It’s a Wonderful Day in the Neighborhood
Coop Vanderbilt stood atop the windswept ridge looking down on the lonely border crossing with Itäland. The guard booth was shuttered, the drop arm tied down and the high, razor wire topped gates padlocked. Coop stared into the camera, eyes moist with emotion, snow white hair waving in the breeze. "What about the children?" he pleaded in anguish. "Where are the countries of the world? Where is the help? What about the children?"
Bruno observed from a short distance. Tiring of the theatrics he walked to where Jané stood in front of her parked car nursing a tall paper cup from which emanated the aroma of strong black coffee, steamed milk and bourbon. "What's with Snow White?" she grumbled motioning toward Coop.
"In a ratings slump I guess," Bruno replied. They continued to watch the abandoned border post below them for signs of activity. The morning drug on with little more than Coop Vanderbilt's ravings to pass the time. Bruno began to scan the terrain in all directions. It was a peaceful fall morning with little movement on either side of the border. Forest covered hills stretching to infinity broken only occasionally by a farm marked by quaint houses and traditional red barns surrounded by pastures and fields.
Bruno’s attention was drawn to movement on the highway from Nordea City. Racing toward them at full speed was a three car motorcade complete with lights flashing and flags flying. As the vehicles approached the ridge they began to slow and pulled off the road coming to a full stop in the field on the opposite side of the road. Guns Andammo immediately got out of the lead sedan posting himself as security, looking outward through mirrored shades under the slate gray sky.
As Jané moved down the gravel drive Bruno's attention was again drawn to movement on the horizon. Materializing from the distance and flying straight toward him was the largest helicopter he had seen since his retirement from the Corps. It lumbered slowly across the landscape finally coming to a hover over the field directly across the road. Maintaining the hover the craft rotated clockwise until it faced the opposite direction then settled gently to earth. As the whine of the turbine engines subsided and the blades ground to a halt the rear ramp slowly lowered revealing the darkened cavern of the craft’s fuselage. In dramatic fashion, The Ambassador emerged from the shadows at the head of the phalanx of advisers and assistants marching boldly toward the assembled press.
Watching from the top of the hill Jané turned to Bruno and said, "Now that's an entrance."
During all the commotion little notice was paid to the second line of cars that approached and parked behind the first.
Bruno’s attention was drawn from the spectacle unfolding below him to the distant hum he could hear drifting on the breeze. Within seconds the hum became louder and more distinct. The thump of rotors cutting air. Turning to track the sound he spotted a second helicopter flying straight toward them, parallel to the border on the Nordeland side. Everyone on top of the hill instinctively ducked as the small, sleek craft passed low overhead. Flying past the border crossing it banked to the left and circled back toward Bruno’s position. Slowing to a hover over the field directly opposite Bruno, the craft gently sat down next to The Ambassador's.
"Who do you suppose that is?" Jané asked.
"Have no idea," Bruno replied.
Jané turned and continued down the hill.
The rear door opened and a crew member in flight suit and visored helmet jumped out, opened the pilot's door and assisted the pilot out of the cockpit. The pilot, immaculately clad in a tailor made, pink silk flight suit, advanced alone to the front of the helicopter and stood as a conqueror inspecting the field of battle, hands on hips, gaze to the horizon through the mirrored visor of the flight helmet. The lone figure was soon surrounded by the JV Squad attired in color coordinated, powder blue flight suits. Standing behind the group was Anthony Michaels in his dark blue business suit. As the press began to divide itself between The Ambassador and the new arrivals, the leader removed her helmet to reveal Bebe Buchanan. Within seconds there were dueling press conferences.
"As Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the United States certified to both Nordeland and Itäland I am here to visibly express the American people's support for freedom and democracy throughout all the countries in the world, and during this time of crisis special emphasis is placed on the peace seeking citizens of Itäland," The Ambassador proclaimed.
Not to be outdone, just a few meters away Bebe lauded support for the beleaguered citizens of Itäland, "As the personal Envoy of the President of the United States of America I bring word of his full and unfailing support of all peoples who seek liberty and self-determination!"
They then marched with purpose to their respective motorcades and rode the one hundred yards to the top of the hill. Standing under the steel gray clouds, with expressions of pained determination on their faces, looking down on the solitude of the vacant border checkpoint, they provided a photo opportunity for news outlets around the world. In time the press grew tired of the spectacle and drifted away. Realizing they were no longer the center of attention, The Ambassador and the Envoy returned to their cars and the procession proceeded to the base of the hill then circled around coming to a stop in front of the border post. Soon the entire crowd was again assembled with cameras rolling and mikes turned on.
Once again claiming the spotlight the Envoy stepped forward. “Today I am an Itälandean. We are all Itälandeans, and we stand with the people of Itäland in their time of crisis.”
As the Envoy moved to return to her limousine The Ambassador, not to be out shown, stepped forward and with forceful resolve demanded, “President Takkunen, OPEN THIS GATE!” And with great commotion she turned marching to her car followed closely by her gaggle of advisers.
Within moments both motorcades were at the landing zone disgorging their passengers to the waiting helicopters. Rotors turned, tires spun and soon Bruno and Jané were left standing alone beneath the steel gray sky looking down on the abandoned border post.
Strategic Response
“Strategically located between Nordeland on the west and The Empire to the east Itäland is vitally important to peace and stability in the region,” Jon Doe droned on in his presentation to the Country Team. “Long a vassal state of The Empire, Itäland was purposely left undeveloped to provide a buffer zone barrier from westward invasion. The country lacks an industrial base nor has infrastructure to support one. The one bright spot economically is the investment King Jani’s We Communicate has made. They have several component manufacturing facilities in Itäland that are an integral link in their supply chain. A prolonged crisis in Itäland could be devastating for We Communicate certainly causing major waves in the Nordelandean economy and possibly ripples worldwide.”
“Thank you Jon,” The Ambassador said as he sat down. “We have been using all diplomatic channels to attempt to contact the government of Itäland to no avail. We’ve tried back channels through the private sector with the same result. The question is now, what do we do?”
The room was abuzz with muffled comments of affirmation.
“We need to demonstrate our resolve in standing by the people of Itäland during this time of peril. We need to demonstrate that we, the American people, will not flinch in the face of oppression, will not alter course on the road to freedom and will not be shaken in our determination to stand by the downtrodden peoples of the world. We must do more than continue business as usual. We must put forth a symbol to the world of our defiance of tyranny!”
The room sat quietly absorbing the thrilling piece of rhetoric.
The Ambassador rose and stood stoically at the head of the table. After a few moments an expression of realization crept across her face. “We will have an event. The largest event we have ever thrown. That will demonstrate that we remain undaunted in our perseverance of our American ideal of democracy.”
The team murmured their agreement.
“We need a theme,” she continued.
“A celebration of freedom,” the Envoy interjected.
“No, we used that for the 4th of July. We need something new. Something truly American.”
Dominic Vasquez spoke somewhat hesitantly, ”We are planning my daughter’s quinceañera. We could use that as a celebration of Americana and a chance to share our culture and our lives, with our friends here abroad.”
The Ambassador beamed, “An excellent idea! We could have the ceremony in the National Cathedral.”
“That’s a Lutheran church ma’am,” Dominic politely corrected.
“Well then the Gornostaev Cathedral. With the golden domes gleaming high over the city it would be a magnificent venue for the ceremony.”
“But Madam Ambassador, that is an Eastern Orthodox cathedral,” Dominic once again pointed out.
“Well Dominic, do you have a suggestion?” The Ambassador asked sounding a little perturbed.
“Saint Henry’s Cathedral?” Dominic venture cautiously.
“Well, I guess that will have to do,” The Ambassador acquiesced.
And the monster was unleashed. Like a fire raging out of control it consumed all of the oxygen, all of the energy, all of the embassy’s representational budget, everything in the path to the most grandiose, ostentatious display of American support for the downtrodden ever before put forth.
The final stage of young Isabella Vasquez’s journey to womanhood began at the embassy from where she was escorted by horse and carriage, ornately decorated with seasonal flowers, by Ben Franklin and Marten Martenson through the cobblestone streets of Nordea City to Saint Henry’s Cathedral. Emerging from the carriage clad in a gown of virginal white she was met by her father wearing his formal dress uniform. He escorted her beneath the arched swords of a double column of Marines in dress blues and up the marble steps into the cathedral. The ceremony was traditional with a mass during which the Isabella was presented symbolic presents from family and loved ones including a tiara presented by The Ambassador.
Following the conclusion of the religious portion of the celebration the young woman Isabella was once again escorted to her waiting carriage from which she headed the processional back to the Embassy for the largest private party ever covered by the society page editor of the Morning Nordelandean. Even larger than The Ambassador’s Welcome Gala. No expense had been spared. A jazz quartet was positioned near the flag pole in front of the mansion, a piano player was at the grand piano in the conservatory, and the most popular boy band in Nordeland had been hired for the main stage in the back courtyard. Tables overflowed with Isabella’s favorite foods and many more of The Ambassador’s. There was champagne and caviar. Open bars, coffee bars, tea bars and an oxygen bar. Any culinary delight or libation imaginable was available for the asking. As the hour grew late the party culminated in a remarkable fireworks display. Truly a democracy inspiring event.
Epilogue
The border gates had been closed in accordance with a proclamation by the Prime Minister of a National Weekend of Rest commemorating the efforts of the working people of Itäland and soon reopened.
Soon after Presidential Envoy Buchanan’s return to Washington DC the President lost his bid for re-election and she her appointment and much of her influence, but she still had money.
With the changing of administrations The Ambassador resigned her position and retired to her family estate content to run The Howell Foundation, the family philanthropic organization devoted to contributing money to other like-mined organizations and write her memoirs, Madeleine Howell: A Life on the Battlements.
Anthony Michaels soon retired returning to academia where they call him “Doctor.”
Craven Weaselman was investigated by the Office of Inspector General for his abuse of State Department shipping services as a part of his personal retirement plan. He was found guilty, promoted and transferred to a better position at a larger Post. He took Siri with him.
Chris Flowers remained in Nordeland and continued to serve as Deputy Chief of Mission to the next ambassador, a handsome Wall Street executive about her age. Serving under him was a position she relished.
Colonel Joan Saindoux-Fessier retired from the Air Force returning to her home in Texas where she and Ashley opened a lingerie boutique.
Chandrit Singh resigned his position and returned to his condo in Dallas where everyone continually asks him what part of South America he is from.
Dominic Vasquez remains in the Navy and continues to reproduce in his effort to populate the world with devout Catholics.
Isabella Vasquez graduated from high school and attends college at UCLA. On her eighteenth birthday she posed for Playboy.
Bruno Jeffries continues to work as a dutiful public servant at the United States Embassy, Nordeland.
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