Drone

But Jeffers stumbled across a couple of critics, too. The “usual suspects” whined about the imminent destruction of the environment and the hastened onset of global warming as a result of Myers’s new energy policy.

“What’s wrong with these people? You just saved the global economy, and you’re bringing new jobs to America,” Jeffers said.

“If my critics saw me walking over the Potomac, they would say it was because I couldn’t swim,” Myers joked. “You need to stop reading those ‘nattering nabobs of negativism.’ They’ll only give you indigestion.”

Jeffers threw a thumb at the passenger compartment where the press corps was seated, his face reddening.

“But half of those dick wipes are sitting back there sucking down mimosas and cheese blintzes on our dime. Effing ingrates. I ought to kick them out onto the tarmac right now.”

“I’ll hold the door open for you, if that would help.”

Jeffers ran his fingers through his thick silver hair. “This job’s going to kill me, I swear.”

“I can probably find you an easier one roughnecking on an oil rig. I met a few guys today I can introduce you to.”

“Ha-ha, Madame President. Speaking of critics, Diele wants a meeting with you. Today, if at all possible.” Jeffers checked her calendar. “You’re free at two this afternoon, if you can stomach the idea.”

“What do you think he wants?”

Jeffers grinned. “Your job.”

“Speaking of which, where’s the vice president?”

“Probably sitting in your chair with his feet up on the Lincoln desk. You want to talk to him?”

“Not if I can avoid it.”

34

The White House, Washington, D.C.

Diele arrived at the Oval Office ten minutes late, his petty reminder to the president of his seniority in elected office. Myers had invited Dr. Strasburg and Mike Early to join them, along with the vice president.

The Senate Armed Services Committee chairman was clearly agitated that he wasn’t getting a private meeting with the president as he’d requested. Everybody took their seats on the sofas and chairs in front of Myers’s desk.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Senator Diele?”

“First of all, congratulations on that oil rig speech. Great optics. I just wish you would’ve invited a few of your friends on the Hill to accompany you.”

By “friends,” Diele meant himself, of course. Screw everyone else. There were several big energy companies based out of his state and they stood to profit handsomely from Myers’s “Drill, baby, drill!” policy. So did Diele.

“Then let’s put together some comprehensive energy legislation and pass it, and I’ll give you all the optics you want, Gary, along with all of the credit, if that’s what it takes.”

“You misjudge me, Madame President. All I want is what’s best for the American people, which leads to the reason why I’ve asked for this meeting.”

Diele took a sip of coffee. Myers had taken the liberty to order it with heavy cream and three sugars, the way she knew Diele liked it. So did the White House steward. He’d been schlepping coffees for the rancid old legislator for years.

“And what have I done—or failed to do—that leads you to think the American national interest isn’t being served?”

“I believe I made my position clear the other day. We need a strong, forceful military response to the Houston attack, not a ‘law enforcement’ exercise. Have you seen the papers? Every op-ed page around the country is calling for some sort of military strike.”

“Gary’s right, Margaret. The nation is scared. A swift, surgical strike into Mexico and you’ll get a ‘rally-round-the-flag’ bump in the polls.” Greyhill had seen plenty of presidents use military action to bolster public approval when the opinion polls flagged.

“I’ve thought about it a lot, Gary. The Houston attack underscores the reality that the drug lords represent a strategic threat to the United States. My responsibility as president is to defend our borders against such attacks.”

Diele smiled. “We’re in agreement on that point, I assure you.”

“I’ve initiated a plan to seal the U.S.-Mexico border. The Department of Homeland Security is coordinating with the relevant federal law enforcement agencies, state governments, and the Pentagon to ensure that no undocumented person may enter the country, and no illegal drugs or weapons, either.”

“You’re aiming at the wrong target,” Greyhill insisted. “It isn’t the dishwashers and the pool cleaners who are threatening our way of life—”

“And I’m calling for the full enforcement of the immigration laws we currently have on the books, including fines, penalties, and jail time for those employers who are employing illegal aliens.”

She leaned forward in her chair.