Patriots of the Terminal Century: In The Name of The Father, The Son, and The Not-So-Holy Adopted Best Friend

The 2000 Presidential elections in the United States was an interesting specimen, you know? Only two times in the history of the States at that point had the candidate receiving the majority of the nation’s popular votes gone on to lose the Presidency due to his opponent winning the required number of votes from the Electoral College. At this point in time, it looked as though Fenton Ross would be the candidate to receive the undisputed majority of the popular vote no matter what, but it was the state of Pennsylvania that was in the national spotlight. Pennsylvania’s electoral votes would ultimately decide the winner of this election.

Fenton Ross had run a solid campaign. With a family man with a moderate stance, and had handily won the electoral votes in the Northeast and West Coast on Election Day. He also had the distinction of being the Vice President in an administration that was hailed for its domestic and economic policy, including running a budget surplus. Unfortunately, one Oval Office blowjob later, all the goodwill that the Democrat National Committee had put away in savings for Fenton’s political future had evaporated into thin air. From what I understand, Fenton and Jeremiah Nicklaus haven’t been on speaking terms since 2002. A pity, we might have been able to avoid the turmoil in the country in the three decades that followed.

On the other side of the ring was Harper Babington, son of former President and Director of Central Intelligence, Avery Babington. Although Harper had limited experience holding his own public office, he was a willing surrogate for his father’s campaign when Harper was in his younger days, and had the experience and know-how to stage a successful campaign. Harper proved invaluable leading up to Avery’s first election, but Harper’ re-election efforts were far from spectacular, resulting in only one term for Avery. It’s not to say that Harper’ lack of effort had cost Avery the election, but it certainly didn’t help bring in the swing states. After an eight year Nicklaus administration in which Avery Babington had worked hard to engineer redemption for the family name, Harper had the Presidency within reach.

The Babington family had long been a stalwart of the political arena. Stemming from family patriarch and early 20th century industrialist E. B. Babington, the family line would go on to control numerous public and private offices during their time. E.B. was lucky enough to have four sons, all of whom in turn had at least four boys of their own, ensuring a rich lineage with a deep history.

They say that history is written by the victors. I’m not quite sure who “they” are or when “they” said such a thing, but for this story, it rings true. This particular story is about the Babington family, specifically, Harper Babington.

In early December of the year 2000, Harper needed his scotch freshened up. He took one more look at the bottom of his glass, able to see the massive fireplace of the Babington estate through it as he raised it to his lips to try and shake out one last drop. When the tumbler had nothing left to offer, Harper resigned himself to having to get off of the couch under his own power and make his way to the dry bar. It had been a long day. Harper was a little too tired and a little too privileged to be fetching his own drink. Even so, with a sign of resignation, Harper mustered up enough energy to bring himself to his feet. Just as he was reaching for the Blue Label, the door to the study flew up. There must’ve been a window open somewhere in the house, as a draft entered along with Tripp Sweetwater.

TRIPP: What are you doing? Drinking before noon? Look at you. Always a new problem with you.
HARPER: It’s not a problem.
TRIPP: Don’t you lie to me. I’ve worked…we’ve all worked so hard to get to this point. The finish line is in sight.
HARPER: Yeah, yeah…

Tripp took the lonely tumbler out of Harper’ hands and sets it aside. He then grabbed Harper by both shoulders. Harper initially avoided locking eyes, taking interest in the most mundane details of the room before Tripp grabbed him by the chin to align their eyes. Tripp hesitated for a moment. Before speaking, he took note of how tired Harper’ eyes looked.

TRIPP: I know it’s been a rough ride for you, for everyone, but it’s almost over.
HARPER: It’s not almost over, how can you know that? That bastard Thompson…
TRIPP: Thompson’s no longer an issue.
HARPER: No longer an issue? That pink liberal has had it in for our family since my daddy’s day.

Tripp just looked at Harper with his jaw slightly unhinged and half a smile cracked; it was a rather smug look.

TRIPP: I just got off the phone with an old college buddy of mine. Do you know what he told me?

Harper finally broke away from Tripp’s grip. Every man has a point at which he can no longer be restrained by another man, some, longer than others. Tripp reached across the counter for the tumbler. He topped himself off and took a seat.

HARPER: So, you’re keeping me in suspense again?
TRIPP: I want us to savor this.
HARPER: You always do this, Tripp. Speak.

Tripp took another few moments of savor, at the ire of Harper.

TRIPP: You know I only look out for your best interests, Harp.
HARPER: We’re losing this aren’t we?

Harper was always rather pessimistic. The key here was Pennsylvania. See, when counting votes from the Electoral College, Fenton Ross was ahead with 261, to Harper’ 258. In order to be declared President, the winner would need to get to the magic number of 270. The only state that was not accounted for was Pennsylvania due to a massive snowstorm trapping state electoral officials in their homes. Despite allegations of butterfly ballots, street blockades, and disenfranchisement, votes were already cast, but the vote totals for the candidates were separated by 300 votes in the initial count. Margins that close allow for a machine recount in counties where a technical error had occurred. Three counties (name three) had declared technical errors and a machine recount was authorized. Unfortunately, that massive blizzard found it’s way into the area; the Democrats blamed the Republicans. The Secretary of State of PA had suspended the recount on account of bad weather. Fenton’s camp had filed numerous lawsuits against the State for delaying the recount past the safe harbor deadline. After the Pennsylvania Supreme Court ordered an extension of the safe harbor deadline due to inclimate weather, Harper’ people appealed to the Supreme Court of the United States to overturn the Pennsylvania court…well this is all so very complicated and best left to the legal folks. When it was all said and done, the Electoral votes from Pennsylvania were decided by an escalating court battle that took both parties to the U.S. Supreme Court. The court’s political makeup was unofficially split down the middle, with two Justices proving to be the swing vote. The critical vote of the two in this contest was Ridley Thompson.
Tripp and the chiefs of Harper’ campaign had decided the best thing for Harper to do during the intense legal battle for the Presidency was to lay low at the Babington home in Vermont.

TRIPP: I would put down that drink and pull myself together if I were you. Olivia and the kids are on the way in from a hike.
HARPER: They’ve seen me worse than this. Much worse.
TRIPP: But the public hasn’t. Somehow, thank God, you’ve escaped a catastrophic candid moment.
HARPER: Because I have it under control. You’re overreacting.
TRIPP: Let’s hope I am. Seriously, put it down. You’ve got a speech to make, Harp.
HARPER: A speech? I thought everyone wanted me to be ‘incognito’?
TRIPP: Hey, you agreed that you could only do more harm than good talking to the press at this point. The ball was not in our courts.
HARPER: Is that what I said?
TRIPP: As I recall.
HARPER: As you recall. Typical. Tell me about this speech.
TRIPP: The speech. My college buddy I referred to before you rudely turned your back on me, well, he works as a clerk for Justice Thompson. He just told me that Thompsons gone our way.

Harper was visibly shaken; his jaw hit the floor after that haymaker to democracy. This clear show of activism would surely cost Thompson any future shot at being named Chief Justice.

TRIPP: Adrianna is on the phone right now, working out the logistics. We’re thinking the Rocky steps. So hurry up; you have about an hour to shower, shit your lunch and for God’s sake put a fucking tie on. This is the biggest speech of your life.

Harper couldn’t move. His mouth just hung as he recollected the long path. Before he got too deep in thought, Harper snapped back to reality. He stood up, walked back to the dry bar, rinsed out a new tumbler, and poured two glasses of the Blue.

HARPER: I can’t believe it. The little shit almost stole this from us, almost took it all away with his petty, crybaby bullshit. Drink with me, Sweetcheeks, drink with me. This is time to celebrate!

Harper’s fists pumped the air; Many, many times.

TRIPP: As much as I would love to, I have to spend tonight glad-handing that born-again-and-again fucker, Tellic.
HARPER: Ha! I do not envy you.
TRIPP: Well, the guy pretty much won this election for us by getting out the far-right. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to genuflect a little.

Harper scoffed. If there was one base he hated owning favors, it was the Christian Right. Probably even more so than the neocons.

HARPER: I will never bow to Xander Tellic. More whiskey for me.

Harper shot one glass, and then the other in rapid succession.

TRIPP: Jesus.
HARPER: It’s really like the old days now, right Trippshit?

Tripp hated that one most of all.

TRIPP: I tend to let sleeping dogs lay. Now get the hell in the shower. Chuck will be here in 10 minutes with your speech.

Harper shook his head in agreement and turned to leave the den.

TRIPP: Hey, I’m proud of you, buddy.

Harper cracked a smile for the first time in weeks. He hurried off to his private quarters to sober up and make himself presentable. Tripp stayed behind in the North Wing, looking out into the snow-covered woods. He let out an enormous sigh of relief. Tripp Sweetwater had virtually grown up under the Babington wings. Harper and Tripp had met at a prep school summer camp and were inseparable from that moment on. Avery and Ilene even legally adopted Tripp after his parents were killed in an accident. Avery took a keen liking to Tripp, one that often overshadowed Avery’s relationship with his own son.
Just as Tripp was about to break his comfortable, half-focused gaze out of the window, Olivia Babington appeared in the doorway of the den. She must’ve sensed the good news.

OLIVIA: There you are. How are you, Tripp?
TRIPP: Olivia, I’m ecstatic at the moment. Have you seen Harper yet? Where are the kids?
OLIVIA: I haven’t. I just got the kids shoes and snow pants off. Where is he?
TRIPP: He’s supposed to be in the shower right now.
OLIVIA: Well, that’s a good sign. You got him off the couch at least.
TRIPP: It’s more than a good sign. Thompson swung our way. They deemed the recounts unconstitutional.

A look of absolute disbelief swept over her delicate face.

OLIVIA: You mean it’s over? It’s all over?
TRIPP: Yes, the election is. We’ve won it Olivia!

Olivia began to take a few, slow, steps forward, the look of disbelief never wavering. She reached up and took her mink hat off, carelessly allowing the un-melted snow to fall on the recently reconditioned hardwood. The hat itself soon followed. Olivia was overcome with emotion. As she got closer and closer to Tripp, Tripp opened his arms for an embrace, while Olivia put her hands over her face to hide her tears, allowing herself to be enveloped.

Olivia spoke softly.

OLIVIA: I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it’s finally over.
TRIPP: The hard part is. Hopefully we have eight years to get some things done.
OLIVIA: I guess it’s not really over then.
TRIPP: Not by a long shot. We’ve got a huge mess to clean up here. Some people won’t be happy that we’re making things right after that left-wing nut job let the world go to hell in a hand basket. No, not everyone’s going to be happy. The country is split like never before and we had to have the Supreme Court of the United States decide who our President was. It looks divisive and there will surely be backlash.
OLIVIA: Do you think they’ll still attack the kids? And me?
TRIPP: You’re the First Lady now. It’s an unspoken rule not to criticize the first family. You and the kids are officially off limits.
OLIVIA: I hope you’re right. And what about Harper? I know he’s tired of it too.
TRIPP: The President will always have his critics. Harper has tough skin.

They continued in their embrace.

OLIVIA: Lately, too tough. I feel like I don’t even know him any more. He seems so, so empty. The kids barely spend any time with him anymore. He’s either busy or in one of his moods.
TRIPP: We’ll work more time in. Don’t worry about anything. I’ve got it under control.
OLIVIA: I know you do. You always do.

At that moment, Chuck Datsun, famed speechwriter for Mickey Higgins, Roman Mitchell, and Babington 41, found his way into the den, interrupting the tender comprise. Somehow, this 300-pound man was able to tiptoe his way into the room unnoticed.

CHUCK: Oh, pardon me. I thought you were with Harper, Tripp.

Tripp opened his mouth to respond, but Olivia beat him to it.

OLIVIA: It’s no problem at all. Tripp here was just telling me the good news.
CHUCK: It’s great isn’t it? We got the damn keys back! Congratulations Olivia. Or should I say FLOTUS?

Olivia thought the FLOTUS moniker made her seem fat.

OLIVIA: Thank you, Chuck. We couldn’t have done it without you.
CHUCK: You’re too kind Olivia. I was just glad to be on board for one-last run.
TRIPP: Last run? Please. We’ve got many more planned for you.

Olivia met Chuck in the doorway and kissed him on the cheek, and turned back to Tripp.

OLIVIA: I have to run and get the kids ready. I can tell them can’t I?
TRIPP: Hmm, it might be a risk.
OLIVIA: Oh, you’re kidding! Who are they going to talk to?
TRIPP: You’re right. I’m sure the entire country knows already. Goddam leaky clerks. Go ahead and tell them the good news!
OLIVIA: Perfect. You both will excuse me, won’t you? Goodbye Chuck. I’ll see you all later.
CHUCK: Good evening Madame.
TRIPP: Bye Olivia.

Olivia whisked away, leaving behind the most exhilarating scent.

CHUCK: What a peach.
TRIPP: Yes, the mountain air does her wonders. Have you got the speech?
CHUCK: I do. Take a gander.
TRIPP: Yadda, yadda…the American people should not have to be subjected to such divisive actions…uh huh, uh huh…a country so exceedingly divided must come together to move forward for the common good. Age of morality, honor back to the White House, not since the Civil War…Hell, I’m sold.
CHUCK: Thank you sir.

Harper came in looking slightly more sober and exceedingly less somber than he had earlier. He had a spring in his step that neither Chuck nor Tripp had seen for far too long.

HARPER: Chuckie, it’s so damn fine to see you. Come here, old friend of mine.
CHUCK: Congratulations sir. Good show.

Harper pulled Chuck in for a bear hug.

CHUCK: Sir, you’re going to have to put me down. We have to discuss a few parts of this speech and we have very little time. I want to go over some definitions and just a little bit about how Congressional party leadership works.
HARPER: Anything for you. I could kiss you right now.

Note that I said slightly more sober. Heck, it wasn’t just the booze; Harper was in a great mood. You’ve got to let a man slide when he becomes leader of the free world. Harper put his arm around Chuck and led him closer to the fireplace (and the dry bar). Harper rinsed out a tumbler.

HARPER: I know you’ll drink with me, Chuckie.
CHUCK: Maybe just one. I can barely see while driving as it is with all this snow on the ground.
HARPER: I’ll need my best writer around for a long time yet. I’ll get someone to take your car back. You can ride in Marine One with us.
CHUCK: That sounds lovely. Is your father here?
HARPER: Oh, he’s puttering around somewhere. He’ll be riding along, you two can catch up.
CHUCK: Splendid. Thank you.

Harper raised his glass. Chuckie followed suit.

HARPER: To country.
CHUCK: To country.
TRIPP: Jesus Christ, you better be fucking sober, I’m fucking serious, Harp. Chuck, please, don’t set a bad example. You’re like sixty years older than him.
CHUCK: I beg your pardon?
TRIPP: Just go over the speech, please?
CHUCK: Certainly, sir.
HARPER: He’s never any fun anymore, right?
TRIPP: Focus. Focus.

Tripp stayed in the den for a few moments longer to supervise the process. As Tripp turned around to exit to his own quarters, he was somewhat startled by two rather intimidating men entering. One was familiar. It was Secret Service Agent Gunther. He had been assigned to protect Harper since the Primaries. Gunther and Tripp had actually grown quite close. The other man was unknown to Tripp. If Tripp didn’t know who this man was, Chuck didn’t either. It certainty meant that Harper had no clue.

GUNTHER: SW, this is Al-Affar Station Chief of the CIA’s CTC, Scott Rathbone. He’d like a word with you.
TRIPP: Ah, I’m quite aware of you Agent Rathbone. My god, you came all the way out here? This must be important. Let’s hear it.
RATHBONE: Mr. Sweetwater, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I understand that congratulations are in order. I was wondering if I could get your ear for just two minutes. I understand you are the person, ahem, in charge of this new administration.
TRIPP: The President of the United States will have final say in this administration. What is it I can do for you?
RATHBONE: Well sir, there are some very interesting things that are happening. Intelligence has been acquired that the attacks in Africa a couple years back, the attacks in Jordan, LAX, and in Yemen last month…they’re all related and have been ordered by, get this, a cleric from Saudi Arabia.
TRIPP: I thought we were cordial with Saudi Arabia. Is that not true?
RATHBONE: It’s complicated. He’s not operating out of Saudi Arabia, they banished him in 1992. He’s living in a goddam tent somewhere in Afghanistan. During the last year of President Nicklaus’ administration, the President had devoted a good deal of resources to tracking this guy. Nicklaus and Ross even signed off on taking him out.
TRIPP: Why couldn’t we get this fucker?
RATHBONE: We had a plan in place. He was in Pakistan at the time, but our plan went to shit when we lost control of the government. I’m not particularly sure what I’m authorized to tell you at this exact moment sir, but I understand that you may have the last word in the next four years. This is all classified, and I’m telling you off the record because I want you to understand how big of a deal this guy is. He is going to be a major thorn in your administrations side. My station has a major jump on the situation, but need more resources. A new CIA chief is the only way to go, in the eyes of the Director of the Counterterrorism Center, to get the proper allocation of resources to quell such a threat. We’ve gotten a slight increase in funding, but not enough. The biggest danger to our nation, friends, and interests are non-state actors. The Cold War days are going to look pretty god damned rosy compared to what’s about to rip through the world. At least then we knew our enemy.

Tripp had seen this before. Agent Rathbone was angling for his bosses job. Tripp appreciated the bold move.

TRIPP: That’s all very grim. I certainly appreciate your concern and thank you for stopping by this evening sir. Show him out, won’t you Gunther?
RATHBONE: It’s not just this one guy. He’s established a growing network of followers.
TRIPP: Gunther?
RATHBONE: I thank you for your time, sir. It’s this way isn’t it Gunther?

Tripp looked back over to Harper and Charlie to see Charlie using a lemonade stand metaphor to explain how the U.S. budget worked, and how the U.S. had a surplus of money. Even though Harper and Tripp had run on a general election pledge to return government surplus to the people, Harper was still somehow unaware of how the government obtained this extra money. Tripp shook his head and secretly wondered how a moron like Harper could ever be elected to the nation’s highest office. He didn’t wonder too long as he had an important call to make. He exited the den and found his way to the guest room that he was occupying, locking the door behind him. He then reached in his breast pocket for his cell phone. He placed the phone to his ear. It rang thrice.

VOICE: Hello?
TRIPP: Hello? Is this Gertie?
VOICE: It is, it this Tripp?

The female voice became noticeably excited.

TRIPP: Yes.
GERTIE: Tripp dear, it’s so good to hear your voice!
TRIPP: As it is yours. How are you feeling this evening?
GERTIE: Oh, I’m just fine. Did you want to talk to Mathias?
TRIPP: As much as I hate to disconnect with you, I’m afraid I must. This is urgent.
GERTIE: Oh dear. He’s right here. Hold please.
TRIPP: You have a good night darling.

There was a brief shuffled on Gertie’s end.

MATHIAS: Hello, Tripp?
TRIPP: Yes, Mathias. Do you always have such a hard time keeping your men in line?
MATHIAS: Excuse me?
TRIPP: Do you, have trouble, making sure your rank and file remain in check?
MATHIAS: You must be joking. You know I run a tight ship.
TRIPP: I used to know that.
MATHIAS: What do you mean used to?
TRIPP: One of your station chiefs just paid me a little visit…at the family home.
MATHIAS: You’re up in Cotoctin?
TRIPP: No Mathias, your family home.
MATHIAS: Oh. Is Harper there? Congratulate him for me, won’t you?
TRIPP: I see word travels extremely fast around the beltway these days.
MATHIAS: You expect the CIA Chief not to keep abreast of pertinent events? Who came?
TRIPP: I didn’t know domestic events were under the CIA’s purview. It was a station chief in charge of tracking some middle-eastern cleric…
MATHIAS: What? That isn’t exactly ringing a bell.
TRIPP: Al-Atar, El-Romani, something like that?

They say recall is the first thing to go.

TRIPP: No? Nothing?
MATHIAS: Hmmm, you must mean the Al-Affar. Was it a skinny young man, with red hair that came by? Scott Rathbone?
TRIPP: That’s him.
MATHIAS: And what did that tight-ass want?
TRIPP: Well Mathias, he seems to be all worked up over this cleric and his cronies. He says that you’re not doing everything you can to keep on top of him.
MATHIAS: I just increased their budget.
TRIPP: He says it wasn’t enough.
MATHIAS: Jesus. You should see what they are asking for. They want to increase their staff to three hundred. Twelve drones. More people on the ground. The list goes on.
TRIPP: You don’t seem overly concerned about this guy.
MATHIAS: Don’t get me wrong, he’s certainly someone to keep an eye on, but the millennium plots that his group set up was a spectacular failure. We really don’t think they have the organization and discipline to get anything serious going.
TRIPP: Stay on top of it, would you? We don’t need another embassy disaster.
MATHIAS: You know I will.

Tripp was about to hang up before his vindictive side kicked in.

TRIPP: You know, that station chief was technically leaking classified knowledge…is that how things are run in Langley these days?
MATHIAS: It’s an anomaly as far as I’m concerned. That is not the type of chap I have under my employ. I’ll take care of him.
TRIPP: Glad to hear it. If you need a recommendation…
MAHIAS: I’ll find my own people, thank you. Oh, next time we meet remind me to get you up to speed about the mole.
TRIPP: Christ, Mathias, another one? I’m on record saying how much I admire you for cleaning up shop. You’re making me look like an asshole.
MATHIAS: Not my mole.
TRIPP: Who’s?
MATHIAS: DOJ.
TRIPP: Fucking fantastic. I have to go.
MATHIAS: Goodnight.

Tripp hang up the phone and put his face in his hands while letting out a deep sigh. He went to unlock and open his guest room door, but as soon as he opened it, he found Olivia was outside, like she had been eavesdropping.

OLIVIA: Hi, Tripp.

She appeared nervous.

TRIPP: Olivia.

Tripp cocked his head to the side.

OLIVIA: I think everyone’s about ready to leave. Are you riding with us?
TIRPP: I think I’m going to drive myself…I’ll need to make a few stops on the way. Say, you love skiing. Do you know what the weather in Switzerland is like right now?

Olivia wasn’t sure.

TRIPP: I’m sure Chuck will get Harper in running condition.
OLIVIA: Oh…ok. Is everything all right, Tripp?

Tripp hesitated a moment before responding.

TRIPP: You joined the wrong fucking family.