Monroe

Chapter Two Hundred and Four. Briefing the Summit.

Bob took his seat, noting that there were nameplates in front of everyone, including himself. The President and the Secretary of Defense were seated next to each other at the circular table while Bob had been relegated to a small desk behind them. That suited him just fine, and he hoped that he wouldn't need to take part in the upcoming discussions, although he had a feeling that he was going to be stuck answering questions.

He'd barely had time to pull up the book he was reading on his kindle when the doors opened again, and eight people walked in. As they took their seats, he put his tablet away. While he didn't have a terribly high opinion of politicians in general, he had five hundred years in the bank. He could spare an hour of his life to listen to the conversation.

The President of the United States began after everyone had been seated.

"President Garcia, Prime Minister LaFarge, Prime Minister Turpin, Prime Minister Julwry, thank you for joining me today. I recognize that I called for this meeting on very short notice, and I appreciate the lengths you all had to go to in order to reorganize your schedules to attend," President Harford began. "I've asked you to join me today because our governments represent a coalition of nations that has strong ties to one another, and further, are the most steadfast defenders of democracy in the world."

"I'd hardly call Mexico a beacon of democracy," Prime Minister LaFarge, who Bob identified as Canadian thanks to the little flags next to the nameplate. He wondered for a moment if formal diplomatic training included recognizing the flags of all two hundred and some odd sovereign states.

President Garcia moved to reply but paused as President Hartford raised her hand. "President Garcia has done more to advance democratic elections and cull the rampant corruption in his country than any of his predecessors. Further," she continued, nodding her head to Garcia, "The United States recognizes that we carry a measure of responsibility for the problems Mexico suffers from. Mexico has been poisoned for generations, as the citizens of my country send our currency to the criminals in yours, allowing them unprecedented economic power. Mexico has paid a terrible price for America's bad habits, as have other countries south of our borders."

President Garcia's eyes widened slightly, although he maintained his composure otherwise, acknowledging President Hartford's words with a gentle nod.

"That's a rather abrupt change, Madam President," Prime Minister Turpin of the United Kingdom noted in a dry tone. "A welcome one, of course," he smiled.

"Too bloody right it's a change of course," Prime Minister Julwry interjected, "the U.S. has been banging on about their southern border for ages, crying about undocumented immigrants swarming across from Mexico like a swarm of mozzies, yeah?"

Bob didn't need to check the flag to recognize an Australian accent.

"While I certainly appreciate President Hartford's recognition of the struggles my country has faced, perhaps we should table that particular issue until a later time," President Garcia spoke with a precise British accent, remarkably similar to Prime Minister Turpin.

"To begin, I'm having a brief delivered to you. The information contained is considered a matter of national security for the United States of America," President Hartford stated, her voice hard. "Dissemination of this information is something we will need to discuss and agree upon."

Bob watched as one of the dark-suited men delivered leather binders to the world leaders and their aides. They looked fairly thick, so he felt confident that he could read a bit more of his novel.

President Emmanuel Garcia had been surprised to have been invited to a summit with the United States and several of her more traditional allies. Mexico and the U.S. hadn't been any more contentious than usual, with the border issues being a constant source of friction. He'd been shocked to hear the President admit something that his country had long known to be true and pleased by the decision to include his country in what seemed to be high-level security discussions, something Mexico had previously been denied.

He opened the brief and began to read. He'd developed the gift for speed reading at a young age, and his time at Oxford had sharpened his English to such a razor's edge that he often found himself thinking in that language rather than his native Spanish.

He finished the brief in just a few minutes and then read through it again, and then a third time. He hadn't been mistaken. The President of the United States of America was either mad, or the world as it had been known for thousands of years was going to change, radically. If he took it on faith that everything outlined in that brief was factual, the Mexican people stood to catapult their quality of life to a much higher level, with magical food and medical treatment readily available.

Emmanuel wasn't unaware that by carefully selecting the federal forces he knew were unquestioningly loyal, he would finally have the strength necessary to crush the cartels that infested his country like a cancer. This was a dream he'd long held, and while he'd often fantasized about having the power needed to oust them, he never thought his presidency would be the one that accomplished that goal. He'd been certain that his reforms would hurt them, but his successor or perhaps even theirs would be the ones to finish the work based on the foundations he'd built.

He raised his eyes and nodded to President Hartford, indicating his tenuous acceptance of the information.

Prime Minister Javier LaFarge wasn't particularly pleased to have been summoned to a meeting with the President of the United States on such short notice. He, like many others, found the United States policy of issuing directives to other nations both tiresome and condescending.

The President's shift on policy regarding Mexico had been a stunning revelation. Canada's relationship with Mexico wasn't always a happy one, with the rampant corruption caused by the cartels, who did direct a not insubstantial amount of illegal narcotics into his country. Further, the Mexican government had, for generations, worked to keep the peso weak, ensuring that manufacturers in the United States who were looking to outsource on the continent would rely on Mexico, rarely even glancing to their neighbors to the north.

And now there was this nonsense. Magic. He didn't know what President Hartford was playing at, but this was ridiculous. He briefly entertained the notion that someone had accidentally printed out several copies of an outline for a bad novel by mistake but discarded the idea. He'd been attending meetings at the U.N. for over a decade, and he'd never caught a mistake. The personnel here understood that accurate communications were the cornerstone of international relations.

Which meant the President was serious. He grimaced. Some of the photographs had been rather graphic, and he was glad he hadn't eaten lunch, having assumed that it would be provided by the U.N. and not wanting to forgo one of the rarest of incidents; a free lunch that was worth eating. The U.N. chefs may not have had any Michelin stars, but he was certain that if they ever opened a restaurant in the private sector, they'd earn them quickly enough.

If this magic shit was real, he'd have to jump in with both feet. Curing cancer, regrowing limbs, growing food, creating raw materials out of nothing, these things were areas where Canada couldn't be left behind.

The bit about having to flee Earth for three months because of an impending apocalypse, that was a bridge too far. Even if she could demonstrate that magic was real, he couldn't see any way his citizens would abandon their country. It galled him to admit it, but the fact of the matter was that if the United States wanted the natural resources his country possessed or even their land, their armed forces could roll over the Canadian military. It wasn't that their forces were substandard, far from it. Soldier for Soldier, he'd put Canada up against any other country in the world, and he'd expect them to come out ahead, especially in the winter. The problem was their forces were outnumbered a hundred to one.

Javier considered the massive military might of the United States to be a truly awful dichotomy. On the one hand, the world at large had been able to maintain minimal forces because the United States had decided to play the role of policeman, spending a ruinous amount of capital every year, driving themselves into debt to pay for the role. On the other hand, if at any point the United States decided they wanted something badly enough, even the combined military might Europe, Canada, and South America wouldn't be sufficient to stay them. China could match them in terms of manpower, but the rest of the world viewed that country with too much suspicion to ever cooperate with them.

No, it wasn't likely that it was an attempt to grab their land. The United States hadn't been expansionist for decades. They preferred to play shadow games, supporting a regime here, a dictator there, either to counter an opponent or ensure that resources were available.

Regardless, Javier mused, he'd need to see some very convincing evidence before he bought into this nonsense.

Jonothan Turpin finished the brief quickly, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. His eidetic memory was a blessing and had served him well over the years. He considered the woman across from him carefully. President Hartford hadn't made a real impact on the international stage, as she'd focused on the internal issues that had plagued her country. Regardless, her work in the senate had been solid, and on two occasions, she had supported resolutions that were directly beneficial to the United Kingdom. While she wasn't degreed in history, their previous interactions had indicated that she understood the 'special relationship' between the United States and the United Kingdom. The exception proving the rule that 'Nations do not have permanent friends or enemies, only interests.' Of course, she would undoubtedly attribute that quote to Kissinger rather than Henry John Temple, who'd spoken it a century earlier. The United States and the United Kingdom would throw themselves onto a grenade for one another, something that he'd always viewed as the sole sign of hope that the world wasn't necessarily doomed to follow Hobbe's view of human life being 'Nasty, Brutish, and short.'

Assuming President Hartford wasn't misinformed, as he rather fancied himself skilled at reading people, and she'd shown no indications that she was being dishonest, then Hobbe's adage would be proven wrong on at least one count. Extended lifespans? Jon could hardly imagine the amazing art, ideas, and inventions that those brilliant minds who had been ended by the cruel hand of time. Then there was the matter of 'reincarnation.' Although it wasn't exactly in the public domain, the Firm having done miraculous work keeping the matter under wraps, the truth was that the Queen was rapidly declining.

The House of Windsor had long produced men and women who had risen to the duties of their station, shouldering the burden of the monarchy with grace and poise. Despite being a patriot, Jon had spent enough time around both Princes to say that while they were good men, they lacked the strength of their forebearers. While many viewed the monarchy as an antiquated institution, he'd grown up with his father and uncles describing how the British people had rallied during the second act of the great European civil war. If magic was real, he could envision some truly dark times. History had shown that whenever power was redistributed, there were those who would seek it for evil ends. It was at her darkest hour that Britain would need her Queen to stand as a beacon of light.

He knew that announcing an impending magical apocalypse would be a non-starter, and he was surprised that the President hadn't included any suggestions for obfuscating the real reason from getting off-planet for a bit. He wanted to deny that any such event was likely; however, if he was going to accept the existence of parallel dimensions and sorcery, it would be disingenuous to discount information simply because it didn't mesh well with the United Kingdom's plans. History was littered with fallen nations that had disregarded information because it didn't fit their narrative.

Kiara Julwry was in a bad mood. She'd developed an uncommon resistance to jetlag over the years, but that didn't mean that she enjoyed flying quite literally halfway around the planet.

The United States could never seem to remember that requesting her presence at the U.N. meant twenty hours in the air, each way.

While Australia had a good relationship with the United States overall, there were enough points of contention that summoning her to the U.N. on such short notice was a slight.

If that weren't enough, she'd just finished reading a briefing on magic of all things, which finished with a doomsday prediction. Kiara ground her teeth. She wasn't going to be the first one to speak up. The temptation to simply walk out and fly back home was strong. Every election cycle, the yanks seemed determined to elect the candidate who was even more of a lunatic than their predecessor. She'd hoped that the first female President would end that particular tendency, but the evidence was pointing the other way.

Her traitorous brain, with nothing else pending, started rolling through scenarios. She'd played video games as a kid, and it wasn't like the idea of magic spells was completely foreign. Kiara wasn't immune to flights of fancy, and she took a moment to consider that the medical benefits as well as the ability to easily grow food and transport cargo across the country.

She wasn't comfortable with the idea of her citizens being able to throw around fireballs, though. One of the things Australia was known for was just how rambunctious Australians became after a footy match or at the pub. Barbies weren't safe either, as drinking was the unofficial national sport. They'd made a lot of progress on gun control, which had served to vastly reduce the number of firearm-related deaths. Fireballs, lightning bolts, magically summoned T-Rexes... she shuddered. She knew her citizens. She'd thrown a few punches in a pub before after her team lost a match, and she'd had a few too many.

She shook her head. The less said about the apocalypse, the better. Moving her entire population off the planet? She had indigenous people in the outback that her government couldn't even find half the time.

Kiara wondered if this was real, what the U.S. was planning. She'd received information that they were holding an extensive training exercise somewhere, but no one seemed to know where. Had they been moved off-world already? It would explain the depth of knowledge shown in the brief. Still, why wouldn't they have kept the advantage to themselves? Unless they really had bought into the idea of an apocalypse. She frowned. She tried to think of another reason for the U.S. to share this information, if true, and she couldn't. If there was no apocalypse coming, and magic was just going to show up in a year and a half, they would have held that close to their chest, leveraging their knowledge and head start to ensure they maintained their position as the superpower on the planet, possibly even putting them far enough ahead of everyone else to lock everyone else into a subservient position.

The President must believe that there was an apocalypse coming. There was no other reason for them to share the information.

Kiara grimaced. She'd need more evidence than a few photographs, but if this was real...

"Fucking hell," she muttered, inadvertently breaking the silence, and ironically, making her the first one to speak despite her intentions.