“Hello, Mr. Vance,” I said.
“Afternoon, James. And I presume Prime Minister Cavendish as well?” There was a grunt of acknowledgement. “What can I do for you?”
“What the hell happened earlier?” I asked.
“With Stan?”
“Yes.”
“I thought he was fairly straightforward with his insinuation.” I sighed. “The president requires that the prime minister orders his military to take out President al-Naji, or the US-UK alliance will be severed.”
“Come on, Robert, that’s not plausible. How would you explain it to the people?”
“Everybody loves a good ol’ American hero story, Jim. Wouldn’t it be terrible if Mr. Cavendish was planning on assassinating President al-Naji and the United States government had to step in to save his life? Not to mention all of the other heads of state the British government might have been planning on whacking. You’d certainly be impeached, and the reputations of your staffers would be forever tarnished….” The prime minister slouched in his chair. The silence in the room screamed louder than an army of banshees.
“What the hell happened to you, Robert?” I whispered. Another long silence followed.
“Sorry, Jim. The president takes care of me.” The line went dead and the prime minister suddenly rose and slammed his fist against the table. He sat back down, and covered his face with his hands.

“[non-offensive synonym to excrement],” he whispered.
“We have to do it,” I reluctantly stated. The prime minister nodded.
“The hit will be done secretly. Nobody needs to know about that. It just needs to happen. The men on the ground will have to go through Parliament. They’ll pass it if I get the Leader of the Opposition on board. I’ll fill him in on today’s happenings and he’ll have it passed.” He reached for his phone to call his secretary in, and soon remembered he had made it a Right Honourable projectile. He instead bellowed her name, and she entered.
“Dani, I need you to get the Defence Secretary and the Chief of the Defence Staff on the phone immediately, top priority.” She nodded and exited. The prime minister turned to me, and smiled.
“Yes, sir?” I curiously prodded.
“Governments are made up of some selfish sons of bitches, aren’t they James?” A smile cracked my face.
“Yes, sir, I suppose so. But they say governments are nothing but reflections of the people.”

“Who’s they?” he asked. I shrugged.
The man who was preparing to order a foreign head of state killed and deploy hundreds of his citizens put his hands behind his head and slowly rocked his chair.
“They’ve always been wise.”