Day 2

D2

          “Bronco Billy” Daniels, White House Chief of Staff was an old hack Chicago politician who worked his way up to the top level and he had other ideas than dying under, “…some goddamn rock from outer space” he said as he drove home in his Cadillac Escalade.  “Bronco” got stuck on him after he stupidly went for a ride on a bucking bronco while drunk at a Chicago rodeo while he was in high school.  He lasted all of two seconds and was in the hospital for week, but no one accused him of “being chicken” after that.

          Billy had virtually no education having gotten through high school by daring his teachers to teach him anything and then fumbling through a two year stint at Trade Tech learning to become a welder, getting a union card, becoming a shop steward, into Democratic party work and eventually the White House.

          His mind was going a mile a minute as he drove home and he had one idea, “Get as far from that thing as we can to survive.”

          He arrived home, puts the car in the garage and entered the house in the kitchen where his wife, Sylvia, was peeling vegetables.

          “Honey?” he asked, “Where is that globe?”

          “Globe?” she said, turning to him.  “Scott has it in his room.”  Bill said nothing more, went up the stairs and into his teenage son’s room to step over towels, books, crumpled papers and wrappers.  He found the globe on the boy’s desk, grabbed it and went downstairs.

          As he entered the dining room Sylvia came in from the kitchen with a quizzical look on her face.

          “I’m glad Scott is not here as I have something to tell you that you are not going to believe and it is very upsetting, but I have a plan.”  She knew her husband was a crafty man, with very little education and lots of “moxy,” “Bronco Billy” had gone very far with a short deck and here he was contemplating the world!

          Sylvia took word of the end of the world with amazing aplomb.

          “Exactly opposite where that thing is going to hit is south of India, like Malaysia, but not far from there is Perth, Australia, English speaking and it looks like there are mountains behind it.  We do not want to be near the ocean.  Start packing.  Where is Scott?

          “He’s where he always is; at Chrissies’ house.”

          “Oh God, I forgot about her.  OK I’ll go get him,” and Bill got up to leave.    

  

          Meanwhile, Layton Panola, Secretary of Defense was in his “Command Center” style office yelling into two telephones alternately.

          “I don’t give a crap if it’s Saturday I want to talk to the top guy!”  He was calling the Commander of Area 51 as they have a deep underground facility with living quarters and several years food stored in the event of an all-out war given all the cutting edge weapons work there.  It was Layton’s plan to move his family there and “To Hell with the rest of them!  We will survive!”

          Layton had not been home yet and was dreading explaining this to his wife as she was the hysterical type, but he would “wing it.”

          Dr. Filbert Fogstern, Ph.D. Secretary of Science was in his office making calls to the NOA Director in charge of the Antarctica Expedition he knew was sending a supply plane there on April 4, 2029.  He intended to have his wife on that plane.  The base was in the one place he felt would have the best chance of survival, but he was worried about money so he had placed a call to a friend at the New York Times, David Crookes, famous Presidential suck up who once said “I knew he would be a great President by the sharp crease in his pants.”

          “David?” asked “Filly,” as his friends called him, “I’ve got the story of the century for you, but you’ve got to sit on until after the tenth and I want one million Dollars in gold for it.  Believe me, it’s worth it.”  

          There was a pause as David told Filly he was nuts.

          “I can give you proof on the morning of the tenth when you show me the satchel with 24 pounds of gold at a designated place.”  Again a pause as Crookes spoke.

          “OK, here it is in a nutshell:  The President thinks the world is coming to an end on Friday the 13^th!  Isn’t that a killer?  I have proof and a tape of the Cabinet meeting in which he shot and killed one of the cabinet members.  I’ll give it all to you as I am leaving the country.  My ass will be butter after you break the story.  I want out with money.  When he goes I’ll never get another post like this; you know that.  OK, get it together and I’ll tell you where to meet me on the early morning of the tenth, OK?”  Layton put the phone down confident the deal had been made. All the papers and his digital recorder were in his thin briefcase.  He patted it and prepared to go home and deal with Charlotte.

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