Frank knew the last thing headquarters needed was an attempt on the president. Intelligence was desperate for some good publicity. Their reputation was on the line. The liberal media was again fussing over Gary Mckinnon’s hacks into the US military’s computer systems, using the extradition hearings as a smokescreen for editorials about the vulnerabilities of American security. Meanwhile, instead of locking McKinnon up for life, the Brits had made him into a national hero. Still sour about their lost empire, they found malicious comfort in the subversive acts and anti-American rantings of a conspiracist nutjob who claimed the U.S. was hiding UFO evidence and colluding with oil companies to suppress “free” energy. If Frank were in charge, they’d take out McKinnon and save themselves the extradition headaches. But instead “rule of law” was the administration’s refrain. The top dog was a socialist peacenik with a racial chip on his shoulder who, amidst a recession, was trying to force his Soviet Big Brother health care spending spree down the throats of the American people while posing as a Bud Light drinking good old boy. A shrewd Chicago player who won thanks to all the sexually repressed housewives and interracial porn watching college sluts who’d been handed a socially acceptable way of cheerleading for their ultimate black lover fantasy. But although Frank Braun would have liked to see the man now occupying the highest seat in the land sent back to Kenya, he was also a patriot who understood the words Country First. This was a time to set grievances aside, no matter how justifiable, and unite against Islamofascists, who in their infinite anger and impotent jealousy wanted to destroy the American way of life. So he swallowed his pride and assured the chief that he was the man for the job.