Part 4. Golden Parachute
"So you mean to tell me he's nowhere to be found?" He was shouting. President Sanders didn't intend to shout, but he was momentarily overcome with the sheer absurdity of his present situation. "I'm sorry Commander Rodriguez, but 'he's gone' isn't going to be the end of this conversation! Elaborate, please." To emphasize the amount of time he was willing to make available for clarification, he strolled across the room, took a seat behind his desk, leaned back and drummed his fingertips together as he waited for the general to tell his tale. Rodriguez looked supremely agitated, but he wasn't prepared to disobey a direct order from his commanding officer, so he presented the sequence of events with the monotonous ramble of one reading from a grocery shopping list.
"Sir, after we concluded the aerial bombardment phase of Operation Dutch Oven, strike teams entered target zones in twenty-three separate hostile cities and encountered zero resistance. All those who had previously identified as enemy combatants surrendered their arms, and in nearly all target zones captured hostiles are assisting our soldiers as they work to defuse IEDs and booby traps. A SEAL team proceeded directly to enemy headquarters, again facing no enemy fire, and found the secessionist leadership assembled in one large room - all of them, minus President Trump."
"And I suppose our men inquired about Mr. Trump's present whereabouts?"
"They did, sir. It appears that he fled yesterday by helicopter, after draining all of the accounts and currency reserves the enemy had been using to finance their acts of terrorism. Frankly, Mr. President, I think they'd be as happy to find him as we would, sir."
"Make no mistake, Commander Rodriguez, nothing would make me happier than to hear that I'll never have to lay eyes on Mr. Trump's ugly mug again, but knowing that the Pied Piper robbed those fools after leading them into the wilderness and just before deserting them, well that comes close."
"Sir, what are your orders regarding locating Mr. Trump?" Sanders closed his eyes and reclined in his chairs, savoring the moment of pregnant silence, holding onto the pause for as long as he could, because he knew that once he opened his eyes again, he'd have to get to the work of putting the country back together again. It was so much more difficult than tearing it apart.
"Commander, I leave that question to the collective wisdom of our armed services and intelligence divisions. Liaise with CIA, develop an action plan and run it by me. But please, no torture, and no illegal surveillance. Do you think we can manage that?" Rodriguez nodded in reply, saluted and left.
Trump got away with the money. Was that the plan all along? Bernie knew he shouldn't fixate on keeping score, but it was damn hard with a vision of Donald's smirking pooch floating in front of his face. He had to hand it to the guy: he didn't have any sense of moral calculus, but he had certainly mastered the art of capitalism. He crafted a scenario where he got to keep all the profits, and everyone else paid all of the costs. The president sighed and picked up his phone, preparing to assemble the Cabinet so they could finalize the plans for reconstruction and reconciliation.
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