God Save the Republic - A Mike Pence Fan Fiction - Chapter 4
- Charlie Biscotto
- Feb 27, 2017
- 4 min read
Try as he might, he just couldn't get the dream out of his head.
"It will make you sleep. Then it will make you die."
And it had done just that, at around the exact same time, except to President Trump and not to him.
He took the oath of office that afternoon. Within the week, it was leaked to the press that he'd been planning his resignation that very day. He remained tight-lipped about the notion, dodging the question, avoiding questioning altogether. Senator Flake swore that he had nothing to do with the story. He couldn't bring himself to ask Karen, but surely his own wife would not be leaking those kinds of details. Not without his knowledge. But if not them, who? Maybe it was all just idle chatter by people who had a reason to discredit him or delegitimize his ascent (Paul Ryan would have been next in the line of succession...), and for once the town gossips got something right.
He conducted a thorough clearing out of Trump's political staff. Bannon, Miller, Conway. They were gone. Seeing the writing on the wall, Spicer (a good man, once, who'd been compromised by the impossible job of defending impossible policies) tended his own resignation without being asked. Priebus could stay. Discovering a dead body earned him enough sympathy to be retained, at least for the time being.
As the weeks and months wore on, the depth of Trump's ties to Russia became harder and harder to ignore. Not Trump personally, necessarily, as there was no longer much need to investigate him. But a whole host of people in his orbit would go down and go down hard. The money trail to Manafort and the personal contacts with Flynn became undeniable. Page and Stone got hit pretty hard as well, more for naivete than for proven collusion with a foreign power. But which charge was more damaging? All of this was done with Pence's quiet approval, as he assured Republican leadership that he would be found clean.
Naturally, none of these men were well-connected in Republican circles. That was the beauty of an "outsider" like Trump, especially one who had passed so quickly. Once he was gone, his stench would not cling to anyone still valuable to the Republican party. People like Pence, Priebus, and Ryan had created just enough distance to benefit from Trump's rise and survive the ignominious descent that came with the scrutiny of his sudden passing.
And as all of these short-lived luminaries fell around him, Pence thanked the Lord above that someone had leaked the story of his impending resignation. The rumor had a greater support than even its being true; it made sense. He'd been kept out of the loop on everything, and it was plainly visible to all. Mike Flynn's lies, the immigration order, all the way back to the vice presidential debate, when Trump tried to say that he hadn't spoken with his running mate about Syria. Of course Pence was planning to resign. Who wouldn't want to escape that kind of emasculating work?
Instead, the president's sudden demise opened doors that Pence could have barely hoped for. He was the president, without a rotted soul in front of him to enact cruel and meaningless policies. He could pave the way for a truly conservative road forward. A fight against Roe v. Wade, a restoration of traditional American values, and a tax cut that would bring the Gipper himself to tears of joy.
And then a knock came on the Oval Office door. Reince Priebus peered in.
"Boss. It's time for your 9 p.m."
"I didn't know I had a 9 p.m. I was about to head to the residence. What are you still doing here?"
"I'm here for your 9 p.m."
"And I just said, I didn't know I had a 9 p.m. It's not on the calendar."
"Well, this one was better left off the calendar."
"Okay. You could have at least told me it was happening. Who is it?"
"We're here to discuss our Russia policy."
"I told you, Reince, we can't even say the word Russia until... who's we?"
Reince stepped into the office, with a man following shortly after. The man was in a dark jacket. The man's features were angular, sharp, clean. The man wore a hat and carried an umbrella. Mike did not trust this man, and this time, he knew why. This was the man from his dream. The man with the syringe of propofol. He spoke, with a thick yet familiar Russian accent.
"Mr. President. It is a pleasure to meet you again. You may not recall our first meeting."
"The dream. You were in my dream."
The Russian let out a hearty laugh. "We met before that. Where do you think the dream came from?"
Mike was frozen. Silent.
The Russian continued, "Your friend had grown... unpredictable. We thought him useful fool. We were only half right. We hoped you'd supply the more useful half. I do not require much of your time tonight. But you now know that I can do things other men cannot. And I will make you suffer if you do not find a way to make life easier for my friends in the next... ninety days. Consider this your notice."
The Russian took an envelope, thrust it onto Mike's desk, turned and immediately exited. Mike looked to Reince, and saw a glib grin widen across Reince's face as his Chief of Staff followed after the Russian. He opened the folder, and inside? Pictures of Karen. In the nightgown he'd bought when they first moved to D.C. Taken from inside the Naval Observatory.
"How..." Mike uttered, he thought to himself.
Reaching the doorway, Reince turned, and in a voice Mike hardly recognized, barked, "Bozhe, Tsarya khrani," raised a hand in salute, and disappeared.
He did not know what these words meant. He did not know how he'd been made a pawn. He did not know how his plans to save his country had disappeared in that instant, but he knew that he must save his wife. Dear God, he must save his wife.
The End. For Now...
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