Wednesday—November 4, 2015

The presidential plane was once again airborne, hurtling across the Pacific waters on its way to China.  As the jet ascended into the clouds, Paige Piper watched from her window as the Hawaiian islands vanished from view. She lifted a mug of steaming tea to her lips.  The stopover at Honolulu was a profitable one—the political fundraiser luncheon yielded a million dollars. Not bad, for a frivolous fifteen minute political pep talk followed by a casual hour of circulating about a banquet room of affluent party supporters.   The president looked away from the window and returned to critiquing the trade speech stacked on her lap—the one she would deliver in Beijing tomorrow.

 She reached aside and set her mug on the desk.  She was flipping pages when a knock was placed on the partially open door of her office compartment.  She swung around in her chair and saw her brother standing outside in the aisle.

            “Paige, something new—and it’s messy,” the White House chief of staff said, leaning forward.

            “What do you got?” she asked him, removing her reading glasses.

            Price Piper—tie loosened, sleeves rolled up—approached his sister.  Good-looking and approaching forty, his dark hair was all still there.  Whenever a celebrity magazine published a hot bachelor cover story, Price Piper was usually somewhere inside the issue.   A brilliant advertising consultant, he had masterfully managed the marketing of his sister—selling her to America.  He had moved into the White House at her request, and he often assisted his unmarried sister at social functions as sort of a substitute first gentleman. 

            Price pushed back against the door and it clicked shut.  He stood there swaying some fax sheets.  “It’s not good, Paige.  We’ve got yet another storm that’s coming our way.”

            Paige Piper cleared her throat as she was handed one of the pages.  “A storm?  Why do I suspect that this is not the latest advisory from the Weather Service.”  She put on her glasses…

Spotting the headline, she was already asking Price for an explanation.  “Wik Isaac has been murdered?  He, along with a State Department aide?”

The brother remained standing.  “First, understand that our own intelligence coming out of Osaze contradicts the story Mugo is telling.  Paige, are you ready to hear the official Osaze statement?”  He began reading from another of the pages:

“Ambassador Isaac and his associate were touring a construction site in the capital city when a forklift truck load of concrete blocks most lamentably collapsed on them—instantaneously crushing them both.  The citizens of Osaze join in grief with the families of these two and their government, the United States.”                      

            Paige Piper simply looked at Price, waiting for him to resume.

            “As for what we believe really occurred—this is what we’ve been able to patch together thus far from initial reports out of our embassy.  Apparently, our boy Wik had taken it upon himself to try and shake things up over there.  Speaking out frequently and loudly against Mugo’s brutalities against his fellow Africans.  Isaac—we are told by our people—was in the process of drafting a grievance document that he intended to hand deliver to Mugo.  Isaac was summoned by Mugo for purposes of clearing up any misconceptions.  Actually, some of Mugo’s thugs showed up at our embassy to escort Wik.  The ambassador freely walked away with them—and that was the last anyone saw of Wik.”

            Silently, the president turned toward the windows and peered outside at the emptiness.  “Will we be able to substantiate how they actually died?  Are we beyond conjecture?”

            Price wet his lips.  “This just gets better.  Autopsies—quite naturally—would be telling.  But Mugo is claiming that their bodies no longer exist.  It’s a bona fide comedy-of-errors:  Supposedly a communications foul-up at the morgue sent the wrong two bodies over to the crematorium.  And Mugo—the charming guy that he is—wishes to make amends, pledging his full cooperation if a request be made by us to extradite the ashes.”

            Paige Piper settled her palms over her eyelids and hauled her fingers down her cheeks.  “Why was Wik still over there in Osaze, anyhow?  I recollect that that we were working to replace him.”

            “Priorities—it was still in process.”

            The sister nodded, then shook her head. “If  it’s true that Mugo is responsible, then what are our options?  Would there be any opportunity whatsoever for us salvaging a relationship with the government of Osaze?”

            The brother sat himself on a front corner of the desk.  “Ultimately, without the bodies, the probability exists that we might not ever be able to authenticate what really occurred.  Allowing us, then, the option of accepting Mugo’s explanation.”

            “A load of concrete blocks?” Paige Piper exclaimed. “Price, the press would skewer us!”

            “Paige, I’m talking of it only in terms of a possible interim strategy we could utilize to optimally safeguard our business interests over there.  Something to prevent—or at least postpone—any retaliatory subversive acts against our corporate citizens.  Lending us time to send in the cavalry—if it need come to that.”

            Paige Piper touched her fingertips to her earrings.  “Well... thankfully election day is still twelve months away—an eternity in politics.  So, I imagine whatever course we chart for the short haul, it shouldn’t cause our congressional allies to lose courage.”

            “Maybe not.”

            “Maybe not what?”

            “Maybe maintaining the status quo is not our top option—short term or otherwise.”  Price got up off the desk.  “All of our polling data confirms that the central concern of voters is the birth crisis. Suddenly, sanctity of life is the trendy fashion of the season.  Or, putting it in the language that we always use to describe an exploitable issue—it’s politically correct.”                       

            He continued, “So, therefore, we indict Mugo.   Make much of the genocide.  Make it massive.  Discipline Mister Mighty Majestic for his irreverence towards humanity. And—specifically—make Mugo fully answerable for the death of our saintly ambassador.”

            Paige Piper smiled, always thankful for her brilliant brother.   “Abandon our Fortune 500 friends, Baby Bro?  If we put the screws to Mugo, our corporations will likely lose everything they’ve got invested in that country—it’ll give Mugo the justification to grab it all for himself.”  This said, the president peacefully drank her tea.

            Price laughed.  “Paige, you’re a skunk. You so enjoy always making me the villain.  Always expecting me to be the one to first suggest the very type of sinister things that you are always so fast and eager to approve.”

            Paige Piper put down her mug and also laughed.  “Isn’t that what pretty baby brothers are for?  Anyhow, you tell me.  It’s not as if Osaze is controlling strategic petroleum reserves.”

            “Hardly.  Nothing we export from them could ever be considered vital to national security.  It’s really just extravagance, all of it. Every bit of it, we can acquire elsewhere.  But if we did dump them as a trading partner, several individual companies will get spanked.  But, would there be a broad detrimental effect on our economy?  No, of course not.”

            Paige Piper pushed aside her speech.  “Then, let’s have it studied.” 

            The president was smiling at her brother as she rose from her chair. She reached over and locked the door.  She then moved over to him, slowly brought her arms around his waist and tenderly drew him up against herself—pressing his middle firmly against hers.  She kissed his lips lightly, and smiled.  “Price, you are such a very good one.  Always.”

He rested the side of his face against the top of her breasts.  He just quietly held on there for a moment while she rubbed his shoulders. He closed his eyes and thought about their relationship.  How would the American people react to the actuality?  That the affection between the president and her brother often went far beyond a kiss to the lips. 

She was playfully tapping his nose.  “Baby Bro, it’s amazing. Remarkable that that we’ve been able to hide it from everybody for so long.”

Startled by her words, his eyes jumped open—

Big sister was smiling at him.  “You know—hide it from them that I’m in reality such an astounding hypocrite,” she resumed, having no clue as to his current thoughts. “That I’m the prototype for survival of the fittest.  That I do whatever it takes to stay alive.  That I’m ruthless, opportunistic—and I manufacture my own moral code.”  She lifted his face from her breasts, took firm hold of his neck, and kissed him hard.   

  He grabbed hold of her thighs and squeezed.  I’m not her full brother I’m her half-brother, he justified it again to himself yet one more time as they continued to kiss.  We write the rules for ourselves…