Unpopular Science

Chapter 33

Secret Service Special Agent Martina Vespana had long ago decided that all politicians were nuts and desperately in need of protection by sane human beings such as herself.

She was as competent and cool as they came, and despite her lack of skill in the political glad-handing department, she was noticed for her dedication. Despite not knowing enough of the right people, despite not having kissed enough of the proper backsides and despite the fact that she was equipped with the wrong sort of natural plumbing, she managed to get a high-ranking White House assignment. Based on her job performance, of all things!

She considered other career choices during the bleak days of the previous administration. Her backside and her pride could take only so much presidential man-handling. She was sure she was going to lose her cool if she had to put up with those busy executive hands and those furtively whispered invitations to “see Little Rock”.

She was almost pushed too far. Another few gropes would have been the last straw. Just one more thumb- jab in the…

Then came salvation. An intern. A cigar. A lot of media scrutiny and a few lies. Bad news for the nation but good news for Agent Vespana. Slick Willie’s manners improved overnight.

She had nothing to fear from his successor in that department, and in fact the current Man seemed levelheaded, less of a lunatic than the others.

But you have to be a lunatic to be President, right? And every once in a while some of the lunacy came out unexpectedly. Like in the middle of a full-scale White House Alert, Level Red-Beta. Red-Beta meant the President went deep underground and stayed there until somebody told him it was okay to come out.

She was quite surprised, then, to see him emerge onto a balcony just over her head.

“I need to see you boys right away,” the President said, as if he was talking to somebody right there with him. But he was alone. Nobody around except Vespana.

“Mr. President, get to deep cover,” she insisted.

“Evening, Agent. Good to see you on the job.”

“What is your security situation, Mr. President?” she demanded.

‘I’m just fine. I am just fine, Agent.”

Vespana felt better. The operative phrase today was fine. If the President said he was good it would have told her he was, in fact, in extreme danger, probably under threat of immediate physical harm.

“Then why are you—?”

The President went back inside the White House.

Vespana grabbed for her radio and demanded to know what the hell was going on.