Free Super by Ernie Lindsey

super-state. Ne’er the twain shall meet.”
    From the corner of my eye, I spot Deke grinning. There’s a chance he’ll come around yet. Agent Kelly clears her throat, admonishing me, and Silver holds his palm up.
    “Agent Kelly?”
    “Sir?”
    “You and Deke can give us a minute. Take Benson with you.” At the sound of his name, the guardian agent tilts his head in our direction.
    Agent Kelly says, “Sir, I’m not so sure that’s a good—”
    “The man asked for the truth. He’s getting the truth. We’re on a timeline here, and if it means making certain concessions, then so be it.”
    “But, sir—”
    “Out, Lisa. Deke, you too. Get Benson to tell you about that time he burned down that village in Pakistan. Helluva story.”
    Agent Kelly opens her mouth to protest again, wisely thinks better of it, and gets up from the table. Deke gives me a look that has too many undercurrents to decipher and follows her toward the front entrance. Benson trails them and pulls the door closed behind him as he goes.
    Silver looks out the window and takes a deep breath. With everyone gone, he seems weary once he exhales. His shoulders go limp and he rubs his eyes. “I’m tired, Leo.”
    I want to say So what, who isn’t? but I let it go. Instead, I tell him, “I’m sure there’s a lot of pressure in your line of work, huh?” It’s an innocuous, throwaway statement, but what in the hell do you say to the guy who jousts other world leaders with his junk in one hand and a machine gun in the other?
    “You can’t even imagine, son. Every day, we’re on the brink of war, and nobody ever sees it. We feed the media piles of bullshit about how everything is hunky dory, and we’re shaking hands and kissing babies with the Prime Minister of Whogivesafuckistan, when in reality, that robe-wearing dickwad is threatening to blow up half of Israel if we don’t clear some trade sanctions and send his people a few extra bags of rice. It’s insane what goes on. So much ridiculous nonsense that the public never sees. Every day—every goddamn day—I’m out there cutting deals to keep the bombs in their silos because, let me tell you, brother, we are one red button away from total annihilation.”
    “Then you’ll forgive me for nudging you along, Sparky, but you said we’re on a timeline. What does any of that have to do with me, Patriotman, or one of the jokers in that support group who’s supposedly ready to send a missile from Whogivesafuckistan into the White House? That’s why I’m here; that’s what I want to know.”
    George Silver, United States Secretary of Defense, and one of the most powerful men in the world, bites his bottom lip, puts his face in his hands, and begins to sob.
----
    T he car ride home is filled with questions from Agent Kelly. Deke drives quietly while she leans over the seat and fires one after another. What did he say? I can’t believe he told you and not us; why would he do that? Doesn’t he understand that this is a matter of national security? Aren’t you going to say something? You do realize you work for us and that we sign the paycheck?
    I ignore all of them. I tell her only that Silver asked me to keep this national secret just that, a secret, because the implications are so overwhelming that dozens of hands around the world will reach for that big red button if anyone finds out.
    That really sends her into another tizzy, and she berates me about chain of command and how information should be shared between subordinates and superiors and eventually, she gets to a point where she’s not even yelling at me. She’s yelling at the sheer injustice of it, period, and it doesn’t have a thing to do with my situation. She’s pissed at the director of DPS, she’s pissed at George Silver for putting her in a potentially harmful situation without the proper details, and she’s seriously pissed at Deke for agreeing that if I was ordered to keep my mouth shut, that’s exactly what I should