Chapter 25

25
THE WHITE HOUSE

Tom Hanneman almost jogged to the Oval Office. President Robert Haskill had called in all the troops including the Joint Chiefs. Hanneman hoped for a chance to at least talk to the President before the rest of them arrived. He could tell from the voice on the intercom that the President was not in an overly confident frame of mind. It could be war. As President Haskill's main political advisor, Hanneman had an almost psychiatric level of confidentiality in all of the government's business including being privy to National Security Affairs. From the sound of Haskill's voice it was clear that something had him scared.

It wasn't nice to scare the leader of the Free World.

The Oval Office was half full when he arrived. President Haskill, a youngish looking man of fifty was parked behind his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up tapping a pencil nervously. His eyes had that dangerous look of steel gray marbles fit loosely in their sockets. His brow was furled.

"Tom. I am glad you are here. We're in the soup. Deep in the soup thanks to a complete breakdown of intelligence. Christ! How can these things creep up on us like this? We know its dangerous, but does anyone tell me? Does anyone bother to find out what the hell is happening? Hell no they don't! Why bother to tell old President Haskill, huh? Some lunchpail from the State Department picks up the goddamned phone and fills me in! Oh yeah! The word finally gets here." Looking up from his private complaint, the President noticed that room had filled.

"Well, if anyone here has bothered to read any American History, you might have noticed that this is the first Republican Administration in six terms. See, I don't like to have to think about that. Especially since I am pouring my blood into getting re-elected. Anybody? Anybody? Re-elected means that you all have jobs here next term!"

"Well, the reason that this is the first Republican Administration in six terms is because of Kyle Bancroft -- remember him? He was the LAST Republican President, and he got taken out by the damned tomb thing. All he had to do was not be ready for one press conference and the vultures got him. Half the country thought he was Satan, and the other half thought he was kissing butterflies for the New Age!"

"Ol' Kyle just had a streak of bad luck, right? Well, all he had to handle was the damned tomb and even that got blown to hell. He could have sat it out, yep, sat it out. But he didn't! He opened his mouth."

"Now, see, why am I so damned testy all of a sudden? Here's why. Ain't the damned tomb, that's long gone. Now its the Savior Himself. That billionaire weirdo in Brazil cloned the damned body and raised himself up a copy of Jesus Christ!"

"If the tomb and a mummy could bring down Kyle Bancroft, and mind you old Kyle was no slouch, then what is a living, walking, talking Jesus Christ clone going to do to this administration? I know this thing broke fast. but I'm sitting here while some thirty year old Brazilian patrol boat rattles up the coast for four days at twelve knots to fetch this boy! Come on! Try to convince me that events are happening too fast!"

"Now the Papal Nuncio is calling me. I need answers. Everybody just assume that I know nothing. Surprise me with some intelligence! This meeting is over. Out! Out!"

"Hanneman! You stay here." As the room cleared, the President regained his calm. It was obvious that his emotional state of a few minutes ago had been contrived for the benefit of the high mucks and brass in his office.

It was a joke around the White House that Hanneman could never be seen without his headset and microphone. No one ever knew for certain to whom he spoke on the thing. Haskill didn't care. Tom Hanneman had a way of finding out everything. Still, speaking to the man could be distracting as he both held conversation with you and, interspersed between questions and answers, held another conversation with the mysterious someone else on the other end of his electronics. It attested to Hanneman's skill that no one had ever traced these calls or intercepted any of his conversations.

"Mr. President, we are calling 70-30 favorable that this news will precipitate something like the tomb riots. The odds are strong that the riots will be worse. Stratton is already back on the topic."

"Who? Stratton who?" the President asked.

"Buck Stratton, the radio minister in southern California. He was the one who led the charge when they found the tomb." Hanneman replied.

"A radio minister? What do we know about him?" Robert Haskill's eyes were becoming beady.

"Stratton was the guy with a twice a week AM radio ministry going nowhere. When the tomb thing hit, his audience expanded just about nation wide. He's some kind of mixture of old time religion and a hick from Kentucky, although his whole history isn't clear. He was able to hit the market really square. He prospered for a while, but when the tomb became old hat, he slipped back into the mud."



President Haskill wrote himself a note. "I'll get a complete profile on him. There's got to be a weak link. In fact, let's order a complete intelligence work up. I don't need this guy making trouble right now."

Hanneman looked up in the disconcerting way he always did when he was listening both to the President and the headset. "That was just something about Algeria. Back to this conversation, Stratton was probably the single cause of the destruction of the Bancroft administration. I doubt that he had it as a direct ambition, but he was the one that kept things stirred up until Kyle Bancroft couldn't run it anymore. You bet we're keeping an eye on him."

"The other side is starting up, too. Something called Christians for Christ. They are the ones claiming that it's the dawn of a new day. They are competing for first place among about a dozen different groups, but my people say they will be the one. There isn't much to know about them. They are still just starting. Tampa I think."

He continued, "My people have spoken, unofficially, with the Nuncio. The Vatican wants this Jesus to remain in Brazil. They damned sure don't want Him anywhere near Rome. They consider everything about His affairs to be strictly Church business with the Brazilian government tagging along to provide on the ground resources. I don't know this for a fact, but I think the Church is putting the pressure on Brazil to do more than they signed on for. We will have to wait and see about where that goes."

The President rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "That means the Church probably expects Brazil to support Him financially. Any chance we can buy some of that? I can get the Congress to be pretty generous with a development grant or something."

Hanneman continued his blank stare, listening to his headset as the President spoke. "That's not going to be an issue. The old man who cloned Him left Him a trust fund, multi-billions. This Jesus is not walking in the divine poverty of the last One."

"We know that He is in a Brazilian diplomatic residence west of Rio right now. The word is 'protective hospitality' but that just tells me the Brazilians are having a hard time finding the right policy. We'll know more later."

President Haskill moved the microphone away from Hanneman's mouth. "Tom, last question. What are we dealing with here? Is this some sort of half-witted clone stumbling around on a leash? Is He a functional man? Can He be anything like what people are saying? I mean, is that possible?"

Tom Hanneman, still expressionless, moved the mouthpiece back into place. Rising to leave, he said "I'll just have to get back to you on that one."