George suppressed a cough as the cloud of white powder billowed around his nose, lingered in the climate-controlled air and disintegrated among the buzz of electronics and jittery assistants.
He squinted, then opened his eyes to hear, “That’s it for makeup, Mr. President!” from the skirted backside scurrying out the door.
“Excellent. When do we go live?”
“Five minutes, sir,” Ari said, lowly.
George shuffled the papers on his desk, rubbed a defiant fleck from his eye and slowly scanned his surroundings.
Equipped with two cameramen and sound technicians on each side, his Oval Office was the perfect picture of pure symmetry – his Greek brothers in the old fraternity would be proud. “Everything in place, Colin?” he asked.
“Yes,” barked the secretary. “But are you positively sure you want to go through with this? According to my department’s tests, this weapon’s guidance system is accurate only three-fifths of the time.”
“Well, those numbers are no surprise coming from you,” the president scoffed with a snigger.
“Mr. Bush!” ejaculated Dick, his head popping into the office. “We can’t completely disregard the Defense Department’s research. This is a matter of utmost importance.”
“Perhaps, but I think Colin here’s just peeved about us accidentally removing him from the voting rolls in ’04,” George chuckled, reaching up to give his aide a hearty pat on the back.
“Your wit is quick as a whip and leaves twice the sting, sir,” droned Colin. “But yes, despite my reservations, Project Praecox has been deemed complete. We await only your executive orders.”
“Excellent. I assure you, gentlemen, we will not regret this. Ari, how long?”
“Two minutes, sir. Two minutes.”
World War I was the war to end all wars; Project Praecox would prevent them from happening in the first place. In exchange for $80 billion – about the cost of Operation Iraqi Freedom – and a developmental period of three years, the American people would soon be free from all future international conflicts, great or small.
“One minute.”
Hundreds of missiles, guided by supercomputers that analyzed decades’ worth of human history and military intelligence, could deliver preemptive strikes with deadly accuracy to any point around the globe. The computers would calculate which rogue nations were most likely to support and carry out terrorist acts against the United States, pinpoint the potential troublemakers within those governments and neutralize them and their bastions of power – with minimal civilian casualties and no loss of American life.
“Action.”
“My fellow Americans.” George stopped, smirked, shuffled. “For far too long, our servicemen and women have sacrificed themselves overseas in order to defend the American way of life. For far too long, brutal regimes around the world have threatened this way of life, and, for far too long, we have been a nation of reactors.”
He paused for effect, breathed deeply and swallowed.
“Now, we are a nation of actors. Our post-emptive strike in Afghanistan and our preemptive strikes in the Middle East have been unquestionably successful; I am proud to remind you that America has not suffered a terrorist attack in over six years. Yet we must consider the cost. Too many Americans have died tragically – but heroically – fighting evil abroad. Too many children have grown up in a world marred by conflict and fear. But today, my fellow Americans, with the unveiling of our newest tactical defense system, our conflicts – and fears – will be put to an end. God bless America.”
“Cut.”
The bubble of tension, assailed by raucous rounds of applause, swelled and burst. George wiped his face, licked his lips and rose.
“That’s all folks,” he breathed, an irrepressible grin spreading across the landscape of his face. “Call General Franks.”
“Our target has been selected, sir,” blared the speakerphone. “This nation has fed billions of dollars to terrorist and dictatorial regimes during the past 50 years, using everything from ideological and religious claims to blatant self-righteousness as justification. It has directly or indirectly caused millions of deaths worldwide, and it has covertly trained and supported some of the world’s most heinous criminals. But soon, gentlemen, its troubles – and troublemaking – will be over.”
Outside her home, Laura stepped out of a limo and waltzed along a barricaded walkway, surrounded by a seething mass of journalists.
“Mrs. Bush, Nick Steiny Johnson from The Washington Post speaking. Some would say the president is firing his missiles far too prematurely. Don’t you think his decision is a little rash?”
“My husband would never do such a thing,” the First Lady blushed. “And that rash is none of your – ”
A shrill, sickening whistle sliced through her final words. She shrieked and was thrown forcefully to the ground, her legs splayed, her hair tousled, her glowing face reflecting dozens of rippling explosions.
Project Praecox was an unmitigated success.