Washington, D.C.
The story is all over the morning news. Rosario Brown—White House reporter, correspondent, and TV news anchor for MSNBC—is worried when she opens her phone and sees the crisis text from Scott “Get Out” and is unable to reach him. But when she hears the Special Report on TV, she feels a genuine moment of panic, knows that she is in serious trouble. The White House has put out a story that Scott Franklin—special counsel to the president’s national security adviser—has been found at his D.C. home (discovered early that morning by a cleaning person), dead of an apparent heart attack. Rosie, as she is called by friends and colleagues at the station, knows immediately it is a lie and a cover-up, and she knows what she must do. Scott had given her a key to a lock box at the airport with explicit instructions that: “if something happens to me, if I’m discovered and this whole thing blows up, don’t talk to anyone, you’ll be in grave danger, go to the airport, get the file, and go immediately to New Orleans. Get a cab to take you to Rigolets on Lake Pontchartrain. Find a shrimp and lobster fisherman named Billy Tidewater. He is a former Army Ranger. We clerked together for Justice Stevens on the Supreme Court. He has done some dirty work for the CIA, but he can be trusted. He is a good, capable guy. He will know what to do—and he will protect you. I trust him explicitly. God’s speed, Rosie—find Billy. And good luck.”
As a national reporter—a member of the hated media—everyday there are threats and reasons to be afraid. Rosie shivers when she thinks about the hate The Bad King’s first campaign had unleashed. She remembers vividly one day how a frumpy, heavy-set older woman wearing an overly-big MAGA T-shirt approached the press corral where Rosie was sequestered with her media colleagues—called her, in a vicious slur, a “liberal whore”—and spat at her. There were rowdy threatening young men, white supremacists, with shaved heads, garish tattoos, and hate enraged faces, balding older men with beards and distended Southern beer bellies, wearing T-shirts with confederate flag logos, all red MAGA hats and waving American flag pennants.
It was a typical MAGA rally. The candidate reveled in his ability to stoke up his so-called “base” with out-right lies about Hillary Clinton (punctuated with bellicose chants to “lock her up”) and the Democrats and the vast left-wing conspiracy, including attacks on the credibility of the media. Rosie had started covering the rallies the first day in June 2015 when he announced his campaign, starting with the ceremonial ride down the escalator in the tacky, garishly decorated atrium of his downtown New York building, with his mannequin-like, trophy wife – the now sumptuously titled, Queen Slovia–a few steps in front, the whole media oriented pageant inaugurated with a call for a border wall and the claim that Mexicans were murderers and rapists.
The fall 2020 election is just nine months away. It is early February, following the January Iowa caucuses, and The Bad King is already in full campaign mode. In fact, Rosie has just returned from a four-day, six-city campaign swing. In the middle of a big, raucous rally in Florida she was pointedly—and directly by name—called out (attacked) by the incumbent president as a reporter hostile to him and his campaign.
“She’s out there,” he bellowed into the mic. “She’s out there.” He repeated, gesturing toward the press pen. “Little Rosie, a third-rate reporter.” The smirk on his face showed his disdain. “Third-rate. Third-rate,” he emphasized again. Rosie remembered him saying the same things, attacking her in precisely the same direct and personal way in his first campaign.
Reaction from the crowd of supporters was spontaneous and so violent that—for her own protection—Rosie had to be escorted from the arena by a phalanx of Secret Service agents to her crew’s rented car in the parking lot.
The Bad King had fired up the crowd with repeated attacks on the Democrats, the intelligence establishment (FBI, CIA, the NSA) and, of course, his usual nemesis—the fake media. He sees himself besieged on all fronts, calling it all just a “witch hunt.” The press and the Democrats are out to get him, and his attacks now have become even more virulent since the Democrat’s success in taking back the House in the 2018 mid-term elections.
Almost from the outset, immediately following his 2017 inauguration, The Bad King has been under constant attack by the media for his administration’s cruel border policies, the rampant conflicts of interest and corruption issuing from his cabinet and within his own family, the inordinately high level of personnel turnover in the White House staff, his violation of the Emoluments Clause of the constitution and egregious attempts to use the Department of Justice to punish political enemies, halt investigations and obstruct justice.
In his recent campaign stops, he has launched an all-out campaign of lies and vitriol against anyone he perceives as an enemy. He has openly exhorted and encouraged his MAGA supporters at the rallies to actual physical violence, threatening that there will be riots in the streets, violent demonstrations, and widespread civil disobedience in cities across the country if he is not re-elected.
The late-night comedians often poke fun at him, refer derisively to him as a clown, and his campaign as the “Clown Car” of Republican politics.
On the stump, from behind the podium and in front of his loyal supporters, he lashes out and rails back at his opponents, those he calls the “enemies of the people.”
“The Democrats protest and bring murder and gang violence to the streets of America . . . just look at Chicago,” sadly he shakes his head, “. . . poor Chicago.” Again, referring to the Democrats: “They want to let murderers and rapists come in from Mexico and allow drugs to pour in over the border.”
At this his crowd of angry supporters cheer their hero, and then raucously chant:
“Lock ‘em up! Build a wall.”
Rosie sees the hate fueled actions of the president’s rabid base, the virulent racism and rampant xenophobia, as a dangerous harbinger of what is to come in the approaching 2020 election. His attacks on his political enemies have never stopped. More than a year later, he is still lashing out at the Democrats for what he terms their unfair, partisan, undemocratic treatment of his most recent, controversial, appointment to the Supreme Court.
After taking back power in the House, Democrats urged an investigation into the president’s finances based off an earlier New York Times story that claimed massive tax fraud on behalf of the president, his charitable foundation, and his family. Currently, his lawyers are busy fighting a subpoena by the Democrat controlled House Ways and Means committee for his tax returns, an issue that will likely end up before the Supreme Court.
The four-day campaign swing wrapped up in Mobile, Alabama. Rosie took a cab to the airport and flew home to Washington. She went to bed that morning at 2:30 AM and was up at 5:30 for a TV call to do a 7:00 AM spot (“hit” as TV people call it) on Morning Joe with Mika Brezinski and Joe Scarborough. She is at the local NBC affiliate around 10:00 AM that morning—preparing to anchor a one-hour afternoon news segment—when, like everyone else, she hears the first reports of Scott’s death.
It all seems so bizarre, almost too bizarre to be believed—Scott’s sudden death, and the White House’s phony cover-up story. Rosie knows though that she must take Scott’s warning seriously and follow his instructions to the letter. Something bad is happening. She tells her boss at the station that she needs some time off—that it is an emergency family matter. Then she goes back to her apartment, tosses a suitcase on the bed, and throws in some clothes and shoes and whatever toiletries she thinks she might need. She casts a look around her tiny apartment. It is small and cramped, but in the last almost four years she has spent almost no time there. As part of the MSNBC “Road Warriors” team, she has traveled almost constantly, covering the amazing 2016 election, first as the MSNBC reporter attached to the infant Republican candidacy of the flamboyant billionaire New York real estate developer/TV reality show host, and then as a national news correspondent and anchor reporting daily on his turbulent follow-up administration as the now controversial sitting president. Only a year ago did she get her cat Waldo for some company.
Rosie takes out an envelope, bulging with hundred-dollar bills, from under a heat vent on the floor and stuffs it into her purse. Scott told her: “if this all blows up, you’re going to need some cash to travel.” Tears now come to her eyes as she remembers the man who had been her trusted “deep background” source for the stories that had been published in the Washington Post under her own byline. Her relationship with Scott was not romantic, but purely professional. Still, Rosie feels a sadness at his passing. He was a decent guy, working for the president’s national security team and just trying to do a good job. The stories, written over the past few months, had earned her a national reputation, the ire of the White House, and secured for her a prominent place on the president’s enemies list. The White House had tried several times to have her barred from the daily press briefings, but thanks to the station’s political clout and her high public profile as a cable news reporter, the efforts were blunted. Still, her questions were never welcomed by the White House press briefer, Sarah Huckabee Sanders.
Rosie goes across the hall and hastily arranges for a neighbor to take care of her cat Waldo; and then, leaving her car in the garage, she calls a cab to take her to Reagan International airport. She climbs into the back of the cab with her purse and one bag, settles herself in the seat and takes a deep breath with the scary and ominous realization that her life will now be forever changed. She has no idea what is coming. She only knows that Scott did not have a heart attack, and he had been explicit that if something suspicious and unforeseen happened to him, she would be in grave danger.
At the airport, she buys a ticket to New Orleans for cash—under an assumed name—and then goes straight to the lockers. Her hand is shaking when she puts the key into the lock. She already has an idea what she was going to find. In her clandestine meetings with Scott over the past few months—secret rendezvous in coffee shops, bars, and restaurants—he had outlined the details of a plan to eliminate the country’s democratic government and replace it with a fascist dictatorship—a plan that was beyond comprehension. The file in the locker at the airport detailing Project: Red Dragon will be the written proof. A dossier that Scott—with his top-level security clearance and access to high-level White House Situation Room meetings—had been working on now for over a year to assemble. Scott was a devout Republican, dedicated public servant, and often over-the-top conservative—that, at least, was Rosie’s opinion. But he was first a patriot, and it had sickened him what was happening in the government. That supposedly was the reason and rationale he gave for teaming with Rosie—a liberal reporter—in getting out the truth. He had—Rosie now realized—made the ultimate sacrifice for his patriotism.
She books a business-class seat so she might enjoy some personal privacy. Before the plane touches down at the airport in New Orleans, she needs to fully acquaint herself with the contents of the file and understand completely just what she is up against. Once the plane is at cruising altitude, she settles back in her seat, orders a cocktail, and starts to read.
It is everything that Scott had confided to her and more—much more. The audacity and breath of the plan is astonishing, a detailed step-by-step program for first repudiating the constitution and then eliminating the country’s democratic processes and replacing them with a Fascist-style dictatorship much on the order of what Hitler had achieved just months after being appointed chancellor in January 1933. It involved the secretary of the Defense Department, the director of the National Security Council, plus key members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the military. It is ultimately intended to lead to a call for martial law, suspension of the constitution, the dissolution of the Congress and a grant of full emergency powers to the president, resulting finally in a complete dictatorship—essentially a coup de état. The person in charge, however, will not be the former democratically elected president, The Bad King. Though the report did not state it, if you read carefully between the lines, the new leader of America would be the president of Russia, the aptly named, Tsar Peter.
On finishing the report, Rosie feels like another drink. But she knows she must keep her wits about her. So—when the flight attendant comes by—she refuses another round. Rosie doesn’t smoke, but she almost wishes she did. Right now, a cigarette might help.
She understands now why Scott was killed. She also realizes that her reporting over the past few months—based on his deep background revelations to her about the chaos in the administration—has put down a trail of breadcrumbs that leads directly to her. No doubt there are some dangerous people who are—probably right at that very moment—looking for her. The thought sends a chill down her spine. She has no idea what she is going to find at Rigolets on Lake Pontchartrain in Louisiana. She only knows that Scott had told her: ‘if things blow up, go there to the port and find a shrimp and lobster fisherman named, Billy Tidewater.’
Rosie slumps down in her seat and closes her eyes. She is tired—has been living and running for the past week on pure adrenaline and almost no sleep. Maybe if she goes to sleep, when she wakes, she will realize it has all been just a bad dream.
She closes the file and briefly shuts her eyes, trying—in a desperate attempt—to forget the danger that is no doubt threatening her. Forty minutes later the captain comes on the cabin PA system to announce that they are approaching New Orleans International Airport and will be landing in twenty minutes. He asks the passengers to stay in their seats and buckle their seat belts. Rosie breathes a heavy sigh and starts to map out a plan for herself.
After landing, she goes immediately to the baggage carousel to collect her one suitcase. Then she rides the escalator up one flight and goes outside to the passenger arrival gate and the waiting taxi line. She gets in a cab and instructs the driver to take her to the boat docks at Rigolets. At this point, this is the extent of her plan. Rosie has no idea what is going to happen next.
The Oval Office – the White House, Washington, D.C.
The morning following Scott’s death, the White House staff is alerted by their contacts at the Russian embassy that it will be reported later that morning that their NSC Special Council had been found dead in his apartment. The president of the United States, himself, directed his White House communications staff to put out the phony heart attack story about the death of his NSC attorney, Scott Franklin. The president had liked Scott on a personal level, but lately—because of the extremely confidential nature of the security leaks to the press—had begun to be suspicious about the young lawyer’s loyalty. That was the one thing The Bad King demanded from the people who worked for him—absolute, unwavering loyalty. That is why it so troubled him when he found out from his Kremlin accomplices that Scott was the likely source of the news leaks emanating from the White House—leaks responsible for the damaging Washington Post stories. Stories that Rosie had authored under her own byline. Scott had insisted on the strictest secrecy and stressed repeatedly to Rosie that under no circumstances could she share the source of her information (his identity) with another reporter.
The president of the United States remembers how Tsar Peter, the president of Russia, had first told him that his Russian intelligence services had picked up intercepts of Scott incautiously talking via cellphone to a beautiful undercover Russian agent—Irina Moldayavitch, an international skiing star and Olympic gold medalist in the women’s downhill—about secret high-level Russian and American plans to topple the U.S. government. It was then that the president of the United States realized, tragically, that the young lawyer’s days were numbered.
Tsar Peter, Popa Bear, was adamant in their last conversation on the phone. “This can’t be tolerated. It was careless of you. And I will see to it myself that it is remedied. I will send a couple of reliable men from our embassy. His death will be made to look like a heart attack. You can use that as a cover story for your American press.”
There was a pause on the line. Then the president of Russia said, “The girl is still a problem. You need a better, more forceful domestic security operation. In Russia, the girl would be either dead or in prison.” This was emphatic and final.
“Yes, I understand.” The president of the United States was briefly embarrassed at the sloppiness of his national security apparatus. He, however, reminded the president of Russia that in the U.S. there is freedom of the press and that irksome journalists just cannot be locked up—or worse, murdered.
Tsar Peter, though, was curt and straight to the point. “Just see that there are no more leaks—no more problems.”
When The Bad King objected to the Russian president about the murder of his NSC Council lawyer without him first being consulted, The Russian president, in typical fashion, summarily slapped him down.
“You were derelict. His talking to that reporter threatened our whole operation. If the details of Project: Red Dragon ever become public, you,” Tsar Peter said meaningfully to the U.S. president, “will have a lot to answer for to your public. You will be impeached by the Democrats now in your Congress and branded a traitor in the eyes of your people. This is a most grave and serious matter. Don’t be a fool!”
With that the phone went dead. The Bad King sat there for a moment and mulled the situation. He was embarrassed that the information about Scott had come from the Russian side. He had known that Scott was seeing the young skiing star (she was on the staff at the Russian embassy and Scott had met her at a ski resort in Aspen), but he had no idea she was a Russian agent. Tsar Peter had eyes and ears everywhere. He should not—the U.S. president reminded himself—ever underestimate the man. He was a dangerous opponent—not to mention a dangerous ally.
The Bad King then cautions himself that he must have no more mistakes, that nothing must happen to compromise his and the Russian president’s plan for the United States. He remembers with some chagrin the swirl of allegations in the media just before and after the election that he and members of his campaign team had colluded with the Russians to damage the campaign of Hillary Clinton. Allegations that now had been proved accurate by the Mueller report.
He also remembers with considerable bitterness the long, drawn-out Mueller investigation of him for personally colluding with the Russians and obstructing justice in the investigation. The probe ended early in March 2019. And had produced numerous indictments and some convictions of his former associates—most notably his son, known laughably in the press and media as The Clown Prince, and his son-in-law, the heretofore mentioned Court Jester, and the already criminally indicted Michael Cohen.
Nobody in the president’s immediate sphere went to jail. Mueller stopped short of indicting a sitting president. He merely stipulated in his report that there was ample evidence to suggest to any reasonable person that the president and his associates had colluded with the Russians to hurt Clinton and help The Bad King, that he had—on at least ten different counts—obstructed justice. The Special Counsel’s office had referred a laundry list of other crimes—financial fraud, tax evasion, and money laundering to the Southern District in New York for possible prosecution. The House, in Congress, would have to determine the next course of action. This caused a firestorm of political criticism that he—the president—was still, in February 2020, enduring.
After Mueller’s final report in early March in 2019, late in the fall that year, the Democrats—now in control of the House after sweeping legislative victories in the 2018 mid-term elections—after considerable delay, finally impeached the sitting president in the House for his attempted extortion of Ukraine president Zelensky. But again, The Bad King smiles to himself thinking how he had survived the trial in the Senate by a strict party-line vote.
Now the 2020 national election is just months away. His national poll numbers are in the tank—particularly with some white suburban housewives who had earlier supported him. The scandals around his many adulterous affairs—and his blatant attacks on his female accusers—plus his obstructionist behavior and open disregard for the Rule of Law have finally taken their toll. He has lost the support of some Republicans—those in safe Republican districts. But those who are likely to face strong Democratic challenges in their home districts in the coming 2020 election still cling to the president. And—not surprisingly—he still maintains the backing of those hard-core MAGA hat supporters—the “Make America Great Again” true-believes in what the press cynically refers to as “Fly Over America”—who buy the caps and still flock to his rallies and believe deep in their hearts that it is all a “Deep State” conspiracy by the Democrats to defeat The Bad King and steal the election.
But the president is not in the least concerned about his fall in popularity with Mom and Pop America. The Russians have again committed to help in the election—this time with outright rigging of the vote tallies, if necessary, just as Tsar Peter himself had done in Russia. However, if his plans with the Russian president and a secret cabal of military and top-level government officials works out, the U.S. election in the fall will not matter, a later coup will guarantee his power, and there will no longer exist a meddlesome Democrat Congress to put up with.