Post by Arctura on Jul 1, 2014 23:37:25 GMT
I need. A. Name. For. This.
June 24, 1947
“Damn it.” President Truman swore, which ill-suited his clean persona. “These Republican goons are so afraid of the unions staging a goddamn coup d'etat, they’ve managed to twist the Senate Dems around their fingers, as well. They overrode my veto. Gentleman, this act not only restricts the power of labor unions, but requires their leaders to file affidavits to affirm they are not ‘conspiring with the Communist Party’. For Christ’s sake! These are union leaders - not goddamn Nazis!”
His escalating voice indicated he was working up to a rant. Sensing this, Agent Dulac, one of the five Secret Servicemen in his office, interrupted.
“Sir, may I have permission to speak?” Dulac asked, expressionless, as not to betray the panic he was feeling. He had found something bizarre the previous night and it was imperative that the President know.
The telephone rang. Truman held up a finger, picking up the call. “Yes, John? Oh, bring it in.” He chuckled a bit at his assistant’s habit of calling him before every entry. It was so terribly formal; though, it wasn’t his fault. John was simply trying to set a strong precedent as the first Chief of Staff. He came in moments later, thick packet in hand.
“This is the itinerary for the upcoming month.” John said, clearing his throat nervously. He did a meticulous job as usual and knew there was nothing to be ashamed of, but with the stress of the Taft-Hartley Act’s passage, the overwhelming schedule would only contribute to the President’s burden.
Truman eyed the packet tiredly and gave no answer, taking it and slapping it on his desk. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded and eyes closed. John took this as his cue and quietly shuffled out of the room. It was silent in the Oval Office for several minutes until Alexander Dulac decided to repeat his request. “Sir, permission to speak?” His patience was visibly waning.
Another moment passed before Truman got up, adjusting his Windsor knot. “Speak your mind.” he said in his usual mild-mannered, no-nonsense tone. He wasn’t going to allow Congress ruin his plans. If the United States government was aiming to eradicate communism, they were going to do it his way. Through the Truman Doctrine. Comme il faut.
Unfortunately, Dulac never got to voice his thoughts, because the fax machine, unused for months, came to life. Truman pivoted, frowning at the intrusion. He cleaned his spectacles and peered closely at the transmission, which stated its origins at Mount Rainier, Washington. The image was fairly grainy, but the most crucial detail was sharp enough. He sucked in a deep breath. His suspicions had been right.
For the first time in weeks, the man truly felt the gravity of his position. No matter how much the Houses interfered, he was still the President of the United States, charged with the nation’s security and to an extent, the security of the world. “Gentleman, there is some...information I believe you should know.”
Dulac craned his neck slightly to get a better look at the fax on the desk, and there it was. He gulped. It’s happening.
…
When Alexander got home, he eyed the figure in the corner without a vestige of consternation. The man had a habit of showing up completely unannounced, taking advantage of the fact that Constitution Avenue was only fifteen minutes away from Dupont Circle.
“Mate -” Bernard Morgan started cheerfully, but was cut off.
“If you’re going to start chastising me for leaving last night’s game early, don’t. You know I’ve had a lot on my mind these past weeks, Benny.”
Benny chuckled. “I was going to say that you look like shit. To be honest, I’m not all that perturbed that you didn’t finish last night’s poker match. You didn’t give an explanation, which I don’t blame you for - I mean, we all need our privacy - but I merely thought you knew you were going to lose and didn’t want to see it through.” He folded his arms smugly, looking every bit the arrogant wastrel.
Alexander gave him a very pointed look but didn’t say anything. Benny was a notorious gambler, and as with all champions, he seemed contented with the delusion he’d never lose. Maybe it wasn’t completely deluded; after all, Alexander never won (but he truly was abysmal). “Yes, well, this brings me to what I want to talk to you about. I went to get some fresh air, and…”
“And what?”
“I saw - I saw a few weird objects in the sky. I don’t know..they were disc-shaped. There were three of them, I’m sure, and each had this strange glow. All I know is that they were not aircrafts I’m familiar with.”
Benny’s eyes narrowed marginally. “And you believe them to be, what? Carrying extraterrestrial life?” The agent nodded. “Well, I’m sorry, but that’s absurd. I really cannot invest in something so…”
“Absurd?” his friend finished helpfully.
“Alexander!” Benny started, but calmed down, “Look, you were tired. You needed some air from the cigar fumes that were no doubt seeping into your head, and who knows? It was probably a plane that you mistook. And you were drinking a bit too many Jameson on the Rocks.”
He was a bit frustrated now. “Benny, are you really suggesting I was so inebriated I couldn’t discern an airplane? Well, then you can sod off.”
“There’s that famous Irish ire.” Seeing the agitation on his best friend’s face, Benny amended, “I apologize. I won’t rib you about it anymore, but you simply cannot make me believe that you saw genuine flying saucers. That man, Harold Dahl, in Washington three days ago, was completely mental. I think this is just a product of a chain reaction. Nothing more, my friend.”
“A chain reaction? What, I’m just perpetuating the hysteria? Benny, you know I don’t do that. If anything, I’m responsible for preventing it. I work for the Secret Service. I guard those secrets, and if I tell you I saw something, I did.”
The businessman simply nodded, taking a sip of water. But Alexander knew he didn’t believe. A scientific mind like that had no room for figments of the imagination.
June 24, 1947
“Damn it.” President Truman swore, which ill-suited his clean persona. “These Republican goons are so afraid of the unions staging a goddamn coup d'etat, they’ve managed to twist the Senate Dems around their fingers, as well. They overrode my veto. Gentleman, this act not only restricts the power of labor unions, but requires their leaders to file affidavits to affirm they are not ‘conspiring with the Communist Party’. For Christ’s sake! These are union leaders - not goddamn Nazis!”
His escalating voice indicated he was working up to a rant. Sensing this, Agent Dulac, one of the five Secret Servicemen in his office, interrupted.
“Sir, may I have permission to speak?” Dulac asked, expressionless, as not to betray the panic he was feeling. He had found something bizarre the previous night and it was imperative that the President know.
The telephone rang. Truman held up a finger, picking up the call. “Yes, John? Oh, bring it in.” He chuckled a bit at his assistant’s habit of calling him before every entry. It was so terribly formal; though, it wasn’t his fault. John was simply trying to set a strong precedent as the first Chief of Staff. He came in moments later, thick packet in hand.
“This is the itinerary for the upcoming month.” John said, clearing his throat nervously. He did a meticulous job as usual and knew there was nothing to be ashamed of, but with the stress of the Taft-Hartley Act’s passage, the overwhelming schedule would only contribute to the President’s burden.
Truman eyed the packet tiredly and gave no answer, taking it and slapping it on his desk. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded and eyes closed. John took this as his cue and quietly shuffled out of the room. It was silent in the Oval Office for several minutes until Alexander Dulac decided to repeat his request. “Sir, permission to speak?” His patience was visibly waning.
Another moment passed before Truman got up, adjusting his Windsor knot. “Speak your mind.” he said in his usual mild-mannered, no-nonsense tone. He wasn’t going to allow Congress ruin his plans. If the United States government was aiming to eradicate communism, they were going to do it his way. Through the Truman Doctrine. Comme il faut.
Unfortunately, Dulac never got to voice his thoughts, because the fax machine, unused for months, came to life. Truman pivoted, frowning at the intrusion. He cleaned his spectacles and peered closely at the transmission, which stated its origins at Mount Rainier, Washington. The image was fairly grainy, but the most crucial detail was sharp enough. He sucked in a deep breath. His suspicions had been right.
For the first time in weeks, the man truly felt the gravity of his position. No matter how much the Houses interfered, he was still the President of the United States, charged with the nation’s security and to an extent, the security of the world. “Gentleman, there is some...information I believe you should know.”
Dulac craned his neck slightly to get a better look at the fax on the desk, and there it was. He gulped. It’s happening.
…
When Alexander got home, he eyed the figure in the corner without a vestige of consternation. The man had a habit of showing up completely unannounced, taking advantage of the fact that Constitution Avenue was only fifteen minutes away from Dupont Circle.
“Mate -” Bernard Morgan started cheerfully, but was cut off.
“If you’re going to start chastising me for leaving last night’s game early, don’t. You know I’ve had a lot on my mind these past weeks, Benny.”
Benny chuckled. “I was going to say that you look like shit. To be honest, I’m not all that perturbed that you didn’t finish last night’s poker match. You didn’t give an explanation, which I don’t blame you for - I mean, we all need our privacy - but I merely thought you knew you were going to lose and didn’t want to see it through.” He folded his arms smugly, looking every bit the arrogant wastrel.
Alexander gave him a very pointed look but didn’t say anything. Benny was a notorious gambler, and as with all champions, he seemed contented with the delusion he’d never lose. Maybe it wasn’t completely deluded; after all, Alexander never won (but he truly was abysmal). “Yes, well, this brings me to what I want to talk to you about. I went to get some fresh air, and…”
“And what?”
“I saw - I saw a few weird objects in the sky. I don’t know..they were disc-shaped. There were three of them, I’m sure, and each had this strange glow. All I know is that they were not aircrafts I’m familiar with.”
Benny’s eyes narrowed marginally. “And you believe them to be, what? Carrying extraterrestrial life?” The agent nodded. “Well, I’m sorry, but that’s absurd. I really cannot invest in something so…”
“Absurd?” his friend finished helpfully.
“Alexander!” Benny started, but calmed down, “Look, you were tired. You needed some air from the cigar fumes that were no doubt seeping into your head, and who knows? It was probably a plane that you mistook. And you were drinking a bit too many Jameson on the Rocks.”
He was a bit frustrated now. “Benny, are you really suggesting I was so inebriated I couldn’t discern an airplane? Well, then you can sod off.”
“There’s that famous Irish ire.” Seeing the agitation on his best friend’s face, Benny amended, “I apologize. I won’t rib you about it anymore, but you simply cannot make me believe that you saw genuine flying saucers. That man, Harold Dahl, in Washington three days ago, was completely mental. I think this is just a product of a chain reaction. Nothing more, my friend.”
“A chain reaction? What, I’m just perpetuating the hysteria? Benny, you know I don’t do that. If anything, I’m responsible for preventing it. I work for the Secret Service. I guard those secrets, and if I tell you I saw something, I did.”
The businessman simply nodded, taking a sip of water. But Alexander knew he didn’t believe. A scientific mind like that had no room for figments of the imagination.
I like Dulac. I admit it was a bit tricky writing this when I haven't even written his bio yet. I was just itching to get writing. I do know, however, that he is roughly 27 and the youngest member of Truman's private security detail (basically, the inner circle of the Secret Service). And most importantly, his name is Alexander Dulac and he is not a communist. Or a Nazi. Or a Nazi pretending to be a communist.
