The President's Brain Is Missing Read Free

“Sorry, Ezra. I just have a problem and I thought… it was a shot in the dark. Forget it.”
    â€œHaving troubles with your transporter?” Jefferson asked.
    â€œYou could say that,” Alex said, and then checked his watch. “Come on, let’s catch the IMAX show. It’s in 3D. And it does cost money, so there.” And that was that for the topic, until Major Jefferson called Alex at his desk at 7pm to tell him to meet him on the corner of 8 th and F at 8:30, sharp.

    â€œYou have got to be kidding me,” Alex said, as the white panel van rolled up and Jefferson opened the sliding door, two armed Airmen beside him.
    â€œGet in, Alex,” Jefferson said.
    â€œI thought abductions in white panel vans only happened in movies,” Alex said.
    â€œNo, the North Koreans use them too,” Jefferson said. “And it’s not an abduction, yet. But if you don’t shut up and get in the van, it might be.”
    Alex got into the van.
    As the vehicle drove away from the intersection of 8 th and F, Jefferson motioned toward an older man in the back of the van. “Alex Lipsyte, Major General Marcus White.”
    â€œGeneral,” Alex said, settling into a bench seat on the side of the van.
    â€œMajor Jefferson tells me you’re having transporter problems,” White said.
    â€œI might be,” Alex said, after a second.
    â€œDescribe them to me,” White said.
    â€œIt’s less a problem with the transporter than a problem with something that got transported,” Alex said.
    â€œLike what?” White said.
    â€œLike a brain,” Alex said.
    â€œWhose brain?” White said.
    â€œEr,” Alex said.
    â€œIt wouldn’t happen to be the brain of someone who’s not generally described as having one, is it?” White asked. “Someone you work for? Someone who spends his time doodling on a scratch pad in a big oval room a couple of miles west of here?”
    â€œHe doesn’t doodle,” Alex said, defensively.
    â€œShit, Mr. Lipsyte, I’m surprised the man can hold a pen at all,” General White said. “I’ve known lower primates with higher cognitive functions than your guy. You’re just lucky the other team decided to run someone who couldn’t keep it in his pants on the campaign trail. That dumb bastard should have saved his little romp with those twins for after the election. But he didn’t and now we’ve got your weak-lipped son of a bitch drooling all over the chairs in the West Wing. It’s a miracle someone found a brain in there to steal at all.”
    â€œGeneral,” Jefferson said.
    White raised his hand to both acknowledge and placate the Major. “Be that as it may, that dim prick just so happens to be the Commander in Chief, so I suppose we should do something about this,” he said. He pulled out a cell phone and punched in a number. “Dave,” White said, after a minute. “It’s Marc White. Yeah. Good. Listen, I have one of your boys here with me and I think I might have a clue to a little problem you’re having, the one about someone you know missing something that to most people would be important. Yes, that. No, I’m not trying to be rude. I’m trying to help you. Why don’t you and some of your people get organized and we’ll meet over at the Executive Building in half an hour. Yeah. Fine. Forty five minutes, then. See you there.” He hung up.
    â€œYou know Dave Boehm?” Alex said.
    â€œHe dated my niece about fifteen years back, back when the President was still a penny-ante Congressman,” White said, folding up his phone. “He was his Chief of Staff then, too. Got him elected then, got him elected now, which is probably unforgivable in the larger scheme of things. But he treated Patty well. Better than she treated him, anyway. I figure for that alone I owe him a favor. Now, we’ve got forty-five