court room in which they were gathered, "if what you're saying is true, we might be under martial law.  It sounds dangerous."

"Of course it sounds dangerous!" retorted the Chief Judge.  "Freedom is not free!  We are here to defend the Constitution!"

"Well, I only do family court," said a woman in the back, who quickly ducked her head after speaking to avoid attribution.

"Well, I imagine anybody getting arrested had a mother at some point!" replied the Chief Judge, sarcastically.  "I have prepared contingency assignments for all of you, which are now being distributed by my clerks.  We will have additional security officers and a stockpile of food and water.  I suggest you put some clean changes of clothes in your chambers.  All vacation plans for the Election week are canceled, and anybody who calls in sick without actually being hospitalized can expect to be demoted to traffic court magistrate."

"You can't do that!" cried Judge Sowell Ame.

"Sure I can!" retorted the Chief Judge.  "And you can try to impeach me!"

Back in Georgetown, the leader of the Seekers had finished explaining their recent endeavors to de-program members of the Trump cult, whom they believed capable of perpetrating great evils, even murders.  But one of the Jesuit's own parishioners had been unsuccessful in isolating her often traveling businessman husband in order to conduct the Trumpist de-programming.  After various consultations and inquiries, they had identified Solomon Kane and come up with the plan to have him kidnap her husband.

Kane pretended to continue reading his newspaper for a few more minutes.  He had always thought the oddest thing he would ever do professionally was submitting to daily full-body muscle inspections by the palpitating hands of the former Speaker of the House.  Now he was being asked by religious people to kidnap a Trump supporter for what he assumed was as close to an exorcism as he would ever see.

"I'll do it one condition," Kane finally said.  "I want to watch."

A cool breeze suddenly stirred up a pile of leaves, a catbird began imitating the sound of a squeaky wheel rolling down a sidewalk, and one of the Shackled floated above Solomon Kane, contemplating the sight of a priest hiring a hitman.

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COMING UP:  Adventures in early voting!