Summary: America maintains centuries-old secrets, Canada begins recovering pre-colonial memories, and the most lethal terrorist group in history begins their ideological crusade—not helping matters.
Notes: 'Kattan' is from the Arabic qutn, cotton, as far as I can tell. An occupational name for a cotton merchant, according to a genealogical surname site. President Kattan is therefore of distant Middle Eastern descent in this story.
The Naming
America stared at the President, who stared at the personification with increasing worry. The President set down his tea cup slowly. Alfred stood motionless in the Oval Office doorway.
"I think I'm going to cry," America said.
The President had the vague sense he should be feeling guilty for something, because Alfred was staring at him like he had just whipped his dog.
"What on earth is wrong, Alfred?" President Kattan asked.
Alfred slumped against the doorframe like life had finally delivered its last blow. "You're drinking tea," America said, staring upward. "Not even Southern tea. It's honest-to-goodness English, I can smell it from here—"
President Kattan exhaled with a soft laugh. He thought it had been something serious. "How can you smell it from there?"
"Have you ever had England shove tea down your throat? No?" America pointed furiously, gesturing wildly. "Then you have no excuse for drinking that disgusting stuff! It's British tea, it's Earl Grey, isn't it? Not even Asian to dilute the pain of this betrayal! I'm revoking your American card!"
"Alfred, are you teasing me?"
The glint in Alfred's eye seemed to say yes, but when the blond threw himself forward, snatching the teacup, President Kattan realized he had misjudged the situation.
"Where's the rest?" Alfred threw a stack of papers to the side, searching a drawer.
The noise of America's ransacking attracted the security personnel. One poked his head into the room. Pres. Kattan shook his head.
"Alfred, you are overreacting," Kattan stated.
"Mr. President, you're too far gone to know. But I will save you."
Alfred withdrew a tin of teabags, still holding Pres. Kattan's teacup in the other hand.
"There is only one way to make tea in America," Alfred declared, pointing the tea like a loaded weapon at his president.
Now Pres. Kattan recognized the look in his country's eyes. He sighed. "Alfred, we can talk this over civilly—"
"WE THROW IT IN THE HARBOR."
"Security," Pres. Kattan called quietly.
What followed was the most intense training exercise that had even befallen the security system to date, terrorist threats aside. One lone man dodged and capered through every level of the White House, downing and avoiding security guards like a fair-haired demon while keeping a teacup level. All without spilling a single drop of tea on the White House carpet.
"Mr. President, the target has escaped the building," the Head of Security informed, barely repressing a broken toothed grin, a memento of his rugby days. "Should we pursue?"
Pres. Kattan thought for a moment.
"Treat this as a training exercise. I expect this should help close some security holes, hmm, Daniel?"
Alfred ran south down past Constitution Avenue, jacket flapping, tea over his head, singing patriotic tunes at the top of his lungs. Several passerby joined in.
He looped around Independence Avenue, hearing a few motorcycles roar behind him. Security coming, huh? Manhunt! He increased speed and kept a solid pace ahead of the pursuers.
"LIBERTY!" he roared.
The Potomac River came into view ahead of him. Alfred reached the water, pulled out his phone, took a selfie, and chucked the tea far into the water. He took pictures as it arced into the distance, and more as it slowly sank.
Security pulled up around him, boxing him in.
"These are the times that try men's souls," Alfred told them grimly. "I'm such a hero. Also, security needs work."
Alfred later seemed perfectly cheerful as he sat before Pres. Kattan in the Oval Office. Pres. Kattan calmly informed him that he had made the news as an 'overzealous tourist' and Alfred had laughed so high and bright that Kattan could not help but chuckle along. Better than having the world know my boss is a redcoat, Alfred said, and Kattan had dryly replied, I hope you're not worried about me; 'President Iraq' has given me a healthy tolerance for poor nicknames, a joke not perhaps in the best taste, but made privately between friends. (Pres. Kattan was of Middle Eastern descent and had weathered many stereotypes to achieve the position he held.) I expected you t' scold me or somethin', Alfred had said, flashing his sweetly innocent smile, and Pres. Kattan had smiled right back and said, The paperwork this entertaining stunt will entail will more than make up for it. And the security will be tighter from now on.
Neither realized how fortunate this event would be when a well-planned terrorist attack nearly took Pres. Kattan's life, two months and a week later.
With the unearthly instinct borne of centuries of warfare, Alfred recognized the slight pop in the air, and was already pulling Pres. Kattan toward the doorway when an explosion rocked the Oval Office. The difference of a few yards was the difference between President Kattan's life and his leg.
As it was, there was nothing for Alfred to do but staunch the bleeding best he could with the bandages he always carried, and assume that the White House had been breached.
So Alfred slung the dark-haired man over his shoulder and slipped from the White House. He shot off a text to Daniel, the Head of Security—i got him alive hurt lookin for + — and ran, ran for a hospital that could stop the bleeding. He threw his jacket over the president's head, just in case, but he was so fast that no one could catch him, right, even if they shot at him—
No shots were fired, though he expected it every step.
Everything was fine after that, though of course nothing was fine.
There was the fallout. Hysteria, paranoia, blame, fear and worry and concern in every corner of the country. At least, Alfred thought with morbid humor, the 'President Iraq' racist vitriol would be put to rest for a while. His people were amazing, though. He was so proud of them. Even now, a day after the fact, donations and cards and letters were being sent to those who had given their lives.
There had been nine casualties. Security personnel. Two caught in the explosion, seven shot as they had headed toward the helicopter with a false president. The sniper had known the escape routes and procedures. It was fortunate that the security measures had been changed because of Alfred's Second Tea Party. Otherwise it would have been the real president.
"We're saying that Summers and Redding saved the President," Daniel told Alfred outside of Kattan's heavily-guarded hospital room. They were the two guards in the Office that day. "Pulled him to safety from the explosion."
"Yeah, good," Alfred said. "They're heroes anyway. Doesn't matter who actually did it."
The Head of Security nodded.
"Not your fault, 'k?" America settled a hand on Daniel's shoulder. "You handled it great. Couldn't have asked for better. "
The redheaded man nodded, his eyes hard yet a tad bright. He looked down and to the side and handed Alfred a paper. "We know whose fault it is, though," Daniel said. "Left a note."
It was a copy of the original, Alfred realized. Otherwise it would smell like smoke.
"Ultra posse nemo obligatur.
—Ultra Vires"
So they finally had a name.