October 29 2020
The glass windows on the executive briefing room were darkened and the doors closed. Once the screens were lowered, the room was sound-proof and all electronic signals were blocked. Only a single high speed LAN connection allowed data in or out.
Lev stood at the head of the executive table, Six men in tailored suits sat around the table and watched as he arraigned his folders. No one was checking watches yet, so he had their full attention. One more moment to let the anticipation rise.
“I'll keep this short, everyone is busy, so let's proceed,” He said, standing straight, meeting each of their eyes. “Our miss-information campaign is ahead of schedule. We will have full saturation by November 2. This will allow two days to fine tune results prior to the election. We have seven points we are pursuing; fake mail-in ballots, mail-in ballot destruction, main stream media hiding legitimate stories, the President being censored, the other party being supported from foreign entities, election fraud and violent leftist protests.”
Several nods greeted his status update, but he only cared about one. That one was watching, had a distracted look. “We have people in place to start rallies, riots or protests as needed. They can be mobilized within minutes and we have the apparatus in place to move these agents as needed.”
“Plausible deniability?” One of the suits asked.
“Tainer has no knowledge of this and is only concerned with his election campaign. There is no chance he will lose Kentucky.”
“Show me, show me showme!” Matt muttered under his breath. The monitor on the wall showed all the known airport, train and exit points over the world. Each person in his query had a different color. Lines connected every dot, but it was a massive web that made no immediate sense. “Find the pattern, Matty,” he coaxed, swaying in his chair. It was there, there was always a pattern. Two had been in Paris. One was in England three days before those two in Paris. The three Russians never went the same path, but they did connect with others at other destinations. Of the seven, three had been in the US within the past two months, but they arrived in different cities, and non of those were New York or Washington DC.
Once in the US, he lost them, but Tim could track them. He sent a quick inter-agency email to Tim with the specifics and went back to staring at the display.
Lev was alone in the room with Ralph Quince. “What's the long plan?”
Ralph Quince remained seated, watching over thin, tented fingers. “What long plan?”
“Come on, all this is too mundane for you. You don't need this, it's a waste of your time.”
“He's not going to get re-elected.”
“Excuse me?”
“Williams, he's not going to be re-elected.”
“The numbers look good. Granted the pandemic and economy have hurt him, but there's still his base.”
“His base are idiots and so is he. He's done too much damage to the party and the economy. He has to go.”
“It's a little late for that. We can't put in a new Republican nominee for President without fracturing all support. There's no way I can pull that off.” Lev stared at his old friend. “This is bull shit! And you are still going to pay for what I've set up and the break down of operations.” He added the stress out of frustration. He was alright with a failed plan, but hated intentionally wasted efforts.
“Ease up,” Quince held up his hands. “We're still proceeding as planned. That hasn't changed.”
“You better explain then, I'm lost.”
“The details aren't important right now. You keep building the base up, get your players ready and keep increasing them.”
“Why? It's a waste of effort if you aren't going to use them.”
“They'll be used. I need you to make sure they are primed and ready.”
Quince's limo drove through the gates at the White House with only a momentary pause to check his identity then proceeded to the entrance. The Secret Service guards nodded at him as he exited the limo. He waited a moment for the positive identification, then pulled up his face mask and entered the White House. As a senior presidential advisor, he had access to the executive offices and just had to sign in at the checkpoints.
His first stop, on the way to the oval office was the Vice President's office. “He's expecting you,” Sandra, Vice President Patrick Donor's Executive Secretary, said from behind her antique desk. “I'll let him know you are here. It'll be a moment, please have a seat.”
Quince sat in one of the thick leather chairs, his overcoat folded across his lap. He knew the wait would be short. Donor still had political aspirations and even if Williams won, he was going to have start cutting ties from the toxic president. The writing was on the wall and Donor was starting to read it.
The Vice President's door opened and Donor came out to shake his hand. “Ralph, it's great to see you back in the West Wing. You been away too long.”
“You know, meetings for the President, rallies, pressers. This is crunch time, Mr. Vice President. How are you and the family?” Quince asked and Donor lead him into the office.
Donor sat on one of the two chair set up, facing each other, for casual conversation. “They are good. Anxious as we all are.”
“Mr Vice President,” Quince started after sitting across from Patrick Donor. “We need to start long term planning.”
“Of course. The logical step is for William's to endorse me in three years as his successor and I'll run for President.”
“Can I be honest? This has to stay between us.”
“As long as it's not sedition,” Donor chuckled.
Quince paused for a moment, weighing the risk, but it had to be taken. “We need to plan for sooner than that. You have to realize that even if he's elected, Williams won't serve out his term. He's a risk to the party and the country. I can't control him and he's believing his own publicity.”
“You're not seriously talking about a coup?” Donor's shock was written on his face. His hands moved to grip his own knees.
“Of course not,” Quince said, watching the Vice President relax slightly. “But he barely weathered the first impeachment. Democrats are going to keep the House and stand a great chance of taking the Senate, even with all that we're doing. We have to think about what happens then. Or if he does go off rails, there's the 25th Amendment. You need to think about your own career. Do you want to be forever tied to the only modern day President that was successfully impeached by the House and convicted by the Senate? If you do, your career will be gone. You won't even make money on the talk circuits.”
Donor sat back, stilled stunned by the turn of the conversation. “What do you think I should do?”
Quince knew he was stalling. Donor couldn't make on the spot decisions, especially without his trusted advisors backing the decision. “You need to slowly distance yourself. Don't break ties. That will lose you his base. You need to start pulling the more moderate conservatives. This alt-right base is bad for everyone. They are too easily led.. too volatile.”
“Where do we start?” Donor asked, now leaning forward.
“I don't know yet. I need to figure that out. But I need to know if you are up to it. Depending on November third, we might need to start sooner than expected.”
“How likely are we to lose? The real numbers, not what you're telling Williams?”
There was a gleam in his eye now, he was buying into the idea. “We'll win. That's a given. Williams will stoke up his base. They'll be loud enough for the mainstream conservatives to rally behind them. It'll be close, but after all the dust settles, we'll keep the White House.”
The Oval Office had more gatekeepers, but they knew to streamline the wait for Quince. He only had to sit a few minutes before an aide escorted him into the President's chamber. Williams was old, there was no denying with the tools available to the highest power in America. He was great at the photo ops, but when he wasn't on, the age made him sag.
“Ralph, glad you could make it. We need to shore up some points right now. We've only got three days before it's all on the line.”
“Mr President,' Quince replied, shaking the outstretched hand. Neither was wearing masks or bothering with the social distancing requirements. This set Williams more at ease, helping him forget the pandemic raging outside the White House.
“How are you, Mr. President?” Quince asked, taking one of the chairs in front of the Resolute desk. Williams returned to the high back chair, giving him an almost throne-like seat behind the famous piece of furniture.
“I'm good. Health is great. The goddamned media always gets it wrong. I get so much exercise when I'm golfing. And I'm not resting. Oh no. I'm working on the golf course. Always working. I never take any personal time. It's those fuckers at CNN that are out to get me. Them and ABC. They're almost as bad as MSNBC. Even Fox is shit now.”
Quince tuned out for the tirade. It would go on for another few minutes and he would just nod and agree. Best to get the rant out of the way and let Williams expend himself and his rage.
“How are we going to fix this shit?”
Quince raised his eyes as he heard the question. He leaned back in a thoughtful pose to give himself time to catch up on what the question was. “We've got everything under control, Mr President,” He answered, stalling more.
“No! You have have shit under control. This should be a slam dunk. Everyone knows I am the best president ever. But you let the fucking media print lies and only cover this COVID-19 bullshit. If it wasn't from that goddamn reporter, it would be so much easier. That's on you! You did nothing to get ahead of that.”
“Mr. President,” Quince heard the edge in his voice and did his best to soften it. “You made those calls. You agreed to the interviews. I advised you not to-”
“Fuck you, Quince. Your job is to have my back. You fucked that up! That was huge and I gave beautiful answers, but you didn't do your job!” Spittle was actually flying as he raged.
“Shut up,” the command was quiet, but firm. “You don't have time for another temper tantrum. Sit down and shut up.” Quince didn't move from his chair, even his hands remained still. For a second, he wasn't sure what would happen next. The always mercurial president was never easy to predict.
Williams finally sat down, but there wasn't and peace in his eyes. “Fine,” he huffed.
“You're leaving soon for rallies and meetings. You have to be on topic for those. Stay with your talking points. Mail-in ballots are fraud. You're the best president ever. The economy is soaring. The fake media only only report lies. You know the routine. Stay on script!” he stressed the last sentence.
Williams glared at him for a moment. “When are you going to get off your ass and do your job?”
“Stay on topic!” Quince repeated. Left off, you fucking, mouth-breathing moron. But he also had to stay on topic, tomorrow was going to be a tipping point and he had to have something positive to report.
Quince stood up, the re-positioned his chair in front of the Resolute desk. “I'll meet you in Florida, tomorrow afternoon. Tampa, right?” He fully knew Williams schedule.
“I don't know. Check with the schedulers. Don't make me wait where-ever we're meeting.”
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