Read Online ReUNION: What if the Civil War had never happened? by Harvey Ardman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Harvey Ardman
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talk?"
Callaway asked.
"It's really a no-brainer," Wang said. "There's nothing to be
gained. And plenty of opportunities to do yourself damage."
Callaway was not so easily put off. "You're sure nothing good could come
it? You aren't even curious?
"Hah! Of course I'm curious," Wang conceded. "To my knowledge,
this is the first time they've asked for a Summit meeting in the—how long has
it been?—150 years we've been two separate countries. But I have a pretty
good idea what Bourque is after."
"Please. Enlighten me."
"He wants money," Wang said. "Probably a lot of money. I think
they had another crop failure."
"Good season for polyester?"
"Something like that."
Callaway thought a moment. "What could we get in return?"
Wang laughed. "They don't have much. Their infrastructure is barely
functioning. Their military is a generation behind. They do have that
Seven Mile Bridge in the keys, but what are they going to do, sell it to
us?"
"Maybe Bourque will offer us Miami Beach." The President joked.
"What for? We already occupy it, at least during the winter."
"So, you think we should tell Pickett thanks, but no thanks?"
"That would be my advice, Mr. President." He looked at the President
hopefully, thinking that might settle it. But Callaway was a master at
concealing his inner thoughts, which is why he'd made a fortune at poker in law
school.
Callaway weighed Wang's comments. "I wonder if Veronica would agree with
you," he said, surprising his chief-of-staff. "Anyhow, this is her
area. We'd better consult her."
"I already know what she'll say," Wang said. But he decided not to
argue. He flipped open his cell and made the call. "Just happens she's in
the West Wing," he said. "She'll be up in a moment."
And in a few moments, she was, preceded by a fraction of a second, by the Grand
Tetons. "Good morning, Mr. President," she said. "hello,
Eric."
"Good morning, Veronica," said Callaway. "Have a seat."
She settled herself in the room's most comfortable guest chair. "What's
up?"
"Something's happened that's in your area, Veronica." Callaway said.
"It's probably not all that important," Wang said, "But we
thought we should consult you."
"Consult away," she said.
"Well," said Callaway, "how would you characterize Buddy
Bourque?”
Her eyebrows went up. "Buddy Bourque? Hmmm. That's a question I certainly
didn't expect. He’s very shrewd, very popular too. He’s a war hero, you know.
And he has the pedigree—he’s a Lee. He runs the country pretty much the
way he wants, with a nod here and there to democracy. Still, I think he’s going
to be President for life.”
"So he’s a dictator,” Wang said.
Ms. Tennenbaum smiled benignly. "I wouldn’t put it that way, Eric. He’s
really devoted to his country. He doesn’t have any serious opposition, but
that’s because he’s so well loved.”
"Well I guess that’s a diplomatic way of putting it," Wang said.
“I am a diplomat, Eric,” Veronica pointed out.
“I know. But I’m not.”
President Callaway sighed. "Ah, Eric, Eric. Never fear. No one would ever
mistake you for a diplomat."
"I’ve seen how he operates," Wang said sharply. "I was Sen.
Downey's chief of staff during the flu epidemic. He—and I—put together a group
of Senators and we convinced Exley to issue an order opening up our hospitals
to the CSA. The flu had hit them much harder than it hit us. Anyhow, they
brought us their sickest patients. But not one of them was Black. Not one.
That’s the Buddy Bourque I know.”
"As I recall,” Callaway said, “Bourque was under a lot of pressure from
his own people. Some of the bigger cities were dealing with civil unrest.
Anyhow, that was then. This is now."
"You may be wrong about that," Eric Wang said.
"Don't tell me you're considering an overture…"
"It's not us, Veronica," Callaway said. "It's Bourque."
Her eyes, which had benefited from a nip and a tuck and some artfully applied
mascara, now widened. Then she grinned. "You're
Callaway asked.
"It's really a no-brainer," Wang said. "There's nothing to be
gained. And plenty of opportunities to do yourself damage."
Callaway was not so easily put off. "You're sure nothing good could come
it? You aren't even curious?
"Hah! Of course I'm curious," Wang conceded. "To my knowledge,
this is the first time they've asked for a Summit meeting in the—how long has
it been?—150 years we've been two separate countries. But I have a pretty
good idea what Bourque is after."
"Please. Enlighten me."
"He wants money," Wang said. "Probably a lot of money. I think
they had another crop failure."
"Good season for polyester?"
"Something like that."
Callaway thought a moment. "What could we get in return?"
Wang laughed. "They don't have much. Their infrastructure is barely
functioning. Their military is a generation behind. They do have that
Seven Mile Bridge in the keys, but what are they going to do, sell it to
us?"
"Maybe Bourque will offer us Miami Beach." The President joked.
"What for? We already occupy it, at least during the winter."
"So, you think we should tell Pickett thanks, but no thanks?"
"That would be my advice, Mr. President." He looked at the President
hopefully, thinking that might settle it. But Callaway was a master at
concealing his inner thoughts, which is why he'd made a fortune at poker in law
school.
Callaway weighed Wang's comments. "I wonder if Veronica would agree with
you," he said, surprising his chief-of-staff. "Anyhow, this is her
area. We'd better consult her."
"I already know what she'll say," Wang said. But he decided not to
argue. He flipped open his cell and made the call. "Just happens she's in
the West Wing," he said. "She'll be up in a moment."
And in a few moments, she was, preceded by a fraction of a second, by the Grand
Tetons. "Good morning, Mr. President," she said. "hello,
Eric."
"Good morning, Veronica," said Callaway. "Have a seat."
She settled herself in the room's most comfortable guest chair. "What's
up?"
"Something's happened that's in your area, Veronica." Callaway said.
"It's probably not all that important," Wang said, "But we
thought we should consult you."
"Consult away," she said.
"Well," said Callaway, "how would you characterize Buddy
Bourque?”
Her eyebrows went up. "Buddy Bourque? Hmmm. That's a question I certainly
didn't expect. He’s very shrewd, very popular too. He’s a war hero, you know.
And he has the pedigree—he’s a Lee. He runs the country pretty much the
way he wants, with a nod here and there to democracy. Still, I think he’s going
to be President for life.”
"So he’s a dictator,” Wang said.
Ms. Tennenbaum smiled benignly. "I wouldn’t put it that way, Eric. He’s
really devoted to his country. He doesn’t have any serious opposition, but
that’s because he’s so well loved.”
"Well I guess that’s a diplomatic way of putting it," Wang said.
“I am a diplomat, Eric,” Veronica pointed out.
“I know. But I’m not.”
President Callaway sighed. "Ah, Eric, Eric. Never fear. No one would ever
mistake you for a diplomat."
"I’ve seen how he operates," Wang said sharply. "I was Sen.
Downey's chief of staff during the flu epidemic. He—and I—put together a group
of Senators and we convinced Exley to issue an order opening up our hospitals
to the CSA. The flu had hit them much harder than it hit us. Anyhow, they
brought us their sickest patients. But not one of them was Black. Not one.
That’s the Buddy Bourque I know.”
"As I recall,” Callaway said, “Bourque was under a lot of pressure from
his own people. Some of the bigger cities were dealing with civil unrest.
Anyhow, that was then. This is now."
"You may be wrong about that," Eric Wang said.
"Don't tell me you're considering an overture…"
"It's not us, Veronica," Callaway said. "It's Bourque."
Her eyes, which had benefited from a nip and a tuck and some artfully applied
mascara, now widened. Then she grinned. "You're
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