The war president plans his Election Day strategy

Fade in:

We’re in the Oval Office, where the president of the United States is pacing the floor as a close aide stands to one side, waiting patiently. The president is wearing the flight suit from his 2003 landing on the aircraft carrier Abraham Lincoln. He is known to wear it in times of stress.

“Who says terrorists might attempt to disrupt the presidential election?” he asks.

“Ali Ben Beebop, sir.”

“And who might this Beebop be?”

“He’s the first cousin of a brother-in-law’s nephew who imports carpets from an uncle in Tehran. He hinted that something might be going on at the carpet factory.”

“Sounds serious, Tom. Probably rolling up some WMD in the rugs. We’d better shoot a few missiles into Iran. Maybe on the outskirts. Give ‘em a little wake-up call.”

“I recommend we do a little more investigating first, sir.”

“Why wait? Our boys can lay a missile right into their drawers. Scatter rugs and underwear all over the neighborhood!” He chuckles at the image.

“Well, sir, given our recent experience, you might have a little trouble explaining to the public that carpets constitute weapons of mass destruction.”

Suddenly serious: “You got a point there, Tom. But we’ve got to do something. Can’t let them mess with our democratic process.” Pause. “What’d the last poll show?”

“Kerry and Edwards still have a slight lead, sir.”

The president nods thoughtfully, then picks up a pair of binoculars and peers out a window, suddenly alert to something he sees.

“Wait a minute! An army marching on the White House! They’re wearing red shirts! We’ve got an attack going on here, Tom! Sound the alarm!”

The aide scoops up another pair of binoculars. “I’m afraid not, sir. They’re members of a children’s club from a church in Idaho, visiting Washington. We have prior notice. You’re to give them your ‘God Bless America’ speech at 3.”

“Oh, yeah.” Thoughtfully: “Anyhow, I guess we can’t very well bomb Idaho.”

The aide gasps at the very idea.

“Just kidding,” the president says. Pause. Then: “But just how did Idaho go in the last election?” He grins. “Still kidding. You look pale, Tom. Have a glass of water.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“The only thing I can think of here is to just call off the danged election. If there’s no election there’s nothing to disrupt. That’ll throw the buggers off.”

“I’m not sure we can do that, sir.”

“Who says we can’t? I’m the president! A war president at that!” Pause. “God, I love that title.” He caresses the zippers on his flight suit.

“It would cause riots, sir, possibly even a revolution.”

“Can’t have that. Them Hollywood kissies would be all over me.”

The president is pacing and pondering when there’s a loud bang. He dives under a desk, shouting, “They’re here! Alert the Air Force! Prepare the bunker! All hands on deck!”

The aide has been on the phone. He hangs up. “That was a car backfiring, sir, but just to make certain, the Secret Service has arrested the driver and will pack him off to Guantanamo for long-term interrogation.”

“Well done!”

As the president begins to stand, another loud sound.

“Hit the deck, Tom! Battle stations! God save the flag and the ... “

“Er, it’s just a knock at the door, sir.”

The president stands again. “Tell ‘em to go away.”

He continues to pace as the aide returns. “Tell you what we’re going to do, Tom. We’re going to just put off the election for a few weeks and maybe” -- he winks -- “we can just use the time to work on them polls. Whaddaya think?”

“Sir, there’s no precedent for that. In all the history of the nation, no presidential election has ever been delayed. Not even in World War II, the greatest human conflict in the history of ... “

“All right, all right, I can see where this is heading! Don’t give me that FDR crap again! The man was a Democrat.”

“Sorry, sir. It’s just that he was a great wartime president ... too.”

More pacing; then the president snaps his fingers. “I got it! We’ll hold the election, all right, in a place surrounded by the U.S. Army with U.S. Air Force protection and the U.S. Navy at the shore! We’ll hold it, Tom ... in Florida!” He grins. “Jeb’ll take care of things there!”

“Sir, I don’t think holding the election in one state is going to fly ... even under those admirably secure conditions.”

“Oh, we can work out the minor details, Tom.” He smiles knowingly. “Get me the chief justice on the phone.”

Hold on the smile and fade out.

*

Al Martinez’s column appears Mondays and Fridays. He’s at al.martinez@latimes.com.