By Silent Majority

  BY

  SILENT

  MAJORITY

  ROBERT BUSCHEL

  A POST HILL PRESS BOOK

  By Silent Majority

  © 2016 by Robert Buschel

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

  or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-68261-056-5

  ISBN (eBook): 978-1-68261-057-2

  Cover Design by Christian Bentulan

  Interior Design and Composition by Greg Johnson/Textbook Perfect

  Post Hill Press

  275 Madison Avenue, 14th Floor

  New York, NY 10016

  posthillpress.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  for Rita and Bradley

  PROLOGUE

  Daniel Carlson awoke from a dream—a few seconds later, he registered it as a nightmare. He exhaled hard confirming he was awake. The same dream. The dream was an emotion, not a scene. It was real. The dream did not forsake the laws of science. The dream was pure feeling engendered by an internal dialogue with himself. He thought about the recurring character in his life—the Silent Majority. The Silent Majority is the fear factor in Daniel’s life. As much as he hated it, it was a motivator. On tough days he grew exasperated with it. He constantly has to disprove the obvious. He has to disprove its fiction it blasted with conviction. Admittedly, it’s a lot of work.

  The Silent Majority is a fact-denier. It wants to win to win. Win for power. At some level every day, it cuts into and attacks Daniel Carlson‘s character, optimism, views on policy and his desire to be revolutionary, important and different. The Silent Majority is unaware. It is unaware of others. It is a cancer. The immune deficiency yielding to the artificial forces that deaden the positive evolution of society. It is unaware of the host. It is not conscious of the whole. It is a silent killer because it represents itself as the whole, as America.

  The Silent Majority is made up of the human that is defeated by an ATM, or the cell phone. It is the person that stands in the middle of the airport when everyone is getting off the plane, and obstructs the flow of terminal walkers making their way home. It abhors technology in the name of economic loss manifested in the form of displacing American jobs. The Silent Majority thinks it is special, different, represents the many, but it is only really a vocal minority. It is religious and exclusionary.

  If you ask the Silent Majority what happens next when America is pure, one man, one religion, one culture, it fails to recognize it’s not even what it thinks it wants to be. It does not realize it will continue to exclude, subdivide and be sanctimonious, based upon color, geography, heritage, new traditions and God. It is easily offended, and the offended has no recognition of the irony in the world or itself. The Silent Majority distorts. The Silent Majority is evil, and like God, many take its name in vain. “What’s the matter?” Daniel Carlson asked himself. “What’s bothering me today?” He asked what’s really the matter often when he feels vulnerable after waking from this dream. Daniel remembered his dreams too often. He’s been scared much too often. What does it matter? It matters because Daniel Carlson is President of the United States.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  American Royalty

  The five o’clock alarm beeped softly, but loud enough to wake the President. President Daniel Carlson sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes with the middles of his fingers, and then turned the alarm off. The backup wakeup call from the White House operator rang. The President picked up, said “got it“ and hung up. It was a tortured night’s sleep. When he threw off the sheets and covers, his maroon silk pajamas were exposed. His wife, June, quickly snatched up more than her share of the covers. She finally won all the covers, Daniel mused to himself.

  After putting on a robe, Daniel stared into the mirror and noticed the colorless face he had every morning before taking a shower. He felt calm and relaxed, but not ready to tackle the whole day. Usually his morning massage got him started for the day’s events.

  The President leaned down to the intercom by his vanity table and pressed the intercom button. “I’m ready,” he said to the Secret Service man outside his bedroom door.

  “Yes, Mr. President,” the cool official voice replied.

  “Oh, remind my wife’s secretary that she is having lunch with the British Ambassador’s wife again this afternoon.”

  “I will, Mr. President.” The President released the button to the intercom and walked out of the bedroom.

  The President opened the door to his wing of the residence. “Have a good day, Jasper.”

  “I will, Mr. President,” the agent said and smiled.

  Most of the three hundred domestic staff members and Secret Service agents assigned to protect Daniel Carlson were fond of him. The President knew all of their names. President Carlson had a superior memory. He was also an expert politician. Legend had it, he could memorize the order of a deck of cards after two glasses of scotch. But since becoming President, he did not drink.

  After a short walk down the hall of the residence in his bathrobe, Daniel Carlson turned the corner and opened a door to the right. He looked up and noticed a Chinese woman in a robe with a painted smile on her face.

  “Good morning, Mr. President. Do you need anything?” another agent asked.

  The President shook his head. “No, thank you.”

  “I’ll be outside.”

  The President walked into what was dubbed the message room, which was equipped with a hot tub and four flat screen televisions. Assorted magazines lined the table outside of the tub. There was special meaning and an inside joke to the name message room.

  “Mr. President, I am Ying. I am going to give you your massage this morning.” The woman’s accented voice was languid and pleasantly exotic.

  “Where’s Bruce?”

  “Bruce is not in this morning. I must take his place.”

  “I really prefer Bruce. No one told me about this.”

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. President. I will go.”

  “No, hold on,” he said sincerely, remaining suspicious.

  The President came up with the idea of the morning and sometimes-early evening massages. There he received Top Secret messages from highly sensitive sources, from both within and outside the country. These were so sensitive, no one else saw the messages except the President. This covert network wasn’t shared with Congress nor tested in the courts. Even President Carlson, as popular as he was with the American people, wasn’t sure if this type of “domestic monitoring”—spying on potential threats within the United States—
only for the “President’s knowledge” would have too many “flying quotes” to be believed or acceptable. He knew that it could end his Presidency, if it were ever exposed. The work that they did in the message room was critical to the President’s ability to guide policy. The only saving argument or propaganda Daniel Carlson could think of if it were ever learned he sanctioned unauthorized and unsupervised spying, was proclaiming he was disrupting domestic terrorist acts.

  One morning he read a report about threats by terrorists to concurrently detonate thirty homemade bombs at various major malls around the country. With that knowledge, he gave specifics to the FBI. The Director of the Bureau was curious about the President’s source for the information. The Director was never able to figure out how the President knew more than he did about this particular plot—and it was critical information. The Director was convinced the President had a mole in the FBI. In the world of American bureaucracy, this bothered the Director, who was not appointed by President Carlson, but by his predecessor. Daniel Carlson didn’t have to answer to the Director.

  President Carlson developed the veiled system to contemplate issues surrounding national security and economic terrorism. Making an informed decision based on the best available truths made decisions easier. Other presidents had tried to reform the special interest lobby. Daniel Carlson decided to do it without Congress. The President believed this source of information was well justified. This morning, as he began most mornings, the President had a massage and received his message. One day a staff secretary wrote about the massage room but thought “massage” was spelled like “message.” The pieces fell together and then some of the staff knew what the President was really doing in the Massage Room.

  The President asked Ying for the code. She replied: “Stay the course.” Carlson’s suspicion subsided. Ying passed a note that was sealed in a plastic encasement. Daniel Carlson cracked it open with his teeth, and read the contents.

  Urgent message coming tonight

  After reading the cryptic note, Carlson lightly pushed the note into his mouth and chewed the rice paper on which the message was written. With one swallow it was gone.

  “Not exactly a hearty breakfast,” he said jokingly. Ying smiled demurely in response.

  Carlson quickly disrobed without embarrassment and reclined face down on the heated table covered with thick white towels. Ying turned on the small television at eye level, which was pre-set for news. Then the Presidential day continued with news and massage therapy.

  Thirty minutes later, Ying signaled the massage was done, left the room, and the President sat up and walked over to the tub. He slowly slipped into the 102 degree water, exhaling and allowing himself to float. He sat in his favorite seat, which had a rotating jet aimed at the lumbar area. It circulated the blood in the entire lower back, and released the lasting stress that doesn’t go away with sleep.

  Daniel then went to the small refrigerator in the corner and poured a glass of water and a glass of orange juice. He brought the juice to a lounge chair with a tablet loaded with a special version of the Washington Post, Bloomberg, and The New York Times. This special version didn’t have the local news and advertisements, but focused instead on national news. The President’s attaché prepared the special version for the President each morning going through section by section, before the President awoke.

  In between articles, the President swallowed the juice in three gulps and read the first page. After ingesting the gist of the media’s version of yesterday’s events, he immediately turned to the editorials.

  It’s always a good morning when I’m not slammed in the editorials, he commented to himself. President Carlson wouldn’t admit this aloud, even to himself, but his reelection was assured.

  The President then turned his attention to the television. The news anchor of the hour was breaking a story about the Mayor of Spokane, who was arrested for possession of cocaine. Carlson sighed, and admitted to himself he wasn’t shocked by these events anymore. He slipped on his sandals, left the room and returned to the residence master bedroom.

  After the President showered and dressed, he joined the Vice President for breakfast in the Rose Garden, where they both had a view of the Capitol. A breeze cooled the outside, and the garden was beautiful in the spring. Gardeners worked diligently in the lawn to make it a show place.

  The server nodded as he pulled out the chair for the President, who was dressed in a blue pinstripe suit with a yellow tie, which he’d insisted his valet tie in a half Windsor because that particular knot appeared less conservative and wasn’t as tight on his neck. The table was covered with a white cloth that draped down to within an inch of the floor. The cutlery was fine Swiss silverware. The dishes were fine china, and the glasses were imported crystal. There were men on staff who stood around to attend to the President’s requests. The Vice President was already seated and waiting for the President to arrive, as protocol required.

  “Good morning, Mr. President,” the Vice President said.

  “Hello,” the President greeted his personal attaché. He was a thin young man; age twenty-five, with horned rim glasses, and a grimace for a smile.

  “Your tie is very conservative, Eyerson. Is blue the only color you have?” The attaché gulped.

  “It’s traditional, sir.”

  “Why don’t you try and loosen up? Try a power red and only a single Windsor instead of a double. Everyone’s going to think you’re a stiff,” he said with a smile. Eyerson relaxed and smiled back.

  The President took the printed schedule from Eyerson’s hand. President Carlson skimmed it: Charles Mathews—campaign kickoff update; Presidential Daily Brief; State Department Meeting; Counter-intelligence meeting in the Situation Room; Lunch with British Ambassador; CID/NSA advisor meeting; Labor, Education, Environment (L.E.E. Core group) Depts. Meeting; “Kitchen Cabinet”— Golf; Chopper to Mr. Clineshaw in North Virginia with staff of Comm. to Re-elect; Veterans group— Oval Office; Dinner Banquet—Fundraiser/power meet; Campaign meeting.

  “Cancel the meeting at nine. I asked those people at defense to realign the AS1-Lion package budget proposal and he deliberately ignored me. Tell them to get it right, and then reschedule. Add nightcap with the Chief of Staff at 10:00 tonight.”

  “Very good, sir. You’ll be spending the weekend on Star Island. Your children will be visiting,” Eyerson said.

  Vice President Jack Milner Adams suddenly chimed in as the attaché left them. “I’m surprised your son Alan has time for a family weekend outing. I’ve read that he’s a highly coveted dinner guest and quite the ladies’ man.”

  “Yeah, well you know. He’s such a handsome young man with a lot going for him. Who wouldn’t love him? We’re doing so well in the polls; a weekend at home is the ultimate sign of strength. We’re having the voters come to us. A rally at the home.”

  “On Sunday, Director Stone will be visiting you to discuss the final plans on the Bureau’s counter-intelligence program projected for the new millennium.”

  “How do you think his strategy is coming along?”

  “Basically, Stone sees it as what he coins, ‘Third World Backlash.’ His intelligence is telling him that Third World terrorist groups are still backlashing for a piece of the Middle East power pie. More human intelligence source development will be necessary, which means funding these human sources; however, not much special agent infiltration, like in the Hoover Red Scare days.”

  “What do you think? Is it a plan that even a dove would support?”

  “These new eggs taste the same, but are better for the heart. All part of the Zen platform,” the Vice President said in an attempt to joke with the President. The Zen platform was a media concoction. It was meant as a compliment. It referred to President Carlson’s ability to be patient and not to force things—to be as cool as Calvin Coolidge. President Carlson went with the label. Carlson refined the term and defined
it to include thinking about the long-term future of America. Adams thought Zen anything was silly.

  Vice President Adams wasn’t a confidant of the President. In fact, they only met at a debate when they were both seeking the nomination during the primary. Carlson needed the Texas balance. Texas, a big state, where Adams was from and Carlson wasn’t. Ever since Carlson won the class presidency with his best friend in fifth grade, in the back of his mind he thought that the Vice President should be a friend. Adams, however, was the runner-up, and since he was the governor from Texas, he was a good choice for Vice President because it meant electoral votes.

  A good vice-presidential candidate is meant to satisfy the second largest faction in the political party, and appeal to a constituency in another part of the country. Carlson thought he could turn Adams around, as Abraham Lincoln had once done by recruiting his rivals to serve in his cabinet. Lincoln’s rivals reformed around their President and transformed into his best allies. They cried on the day of his assassination. Things were different back then, or Lincoln was a better leader. Carlson knew that Adams would be strong if President Carlson were tragically assassinated.

  “I know you’ve mocked the tone of the Presidency, Jack, but it’s what this country needs. The problems this country has been having are the same ones we’ve been having for more than twenty years. Stopgap measures and functioning by crisis will never lead to long-term health in the economy or education. These things are long-term investments. We’ll have to look back in history in twenty years to see how education has failed to make a difference on today’s generation.”

  “We have to press on with prayer and Intelligent Design,” the Vice President replied. “These issues need to be dealt with.”

  “Yes, I’ve always tried to understand your views. I know we haven’t seen eye to eye, but you’ve been a loyal party member. When you’re President, you can focus on that. However, America doesn’t only care if we have prayer and Intelligent Design as part of the school curriculum. They care about health care, affordable housing, a decent job for their children. Most importantly, they don’t want to pay taxes.”