The Wizards of OZ

By Jeffry Weiss

Every character in The Wizards of OZ is based on a real person.  Every occurrence is based on an actual happening.  All the language, though vile is based on the language used by those individuals 

The humor and sarcasm are only meant to draw you into a true and traitorous reality: a political system that feeds on power and greed and money.

As you read on, you will be horrified by the people and events that pervade our supposed democracy.

It's all right to laugh at what our political leaders have done and our doing, but don't lose sight of the fact that this is all true and is a wake up call to every citizen of the U.S. to get involved in changing the system. 

If you choose to sit back and do nothing, then you will be ground up under the wheels of a government run by people whose goals are take away your freedoms and make you a cog in their plans to operate our country for their own gain.

 

*   *           *

 

For decades the country has been run by a cabal operating behind the scenes.  Yet people still believe that politicians and elected officials are independent, honest and looking out for the welfare of its citizens.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

Governors, congressmen, senators - all the way up to presidents – do the bidding of a corporate / military / banking / transnational company-elite that is, in turned directed by past and present members of the IMF, CIA, World bank, EU Ministers, NATO, Ambassadors and Trilateral commission.

The book ends with a way out.  A way to vote in a new system of government.  This is far more than humorous tale; it is a wake up call for change.  If you think that voting for ANY Democratic or Republican candidate is going to change anything, then you are living in a fantasy world.

It's not too late to change the course of events that those in power have laid out.  But time and opportunity are running out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.W. Enterprises
• Release date: Sep 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536556278

Jeffry Weiss

BIOGRAPHY Mr. Weiss attended Central High School, at the time recognized as the top High School academically in the U.S.  He then attended Drexel University where he gained a BS in History, Temple University where he earned an MA in Economics and the University of Pennsylvania where he received an MA in International Affairs.  Those studies provided him with unique insights in the realm of foreign policy, military capabilities, détente, and trade. He has been a writer for forty plus years and has penned hundreds of articles on social, political, and economic issues.  He has written position papers for the Carter and Clinton Administrations and his work on social issues has received recognition directly from the office of the President of México.  He speaks regularly with Noam Chomsky on political, economic, cultural, and military issues. Mr. Weiss writes political, military, economic and scientific thrillers.  There are now twelve books in the Paul Decker series.  All his stories come right off the front pages of the major magazines and newspapers but none of his plots has ever found their way into novel before.  His characters are ones readers can relate to: flawed, not superheroes.  His stories do not require a leap of faith or use deus ex machina. Finally, he has written a stage play, “Einstein at the Guten Zeiten (good times) Beer Garden, and an urban horror novel: “The Art of Theft”, a modern day version of “The Picture of Dorian Grey” by Oscar Wilde.

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Jeffry Weiss

OTHER BOOKS BY JEFFRY WEISS

POLITICAL THRILLER SERIES; PAUL DECKER ASSIGNMENTS

1) The Go Code Protocol

2) Web War One

3) The Patriot Betrayal

4) The Cern Revelation

5) The Euro Option

6) The Eugenics Solution

7) Code 6 North of the DMZ

8) We the People

9) The Neanderthal Regression

10) To Live and Die in Juarez

11) The Mouth of Allah

12) Changing Of the Tides

13) Year of the Crocodile

14) The Order

15) The Death Zone

16) The Kremlin Insider

SCREENPLAYS

From The Depth

The Auto Auction

DIET / NUTRITION

Why We Eat...And Why We Keep Eating

The Perfect Day

The Caffeine Diet

Turning Off the Hunger Gene

Warning

Living a Alzheimer Free Life

SCI-FI

A Dystopian Tale

Message from Ceti-Alpha-6

REMAKES OF OLD CLASSICS

A Story Of Revenge (based on The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas)

Faust 2000 A.D. (based on Faust by Goethe)

The Art of Theft (based on The Portrait of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde)

POLITICAL SATIRE

The Wizards of Oz

SOLVING THE KENNEDY ASSASSINATION

Who Bought the Bullets

STAGE PLAY

Einstein at the Guten Zieten Beer Garden

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

The Wizard of Oz - 1939

THE PLAYERS

Yousef Moustafa, democratic presidential candidate, 2008, president, 2009-2017

Marsha Moustafa, wife of Yousef

Helen Stinson, democratic presidential candidate, 2008, president, 2017-2021

Will Stinson, husband of Helen Stinson, former democratic U.S. President 1991-1999

Moshe Aaron, chief of staff for Yousef Mustafa

The Reverend Josiah Right, Pastor, United Church of the Lord, Madison, Wisconsin

Anthony Tony Ratso-Rizzo, corrupt real-estate mogul

Marty Glickman, campaign chief of staff for Helen Stinson

Sharon Rice, Alice Cantor, campaign staff for Helen Stinson

Mike, Trish and Robert, campaign staff for Yousef Mustafa

Jon Kain, senator from Nevada, republican presidential candidate, 2008

Max Rodney, former governor of Connecticut, republican presidential candidate, 2008

THE PLAYERS

Chuck Crick, former governor of South Carolina, republican presidential candidate, 2008

Rory Jules, former mayor of New Century City, republican presidential candidate, 2008

Paul Rand, Republican U.S. President, 2021-2026

Cynthia Kain, wife of Jon Kain

John Jefferson Adams, first term U.S. congressman 2027

Ms. Mary Richards, personal secretary to Yousef Mustafa

Mr. Danny Trapp, Republican presidential nominee, 2016

Old Man, keeper of the nation’s dirty secrets

General Casey Hardwick, rep. the military interests of Captains of the New World Order

Jack Damon, representing the banking interests of Captains of the New World Order

Alan Marshall, representing the business interests of Captains of the New World Order

Gene Rush, U.S. President, 2001-2008

THE PLAYERS

Rick Chauncy, vice-president under Rush, 2001-2008

Dan Renfield, Secretary of Defense under Rush, 2001-2006

Andy Cad, White House chief of Staff, 2001-2008

Pat Wolf, Deputy Director of Defense under Rush, 2001-2005

Eric Crystal, father of the Neocon movement, 1956-2009

Bennie Nathan, Israeli Prime Minister

THE SERIES OF EVENTS

Part             Page 

1 Democratic Primaries, 2008       5

2 Wizards of Oz, 2008        78

3 Republican Primaries, 2008       87

4 Campaign for the Presidency, 2008     99

5 Democratic search for V.P., 2008      104

6 Republican search for V.P., 2008      112

7 Presidential Debates, 2008       117

8 Hinden-Painter V.P. debate, 2008      122

9 Mustafa Presidency, 2009 – 2017      131

10 Presidential Race of 2018       203

11 Stinson Presidency, 2019-2022      204

12 Paul Rand Presidency, 2023-2027     220

13 Congressman John Adams, 2028      231

14 After We Take Back the Country      245

15 The Banksters          269

PROLOGUE

America had just been through eight years of war with a country that was not guilty of the crimes it had been accused of.  A decade of greed by bankers laundering Mexican drug money, investment houses plying their avarice bent to unimaginable levels, taking the U.S. and the world to the brink of insolvency.

Eight years of lies by a president ruled by his emotions, bent on revenge, willing to send young men to their deaths in order to satisfy his mania.  And by his leadership, eight years of irreversible environmental damage, a disregard for science in the biosphere, the economy and in the classroom.

PROLOGUE

Five thousand American soldiers dead, ten times that number injured: loss of limbs, loss of minds.  A million Middle Eastern civilian deaths.  Whole nations turned into rubble.  And out of the rubble and resentment of U.S. foreign policy, came the rise of ISIS.

Eight years of increasing disparity between rich and poor.

Now the people sought to set aside the fact that their votes had meant little, and once again harbor faith that a political system and politicians would keep their promises and return the country to one where the laws worked for all people and where all citizens would have a chance to share in the American dream. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what it was...a dream.

PART 1:  THE DEMOCRATIC PRIMARIES, 2008

CHAPTER ONE

Renaissance Inn.  Cedar Rapids, Iowa

In years past the room had embodied character and class.  But time and trends rendered the suite old rather than antique.  The sheen was gone from the bureaus and desks, the padding compressed in the sofas and chairs.  The air conditioner whined, pushing around cool air infused with a sent of mildew.  Pictures on the walls reminded guests of places they’d rather be.

The double curtains were drawn tight, blocking out an already intense morning sun. 

A shape on the bed, but under the covers, thrashed about...crying out in a semi-conscious state.

Oh God, it feels so good.  Please don’t stop, Yousef begged.  You know me so well, my dear; know exactly what I like.

Wisconsin Senator Yousef Mustafa - campaigning for the right to represent the Democratic Party in the race for president - continued stroking himself under the covers.

"Do you like that? 

"Um.

Oh, oh, he moaned.  Please, please don’t stop.  I’m almost there!

Then louder, OH, OH.

At the last second a hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him back from the brink.

Yousef turned to see who had saved him from himself.

Are you all right? Moshe asked.

Yousef Moustafa’s campaign manager, and long time friend, Moshe Aaron, stared at his boss with a worried look.

It was her again, Helen, wasn’t it? Moshe asked.

Yeah, I can’t get her out of my mind.

You need to decide whether you want to beat her or marry her, Moshe said.

I’m already married.

So is she, Moshe argued, to a former President of the United States.

I want to strangle her for the things she saying about me on the campaign trail.

Is that a form of rough sex?

Yousef threw off the sheet and blanket.  He was covered in sweat.  Shit, he said, disgusted with himself.

You need to focus, Yousef.

I was focused...until you came in.

You were crying out in your sleep...loud enough to have the guests next door bang on the wall with their shoes.

That wouldn’t happen if we could afford to stay in a decent room, Yousef argued.

The campaign is running on fumes.  Every dime is going to advertisements countering the negative ads of Helen’s camp.

She’s a monster, Yousef insisted.

Maybe that’s why you want her so bad.

I want to go Mandingo on her.  Will hasn’t been down there in years.  She needs me....just as much as the country does.  I have to be available to all my constituents.

Save your energy for the campaign, Moshe suggested.

I don’t know if I have enough left to fight off Helen’s diatribes and Reverend Right’s blaspheming White people.  My stomach is churning and my head’s throbbing.

Here, Moshe offered, some aspirin.

Yousef accepted the offer, threw on a robe and dragged his tired ass into the living room.  Turn on the TV, Moshe.  I want to see the numbers.

You don’t want to do that before breakfast.

The polls are that bad?

It depends on which station you tune to and the time of day.  They’re bouncing around like they’re on a pogo stick.

Did you call LeBron?

He’s in the middle of the playoffs.

How about Kobe?

Ditto.

So who’s left?

Wayne in communications played some college ball at Kansas.

Not quite the same.

It’s the best we’ve got on short notice.

Yousef picked up the remote and scrolled through the channels.  Oh, fuck! he exclaimed.

What...? Moshe began, then looked at the screen.

There, an investigative reporter was giving a summary of his research on Reverend Josiah Right.

Turn it off, Yousef, or you won’t be able to eat all day, Moshe warned. 

I can’t retaliate unless I know what he says.

Shit, Moshe responded.  Should I get some Pepto-Bismol?

Sit down, Moshe.  I might need a shoulder to cry on.

The reporter continued, "The Reverend Josiah Right, Senator Yousef Moustafa’s pastor for the last twenty years at The United Church of the Lord in Madison, Wisconsin, has a long history of what even Yousef Moustafa’s campaign aides concede is ‘inflammatory rhetoric,’ including the assertion that the United States brought on the  9/11 attacks with its own ‘terrorism.’

"Reverend Right was quoted as saying blacks should not sing ‘God Bless America’ but ‘God damn America.’  

In a campaign appearance earlier this month, Senator Moustafa said, ‘I don't think my church is particularly controversial.  Rev. Right is like an old uncle who says things I don't always agree with.’

* * *

Did I say that? Yousef asked Moshe.

Yes, you did, Moshe replied.

Hoo, Hoo.  Hee, hee.

* * *

"Rev. Right married Moustafa and his wife Marsha, baptized their two daughters and is credited by Moustafa for the title of his book, ‘The Audaciousness of my magnificent being.’

Here is just one brief exert from a sermon by the reverend...’The government gives them the drugs, builds bigger prisons, passes a three-strike law, closes schools in Black neighborhoods, but subsidizes colleges in the White world.  Goddamn America for taking away the hope, the opportunity, the freedom of Black people.’

Moshe hit the mute button.  We need to respond to this...quickly.

I don’t see why? Yousef asked. 

What do you mean, why? Moshe said.  The man made a call to arms, comparing the U.S. to Nazi Germany, the threats against White people.  We have to provide a different interpretation!

But the Reverend is prescient.  He’s foretelling the future, Yousef insisted.

What? Moshe exclaimed.

White people are devils and they need to be subjugated, imprisoned, maybe shipped back to Europe in boats.

You can’t mean that, Moshe retorted.

I mean every word.  And when I’m president, I’m going to start deporting the heathens and bring in my brothers and sisters from the Middle East and Africa.  Then I’ll implement Shari law and—.

You can say and do whatever you want, Yousef...after you’re elected.  In the mean time, keep that shit inside...okay?

Yousef took a deep breath, let it out and said, Okay...for now.

Moshe hit the sound button on the TV as they resumed the exposé on Reverend Right...

"Reverend Right went on to say, ‘We bombed Hiroshima, we bombed Nagasaki, and we never batted an eye.  We have supported state terrorism against the Palestinians and Black South Africans.   America's chickens are coming home to roost.’

"Senator Moustafa told the New York Times he was not at the church on the day of Rev. Right's 9/11 sermon.  And countered by saying, ‘The violence of 9/11 was inexcusable and without justification.  It sounds like he was trying to be provocative.’

"Senator Moustafa added, ‘I wouldn't call it radical.  I call it being black in America.’

"The senator said Rev. Right's denunciations of the United States, does not detract from his affection for the man or his appreciation for the good works he has done.

Yet there are those of us who wonder what is provocative and what is threatening and just what the good work is that the reverend has supposedly done.

* * *

Had enough? Moshe asked.

Yousef picked up the remote.  Let’s see what cable news is saying.

He flipped through the channels but got only snow.  What the hell?  Where are the other stations?

We got a good rate on the room.  No cable, no internet.

How the hell can I run for President of the United States without seeing what Bloomberg News, CNBC and Foxx are saying?

It’s only for one day.  We’re out of here in four hours, Moshe said.

It smells in here, Yousef insisted.

How?  I don’t—.

It smells like loser, Yousef decided. 

He was about to flick off the TV when...

"In a follow-up story, accused Wisconsin fixer Anthony ‘Tony’ Ratso-Rizzo is in debt by fifty million and relies on family handouts of seven thousand, five hundred a month to pay monthly costs, according to a previously sealed court transcript reviewed by CBS News.

"Ratso-Rizzo's bleak financial picture raises the question of how he was able to buy a vacant lot adjoining the home of Senator Moustafa, at a time Ratso-Rizzo says he was already in deep debt.

"Ratso-Rizzo also revealed in the testimony, before a judge that he already knew he was under federal investigation at the time of the land purchase and had hired a criminal defense attorney to deal with the feds.

"Senator Moustafa says he sought Ratso-Rizzo's help because the house he wanted to buy in Chicago's Hyde Park came with an adjoining lot the owner wanted to sell at the same time.

"Unable to afford it himself, Moustafa says Mr. Ratso-Rizzo bought it for six hundred and twenty five thousand dollars and then later sold it back to Senator Moustafa for fifty thousand dollars.  Moustafa says he paid Mr. Ratso-Rizzo a fair market price.

"According to the court transcript, Mr. Ratso-Rizzo makes thirty-seven thousand, five hundred dollars a year.

"Senator Moustafa has defended Ratso-Rizzo's role as legal but says it was ‘a bone-headed mistake to involve him in the deal.’

"Asked how he was able to pay his lawyer, Ratso-Rizzo said family and some unnamed friends were paying his legal bills.

"Ratso-Rizzo told the judge his last business deal involving a proposed power plant in Iraq had been cancelled.  He said he had an ongoing relationship with Mr. Abdul, a London-based Iraqi billionaire convicted on French charges of slavery, false imprisonment, torture, promoting prostitution and impersonating a human being; a man Ratso-Rizzo described as a close friend and business associate.

"Abdul previously came under investigation with the U.N. redirecting donated food, then reselling it at enormous profits back to the people who were supposed to receive it originally for free.  Mr. Abdul denied any wrongdoing.

"It would seem from all of the evidence and statements under oath that Yousef Moustafa is either a very gullible man or complicit in a number of crimes.

This station still awaits comment by the senator.

Bring me a trashcan, Moshe, Yousef cried.  I think I’m going to be sick.

CHAPTER TWO

Marriot Hotel.  Cedars Rapids, Iowa.

––––––––

The Stinson camp was ensconced in a suite at the upscale hotel.  The sofa and chairs were leather, the tables rosewood, a full kitchen and 50" flat-screen TVs in both the living room and bedroom.

Marty Glickman, the campaign manager, and staffers Sharon Rice and Alice Cantor conferred in the living room, going over the latest poll figures for the Iowa caucuses.  Their body language, low voices and slow nods of the head did not bode well.

Helen came out of the bathroom with one towel around her wet hair and another around her torso.  It was her first shower in twenty-four hours and she felt refreshed and ready to go another twelve rounds.

Marty addressed her while she was rubbing her towel vigorously to dry her hair and didn’t hear all of what was said to her. 

The final polls just came out and Yousef now has a six point lead.

Helen stopped abruptly, thought for a moment, then smiled at Marty.  That’s impossible, Marty.  Four hours ago we had a two point lead, she said in a calm, almost serene voice.

He’s going to win Iowa, Marty said like he had marbles in his mouth, trying to garble the words and be unintelligible.

You need to speak to me in English, Marty.  I don’t understand Swahili, Helen said in a quiet but seething manner.

I said Moustafa is going to win Iowa.

I heard you speak, but since what you said is impossible; it has to be a language barrier, or interpretation problem.  Now I suggest you get back on the phone and find out where we really stand.

But Helen, I—.

Do you know what happened to people who brought bad news to the emperor, Marty? she asked.

Yes, Helen, they were killed.

Then I suggest you do the right thing and kill yourself.  Or, if you’re feeling a little whimpish, I’ll do it for you.

Helen...

You bastard! she said, throwing the towel at Marty.  You guaranteed me first place.  I recorded the conversation!  Are you denying you said that?  Because if you are, I’ll—.

No, Helen.  I’m not denying that.  It’s just that the turnout is projected to be twice what we expected, and every one of those extra persons is a student or a person who had never voted before.  And now he’s struck a chord with his promise to divulge the secret papers regarding the Kennedy assassination and 9/11.  Every single person in the country wants to know what really happened.

Why didn’t we do that? Helen asked.

Who could plan on something so unimportant, so trivial, would resonate so deeply with the people? Marty asked.

He outthought us, Helen said. 

He made us look out of touch, ancient, Sharon agreed

He’s using a different playbook, Alice said.  He’s been a step ahead of us since the very beginning.  We’re always playing catch-up.

You think he's that good? Helen asked.

No, not him, Marty replied.  The press gives him a free ride; the media gives him more air time; the talking heads slant the story in his favor.  He should have been vilified for any one of a dozens missives, but instead he’s standing at the top of the polls, on the shoulders of great men he has nothing in common with but the color of his skin.

That not the way the system is supposed to work, Alice said.

What they don’t see is, this country might get what it wants, Sharon warned, and then be real sorry they were duped by a man who can’t do anything but give a good speech.

But if I go there, I get crucified as a racist and a bigot, Helen said.

So, what can we do to counter that? Alice asked.

We can still call in a bomb threat, Helen suggested.  Have the colleges locked down.  They won’t be able to get to the polls.

But that’s not—, Marty began, holding at his hands in a pleading gesture.

We can put up police barricades around the polling stations and keep the students away, Helen considered.

Impersonating the police?  Turning voters away?  That’s criminal, Helen, Alice argued.

It’s the lesser of two evil, Helen said.  If we don’t do something none of you are going to have a job tomorrow.

This is only the first caucus. Marty said.  You need to calm down and take a deep breath.

"This is me calmed down, Helen assured.  You want me to erupt like a volcano and spew all over you?"

No, Helen.  That wouldn’t be pretty, Marty said, then whispered, like exposing your thighs.

What?

What? Marty repeated.

What did you just say?

I said that wouldn’t be pretty.

Helen dissected Marty with her eyes then called out for her husband.  Will!  Get your fat, lazy ass out here.

I’m on oxygen, Helen.  I’ll be out in a minute, Will called from the bedroom.

Fuck the oxygen.  You can die on your own time.  I just learned that the polls have Yousef ahead in Iowa.

Will came out of the bedroom dragging his oxygen canister.  What?  A Bl..., a Mus...a ga...a one term senator is going to win the caucus?  How’s that possible?

Marty was just explaining it to me.  Something about the voter turnout projected to be twice as big as last year.

Will reached in his pajamas and pulled out a revolver.  I’ll make it quick, Marty.  You’ll never feel any pain, he said, pointing the gun at the campaign manager.

There’s a long way to go, Will.  And I’m still the best man out there.  You get rid of me and it’s all downhill from there. 

Marty was pretty sure Will wouldn’t shoot him, but pushed his hands out on front of him nevertheless.

I know what happened, Will spoke with certainty.  That camel jockey bussed in his relatives and issued them phony IDs.  I’ll bet it’s just like Cook County in Chicago in 1960 when more people voted for Kennedy than were alive.

If we lose fair and square, we’ll just need to regroup and stop pointing fingers and placing blame, Marty warned.

Somehow, some way we’re getting fucked, Helen insisted.  I can almost feel the pole.

Wasn’t me, Will insisted.

I think your arteries are closing up again, dear.  Do you feel an aneurism coming on?

Ow, that hit below the belt, Will decided.

Has it been that long, Helen? Marty mumbled.

What did you day, Marty? Helen asked.  I couldn’t have heard you right.

I said you need to get dressed so we can plan our strategy for New Hampshire, Mary replied.

Helen, suspicious, continued to stare at her campaign manager until Will began wheezing and distracted her

If you weren’t such a faithless, thoughtless, disorganized, undisciplined man, Will Stinson, you could have been the greatest president in modern times, Helen said.

Would have, not could have, Will corrected.

It would mean a lot if you could control your raging libido and focus on my campaign, Helen said.

We spent thirty million dollars for seventy thousand votes, Will calculated.  That’s four hundred and seventy dollars per vote.  We could have just handed out that money to these back-water, monkey-brain hicks and gotten every single vote.

We need to develop a coherent strategy, not use the time to come up with insane plans, Marty said.

Does Dunkin; Donuts deliver? Will asked, rummaging around the kitchen for something to speed his diabetes along.

How does a guy with one year in the senate, no foreign policy experience, no voting record, and is probably second cousin to Osama bin-Laden wind up in first place in the polls when we had him third just a week ago? Helen asked.

He’s got magnetism, Helen, Marty said.  Star power.  It’s not something you can analyze and figure on.

Yeah, well I’ve got something he doesn’t, Helen insisted.

What’s that? Marty asked.

Experience, she replied.  And there’s no way he’s going to get any between now and the end of the primaries.

CHAPTER THREE

Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

Yousef and his entourage were there to thank his fund raisers, volunteers, staff and friends for all their work done to insure a victory in Iowa.

There were hugs, laughs, even a few tears. 

After it was done, it was time to face the hoards of reporters who had come to see the new front-runner.  A new class of journalists had appeared: the sandbaggers, the diggers, the grinders, there to grab hold of anything: a word, a line, a rumor; blow it up and blow up the man.  It was the old adage: ’bad news sells.’

People who didn’t have the vaguest clue of who Yousef Mustafa was or what he stood for, suddenly were following him around with a simple assignment:  Get it on tape if he breaks down; watch if he loses his temper or cries out in his sleep.

Could he continue hiding his sexual proclivities, his religious idolatry, his substantial, on-going drug use and his penchant for white flesh?

He has so many manias and fascinations – all of which could now be fulfilled since becoming a national...even international celebrity.  Every day, more power and notoriety were being bestowed upon him.  He was tempted every day and every night.  Yousef felt himself transgressing to a stage of development where his primordial brain was talking control.  Now he knew just how Dr. Jekyll felt.

Yousef had so quickly reached the airy heights, enter a realm that was difficult to comprehend.  It was as if he were just born, propelled out of a street corner shop offering aid to the indigents, to appearing in auditoriums of more than a thousand people, offers to speak in front of major corporations, charities, colleges.  He was being funneled into a narrow space from which even the smallest errors in judgment would be magnified.  He would be smiling, waving, showing gratitude, but moving so fast he could no longer absorb it all and appreciate it.  If he stopped now, they were all over him.  So he whooshed through the vacuum tube, propelled by media force, and no longer in control of the campaign or even his own proclivities.

CHAPTER FOUR

Iowa Convention Center.  Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

Helen, wearing a plain navy blue dress and Chanel scarf, stood next to Yousef as he gave his acceptance speech as the winner of the caucus.

He kept it short, but every word he spoke felt to Helen like someone was raking their nails across a blackboard.  Once again he promised the American people he would unlock the files on all the conspiracies that impacted the country, caused wars and perpetrated coups d'état and name those who abused the power of their elected office.

Upon completion, Yousef smiled and waved to the crowd, then turned to Helen and held out a hand as a good-natured gesture.

Helen smiled as though her jaw was wired shut.  She took the hand and squeezed until there was no blood left in Yousef’s fingers.  Congratulations, senator, she said.  You won a state made up of lobotomized insects.

Thank you, Helen.  I’d like you to know how—.

Save it rag head...senator, Helen stuttered.

I heard that, Ms. Runner-up, Yousef retaliated.

It’s the things you don’t hear that you have to worry about," she warned.

What’s that supposed to mean?

A bullet fired from a supersonic rifle reaches its target before the sound.  Only the people around you get to enjoy the results.

That’s crude, Helen.  It’s beneath you and beneath the dignity of this campaign.

Helen’s face flushed.  She poked a finger in Yousef’s chest.  You can play by the rules if you want, Mustafa, but I pay to win.

Take it easy, Helen, Yousef said, trying to calm her.

This is me taking it easy, she said, waving her hands in an erratic manner.

In an attempt to keep Helen at bay, Yousef accidentally pressed his finger on her breast.

Helen was about to go ballistic when Marty rushed over, saying, Hey, hey.

A few people have been dumb enough to try to cross me; now they’re just statistics, Helen warned.

Moshe pulled them apart and raised one hand from each over their heads in a gesture of sportsmanship and good will.

CHAPTER FIVE

Radisson Inn.  Portsmouth, New Hampshire

On the TV was an episode of Sanford and Sons.

Yousef was lying on the couch, laughing his ass off.

Mike, Robert, Moshe and Trish were huddled together, checking messages on their smart phones.

Marsha walked over and turned off the television.

Hey!  What the...? Yousef began.

What the hell or what the fuck, Yousef?  You need to make up your mind.

I was enjoying that.  It’s the first chance I’ve had to relax all week.

What goes on in that screwed-up head of yours?  You never heard of Monique Lewis?  Man, you are so lucky she's cool.

But I didn’t do it on purpose...I think..

Yousef, you ever do that again, I will castrate you.

We can’t let up now, Mike said.  The press, the pundits, the talking heads, they’re all waiting for us to cave in like a house of cards.

You’re wrong, Mike, Trish assured.  Did you look at the people when we campaign, when we walk into restaurants, in and out of hotels?  That proves were doing it all right.

Yousef was consumed by his primitive needs.  The press, his constituency believed he was running on sheer willpower; but really it was the Meth and coke.  He became unstoppable when on the drugs and unable to stop doing the drugs. 

At the ceremonies, the stump-speeches, greeting, talking, walking were performed brilliantly, some said gracefully.

But now, after days on non-stop campaigning, he had no energy left for strategic decisions; he could not deal with staff, but he could lock in on any crowd,