Chapter 11: "Dances with Pootie"

So I went to Ottawa, Canada to meet with Pootie, the Canadian Prime Minister, and the German Prime Minister. Didn't we spy on her cellphone? Damn. "I'm fucked," I thought. I wondered what all those maniacs at the CIA and NSA were doing behind my back. Probably had a camera hooked up in my White House bedroom watching me play with my vibrator collection. Karaoke vibrator. "Sing it, Madame President!" Probably one of those videos on YouTube already. I wondered if they had seen me with my adult chocolates. Chomp!

Sure enough, Angela Merkel of Germany got right in my face. Demanded to know why I hadn't done anything to reign in the NSA and CIA. I looked her square in the face.

"You think I actually have any control over what those maniacs do? Are you ever naive! They probably watch me play with my vibrator collection in my bedroom! If I want to diddle myself in private, I have to pull the sheets over my head. Assuming they don't have RFID tags with video capability sown into the sheets!"

Merkel fainted.

We all looked at each other. Putin hopped up and got a glass of water. Splash! A moment later Merkel sat up. I wondered if the water helped or not. At least it got us all out of the possible necessity of giving mouth-to-mouth to Merkel.

Some flunky came up to me with a message.

"Important phone call for you from your Chief of Staff."

"What's up, Shaggy?"

"The Vice President is missing. Nobody can find her."

"Angela Davis is missing?"

"Yup. There goes your life insurance."

So that was that. It was already beginning. A coup. Didn't take long.

"Get my Secretary of Intelligence Gathering and inform him. Ask him to contact British Naval Intelligence and the Cuban State Security services to find out if they're aware of anybody being pushed out of a helicopter over the Atlantic Ocean today. Also ask the Cubans if a black woman arrived in Guantanamo today."

Putin addressed me. "Something wrong, Madame President?"

"My Vice President has disappeared."

"And you're asking foreign intelligence agencies for information?"

"If you were me, would you trust the CIA or the NSA to tell you the truth?"

Putin sighed, reached into his shirt pocket, and handed me a small brown envelope. I reached in and pulled the item out slightly. A Russian passport.

"I didn't think you'd need it so quickly," he said. "I will contact my friends in FSB." Putin walked away to a corner and made a call on his cell phone. He came back.

"Miss Davis is alive, but you're aren't going to be happy."

End of Chapter 11

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