The Click

Once again Yennie Tawahada found himself in Dillon Burber’s overly

illuminated office long after sunset. A few minutes later, before Dillon could look up from the mess on his desk, President Wainwright walked in with her usual gracious smile, and her old white tennis shoes she wore when no one was looking. She was matronly in looks when not provoked, tall but heavyset across the middle and carried thick bushy gray hair balancing out the top: the grandmother type and she played it well. Indeed she raised six children in the good Ecclesian tradition and doted over fifteen grandchildren who were constantly at the White House. Yennie had met most of them. She was a good president, he thought, but then she did have her difficulties, politically speaking, considering she had only been president for twenty months.

The fact that she was president at all was an anomaly. She had been President Roger Albritton’s vice president before he died in a freakish boat accident. Albritton had been the typical ultraconservative fighting for a second term against an even more extreme and much better looking right-winger, one backed by the Cūtocracy. Albritton chose Andrea Wainwright as his running mate, replacing Robert Silber who the Cūtocracy learned had Jewish grandparents on his mother’s side. Although Andrea Wainwright was known to be somewhat moderate, the president needed the women’s vote and despite her political leanings she was an extremely popular governor of a southern state, Florida no less. As she became more comfortable in the White House, and more progressive, her political detractors intensified their efforts to bring her down.

“Good evening, Yennie,” she said before taking a seat in the corner. “Sorry to drag you back but I’m afraid we need to call on you once again. It seems the little leak you orchestrated needs a bit stronger drip. There’ve been echoes of concern in faraway places or so I’ve been told but they haven’t made it across the ocean, at least not where they can do a whole lot of good.” The president rose from her chair. “So, I will leave you here with Dillon while I take my leave. He will fill you in, and thank you for all your help.”

Before Yennie had a chance to respond, the president disappeared, quietly in her tennis shoes, and Dillon Burber insisted they get down to business. “Do you remember that young man you mentioned a while back … Rajiv someone? He was here from India attending a memorial service for a retired CIA friend of his, Oliver Hitchcock. He said, or was it you who said the man would be a perfect partner to propel our Smotecal Decretum plan?”

“It was Rajiv who suggested Oliver Hitchcock, Rajiv Nadu.”

“Good. Given everything you told us about DanSheba and his connections there, I think we could use his help to make all this work. Besides, the president happens to know Oliver Hitchcock. For better or for worse were her words,” Dillon added but had no idea what she meant and it was clear she didn’t invite him to ask.

In less than an hour Dillon explained their plan involving Hitchcock. Yennie excused himself and drove across Key Bridge to his condo in Rosslyn. After pouring a glass of milk and picking through a box of chocolate chip cookies, he carried his scud into the bedroom. A while later he walked back out talking on it. “Yes, I know you and Hitchcock are old friends, Rajiv. That’s exactly why I called. I need you to do exactly as I asked. ... … No, it won’t. It will enhance you relationship, I promise, and it won’t jeopardize anyone else. ... … Yes, Meta knows what we are doing. She was the one who gave the Decretum to the president and she suggested involving Nagasi. … … I know you will do what you can and we appreciate all your help.”

Yennie clicked off and tried to organize his thoughts. He hadn’t visited home in probably five years and his parents were not happy with him, nor were the elders who insisted that all DanShebans living abroad spend a month out of the year in DanSheba. They insisted but he knew they hardly ever demanded it, especially when it came to individuals who did not rely on financial support from the village. Regardless, most DanShebans living elsewhere did make it home more often than Yennie and brought with them the latest and greatest technology and gadgets from wherever it was they lived, a fact Yennie felt bad about, although he knew his parents felt even worse than him.

He carried an Ethiopian passport, although he spent most of his young life in DanSheba and Mumbai. His father taught part time at the Mekelle Institute of Technology in Ethiopia and part time at the University of Mumbai. His mother also taught in Mumbai. After graduating from Princeton, Yennie considered applying to law schools; Stanford, Harvard, and Yale were on his short list along with King’s College School of Law in London and Hebrew University in Jerusalem. Before making that decision he took a year off and worked on a number of congressional campaigns, anti-Cūtocracy campaigns, in Washington and became enamored with the political process in the real world. That was over six years ago and being a lawyer was now the furthest thing from his mind.

After glancing up at the clock over the kitchen counter, he turned on the TV and groaned. Dr. Roger Fielding, Director General of the World Health Organization was being interviewed on Ecclesian Monitor TV. The WHO was the health and welfare arm of the United Nation which had control over VAMA, although most everyone knew it was the Cūtocracy that controlled VAMA, and some even believed it controlled WHO.

Yennie needed no introduction to Roger Fielding who began pontificating. “Ladies, gentlemen and children of the world, I am addressing you on this anniversary of the founding of the Vaccine Assurance and Management Agency, our beloved VAMA. Practically all of you—of us, have known nothing but prosperity in our lifetimes, good health, wonderful living conditions, no poverty, indeed a wonderful life. We don’t know and can’t envision hunger, disease, overpopulation—and we never want to see it firsthand, not as long as we live, nor do we want our children or grandchildren to witness these abominations. At the same time, because of our good fortune, we—most of us, have grown complacent. We have taken for granted what our governments have been able to achieve; what our beloved Cūtocracy, and we at the United Nations, especially those able agents within VAMA, have fought so hard far. I wish to raise a glass to …”

“Enough!” Yennie barked out to the TV and turned it off by voice command.

Maybe their little leak has had an effect, he thought.