NPR Three Minute Fiction Submission

The New Boss, Same As...?

The alley is long, and George walks it twice a day. Once in the early morning, as the sun stretches his shadow down the pavement, and once in the evening, as he returns from a long day maintaining the president.

If you or I walked George’s alley, there would be little to see. A right turn here, a left turn there, and then, nothing. A soot-stained brick wall, and perhaps some trash, accumulated in the corners. No doors or windows opening into it. Only chipped, dirty bricks, and above the bricks a jagged ribbon of sky visible between the eaves.

But George knows a deep secret. He knows of a particular brick, hidden in the last wall, which, if the right person presses in the right way, opens a hidden door.

Behind the door is what George worked ceaselessly to support for the past 24 years. The last six presidential terms. The tenure of the last three presidents of the United States of America.

He does it for his country. He does it because he believes it’s the only way to fix America.

Today, George descends the stair behind the hidden alley door, and enters the server room. There is someone there who shouldn’t be. An assassin. George infers this from his clothing, which is mostly black, and the sleek, simple pistol in the assassin’s hand.

At the sound of George’s footsteps, the assassin turns. Raises the pistol. He asks George a question. “Who’re you?”

George can see nothing of the assassin’s face. A dark, smooth, reflective piece of plastic covers his features.

“Just a programmer,” George answers. “What do you want?” He fights the urge to run.

“Where is he? Where’s the president?” the assassin demands.

“The president of what?”

“Don’t play dumb. Of the United States.”

George gives an incredulous shrug. “How should I know? In the White House, making breakfast with his kids. On Air Force one, teleconferencing with some diplomat.” This is likely pointless, but worth a try. George hopes he won’t be shot.

The assassin gets impatient.

“Look buddy, I know the masquerade. That silly fool in the White House is not the president. The real one’s here, somewhere. Take me to him.”

“If I refuse?” George asks, sure he knows the answer.

“Take a guess,” the assassin says, and George can see his grip on the pistol tighten.   

George makes his decision.

The truth.

“Follow me.” He turns and strides out of the server room.

The assassin doesn’t have far to walk. George leads him down a short hallway, past two doors, and into a white room at the end of the hall. The room contains a few sparse decorations, a vending machine, and a single, ornate desk with a large computer. He can almost feel the assassin’s confusion. There’s nobody in here.

George turns part-way around, looks at the assassin, and indicates the computer with his left hand. He takes a breath and licks his lips. “I’m pleased to introduce ... The President of the United States of America.” Despite his predicament, amusement tugs at his lips. He’s always wanted to say that, ever since he got this job.

The gun lowers.

“It’s not entirely true, of course,” George continues. “The president is much more than a single computer. This is just my user interface. He, it, really, resides on hundreds of hidden servers around the country. Secret servers – the new Secret Service,” he adds, smiling.

The assassin is slowly shaking is head. “They won’t stand for this...” he trails off.

“They won’t believe you,” George whispers.