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[sup]March 23, 1991 [right]The White House, United States[/right][/sup]
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	[b]"Mister President, how will we respond on the attack on Nevada?"[/b]

	[b]"Mister President, what is your statement on the publications of the EALN?"[/b]

	[b]"Mister President, what are your comments on the recent military maneuvers in the Bering Sea?"[/b]

	[b]"Mister President, a word on the attacks in Montréal and Mexico City?"[/b]

	[b]"Mister President-"[/b]

	[color=lightgray]As each and every one of the journalists pressed for their final flurry of questions, they were each intercepted by another of the Secret Service. They all clamored on their way out, reaching through with their microphones as they exclaimed their queries, hopeful that the Commander-in-Chief might respond to at least one of their many pressing matters. President Hunter - to nobody's great surprise - addressed each of their issues with only what was to be expected from the prefigured head of state: He would give them each a reassuring smile, nodding twice - but never a third - and waved to them on their way out while he turned towards his desk, stacked to nearly his shoulder's height in folders and papers. Michael Hunter had practiced this song and dance for years - first as an assistant to Nixon himself back in '62, then as a senator, representing the great state of Arizona. He'd known for quite a while how to give a good smile; People needed one in times like these. 

	But answers? 

	Sometimes, the people didn't need to know all the details.[/color]

	[b]"Damn journalists. Always pressing their noses into things...."[/b] [color=lightgray]the President exhaled, shaking his head down at his paper mountain. 

	To each of their credit, all of the questions they asked [i]were[/i], at the least, a cut above from the usual drivel which came about into his office. It was a great change of pace from the usual "embezzlement scandal" and "senate affairs" that plagued his weekly Q&A sessions. 

	Across from him was "The Chief". Patrick LeMat often lamented that, even as the head of the FBI, LeMat was nowhere close to being the most - or even the second, third, fourth, or even fifth - most powerful man in the country. He'd never do such publicly, of course; He'd be supplemented several times over even by men who held no official office. 

	The title he could rightfully place his claim to, however, was that of the entrustee to the President. President Hunter would, likewise, never say so in public earshot, but he had long derided the military establishment as overly-fumbling to be worth anything aside from necessity. Nothing against the fine men and women in uniform of course - Hunter had long held them in high esteem, oddly enough. Yet, it was that careful balance of power that made him uneasy about them. [/color]

	[b]"We've got our work cut out for us."[/b] [color=lightgray]LeMat broke the silence. The way his hands were tightly placed on his hips, his squared stance, his lowered head as he gazed not at the President's eyes, but just below towards his red-and-white tie: All signs of an exhausted man. And if Michael were any less of an actor, he would share all the same.[/color]

	[b]"You've read the reports?"[/b] 

	[color=lightgray]Hunter nodded. He stared out the side of the Oval Office, up to the imposing figure of Washington himself, some two heads above him. Maybe secretly, he stared upwards like an apostle to Heaven, hopeful that there might be some last revelation, some wisdom to impart. But when met with silence, Michael resigned himself to his position, and turned back towards his colleague and friend.[/color]

	[b]"Now, the Intel Boys are saying that the French and Brits are pushing for Quebec! And the Ruskies are trying to set up some...some, goddamn pirate psyop on the West Coast! Everyone's out there making serious moves. [i]Except [/i]us."[/b]

	[b]"Goddamn Reds."[/b] [color=lightgray]Hunter fumed. [/color]

	[b]"You speak with the general?"[/b]

	[color=lightgray]The President nodded, confident in his response - if not necessarily his answer. [/color]

	[b]"Let me take care of this, Mike."[/b] [color=lightgray]The Chief almost interrupted. He took another step forward, raising his finger like a mother to an angry child, not to Michael, but to some imaginary figure between the two of them. Michael equally spurned the phantom, shown by the acrid glint in his eye.[/color]

	[b]"We have a way to solve this. We don't gotta get the Army involved."[/b]

	[b]"What are you thinking?"[/b] [color=lightgray]The President replied.[/color]

	[b]"Give me fifty million and a couple good men. I'll crack 'em like a fuckin' egg. We pussy out now, they'll be speaking Russian in Anchorage. 5 years. It's not nice, Mike, but shit...look at us. Things ain't exactly like we're in '53, and you know how it is. 'Want an omelette, break some eggs'. All I'm asking for are some eggs."[/b]

	[color=lightgray]LeMat took a deep breath, and leaned in closer, almost like he didn't want a tape to catch him talking.[/color]

	[b]"Look...we have a guy in the KMT. He's a small fry, but he sings like a bird and he plays like a dog. We use him and get in real close with the Commission, the EALN, all those guys. And when we get all the intel we need, we clamp. Classic plan. No bullshit."[/b]

	[color=lightgray]Well...finally, some good news. Michael sighed a bit. He wouldn't smile - no need setting up the table when the omelette wasn't done cooking. He would have shaken the man's hand with a tight grip and told him 'good work', but the buzz of his PDA indicated that the fellow had other places to be. As he was turning to depart with a nod and a glance down, LeMat exchanged a final phrase back for the day.[/color]

	[b]"...think about what I said."[/b]

	[b]"Oh, I will."[/b] [color=lightgray]The President agreed,[/color] [b]"You can count on that."[/b]