The Kid Who Became President (12 page)

Going back to sleep was out of the question. I had just been informed that I had five hours to make a decision that could plunge the United States into a foreign war. How could I sleep?

A long hallway runs the entire length of the second floor of the White House. All was quiet as I paced back and forth in my bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. Mom and Dad's room was silent. So was Chelsea's room and her parents' room. The Secret Service agents were out of sight. Honeywell hadn't returned yet from driving Vice President Syers home. For once, I had the whole White House to myself.

And then I heard a noise.

It sounded like a bed creaking, or maybe a floorboard. I turned. There it was again! It was coming from the Lincoln Bedroom. My dad must be working late, I figured, filling orders for the White House Box and Carpet Tile Company.

I opened the door gently and let out a gasp. There, sitting calmly on the bed, was Abraham Lincoln.

It couldn't be the real Abraham Lincoln, I knew. Lincoln was cut down by an assassin's bullet in 1865. It had to be his ghost. Honeywell told me the ghost of Abraham Lincoln had been spotted in the White House, and I had living proof of it. Well,
proof
of it, anyway. The ghost looked more like a hologram than a live person.

When I opened the door, Lincoln turned his head and looked at me. He didn't look exactly like the Abraham Lincoln on a five-dollar bill. He appeared younger. There were fewer lines in his face. Death had been good to him.

“It is time we met,” Lincoln said softly. “The Union is in crisis. It is the eternal struggle between these two principles — right and wrong. They are the two principles that have stood face to face from the beginning of time and will ever continue to struggle.”

“Y-yes,” I croaked. “Sorry about all the boxes and stuff. This is my dad's home office. He didn't know you would —”

“Never mind that,” Lincoln interrupted. “What course of action do you intend to take?” Clearly, Lincoln was not in the mood for chitchat.

“I don't know,” I admitted. “I've always done what people told me to do. I'm just a boy.”

“Now you must lead, as a man,” Lincoln said. “The presidency is like a suit. Many try it on. Sometimes it fits. Sometimes not. And sometimes … one grows into it. I was a simple country lawyer before I tried on that suit. I had to grow into it. So must you.”

“I'm prepared to lead,” I said, “but I don't want to lead America to war.”

“Neither did I,” Lincoln said sadly. “War came to me. I could not escape it. Perhaps you can.”

“How?”

“That I do not know,” Lincoln sighed. “But I beg you to remember this. The government should not use force unless force is used against it. In a choice of evils, war may not always be the worst. Still, I would do all in my power to avert it. As commander in chief, you have the right to take any measure that will preserve the Union, subdue an enemy, and ultimately bring peace. I was successful in achieving those goals. But the price — six hundred thousand lives — was enormous. I pray the mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. I must take my leave.”

“Wait!” I shouted. “What would you do if you were in my shoes?”

“Use your strength,” Lincoln said. Then he looked down at my fuzzy slippers with a half smile. “And get new shoes.”

With that, Abraham Lincoln faded away.

 

What did he mean when he said, “Use your strength”? I wondered as I went back to my room. Was he suggesting I use the strength of the United States military against Trujillo? Or was he saying I should use my strength to lead the nation out of this crisis and avoid going to war? Why are ghosts always so ambiguous?

In the hour or two of sleep I got that night, I realized that Lincoln meant something entirely different. When I woke up, I had settled on the strategy I would take with Trujillo.

The crisis had already hit the morning papers by sunrise.
TRUJILLO POISED TO INVADE BORAGUAY
, screamed a big headline in the
Washington Post
.
MOON WEIGHS OPTIONS
.

The four military leaders were waiting for me when I arrived at the Map Room at seven
A.M
. For all I knew, they had been there all night. Vice President Syers wheeled herself in shortly after me. There was obvious tension in the air.

“Good morning,” I said, snapping off a crisp salute to the generals. “Is there any change in the situation?”

“No, sir,” the secretary of defense reported. “Our satellites show Trujillo's army is still massing at the border. It's almost as if he's waiting to see how we respond, sir.”

“He won't have to wait much longer,” I informed the group. “I've made my decision.”

“To attack?” General Dunn asked hopefully.

“No,” I replied. “I want to meet with Trujillo. Face-to-face. Man-to-man. Alone.”

The generals let out a collective gasp.

“Alone?” Colonel Cooper asked, as if he hadn't heard me correctly. “Alone,” I repeated. “No generals. No weapons. No nothing.”

“That's insanity!” the secretary of defense exclaimed.

“This is crazy! He's just a boy,” scoffed General Dunn, standing up to address the group. “What does he know about handling a military crisis?”

“I know one thing,” I said, raising my voice slightly. “I know that I'm the president. If you can't deal with that, you can turn in your resignation right now, General Dunn.”

Vice President Syers looked at me approvingly. The general sat back down and kept his mouth shut.

“Sir,” the secretary of defense said, more respectfully. “For you to meet with Trujillo would be very dangerous. He's a madman.” The other military leaders nodded their heads in agreement.

“But he's a man,” I replied. “Look, I know it's dangerous. I considered the options you proposed. We could bomb Cantania. We could blockade them. We could cut off all relations with them. All these options have their problems. I have no guarantee that my idea will work. But we're going to try it first.”

“I'm not sure your plan is constitutional, sir,” the secretary of defense said.

“Maybe not,” I snapped. “But this is a national emergency. I'm using the executive power that's granted to the president only in a time of emergency.”

Vice President Syers raised an eyebrow, impressed that I had remembered what she'd told me.

“Send a message to Trujillo that I want to meet with him immediately,” I continued. “If he chooses not to meet with me and advances his troops over the Boraguay border, I want you to bomb Cantania back to the Stone Age.”

“Yes, sir!” the secretary of defense said.

The generals went scurrying off to arrange a meeting with Trujillo. I pushed Vice President Syers's wheelchair to the elevator. We rode it up to the second floor and she rolled alongside me to the Oval Office.

“If anything happens to me,” I told her solemnly, “I'm sure you'll make a fine president.”

“You sure you know what you're doin', Moon?” Vice President Syers asked.

“No,” I answered honestly. “But remember when you used to babysit for me and I would talk you into letting me stay up past my bedtime?”

“Yeah.”

“And I would talk you into giving me an extra dessert or more video game time?”

“You could just about talk the paint off a wall, Moon,” she chuckled.

“Well, I was always able to get what I wanted by just talking,” I said. “I'm a people person. That's how I won the election. So I figured I should use my strength and meet with Trujillo one on one.”

“How'd you come up with that crazy idea?” she asked.

“Let's just say it came to me in the middle of the night,” I replied.

I rolled Vice President Syers back down the hallway and then down the ramp outside the White House. She was unusually quiet, as if she had something to say but wasn't sure if she wanted to tell me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I made a big decision last night, too,” she said, embarrassed. “When this whole mess blows over, Chief Usher Honeywell and I are gonna get married. He proposed yesterday.”

I wrapped my arms around Vice President Syers and gave her a big hug.

“So don't go blowin' up the world now, y'hear?” she warned, pointing a finger at me. “'Cause that would really louse up my honeymoon.”

 

Front page of the
Washington Post,
December 26:

 

MAN TO … MAN?

MOON TO CONFRONT TRUJILLO

Air Force One
is a beautiful plane. It's a modified 747, blue and white, with the words
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
running along each side. The American flag is painted on the tail.

On both sides of the jet's nose is the presidential seal — an eagle holding arrows in one claw and an olive branch in the other. The arrows represent war and the olive branch represents peace. The eagle is facing the olive branch.

When I said good-bye to my parents at Andrews Air Force Base, I wasn't sure I would ever see them again. I could return home a hero, or I could return home as the president who started World War III. Or maybe I would return home in a casket. When I hugged my mom, she didn't want to let go. Neither did I.

Vice President Syers couldn't come with me on
Air Force One
. The president and vice president are not allowed to fly in the same plane.
Ever.
If the plane crashed, the government would be in disarray. As always, I kept the football with me at all times.

Under different circumstances, I could have had a really great time on
Air Force One
. It's probably the only plane in the world that has a bed, a lounge, desks, sofas, and two kitchens. As soon as the president takes his seat, the plane starts rolling down the runway. You don't have to wait a minute. And the food is a lot better than those crummy bags of peanuts they give you on regular planes.

But I couldn't enjoy any of that. I was thinking about Trujillo. What could I say to him to make him change his mind about invading Boraguay? I didn't know. I just felt in my bones that if I could sit down with the man and look him in the eye, I could talk him out of doing something crazy.

Trujillo had agreed to meet with me but not in the United States. I told him I wouldn't meet him in Cantania. I suggested a neutral location — a cruise ship in the Atlantic—and he agreed. We both agreed to arrive with no bodyguards, no advisers, and no weapons.

Air Force One
landed at a United States naval base in Brazil. From there, I took a helicopter to the
Horizon,
a Swedish cruise ship off the coast of Argentina.

I arrived first. The captain of the
Horizon
greeted me warmly and led me to the room where Trujillo and I would be meeting. He left me alone there.

The room was nearly bare, with just two chairs and a table with a pitcher of water and two glasses on it. There was an intercom that would let us call the captain if we needed anything. I felt around the drapes to make sure there weren't any hidden listening devices. When I was satisfied, I sat down, put the football on the table, and rehearsed what I was going to say to Trujillo.

He showed up a few minutes later, escorted by the captain. Trujillo was wearing a military uniform with lots of ribbons and medals dangling off it like Christmas tree ornaments. They didn't impress me.

“So we meet again, President Moon,” Trujillo said, a cocky tone in his voice. He didn't stick out his hand, and neither did I.

“Lock the door,” I instructed the captain. “We're not coming out of this room until we reach an agreement.”

With the room sealed, Trujillo and I stood face-to-face. He was a short man but was still a few inches taller than me.

“It is time to separate the men from the boys, President Moon,” he sneered. “I could just kill you now. Do you realize that?”

“Mr. Trujillo,” I said, “I didn't come here to separate anything. I came here to bring us together.”

“Bring us together? Ha!” he snorted. “You only came here to protect your precious oil. Without your planes and guns and bombs —”

“Forget about planes and guns and bombs,” I interrupted. “I have a proposal for you. A simple proposal. Either listen to what I have to say, or the United States will take military action against Cantania.”

“What proposal could you possibly have that would interest me?”

“I always thought it was stupid that soldiers have to die in wars when it's the rulers who have disagreements,” I explained. “Wouldn't it make more sense if the leaders of the two nations simply fought it out between themselves?”

“Are you suggesting that you and I fight?” Trujillo said with a laugh.

“Yes!” I said. “You and I fight. Right here in this room. If you win, you can go ahead and invade Boraguay. America won't interfere. And if I win, you pull back your troops and never bother the people of Boraguay again. Either way, no bombs are dropped. No bullets are fired. Nobody has to die.”

“Good,” he said, rolling up his sleeves. “Instead of fighting a war, we will arm wrestle.”

“No,” I said. “You're obviously much stronger than me. It has to be a fair fight.”

“Guns,” Trujillo suggested.

“No.”

“Swords, then.”

“No.”

“What, then?” he asked.

“Video games,” I replied. “I'm suggesting that instead of a real war, you and I have a virtual war to settle our differences.”

Trujillo looked me over carefully, jamming his hands into his pockets.

“Do you take me for a fool?” he asked. “Video games are a children's toy. That is no more fair to me than arm wrestling is to you.”

“That's my offer,” I replied. “Take it or leave it.”

“Why do
you
get to choose weapons?” he asked.

“Because I've got all those planes and guns and bombs,” I replied. “And I'm not afraid to use them.”

Trujillo thought over my proposal for a few seconds.

“I will play a video game against you,” he said, “on one condition — I choose the game.”

“Agreed,” I quickly said. We shook hands for the first time, to seal the deal.

“We will play
this
game,” he said, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out an Xbox disc. The label read
WORLD WAR FOUR.

“What's that?” I asked.

“A video game,” Trujillo replied. “It belongs to my twelve-year-old son. He plays it so much that I took it away from him this morning.”

“I never heard of that game,” I said. Suddenly, the room was feeling warm and my forehead was sweating. I didn't even know they
had
video games in Cantania.

“This game was made by a Cantanian game designer,” Trujillo said with a smile. “A friend of mine. It is not available anywhere else in the world. I think you will enjoy playing it, President Moon.”

“Have you played this game with your son?” I asked.

“For many hours,” he replied. “I have become quite good at it, actually.” I gulped.

 

Front page of the
Washington Post,
December 28:

 

THE WORLD WAITS WHILE

MOON, TRUJILLO MEET SECRETLY