"But we need cover." the campaign manager said. "It'll come up in the debates, for sure. Oppo says Flickery's planning to sock you hard.
Ugly allegations about" - he cleared his throat - "manipulating the
Celeste
budget to . . . well, the old charges."
"Why don't
I
just say that, as commander in chief, I have an obligation to be there?"
"It's not a military deal," the campaign manager said. "It's a space station. It's about peace. That's what you've been emphasizing."
"It's
about
twenty-one billion dollars, most of which went to Texas and California. That's why this thing is such a hot potato."
'A space station with two-million-dollar toilet seats," the press secretary said. "What could be so complicated about -"
"Taking a crap in weightless environment? You try it."
"I still don't see why they cost two million dollars. You could crap in a coffee can for -"
"I didn't design it."
"I'm not saying you did."
'All right, all right," the president said, "let's stay focused, people. Just get me to the launch without making me look like a twenty-dollar hooker."
The Oval Office was silent for a moment.
"I say we just go and to hell with it," the chief of staff said. "Balls it out. Take the position. This is a great day for America, for the millennium. Whatever. And I as the president of the United States am damn well going to be there. Fuck you, strong letter follows."
The president raised an eyebrow.
"Here's how we handle it," the campaign manager said with a smile indicating that his brilliance had attained new heights. "We leak it that you're not going to attend. Why? Because your opponent has used the launch to score points for his own political gain. He has dragged the integrity of the U.S. space program into the gutter. And you, as president, will not let him get away with it. You are determined to keep the exploration of space above politics. This was a wrenching personal decision for you. You agonized over it. Your place is there with the brave American astronauts. But in the end, you didn't want to detract from the, the
..."
"Grandeur."
"Grandeur of the occasion." "So we don't go?"
"No, we
do
go. But you decide to go at the last minute, after . . . you read an interview with one of the astronauts, where he says -
she
says - that she wishes the president of the United States could be here to share this moving, patriotic moment."
"Hm," the president said. He turned to his chief of staff and said, pregnantly, "What are the chances an astronaut might say that during an interview?"
"1 would guess" - the chief of staff scribbled a note:
Hedgepath -need interview with girl astronaut -
"astronauts do a lot of interviews before the launch."
"It could be poignant," the press secretary said.
The president looked out the French doors into the Rose Garden, where squirrels were foraging for fall nuts. "1 think, under such circumstances. I'd really be obliged to go. Wouldn't I?"
"No question." the campaign manager said.
FOURTEEN
MASSIVE CROWDS EXPECTED IN CAPITAL THIS WEEK FOR "MILLENNIUM MAN" MARCH
Hotels, airlines, trains, buses report "record" bookings
Police, Park Service, Cancel Leaves National Guard May Assist with Logistics
Scrubbs was now following the newspapers with keen interest. He took another long coffee break - Bradley docked him five dollars' pay every time - and rode the Metro to a distant part of Washington, where he placed another call to Mr. Majestic.
"Nice move with
Space Bimbos.
Seems to have backfired."
"Your guy is creating a real clusterfuck." The voice on the other end of the line sounded tired and strained.
"You wanted publicity," Scrubbs said, savoring his pain. "Isn't that what our shop is supposed to provide?"
"Our mission is to stimulate interest. We're way beyond that now. Things are getting out of control. I may not be in a position to extend assistance to you much longer."
"Don't break my heart."
"I hope for his sake this doesn't get out of hand." "How do you mean?"
"I mean, this can't be permitted to go on. They're going to do something." "They?"
"The ones you met on the island. Our information is they may be planning to remove your friend."
"Take out Banion? What good would that do? They'll create a martyr, a messiah. He'll be the UFO Jesus."
"How do you know that's not exactly what they're after?"
"It'll look kind of obvious. The Senate will have to hold hearings then."
"They aren't going to nail him to a cross while he's addressing the crowds. It'll be subtle. A bad oyster, a car accident, an embolism. Man's under a lot o
f strain. His heart could just go
. So he becomes the UFO Jim Morrison. Who cares?"
"Who are these people? Assuming they exist."
"1
can't tell you that. But they do exist, believe me, and you better pray that you don't meet them. That can't be allowed to happen. They will squeeze you until your head bursts. That's why, for the eighteenth fucking time, you need to come in where we can protect you."
"Send me dough and a passport and I'm out of here."
"You really have balls, you know that? You create this, this
pig's breakfast
of a situation and then you demand money. Have you stopped for one second to contemplate how unethical that is?"
Scrubbs looked at his watch. They were trying to keep him on the line.
"1
love it when you talk ethics." he said. "I see the newspapers are estimating as many as a million marchers. Go rent some outdoor toilets." "Scrubbs -"
On the ride back to work, the thought chewed on him: What if there was another group and they were planning to kill Banion. It was one thing to ruin a man's life, but this . . .
He put the thought out of his mind. There was no other group. It was just Mr. Majestic's ploy to get him to come in.
M
3
HQ, Millennium Man March headquarters, hummed with activity. Dr. Falopian was coordinating the myriad UFO groups. Colonel
Murfletit
was in desk colonel heaven, organizing logistics. The challenges were, in all fairness, enormous. Banion had galvanized every UFO group in the country. They were angry, they had rallied, and they were headed this way. The attendance estimate was now over one million people. Banion worked the media, whose attention he now not only had but commanded. All three network television anchors were coming to Washington to do live coverage of the event.
Renira came in. "Here's the sketch of your trailer."
Banion's trailer, containing his command post, dressing room, cot, bathroom, would be behind the main stage in front of the Capitol. It was the shape of a flying saucer.
Banion examined the drawing. "Where are the lights?"
"Lights?"
"Blinking lights. The real things have blinking lights." He sketched in lights. "Amber, red, and green. Some blue would be nice."
"By the way," Renira said, "Miss Delmar called. She's arriving at Dulles at four
p.
m.
I
suggested to her that's cutting it a bit close, as she's scheduled to address the mob -"
"Stop calling it a mob."
"Convocation. Whichever. She's speaking at seven in the evening, before the Tall Nordic Singers go on. I assume we'll have a trailer for her backstage."
"Talk to Colonel Murfl
etit. That's his department."
"She
is
a major star. She should really have her own trailer."
"She can hang out in my trailer. Also, some orange lights, the kind that pulse."
NATIONAL PARK SERVICE SAYS IT WILL NOT ISSUE PERMIT TO MARCHERS
"Why is this on my desk?" the president asked testily. The day before, his opponent had called him an "ozone hugger," in reference to his environmental views. They had woken him up in the middle of the night to tell him that an F-14 fighter had disappeared off the radar in the Bering Strait. Then they woke him up two hours later to tell him that they had found it, and everything was all r
ight. He'd planned to spend the
morning cramming for his upcoming presidential debate, and now this . . . irritant.
"Sorry, but it's your front lawn," the chief of staff said, nodding toward the Washington Monument and the Mall. "There's a very real chance of this thing getting unpleasant if the UFO people don't get their march."
"Let the Park Service deal with it."
"That's the problem. They want to deny the permit. On the grounds it wasn't filed in time, excessive numbers, inadequate planning,
et cetera."
"So? End of problem."
"Do we want a headline that says,
government denies permit to ufo
marchers?"
"No, we want a headline that says,
park service denies permit to raving lunatics
. I want this off my desk."
The chief of staff shifted in his chair. "I'm getting some vibrations on this."
"From where? Pluto?"
"Gracklesen's people call me every ten minutes. They're pissing down their pant legs. They think these people are coming here to burn him at the stake."
"Not a bad idea."
"They've requested we give him Secret Service protection."
The president looked up from his briefing book. "In his dreams. Everyone wants Secret Service protection these days. It's just about status. Absolutely not."
"I turned them down. But it's Gracklesen who got the permits killed."
"What? How?"
"He told Bimmins, the Park Service director, to refuse them." "Why is Bimmins taking orders from a numb nuts Oklahoma senator?"
"Because Gracklesen told Bimmins if he issued a permit, he'd have his good friend and colleague Senator Grooling hold hearings on the Mount Rushmore renovation disaster."*
The president nodded appreciatively at this neat parliamentarian blackmail. "Why not get the District government to develop a permit problem of their own? If it's a
District
problem, then our hands are tied."
"No go. The mayor loves this march. He told Burt Galilee he can't wait for a million white people to come make jackasses of themselves." "Aren't there any black UFO believers?"
"I don't have numbers on that. Burt says there aren't any, to speak of. Blacks have a hard enough time of it already without worrying about aliens. My general sense is UFO's are for people with extra time on their hands."
"Where does that leave us?"
"I've been thinking, why not give them their permits? Hang out the welcome banner. What harm can it do? They'll come, let off some
*
An experimental cleaning fluid used during the monument's renovation reacted chemically with the granite and turned the presidents permanently pink, causing a furor, especially among right-wingers.
steam, have a few beers, piss in the Reflecting Pool, and go home with hangovers." "I suppose."
"You'll be at Shangri-la.* Let the Congress deal with it. They're the ones these people are gunning for, not us. As a matter of fact,
1
was thinking you might want to do a little satellite linkup Friday night, you know, welcome them to town."
"Address a UFO convention? I'll look like I'm pandering."
"Not at all. Just a little neutral hello, welcome to town, you having a good time? Perfect chance to remind everyone that you've been a ceaseless advocate of open, responsive government all your public life. Who kept pressing to open the assassination files?"
"I don't know. Alien abductees?"
"Let me give you numbers I do happen to have: Over one-third the American people think aliens landed at Roswell in nineteen forty-seven. Eighty percent - eighty - think we, the government, know about aliens and are hiding it."
"How is this possible?"
"Seventy-five percent think JFK was killed by the government. Okay, so they're a little flaky upstairs, but they vote, a l
ot of them." "Sure, for Perot."**
"So we show a little sensitivity. We might even pick up some support. This thing is getting massive media coverage. The anchors are flying in."
"That'll
help."
The president snorted. "All right, but a short
*
Franklin Roosevelt's code name for the weekend presidential retreat in the Catoctin Mountain Park in Maryland near Washington. President Eisenhower renamed it Camp David after his grandson. For some reason
, they are using its old name,
**
Ross Perot, erratic billionaire populist candidate for president in 1992. 1996. and 2000. Eventually moved to Central America, where he purchased and ruled his own republic. Rossta Rica.