Peace At Last (standard:drama, 1526 words)
Author: Wax	Added: Mar 10 2005	Views/Reads: 3457/2328	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The year is 2044. George bush entertains his grandson Josh in his home at the Bush Houston compound. Josh appears certain to win the Republican nomination for the 2044 presidential election, and his grandfather wants to enlighten him on some aspects of be

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“Go on,” he said. 

“Have you ever heard the name, Fatal fem Qashir?” George asked. 

“No. Should I have?” Josh replied, curious. 

There was the Bush smile again, teasing, “You'll know it after today,
and you'll always remember it. Get us a couple of beers. I'll talk 
awhile.” 

As Josh attended to his grandfather's request, the elder Bush began his
story. 

“September 12th 2007, Josh. I managed to get to bed around one in the
morning. Every night for the last year had been like that. There were 
hot spots everywhere: Gaza, Venezuela, Iran, and worst of all, Iraq. 
The attacks had been incessant, and getting worse. I wasn't a popular 
president, Josh. Al Qaeda had destroyed the White House in 2005 and I'd 
just moved into White House II. Weeks earlier we'd lost the U.S.S. 
carrier Enterprise. France was apoplectic about the Eiffel Tower. The 
British were on the verge of revolt because of their country's 
continued support for us and the British military was threatening 
mutiny. Germany was preparing to call us before a world court for 
crimes they couldn't even define. Everywhere I looked our allies were 
deserting us and sealing their borders. 

On the morning of September 12th, at three a.m., my military attaché,
Major Thomas, interrupted the little sleep I allowed myself, and 
delivered the message that changed the world. In less than ten minutes 
I'd been briefed and had placed the appropriate calls.” 

The Secretary of Defense charged through the door to the Oval Office.
Out of breath, he stammered,  “Has it been confirmed?” 

“We're still waiting,” President Bush answered. 

“I can't take much more of this, George. I swear. Weezie says she's had
enough. She'll be packed and gone if this is another false report.” 

Weezie was actually Louise, Donald Rumsfeld's wife. The Secretary
wandered aimlessly around the Oval Office. The president handed him a 
drink and directed him to a comfortable chair. 

“Don, Afghan command sounded credible. I'm almost beside myself,” he
said to his old friend. “This is it, Don. We've got him!” 

A tall shapely woman stepped toward them, the Secretary of State,
Condoleeza Rice. She grasped Rumsfeld's shoulders and kneaded them. 
Rumsfeld nodded gratefully. 

“Take it easy, Mr. Secretary. We'll know soon enough.” 

An hour later the reports had been confirmed. The military operation in
Afghanistan had collared the most wanted terrorist in the world, Osama 
Bin Laden. George Bush sat back in his chair, pondering the moment, a 
burning cigar in his hand that leisurely floated beside him. He sat 
with his feet planted on the most famous desk in America. 

“Life is grand,” he said lightheadly. “It wasn't grand yesterday, but it
is today, and it will be tomorrow.” 

“Damn right!” echoed Secretary Rice. She also brandished a cigar. 

“Amen,” said Secretary Rumsfeld. He raised his glass and they all
toasted the good news, for the fifth time. Donald Rumsfeld poured them 
all another drink. Another toast. Life truly was grand. 

George Bush looked into space and spoke for all of them, “You'll never
get your martyrdom now, Osama. We're going to take good care of you. 
We'll show you to the whole world. Does that get your support, Connie?” 


Secretary Rice nodded her head, dragging on the handful of cigar. 

“What was he thinking? How could he outdo Saddam?” asked Rumsfeld. 

“Who cares?” asked Secretary Rice. She hiccoughed. 

Rumsfeld refilled their glasses. In a moment of exhilaration, George
Bush dashed to the floor length portrait of George Washington and 
proceeded to imitate the founding father's commanding pose. Secretary 
Rice broke up in a fit of hysterics. She fell sideways on the sofa and 
was embraced by Secretary Rumsfeld. He was immediately infected with 
her high spirits and fell into a fit of laughter himself. The morning 
sun was rising just outside of the West Wing and warm sunshine spread 
though the Oval Office as a sign that all was well with the world. 

“Not everybody knows that as the world was celebrating the news about
Bin Laden's capture, the senior staff at White House II were enjoying 
long overdue celebrations themselves. It was wonderful, Josh. All of 
the things that my second administration had worked so hard for fell in 
place. The word was out, Bin Laden was singing like a bird. That's the 
way things began to change. The man was a coward, flat out. To save his 
skin he gave us the names of all his lieutenants, their locations, 
weapons caches, and future terrorist strategies. We went after them 
with the full support of the people and the powerful might of our 
military. Within a year terrorist activity was insignificant. Our 
allies swung back in line and any country that may have had schemes up 
their sleeves shelved them immediately. The world stepped forward in 
solidarity to become the world we take for granted today, and the rest 
is history. Secretary Rice took my place for two terms and then  
Schwarzeneger had his two. Dick Chaney's son was competent until he had 
his stroke and Martin Luther-Rice was as popular a president as this 
country ever had. Republicans belong in White House II, Josh.” 

The elderly Bush placed a finger to the corner of his mouth and studied
his grandson. 

“You're wondering about the name I asked you about.” 

Josh nodded. 

“There is an expression handed down from the past that all smart men
have paid heed to. “There is nothing worse than a woman scorned.” The 
intelligence source that provided the details for mounting that famous 
2007 operation was a woman who had been devoted to Bin Laden from the 
age of twelve. Bin Laden did not recognize this woman's dedication, or 
her fanatical attraction to him, and when he threw her aside for a 
younger concubine, she left with her heart torn and her soul filled 
with revenge. Her name was Fatal fem Qashir. She contacted an Afhan/US 
command post and provided us with his movements. We took Bin Laden 
because he treated a woman like he treated everything else, like dirt.” 



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