Dance with the Devil
When Forty-three found the time-traveling Founding Fathers’ temporary quarters—a modest cabin deep in the Virginia woods—Benjamin Franklin stood outside frowning at an array of tools and machine parts.
“Excuse me? Doctor Franklin, sir?”
The man from Pennsylvania flinched, turned. “Oh. Hello. You’re from the Council, aren’t you?”
“Yessir. Forty-three is what they call me. Nice socket wrench you got there, sir.”
“It’d be even nicer if I could get the hang of using the blasted thing. Is there something I can assist you with that doesn’t involve mechanical aptitude? Because I seem to be failing on that assignment.”
Forty-three blinked at the mess. Was that what remained of the time machine? If so, then his request would be moot. This was already his Plan B. With the death of Thirty-Nine nobody knew if his Operation Inauguration, which had been Plan A, would still be in effect. And he didn’t have a Plan C. “Well, sir, I certainly hope you can assist me.”
“Please,” he sighed, “Ben will be fine. We’re compatriots, after all. Just giving Old Betsy here a tune-up. It’s not going well, as you can see.”
“I hate to brag, but I live on a ranch in Texas and I’ve fixed quite a few things. Never a time machine, though. Don’t even know how those things work.”
“It’s simple, really,” Franklin said, waving a hand. “The proper combination of spectral anomalies, wormholes and gaps in the space time continuum and Bob’s your uncle.”
Forty-three could only gape at him. “Sorry. Bob who?”
Franklin chuckled then turned back to the heap of parts. “Texas undoubtedly is an interesting place. Here, I think I’ve got this figured. If you hold this part just so—”
The former president held. Franklin shifted a cog and the two pieces clicked in as smooth as a Swiss watch.
“Excellent. Thank you, my good man. It shouldn’t take very long now.”
Forty-three watched him in silence but then could no longer contain his excitement. “I want you to take me somewhere. When you get it all fixed. And if it’s okay with you.”
Franklin stood—slowly—and set his hands on his hips. “I could be tempted by an attractive proposal. That strain in my constitution has always been my undoing. Where would you like to go?”
The Texan gave a flat smile. “I have in mind an inflection point in recent American history. If we could nudge it a half bubble off plumb, I believe we could do a lot of good for humanity.” He decided to leave out Jimmy Carter’s Plan A.
Ben looked at him a long time, as if sizing him up for the task. “Tell me more.”
Forty-three glanced around, lowered his voice. “Some four years ago, our previous Senate majority leader chose to hide behind the Constitution rather than vote to essentially allow a corrupt president to run for a second term. Now we’re staring into the teeth of that second term. Republicans will hold majorities in the House and Senate and will enjoy a friendly Supreme Court. You of all people would know that under these conditions, he will no longer be accountable to the voters. Or…anyone, for all practical purposes.”
Ben’s face twitched with wry amusement. “The situation is alarming, yes, but I believe we’ve told you how some of our adventures have had unintended and sometimes deleterious consequences. In one timeline, we became a French colony. Our Mr. Adams pitched a fit. Would you want to risk that again?”
“Becoming French, or Mr. Adams’ anger control management issues?”
Ben clapped Forty-three on the shoulder. “Both, my friend. Both. All right. I’ll do it.”
—–
The journey proceeded without incident, and they arrived on February 12, 2021, one day before the Senate vote to convict following the second impeachment. As they were heading off to Washington, Forty-three stopped Franklin for a last-minute briefing. “I keep a low profile when I’m in Washington. McConnell and I have history, so it would be logical that I’d want to meet in a secret location.”
It turned out McConnell had a few minutes and agreed to meet Forty-three in a local, low-key watering hole. Ben agreed to find something else to do. The two Republicans chit-chatted for a bit, then McConnell leaned back in his chair. “I can’t imagine that this was a purely social call,” he said. “What’s on your mind, George?”
Forty-three lowered his voice. “It’s gonna be bad, Mitch. If you let him off the hook for what happened at the Capitol.”
Silence fell between them. “Yeah,” McConnell said. “I know.”
“So why not do the right thing here? Take a stand. Speak the truth. What would it cost you?”
“In a word? Everything.”
George filled with despair. He wasn’t making any headway with his best argument. Maybe he should have called Dick Cheney to take Mitch duck hunting. Too late for that. “If he wins 2024, Mitch? You’ll lose it all, regardless. He’ll do everything he can to get you out. Then you won’t be able to do squat. He will own this party.”
This silenced his companion. George then had a kind of jumpy feeling, like he should cut this visit short and go find Dr. Franklin. “Always good to catch up,” Forty-three said, and patted the Minority Leader’s soft, paper-dry hand.
—–
Adams rounded on them when the time machine returned. “What manner of mischief have you two been up to?”
“Why?” Franklin said with a grin. “Are we French again?”
Forty-three blushed. “It’s not his fault, Mr. Adams. I sort of—pushed him to try something.” He looked around. “Did it work?”
“That depends,” Jefferson said, “on what that ‘something’ was. If it was to try to undermine the second term of the orange carnival barker, then no. Ben. Please. We agreed to not to go on any excursions unless they were absolutely necessary.”
“He won anyway?” George pouted with dejection. Then again, had he really expected The Turtle to change his shell?
He left the three men arguing and walked off into the woods be alone with his thoughts. Not long after, the smell of brimstone crept up beside him.
“There’s something you need to know,” Lucifer said. “I will never, ever give up my pet Donald. He’s far too much fun. However, I do enjoy throwing obstacles in his path, so if you want to do a little horse-trading, perhaps there’s something else I can offer you?”
“I already tried what you suggested. McConnell didn’t bite.”
“Didn’t think he would. That man loves his power. Best money I ever spent.”
“So why did you suggest that I—?”
“It amuses me,” Lucifer said.
“I did things for you,” George said. “You owe me!”
The devil waved a hand. “Fine, fine. Tell me what you have in mind. And I’m not changing the results of that election. I barely got away with what I did for you in 2000—”
“You—you did not.”
“Oh, please. “Dangling chads in Florida? The Supreme Court vote? Who do you think was responsible for that?”
George went pale. Then he got angry. “The House and Senate. Put those under Democratic control as a check on that maniac and I never, ever want to see you again.”
“You’re hurting my feelings,” Lucifer said. “Sure you wouldn’t rather have more art lessons?” The former president glared. “All right,” he added. “I’ll make it so.”
Something didn’t sound right. “Wait. That would mean changing the past. You haven’t been—?”
“Ask Dr. Franklin what I’ve been.” Lucifer fizzled out, leaving the smell of sulfur and brimstone in the woods.
Forty-three beat leather back to the camp. “What did you do when we were in Washington?” he asked Franklin.
Benjamin Franklin gave him an impish grin. “A little of this, a little of that. Twisted a few arms, convinced a few folks to change the trajectory of their careers.”
“Did you make a deal with him?”
“Our devilishly handsome friend? We’ve done some business in our time.”
“Not you. Never you.”
“Oh, don’t be so naïve, my friend. You think my colonial charm and a raccoon hat won over half the ladies of France? Or gave me the good sense never to seek the presidency? No offense. All of us need a little help now and again. If you’ve known the acquaintance of Lucifer surely you’d understand.”
“More you’d know,” Forty-three mumbled.
“Then I suggest you sit back and enjoy the spoils of your labor. That’s the trick of it all. If you choose to dance with the devil,” Franklin made a courtly bow, “at least try to pick the tune.”
