3-18
Monday

The Cadillac Brougham was circa 1994, dark blue lacquer paint and a custom blue velour material which cradled one very nicely. It fit in with the Scottsdale vehicles well and only the keenly observant would notice the armoring and run-flat tires.

The president's father, ever a crusader against drugs, has finished speaking at a Don't do Drugs benefit in Scottsdale to discourage drug use in the workplace. It was his impetus to have 10 million of the budget set aside for advertising which links drug use to terrorism.

"We're making real headway now. Got Osama injured and on the run, Israel's pulling back and Crown Prince Abdullah has given us his word he will support our ousting of Saddam. How're your teams doing?"

"I have 11 teams in the field, four are working alongside the Energy department's boys. We have found 2 old Soviet dirty bombs - and you'll love this - one of them in a Samsonite suitcase dating back to '74!"

Bush looks lost in thought and then speaks.

"Nixon knew the KGB were already in DC in big numbers. He once mentioned to me his worst fear was that they would get everyone of consequence in a clean sweep. We got that angle covered now though. Oh...Where were they?"

"A recent one was at Ronald Reagan International and the Samsonite was buried in Heritage Park near a custodian tool storage bin."

"Media have any idea?"

"Nope. None - and that's the way it will stay. Unless the energy department boys talk - but that's unlikely, I know many of them and they are quality folks."

The Cadillac has hit the freeway and I hear the engine strain to haul the extra armor weight. The two suburbans with secret service have emerged from the traffic and one pulls in front and the other trails some distance further behind.

"Oh Shi-!" The driver swerves, locks the brakes and suddenly we are doing a 180 half-donut on the sparsely filled freeway. Bush and I look out the window and see a motorhome which had been along side us and now was behind us filled with middle-eastern types wielding AK47's and grenade launchers.

The motor home screeches to a halt and the tire smoke is everywhere. I hear the SS teams 1 and 2 responding to the threat over the horn in a series of terse shouts and commands. The motorhome and the first suburban are exchanging gunfire and a grenade goes off next to the suburban throwing the vehicle six feet up into the air and it lands down on its side.

"Shi-! Shi-! Floor it!" I say. I fold down the left half of the rear seat and access the trunk and reach for the standard issue Stinger, praying this car has been equipped up to code. The SS agents in the car have pulled out their handguns, and Bush is passing out two uzis from another secret compartment under the vcr.

Bush shouts "These are Osama's boys - no doubt!"

We are now speeding past oncoming traffic in a multiplayer game of chicken - but the driver is a regular Jack Brabham and knows what he's doing.

"More company" one SS agent shouts as two small cars, also spinout and fall in pursuit of our Caddy. The second Suburban is engaging the motorhome and I see one of the agents finally got a missile into it - as it blows apart in so many pieces...taking some of Osama's filthy henchmen straight to he-- with it.

Secret gunfire ports inside the Caddy allow the SS agents to exchange fire with the two small cars. Sparks fly from our armored body as the terrorist's cars unload a full clip into the side of the Brougham. Bush sticks an uzi out the gunport - and it speaks authoritatively riddling the car on our left with bullets one which apparently has taken out the driver, who has slumped over the wheel - and I watch as it slows somewhat and sends the car careening into the center divider behind us, where it bursts into flames.

I retract the rear sunroof and I pop out quickly in a fluid motion firing the stinger at the car next to us on the right. I fall back into the car with the recoil, but the car besides us explodes like a cheap chinese firecracker on the fourth of July.

"Eat that you meteorite worshipping freaks!" I say with a bit of satisfaction.

Two F16-Cs have been scrambled from Luke by the SS, and I quickly order up three Apache teams from Shamballa on the double, to give us closer ground coverage...meanwhile the driver veers of the freeway on an entrance ramp, avoiding the oncoming traffic like a real pro, bouncing between the shoulder and the other cars.

Bush turns to me and smiles, "I think we're gonna be all right - but let's get the he-- out of here anyway...sticking around wouldn't be prudent... I hope none of my boys bought it back there."

"That's the danger with public speaking events scheduled in advance."

Bush looks at me and says, "True. But this was a darn worthy cause, and I'll be dam-ed if I let Osama dictate how I spend my time!"

"No arguments here." I reply, seeing how much keeping folks off drugs means to him.

The adrenalin is fully pumping and bush pulls a diet coke out of the fridge. "Want one?" he offers casually.

"Sure." I put the stinger back in the trunk, pop the can top and examine the gold and red can... "Ah, caffeine free - good. Wouldn't want to get too jittery!"

"Barb warned me."

"Excuse me?"

"Barb...she had told me to be careful out here before I left. Then she said she had a deja vu."

"You don't want to get me started do you?" I say lightheartedly.

"What?.....Oh. Oh no, no...anything but that!" Bush says with his trademark one-sided grin. Then he turns to the agent in the front seat. "I want this news story suppressed. It will just frighten folks and give Osama unneccessary gratification. Kill it."

"Yes sir. On the horn with the local police now." The communications console was up front on the passengers side - and from what I could tell from the looks of it - about the only thing he couldn't call for would be a nuclear strike.

The Caddy is speeding down the highway at illicit speeds on its way to Luke AFB, where Bush's jet is ready to take him home.

I sit and silently watch the white lines go by as I look out of the bullet marred glass. The wind is picking up and storm clouds are on the skyways, hanging over the distant Superstition mountains. Another terrorist act had been foiled. I should be content, but as I see the pair of F16-Cs race towards us at combat speed I couldn't help but feel a nasty storm was brewing. As if to confirm my thoughts, rain started to fall hitting the glass, just a few drops...