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Amazon
Jon McDonald Author
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: Beau to Beau Publishing
ISBN-10: 1495256332
Type: Fiction
Pages: 290
Copyright: 2012
ISBN-13: 9781495256332
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
The new conservative U.S. President must contend with the revelation by his environmentalist son of an illegal act that he, as a presidential candidate, committed to get elected, unleashing a deluge of trouble for both men.
Diego Perez’s father is an ornery son of a bitch, and the new U S President. Diego discovers his father conspired with the CEO of a major oil company, and the dictator of Venezuela to manipulate the oil markets, causing high gas prices, and ensuring his election as a drill friendly president.
Diego’s environmental action group exposes the President’s illegal act, unleashing a firestorm of criticism against the president, and several nasty murder attempts against Diego by the big oil CEO.
The President’s troubles only increase as a mistress comes forward, claiming to be carrying his child; his wife sues for divorce; and the dictator of Venezuela invades neighboring countries to control their oil, threatening the U S with an attack of donated North Korean nuclear missiles if the U S tries to intervene.
The President is forced to invade Venezuela with Special Forces to neutralize the nukes, but Venezuela launches the missiles first. However, they turn out to be duds. And for his failure, the Venezuelan dictator is deposed in a coup, and exiled to Iran.
Diego is able to publically expose the CEO’s murderous attempts on his life, and the CEO is captured, after fleeing the country.
In one last attempt to save his presidency, the President launches an ambitious energy initiative to mine uranium from the Grand Canyon, and build many new nuclear reactors. But Diego’s group launches a counter campaign, and the overwhelming response from ordinary citizens against mining the Grand Canyon gets Congress to cancel the project.
Facing defeat from all quarters, the President decides to resign before a Senate impeachment trial. Diego is urged to seek a political career as a centrist candidate in an effort to end polarized politics in a country weary of discord.
Excerpt
The President Elect
Mid November after the Presidential Elections
Edward Perez, the President Elect of the United States of America, was clearing out his office and desk at Perez Petroleum in the heart of downtown Chicago. It had been a long and grueling election campaign, and while he was elated at his personal victory, he was also exhausted, and desperately needed a week or two without the media pounding after him every waking moment. Elena, his new, late-thirty-something, campaign perfect wife, was nagging him to take a Caribbean cruise, but the Secret Service had nixed that idea immediately, as the new president-to-be would be way too exposed and vulnerable. Edward would have to remind her that he was no longer an ordinary citizen, and she would need to get used to this new way of living – restricted and under constant Secret Service surveillance.
The family had a summer estate on the Michigan upper peninsula right on the lake, surrounded by vast acres of unspoiled mixed conifer and maple forest. It was the perfect location because Edward, once he was inaugurated, could take Marine One and, in no time at all, be at Milwaukee’s General Mitchell International Airport if he needed to catch Air Force One to get back to Washington in a hurry. So instead of a cruise it would have to be a working vacation at the summer house in Michigan, even though it was now late autumn and there was always the danger that they might become snowed in. Elena’s fantasy of a tropical paradise vacation had to be put aside as pressure was now on for the president-elect to select his cabinet, and not even all of Elena’s pouty pleading could dissuade his decision.
But today it was time to turn Perez Petroleum over to his Board of Directors, and consign the Chicago house to his son, Diego, and/or his daughter, Carmella, for caretaking for at least the next four or eight years.
It was not an easy task for him to relinquish control of the business that he founded in a parched Texas town over forty years ago. He had started out with nothing but a rusted Ford pickup, a few hired hands, and his native smarts - building Perez Petroleum into the second largest, privately held, gas and oil exploration company in the United States with many additional overseas contracts.
But Ed had been a hard worker, and while his hair was thinning, he had maintained his shape, and macho Latin good looks. He inspired confidence on a campaign poster or on the cover of Time Magazine. And by cleverly leveraging his humble beginnings, the exploding world-wide energy crisis - and with the help of major Republican backing, and corporate money - he had overcome all opposition to his candidacy - despite the heroic efforts to defeat him by the environmentalists and (what Ed called) the dippity-do liberals.
“Mr. President-Elect, AmVista’s Chairman Terrance Geiger is on line one,” Ed’s secretary announced, poking his head through the office door.
“Kevin, you know I’m not taking any more calls here. I’m done. My transition team is now handling all my communications.”
“I explained that sir, but he says it’s very urgent. He asks as a personal favor.”
Ed pondered for a moment. He figured as he was still in transition it wouldn’t make a big difference to mix a bit of the old with the new.
“Okay, I guess it won’t hurt just this once.” Ed picked up the phone. “Terrance, you old dog, what’s up?”
“Ed…sorry…I mean Mr. President-Elect….”
“Ed’s fine.”
“I know this is probably not the way these things should be handled now, but I need you to know something very important that might well affect your presidency.”
He had Ed’s full attention.
“Just a moment.” Ed went to the office door and closed it. He didn’t want anyone listening in - neither his business staff, nor his presidential team. “Go ahead, Terrance. What is it?”
“My sources in Venezuela tell me there is a major military build-up taking place that could adversely affect the global energy markets. Casados is such a wild card, as we both know. I regret we had to use him to help us with that Brightway business. And by the way, Ed, I’m sure you know this, but I just want to remind you to be certain you have erased any trace of your involvement with Brightway.”
“I am aware of that Terrance, believe me. I have taken all the necessary precautions.”
“Good. And Ed, just want to be sure you understand, I have a terrible feeling this Venezuelan situation could potentially escalate into a major conflict. Please keep an eye on Casados. He’s a wily critter.”
Ed was silent for a moment. He suddenly realized this was what it was going to be like to be president. He had a brief moment of panic, and realized he would need to surround himself with the very best people as close advisors. “Terrance, let me have some of my people get back to you for a briefing on the Venezuelan details. I will give your report my fullest attention. And thanks for giving me a heads up.” Ed made a mental note to consider Terrance Geiger as his Energy Secretary.
* * *
Diego refused to use the dictionary when he was in bed on a Sunday morning doing the Chicago Tribune crossword puzzle. He accused Brandon of cheating when Brandon consulted the dictionary he kept surreptitiously tucked under his pillow. Chaquita couldn’t care less. The Chihuahua scratched an urgent itch behind her left ear, curled up again between the two of them on the bed, and immediately dozed off again.
“What are we going to do about the apartment when we have to move into your dad’s place?” Brandon asked, contemplative, after he got stuck on forty-nine down.
Diego responded with a combination of an “Um” and a cough.
That was not a comprehensible answer for Brandon. “What?”
“I’ve already told you we can’t discuss that just yet. I don’t have all the details about the house. I don’t know what Carmella’s plans are. I don’t know what Dad’s plans are. And I need to have this fucking Secret Service briefing before we have any idea about what we can or cannot do.”
“Am I gonna have a Secret Service detail too? That would be so cool.”
Diego shook his head. “I doubt it. I can just see my dad’s Nazi supporters having a shit-fit over his gay son using tax payer dollars to coddle his male lover.”
“Hey, that’s it,” Brandon yelled, grabbing his puzzle page.
“What’s it?”
“Forty-nine down – coddle. Perfect. There’s my last word.”
“Yeah, but you cheated.”
“I don’t think so.”
Diego looked nothing like what you might expect a president-elect’s son to look like. At age 32, with his long black hair, his scruffy beard and his somewhat wild expression he looked more like a mountain man than a president’s son. However, that was because he had just returned from a two month trip to Bhutan, and had not yet re-acclimated to the wilds of urban Chicago after the rigors of meditating in a monastery. He would need a haircut, and a shave to be all spiffy and presentable tomorrow morning when he returned back to work at Gardner, Chappell and Banks – a leading Chicago law firm that had taken on Diego as a junior associate, but only after his mother’s urgent and insistent pleading – she was one of their top billed clients after all. Not that he wasn’t bright and well qualified for the position, but rather his reputation somewhat preceded him, as he was considered fiercely anti-establishment and politically ambitious.
He identified himself as a Terraist – derived from the word Terra meaning Earth. It implied that he was a radical environmentalist. He had worked for several years with a number of different mainstream environmental groups, but had become frustrated with their inability to accomplish anything of significance. So he decided he needed to work from within the system, closer to the heart of darkness - hoping to subvert corrupt power structures like a Trojan virus growing stealthily inside an infernal machine, and pleaded with his mother to help him find the right firm to take him on. He relished the idea of being a wolf in sheep’s clothing. His renegade mother, long divorced from his father, happily complied.
“I’ll be very pleased when I can see your face again. You look like a wilderness wolf-man,” Brandon commented, as he stared at the bushy Diego.
“I’ll shave the beard if you cut my hair. I have to be bright and shiny as a new penny when I go back to work tomorrow.”
“Well, maybe,” Brandon hesitated. “But I’m not at all sure I like you going out there again to work for The Man.”
“But how else can I subvert the system? I have to do something to counteract my father’s dastardly deeds.”
“I still don’t understand how you two can get along as well as you do. He must hate what you do.”
“He does, and I certainly hate what he stands for too, but it doesn’t get in the way of our personal relationship. And he does accept that I live with a crummy, low-life homo, so he can’t be all that bad.”
Brandon threw the sports section at Diego, and bounded out of bed to be the first in the shower. Chaquita sprang from her sleep in shock and consternation at the disturbance, and charged out of the room to her supper bowl, seeking solace after the rude interruption of her nap.
* * *
Three a.m. along the upper west side of Central Park in New York City. The desperate figure was out alone, stalking along the almost deserted street. Only the occasional cab or melancholy car cruised by. Who would take the risk of exposing themselves at this hour, in this neighborhood? Someone who was crazy? Upset? Suicidal? Were they in danger or were they, in fact, themselves the danger? What could be going through their mind? Could their thoughts no longer be contained within the confines of a single room, a single apartment, a building, or a block? Were they consumed by thoughts of fear, anger, or exploding creativity? Of course, no one could tell by simply looking at this solitary figure rushing along the park, wrapped in a down coat, knit cap, and muffler - hiding all but their eyes and nose - visible breath gushing forth like ghostly blossoms. Little could anyone know that they were in fact witnessing the tormented birth of a troubled subversive. What events could have transpired to transform this individual into a person contemplating the destruction of a new presidency? It certainly was not evident by observing this charging figure. But deep are the wounds and agonies that can transform a simple individual into a national sensation.
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