It was the Fox News cameraman who captured the incident, or what was visible at that distance across the lawns. It looked like a minor disturbance. The Monocrat had just delivered a speech criticising people who disagreed with him and, feeling pleased with himself for tearing a strip off a female journalist who'd asked a 'nasty' question, stepped away from the podium, still gurning. He raised his right arm as if to bat away a small insect.
In fact it was a tiny drone, no larger than a bumblebee, which had hovered in mid-air for an instant at the level of the Monocratical nose, before bumbling off along the herbaceous borders among the snapdragons and petunias. It was only known to have been a drone because it left a near-microscopic message; a dot of ink fired from a nano ink-jet printer mounted on its pronotum. At least this was how it was reported afterwards. One of the bodyguards, a sharp-sighted young man and somewhat quick thinking, was just in time to prevent the Monocrat from wiping away the evidence.
The dot was almost invisible to the naked eye and had not been visible to the Fox News cameraman who filmed the arm-waving and the puzzled aftermath: the body guards stepping in, the gazes in pursuit of the intruding drone.
What happened, according to later reconstruction, was that the drone managed to infiltrate security probably due to its small size and insect-like behaviour. It identified the Monocrat thanks to its facial recognition software, homed in, fired its ink-jet message and departed.
And the message? A doctor, summoned instantly in the event that the Monocrat had been sprayed with poison or acid or some unknown viral pathogen, used a magnifying glass to effect an instant visual diagnosis.
The doctor, whose mother was Mexican, could not stifle a yelp of amusement.
"What is it?" demanded the Monocrat, petulantly.
The doctor's smile evaporated. "It appears to be a picture."
"Of what?"
"An eagle on top of a cactus."
"A what?"
"An eagle, a large bird of prey."
"I know what a goddam eagle is!"
"On top of a cactus."
"Is that so?" said the Monocrat adopting an accusatory tone.
According to Nahuatl codices from the 1500s, the Mexica tribe, who'd migrated south to what is now central Mexico, were told by a shaman that they should found a city at a place where an eagle was seen eating a serpent on top of a cactus. That city became what is now Mexico City.
"The eagle on the cactus is the image on the Mexican flag."
"Yes, yes, I know all that. Get it off."
* * *
All the networks carried the same startling headline story:
"Monocrat in Mexican Kidnap Plot"
Just as people claimed to remember where and what they were doing when Kennedy was assassinated or when Princess Diana's limousine crashed, people would say to each other: "I was just getting ready to go to work…" or "It was as I was driving past the Lincoln memorial…" or "I was cleaning out the guinea pigs…"
It was the biggest news fest in recorded history spawning more tweets than Paris Hilton's breast enhancement.
The White House was besieged and the Rolling Hills Golf Resort and Spa was surrounded by a sea of television station vans and news reporters from every corner of the US. The HQ of the security services which had been overseeing the Monocrat at the time, exploded with activity like an ant nest at swarming time. People claimed that an audible hum could be heard from the Pentagon. Fighter jets patrolled the skies. But the horse had bolted and no amount of checking of stable doors could get him back.
What were the first inklings of the event?
In fact the Monocrat's head of security received an agitated phone call from one of the security team at the Rolling Hills Golf Resort and Spa to report an incident of a serious nature. That was all the head of security could establish on the instant and for several minutes a verbal rally went on:
"How serious are we talking?"
"Well, its pretty serious."
"Has the Monocrat suffered an injury, has he been shot?"
"No the Monocrat hasn't been shot. We do not believe he has been shot or wounded."
"What has happened? I want facts, material facts." The head of security put his feet down off the desk and balanced his coffee cup in the windowsill.
"The facts of the case as they are currently available…"
"Just tell me the fucking facts."
"According to our current knowledge, it appears… that is, circumstantial evidence shows…"
"Facts, dammit!"
"He's gone."
"He's what?"
"Gone."
"Gone where?"
"We're in the process of establishing…"
"Facts?"
"He may have been abducted."
* * *
It had been an inside job. The two employees of the Rolling Hills Golf Resort and Spa under suspicion were a recently hired 19 year old maid whose mother had been Guatemalan and whose father had been an immigrant farm labourer from Sinaloa and a young Chicano boy who'd been hired to mow the lawns. One of them had copied the security code for the complex and sent it to someone outside the US, the other had thrown the mains switch. Neither the maid nor the garden boy could be found after the incident. They'd disappeared by some feat of cunning or perhaps, like manifestations of magical realism, they'd flown away.
* * *
After nine holes the Monocrat went to his suite, undressed and went into the bathroom where the maid, following specific instructions, had run a bath. It sat there steaming and he sighed in anticipation. Then on the point of entering the bath, he experienced a convulsion of the lower intestine and felt a sudden desire to void his gut.
"Damn beef tacos," he muttered to himself as he sat on the toilet, "Happens every frigging time."
He reached for the toilet paper. There was none.
"God dammit!"
He stood up, wrapped a towel around his middle and yelled at the top of his voice: "There's no paper in the bathroom!"
No answer. He shuffled to the bedroom and picked up the intercom.
"Hey!" There was no connection. He sat down heavily on the side of the bed and at that moment the lights went out.
"Oh, for crying out loud!"
There was a scraping sound at the door and a man's silhouette appeared holding a flashlight.
"Will you get some lights on super-fast and tell that fucking Latino maid to rustle up some toilet paper. Super quick!"
Whoever held the flashlight didn't speak as he moved into the room.
"Hey, you!" said the Monocrat. He was about to lose his temper but a small sharp pain, like that of a needle going into his arm, silenced him, first with shock and then with a very precipitous sense of paralysis. He was aware but speechless and could do no more than totter when yanked violently to his feet.
* * *
