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Underground
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“You know what’s wrong with this entrenched establishment?” Donald said, leaning back, “We let people hold onto their power for way too long. It’s unbelievable. We even praise them for it, which is just crazy. And you know what happens? It creates a different kind of person—a total egomaniac who wants to rule forever. Even when they’re unfit for leadership, when they’re out of touch with the American people, they still cling to their title like gold. Can you believe this? They don’t care how many lives are ruined because they can’t do their duty. Or worse, they convince themselves that any problems that they create because of their self-serving political agenda are beyond their control or someone else’s fault.”
The agent glimpsed at the irony and looked away, unsure of what to do during such a vulnerable exchange.
“Ageism, sexism, racism, are all the folly of man,” he continued. “There are some things elderly people should not be put in charge of. There are some things men can do better than women. And the same with the blacks. But we want to say that everybody is equal when you would take a bullet for me. Which means my life is greater than yours. A greater than sign is not an equal sign. That’s just math.
The agent nodded, either agreeing or feeling forced by his position to agree.
“Ah, I’m just rambling,” Donald said with a dismissive wave. “I’d say this conversation stays between us, but I think we already know that goes without saying.”
“Yes sir,” the agent said. And then, knowing that was the absolute answer, “It does,” he confirmed.
The car turned onto a street where two concrete barriers sunk into the ground. As the vehicle passed over them, the barriers reemerged. The vehicle continued into a small building, roughly the size of a garage, and descended into a tunnel beneath the structure, coming to a stop at a curb where a man in a black suit and sunglasses opened the door. Donald stepped out.
Inside the underground facility, the advisor quickly caught up to Donald for a classic West Wing-style walk-and-talk.
“How long do I have to wear this thing? It’s completely ridiculous. It’s not like anybody will see me down here” Donald said, touching the bandage on his ear. “That little bastard was an excellent shot, but I did not expect that much blood.”
The Advisor wasn’t concerned about what was, only what had to be done.
“Sir, he has to drop out. It would be chaos if he were to keep running and win—“
“Believe me, I know. I’ll have a chat with him,” Donald said.
A doctor took the opposite side.
“As you can see here,” the doctor said, holding up an MRI scan, “the structural changes in the hippocampus are significant enough to warrant—”
Donald and the doctor both interrupted with a lighthearted shout, “In English, Doc!”
The doctor chuckled, “I know,” as Donald added with a grin, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“The patient’s cognitive decline is pretty serious,” the doctor continued.
“So, you’re telling me he’s not fit to run a nation? Is that what you’re saying?” Donald asked.
“Sir, he’s not fit to run a lemonade stand.”
An advisor stepped forward and handed Donald a leather-bound folder stamped with an official seal.
Donald pushed open the door and saw his friend sitting in a chair with a blanket over his lap, peacefully looking out a nearby window. Even though they were deep underground, the scene outside was staged with live birds, trees, and an artificial sun.
Joe glanced over, a warm smile crossing his face. “Donald,” he said.
“Hey Joe,” Donald replied.
“Must be pretty bad if they sent you.”
“Nobody sent me. I’m just here for a visit, that’s all.”
He walked over to the bed, unbuttoned the bottom two buttons of his blazer, and sat down, placing the folder beside him. Joe’s eyes flickered toward it.
“You know,” Joe said blinking rapidly, “More people would believe you if you mixed your lies with a little bit of truth.”
Donald smirked. “Joe, come on, I think we both know I’ve got enough people who believe whatever I say.”
Joe sighed, his tone shifting. “Look, I can’t step down. There’s still work to do. I’m reluctant to walk away from that.”
“You know, my good friend Barry— remember him?—after my swear in he told me it didn’t matter if he could serve a third term. He said he’d never finish everything he started.”
“It’s almost like a cruel joke,” Joe said, shaking his head. “You get in there with all these big ideas, all these plans, thinking you’ve got time to make it all happen. Then it hits you—you’ll never have enough time. And the kicker? You’ve cut somebody else’s ideas and plans short just to start on yours.” He sighed, his voice turning reflective.
“We’d probably have free healthcare and a flawless economy if we didn’t zigzag in different directions every few years.”
Donald looked at him, surprised. He was there. He was there there. All of a sudden he was a fully functioning human person. That same human person he had been most of his life, with all the clarity and personality that comes with it.
“Do you remember your first briefing?” Donald asked.
“Of course, I do,” Joe replied defensively, his default response. Words like “remember,” “memory,” and “forget” had become triggers for him over the years. He also hated hearing “Joe” spoken in that soft, pitying tone. That, he hated most of all.
He cast his eyes downward, “Look,” he said, “uh, uh, uh,” He stuttered, sifting through his memory. He kind of remembered his first time walking into the briefing room. Well, he knew there had to be a first time, given how many times there were after. Still, he didn’t quite recall the details, but he knew enough to let Donald get to his point. After all, Donald wasn’t one to ask for fine details.
All the while Donald squinted at him with his lip in a permanent frog-like frown. He refused to interrupt him, continue, or embarrass him in any way. He would let Joe find the words and complete his thought no matter how long it took.
“Boy,” Joe said, “It was—it was something.”
“Definitely,” Donald nodded. “By the time they got to The Facility, I thought, ‘Well, there goes my plans for the wall.’”
Suddenly, it hit Joe—a flood of fragmented memories rushing back in quick flashes. The briefing room. The briefing room. Top Secret, even to him back then, beyond his clearance. He had walked past the highly classified “Red Door” so many times when Barry was in charge but never allowed inside—until he took over.
“Can you imagine?” Joe said, shaking his head. “Taking even a fraction of the energy budget away from those pods—
for anything else—would literally be world-ending.”
“Did you meet Gulgar?” Donald asked.
“I met him once, through teleconference.”
“Oh really? You didn’t do the brain thing?”
“ What? Fuck no. You did that? You did the brain thing”
“ Oh man. It’s like the best coke and the best weed mixed with that feeling after some mind-blowing sex, I tell ya.”
Once the laughing died down Joe had a feeling. Donald was here for something, but he didn’t know what. There was a tension in the air. It was weighted with a hint of disapproval like he had done something wrong or had to do something wrong. It was like he failed a test. Or maybe he didn’t study.
“Outside” a small colorful bird landed on a branch and began pecking at something. Donald looked closer to see that it was eating another bird, or what looked like another bird. That didn’t seem normal. He turned back to his friend—or at least the shell of his friend—staring blankly out the window. This wasn’t the perfect moment, but then again, when was it ever?
“Joe,” Donald said carefully, his tone softer than usual, “you can’t keep going like this. This job—it’s tough. You saw what it did to Barry’s hair.”
Joe let out a laugh, but the tension still hung in the room.
“If you let it, it will kill you.”
Joe’s smile faded as the realization set in. Donald was here to try to convince him to step down—before he’d even really started. If he left now, he’d fade into history as nothing more than an interim president, barely worth a footnote in the annals of time. His words would come back to haunt him, and he would be viewed as a bridge, a rusty grown-over bridge on the edge of the forest, indiscernible from the highway of life.
Joe’s eyes became large. He looked as if he were a child fighting off sleep. “I am running,” he said. “I have to.”
Donald shook his head. There was no convincing him. Deep down, Donald knew Joe wanted to quit. In the back of his mind, Joe knew it too. He knew it would be best—everyone did. But Joe wasn’t ready to make that call. He needed someone else to decide for him.
Donald got up, bent over, and kissed Joe on the lips. Joe had instinctively raised his head, but his mind remained tangled in thought, momentarily detached from the gesture.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Donald said, then turned and headed for the door.
Joe wanted to say something—to tell Donald everything would be okay—but pride held him back. He wanted to look strong. So he stayed silent and let Donald leave.
Once Joe was left in the room by himself, he felt sad, but he didn’t know why he felt sad.He couldn’t even remember how long he’d been sitting in that chair or what he was supposed to do next. His gaze drifted to the window. The birds outside, trapped in their artificial paradise, caught his eye. Did they sense that something was a little off? Did they notice that the color of the shrubs wasn’t quite right? Did they realize that the “natural” light was man-made?
Joe caught something out of the corner of his eye. Something was a little off. There was one thing in his room that didn’t belong. He reached for the leather-bound binder and opened it.
“It has been the greatest honor of my life… The fuck is this?”
Donald entered to retrieve the forgotten item. Joe looked up.
Donald entered to retrieve the forgotten item. Joe looked up, his gaze warming as if he were seeing Donald for the first time that day.
The former tycoon looked into his friend’s eyes and saw that he was only partially there. Donald’s heart went out the window to be fed to the birds as he remembered his training. He exploited a talent that had got him this far. It was something few people could do. He looked at the entire scene as an opportunity to be exploited.
“Hey, Joe,” Donald said, his tone brisk but supportive.
“It must be pretty bad if they—”
“Joe. Come on. You haven’t signed it yet?”
Joe looked down at the official-looking document in his lap. Where did it come from? How long had he been holding it?
“Did you forget?”
“No, I didn’t forget,” Joe lied defensively. He detached an official looking pen from it’s sheeve. “I’m signing it right now.”
“I’m proud of you for doing this, buddy. The world thanks you.”
“Well,” Joe said, glancing down at the printed words he was sure came from his mind, “it’s in the best interest of the people. That’s what it’s all about.”
Down the hall, a few key figures from the inner inner circle waited, including Mrs. Harris. They heard the distinctive tapping of leather soles as Donald walked down the corridor. He’d trained himself to move with a blend of confidence and purpose, making it hard to tell if the tapping signaled success or if it was the sound of failure.
Donald rounded the corner holding the leather-bound folder. True to his showman nature, he paused for dramatic effect while the small crowd held its breath. He extended his hand toward Mrs. Harris.
“Congratulations,” he said, his voice filled with his signature bravado.
A celebration erupted.
“What?! Fuck yeah. Fuck yeah!” Mrs. Harris exclaimed as she slapped Donald's hand away and gave him a great big hug.
“Whoo,” she pulled away from Donald and began rattling off an impromptu list to her right-hand woman, “Alright. Alright. Get Started on the press conference. We need ads. We need them fast. Gather the committee– No. Better yet, make sure my current duties are still front and center. Let’s not make it look like I’m sidelining my existing responsibilities just for a promotion.”
The assistant scribbled everything down vigorously on her tablet.
“Fuck,” she said, “The 500 million. Where the fuck are we gonna get–”
“I got you,” Donald said, solemnly, “I think I have that in a shoebox somewhere.” He tried to force a smile.
It was strange to see this powerful man so humbled by the situation. He could hardly keep eye contact with her. She read the room and lowered her energy level.
“Hey,” she said gently, “You know this is the best thing for him.”
“I know,” he replied.
“Come on,” Mrs. Harris insisted, “Drinks are on me.”
“No, no, no,” Donald said, handing the folder to her assistant. “You’ve got more work ahead of you than you’ve ever had in your entire life, trust me.” He started to walk away, adding with a wave, “You still gotta beat me.”
“And Rob,” she called back, drawing genuine laughter from her yes men and women.