Scenes from a Preternatural Presidency -- 3. Out of the Office (A)
3. Out of the Office
PRESIDENTS get any number of excellent perks but as I discovered the hard way they don’t get real holidays, only occasional intervals when the rule becomes Do not disturb unless it’s Really, Really an emergency - the nuclear-code guys and gals never go away and the daily briefing rolls right on. There are reasons. Then again, the ex-Man had been right that the nation, via all fifty state legislatures, was busy digesting its new Constitutional Amendments, especially the Equal Rights provisions for women and preternaturals with their many implications for hiring, firing, and wages.
It was also temporarily glutted on displays of magical power. The Paramount Tipi continued to dominate the central DC skyline, and had taken to building a complete US with its state-shaped puffs of glamoured smoke, Alaska and Hawaii keeping proper station, before letting it dissolve and restarting the cycle. Skuffles and Jesse had persuaded Ben to create a GIF that had been downloaded several zillion times despite the file-size, and as the exhibition was drawing lines that stretched for blocks plenty of people were seeing it for themselves. All the major networks were still running analyses of the riotous totem pole, using drone-camera footage I’d had to let the Secret Service provide and involving lots more magical stuff as different elements were identified and tales rehashed. It would have made me squirm if I’d listened to it, so I didn’t, though my happy Press Secretary assured me there was decent commentary by First People. Being seriously freaked by the sight of several hundred way oversize dire wolves at Sacajawea SP was in there too, however the bloodlessness was appreciated, so all in all not solving any other problem that cropped up with brisk magical impatience seemed like a good plan. Bran pointedly agreed, while Jesse, on a summer break from intranets, relieved by graduating, and looking forward to college, wanted peaceful and interesting things to do, so it really was holiday time, and some ruthlessness with my absurd schedule produced an eighteen-day window between full moons.
Luggage, personal and official, meant travel by Air Force One rather than cloak, but what amounted to private use - and I was so not taking any media along - made me very itchy about all the empty seats there would be, even with the bodyguards and staffers I couldn’t ditch. Given the friends who couldn’t be asked - Darryl and Warren, as legates looking after the pack, Frank, holding the fort at the White House, and those with inflexible jobs - I’d almost given up on company when Jesse told me Leslie had more-or-less been ordered to take her due leave while I was away. When I asked her if she’d like a free family trip to Europe Jude and Jenna gave her little choice, despite alarm at what colleagues might have to say, and Clay let me know he and Donna had no objection to Sally coming, though I had to insist it was a freebie. Adam and Jude had become real friends alongside Leslie and me, so the only question was where exactly we were going.
Seeing Asil in Spain was on both Jesse’s and my agendas, and as he had a large estate in the Sierra de Guadarrama with hunting land, and there was plenty around there to visit, that was alright. Variety was good though, and as everyone thought a week of Italian food sounded fine that joined the agenda. Large presidential parties cannot just book hotels, but a call to the Italian Prime Minister, whom I quite liked, produced a swift offer of a palazzo in Amalfi, though Leslie and Jude gave me looks when I told them.
“A palazzo.” Leslie contemplated her coffee. “Just like that. Are you paying for it ?”
“No. I did offer, and was promptly refused because the PM prefers to hold the IOU. The palazzo is a recent governmental acquisition, I gather, ultimately from Bonarata, but he assured me no vamps have lived there lately. It was rented to some Saudi billionaire who moved to Capri and is presently vacant saving a caretaker, but they can lay on whatever we need, thoroughly vetted. The federal budget picks up Air Force One, because I’m still in office, however on holiday, so the bill is only what you spend.”
“And food.”
“Nah, that’s on me, because I can’t let anyone else pay for me in restaurants, and will be cooking some of it myself. Proper pasta shops. And a real choice of salamis. Yum.”
There were protests but I held that line, and the rest was well-established presidential SOP, as Leslie confirmed for herself, to my amusement and Jenna’s eye-rolling mutter about the Duty Thing. Leslie was still chuntering about free palazzi a week later when she found herself boarding Air Force One at Tri-Cities Airport. For a while the fact that Customs and Border Protection sent someone aboard to complete international departure protocols snagged her unease, despite the Secret Service telling her it was also SOP, then Skuffles having a passport of her own - I’d insisted, and she actually managed to look good in the photo - and finally not having to put her phone or tablet in flight mode, all the plane’s electronics being thoroughly hardened and Wi-Fi very available. But as the doors closed and we were given immediate clearance, relayed by the captain with information to the USAF fighters that would be escorting us, Jude leaned forward and took her hands gently.
“Lady, you’re babbling, because for once life is coming up all roses, and we’re neither of us used to that, but it’s OK. It’s not even magic, more like that guy in Kyle’s jug-band saying little miracles happen around Mercy because he was getting to play with the Boss. And unless something hijacks her back to work, you get a way overdue holiday without any CC pain to follow. Time to kick back now, hey ?”
It took her a while, but once we were airborne Jenna drew her into Georgetown plans with Jesse and Sally, and I quirked an eyebrow at Jude, who shrugged.
“Mostly an attack of too-good-to-be-true yips, Mercy. But being SAC Kennewick-Richland just now brings some intense scrutiny, and having colleagues who are bug-eyed envious at your personal relationship doesn’t help. She’s also been doing way too much overtime.”
“Surprise. Have you said anything to Westfield about any of that ?”
“Haven’t had a chance. Wouldn’t object if you did, though.”
“You got it, Jude.”
Air Force One having serious comms, and it still being the working day in DC, I took care of it straight away, interested to find that Westfield was well aware of the basic problem, which was my having added an often-resident POTUS with magical habits and any number of VIP visitors to an SAC post that already had to deal with two werewolf packs, one the Freed and the other including the First Gentleman, a seethe with three members of the National Vampire Council, Walla Walla, Medicine Wolf, and the Columbia Restoration, but hadn’t factored in the envy. He also thought my disinclination to explain in any detail what would happen at Sacajawea SP with the less sane gun enthusiasts had been a sorer trial for her than I’d allowed.
“I understand and appreciate the strategy, Ms President, God knows it worked a treat, and you had a great deal of credit with Pasco PD to draw on, as well as providing more than enough military support, but it all got pretty intense more than once. And that SAC post is anomalous. As you know, it was created because of the Medicine Wolf Accords and the Freed Pack coming to Richland, and Leslie got leapfrogged in because of her record with your brother and ap Lugh, as well as her performance that week, but with your election she has the responsibilities of a Deputy Assistant Director, at least. And that hasn’t happened because it would be too fast a promotion by too many standards, and take her into pure management when she’s needed in the field.” He sighed. “Which is a symptom, Ms President, of a more general issue. Proactive engagement with the preternatural is the Farouts’ business, but the combination of Others 101 with you being distinctly preternatural and doing things differently is making for ad hoc adaptations in many agencies. SAC Kennewick-Richland is just the cutting edge.”
“Huh. It must be. And I hear you, ED, so Something Needs Doing.”
I blew out a breath, and spent a moment contemplating the mess this was and could become, with some other parameters. I also asked Westfield to show me the organisational structure of the Field Office Leslie ran, asked pointed questions, and made a brisk decision.
“OK. Strategically, ED, I find the distinction of proactive Farouts and reactive, Others-101-informed everyone else clear enough. The problem is mostly me as a magic-using and less predictable POTUS, and that is time-limited, so permanent structural change may well not be warranted. I’ll talk to Frank, just, and ask him to convene a meeting of agency directors to talk it through. What if anything really needs doing to contain any degrading of governance, and what would promote lawful efficiency for the next three-and-some or, God help me, seven-and-some years ? And flag it brightly as something my successor will need to revisit between election and inauguration. Are you good with that ?”
“Very much so, Ms President.” He looked thoughtful. “It’s another cost of Cantrip, really - we’ve never thought through integration into governance properly.”
“Tell me. Tactically, however, I’m going Alexanderish on the Gordian Knot, by Executive Order if I have to. Unless Leslie really objects, and I’ll ask her as soon as we’re done, let’s recognise anomaly. While I am POTUS, and for a while after, Kennewick-Richland is the red-hottest SAC-ship there is, so its holder is the only Senior SAC. Salary to flip to the existing managerial scale, at Assistant Director, intel status a pragmatic executive determination, as necessary, and get those Field Office numbers sorted with decent Supervisory SAs and Assistant SACs. Leslie can tell you who to promote from within, or transfer out, and I’d be grateful if you could accommodate any requests she might have for transfer in. Yes ?”
He thought about it for a long moment, and gave me a thumbs-up.
“Yes, and with thanks, Ms President. The Director will agree. It takes the bull fairly by the horns, and will give Leslie both the clout she needs and something closer to the salary she deserves.” He smiled. “Not for the first time, you make me very glad I voted for you. Leslie’s going to scream blue murder, though, for at least five minutes.”
“Yup. Let’s get your Director formally on board and get it done.”
Once the Director was up to speed and more than happy with it, and I’d given Frank a call to explain the strategic question, I invited Leslie in with Jude and Jenna, which earned me a severe fish-eye I openly waved away, and further disarmed Leslie by taking her hands.
“Listen up, amiga. Your man let me know something of the problems I’ve been causing you, because you wouldn’t complain and I hadn’t thought stuff through sufficiently clearly, and the ED confirmed with some detail. So first, my apologies, and second, some substance to go with them. Jude and Jenna are in because you’ll still be an FBI anomaly, just a better supported and defined one, and they need to be clear on that for themselves as well as for you. ED?”
Westfield laid out what the Director and I had just agreed needed doing, mentioning the wider strategic plan, and Leslie didn’t scream but did give them both a gimlet stare she then turned on me.
“A new rank, Ms President ? It’s nepotism.”
“Nope. Pragmatic expediency, maybe, but I don’t want anyone else in your role, SSAC, nor for you to burn out doing it. You have been carrying responsibilities well above your pay grade, and still will be, but the gap will be smaller and the support-team bigger and better. So you’ll be happier and less frazzled, which is good, and so will Jude and Jenna, ditto. And if you want a downside, for yourself or to tell others, you can regard - and report - it as a sideways promotion, that knocks you out of the usual career path, at least pro tem.”
Jude and Jenna grinned, but Leslie glared at me some more and then to the Director’s fascination and Westfield’s amusement took off an invisible hat.
“That’s just sneaky, Mercy.”
“Yup. Coyote girl here. How bad has the bitching been, Leslie ?”
She shrugged. “Worse than I care for. Curiosity’s understandable, but too many see the fast-track promotion, forgetting the workload, and this will mean more of it. They credit Jenna and Jesse as friends, not you and me or Jude and Adam, and think I’m playing that somehow.”
I made a face. “Eeuw. Lunkheads, and then some. But in that case this holiday should give them pause.”
“Huh. You’d think. Except, lunkheads.”
“Among your field staff ?”
“Some, yeah.”
“Tell the ED who you want transferred out. He’ll be accommodating, and with what promotions and transfers in you recommend. Build the team you want, Leslie, and bed them down. The problem’s not going away while there’s a western White House in Kennewick, so let’s get on top of it. Your meteoric ascent you just have to suck up - you could say the ED started it, when he requisitioned you from Nevada, but he did that because of your rep from Boston, and for all I was one cause your present post was created, it was entirely your superiors who hustled you into it with glad cries of relief. Quite right, too. But if you really have an attack of the Duty Thing, and want sneaky, I can put my hat back on and ask why you’re hesitating about a presidential directive.”
The glare returned, but Jude laughed.
“She’s got you there, lady. And you know who you want out.”
She did, too, and if I’d been joking about duty it still had leverage with her, as did the open approval of Westfield and the Director. With the principle accepted the Director rang off and I left her and Westfield to it, taking Jenna and Jude, who gave me a grateful hug.
“Can’t say I’m sorry, Mercy, because I’m delighted, but I didn’t mean to start your holiday with more work. And big thanks for whacking the problem with a stick.”
“De nada, Jude, and my bad for not noticing there was a problem.”
“You’ve been kinda busy.”
“Even so. I shouldn’t drop friends right in it without noticing.”
He shook his head. “Only you, Mercy. And with you doing so many trips to state capitols we haven’t had a proper kick-back meal together for a while, saving your blow-out after Sacajawea SP.”
“Right. Time to fix that too.”
Air Force One is equipped with galleys that can do food for up to a hundred people at a time, and though I was happy for catering staff to deal with bodyguards, staffers, crew, and the rest of my necessary entourage, I’d had ingredients stocked, annexed a work area, and enjoyed myself making a Tex-Mex meal to get us in a Spanish mood. The staff were surprised but pleased I was willing to talk, if only about food and how any of them came to be airborne presidential cooks. Asking them to sedate the media next time any were on board crossed my mind but not my lips, and virtue was rewarded when I was given a really interesting idea about adding celery root to mashed potato to serve with some kinds of stews. I grilled arrachera to join peppers, onions, and pico de gallo, with extra jalapeño for those who liked it, and by the time we were refuelling at Andrews AFB I could serve very tasty fajitas that pleased everyone. Leslie was flummoxed by how much her salary had just gone up but very relieved by the reorganisation, and Adam strongly approved my response to the problem, which gave me warm feelings.
It was the first holiday Adam and I had taken since our River Devilled honeymoon, however I’d circled and criss-crossed the nation both campaigning and pushing ratifications, and though Leslie had had annual leave soon after we’d dismissed Bonarata she’d mostly spent it sleeping and hosting Jude’s younger sister and her family - which had been good, but with kiddos about not so relaxing. Jenna was funny about her cousins, and we did wider families, including my sister Ruthie’s man problems (did they actually like her or just want an in with me ?), and the many cousins Sally could claim (Clay having four sibs and Donna three). The table had to be cleared to let us get back in the air, and an early night in proper beds meant we woke soon before a morning landing at a Spanish military base near Segovia.
As the guy who came aboard to sort immigration was taken aback by Skuffles having a passport, though I’d mentioned it, it was handy that the Spanish PM had accompanied him, however my heart sank at that news. He tried to draw me into some NATO handbagging, then trailed his deep desire to reclaim Gibraltar from the Brits, before getting to the real point, involving Spain’s autonomous regions, the central government, and Asil now being able to speak in certain respects for all EU werewolves. At that point I held up a hand, called Asil, who was unsurprised if unamused by the PM having intercepted me, and happy to boomerang it on him. Ringing off I told the PM that it really wasn’t US business but as he’d involved me he could follow us to Asil’s and we’d get it sorted.
“Alas, Ms President, I am due back in Madrid.”
“Sir, I’m here, you’ve chosen to be here, Asil’s estate is only a hop away, and I’m not having my holiday interrupted again. It’s now or never.”
I’d stopped the Secret Service from shipping any Beasts to Europe, but they had flown in some of the armoured SUVs we used when I went hunting with the pack on full moons, and the PM had his own, much less impressive motorcade that could slot right in. I’d have liked to watch the increasingly mountainous scenery, but let it roll by in peripheral vision while speaking to Asil about what he needed and would prefer, and when we got to the beautiful estate with a house that was at least half-castle I had to let Adam and Skuffles look after Jesse and the others while they were given a tour, finding myself closeted with the PM, his aides, Asil, his elder son, Hussan - the younger was being diplomatic in Germany - and an anxious duty staffer from State. The core issue was thoroughly intractable, because the Catalans and Basques were objecting to Asil speaking for their wolves without consulting on every last comma, while Asil had no interest in allowing even national governments much wiggle-room over things he might negotiate for wolves or other preternaturals at EU level, and was far more exercised by the Brits’ self-mutilating removal from everything he’d so far managed, which was a lot. No-one could do anything about that, but while I couldn’t change anyone’s mind I could rearrange political calculi, and with Asil and Hussan ostentatiously translating into Catalan and Basque made a joint call to the regional leaders making it very clear that Asil had US support and they didn’t.
“What you need to consider, Señora, Señor, is that in demanding oversight of preternatural negotiations you imply you could choose to veto them. If we were talking about Jewish or dark-complected EU citizens would you be claiming a right to decide what they were and were not allowed to do ? No ? Then kindly stop spluttering and explain why you think you do have that right with werewolves.”
I gathered that wasn’t what they had meant at all, though what they had meant was notably unclear, and made it crystal that while I wanted Paths of Assertion and Mercy everywhere, those were to start with highest-available-level matters, which in continental Europe meant the EU, not Madrid, let alone Barcelona and Bilbao. US states were just as autonomous as any bit of Spain, able to do most everything except currency, defence, and foreign policy, and had not been given any kind of voice except the ex-Man’s in the Medicine Wolf Accords, so they should both go figure. I made them happier by letting the PM know he should also have gone and figured, and despite the State staffer’s twitching also made it clear to all three that while I was in office they’d find the US a deal more receptive to reasonable requests if they’d already taken maximally proactive steps to safeguard the preternatural from prejudice in their own jurisdictions. After which Asil and Hussan could whack them all handily by noting that wolves’ ongoing negotiations and questions arising about preternatural federalism and subsidiarity, what could be regional or local and what really couldn’t, would be a real-time case study for Georgetown U’s inaugural Others 201 major, and that while this year’s undergraduate enrolment was maxed out, next year’s wasn’t open yet and there were still graduate slots on their new Preternatural Relations master.
“Asking us about running your own Others 101 would have been more productive than demanding regional veto rights over transnational interspecies decisions,” Hussan told them, speaking English for my benefit though my conversational Castilian Spanish is OK. “And unlike the Council in Brussels, you still haven’t done Werewolf 101 or you wouldn’t be trying to give my father orders.”
“Never a good idea,” I agreed, “unless you’re the Marrok. I wouldn’t try it, nor Skuffles. And then there’s the consideration that both these wolves are more than a thousand years older than all three of you put together, so you could try some simple respect for elders.”
I had the cloak on and put enough in my voice they knew I meant it, so after letting the regional leaders go there wasn’t much more fencing with the PM about some G7 issues before I managed to get him on his way back to Madrid, and was rewarded with a proper hot chocolate.
“Thank you, querida.” Asil gave me a rueful smile. “That was helpful, however unwelcome an interruption for you. The Basques and Catalans cannot stop Brussels, but they can jam Madrid up.”
“I bet. It’s bad enough having 50 states where I do have popular majorities.”
Hussan laughed. “But you have been wrangling them magnificently, Mercedes. All European media have been most exercised about a preternatural president inducing so unexpected an outbreak of US sanity.”
“So have US media. But I was advising myself to stop whacking things with big magical sticks before Bran joined in, so I really am on holiday, if I can get to it.”