The General

I found him in the Presidents’ Hall––a pathetic, sniffling heap. I was shocked. I had never seen this great man in a state of anything other than perfect composure. Yet there he was, sitting in the Founder’s Chair––a desperate, tactical move.

He hoped that we wouldn’t want to get it bloody.

How he had gotten past the guards was beyond me, since he had been stripped of all his credentials. He must have relied on the sheer aura of his personality and the tremendous reputation he held with his former position.

But none of that mattered now:

“Get off that chair.”

“No.”

Negotiations were concluded. His stubbornness surprised me: he of all people should have known that this chair was just one of many replicas we had stored in a back-closet; the real one was hidden away in a safe place. Maybe he was hoping I didn’t know. I moved closer. My SIG P229 usually served me well in these types of situations, but by chance some dignitaries were meeting in a nearby room and, well … I pulled out my mid-sized blade.

For all his faults, he took death like a man. I tried to kill him with one clean blow, but, like I said, it was a mid-sized blade and I ended up using more like three or four by the time I was done.

Deep breath––I would just have to get used to this kind of stuff. I caught the eye of the head of staff on my way out and nodded in the direction of the corpse. This room wasn’t open to the public for another two hours, and they were skilled––if they hurried they could get the blood off the carpet before it dried and replace the now cut-up chair. I headed to the shower. My three-piece suit would go into the incinerator––I had only been following orders, of course, but it was always good to be careful … you never knew when things like this could come back to bite you.

Such was politics.

---

“Done.”

It was not a question, it was a statement––one word, brimming with confidence that the order had been carried out to perfection; that all loose ends had been wrapped up.

“Yes sir.”

“Funny, I didn’t hear a shot.”

“Yes I used my blade. There were some ... gentlemen of note around, and I thought it best…”

“The body?”

That was a question. “It will be fixed up and given an honorable burial at his manor, sir.”

“Good, good. I do so hate to see these things happen, but my father…” His voice trailed off with just a touch of shakiness. Presently he regained his composure: “You know what this means, of course?”

“Yes sir, of course. How could I not?”
   
“Of course,” he smiled. “Your inauguration service will start tomorrow at nine. Prepare your speech––and please, make it a good one, will you? Rockson’s speech last week would have put a raging elephant on Red Bull to sleep, and you know I can’t be caught snoozing on live television.”

It was my turn to smile. So like his father––all passion, less tact. He would need someone like me to clean up after him and smooth over the rough edges and hurt feelings. It was sad, but true: politics was just as much about social etiquette as it was about actually leading a country.

He was the third of his kind––the Potentates, they were called, the great military kings who now ruled the country ever since we the people had elected to do away with the politically weak Presidents of the past. They say dictators spawn from the sea of crisis, and I suppose that might be as true of our country as any other. The First Potentate had done well for all that was on his plate, but toward the end of his life he began falling out of favor with the people as a rising political star from another party began to campaign––the father of the man now sitting across the desk from me. They had expected an ugly confrontation here in the capital, but then the First Potentate fell in the Battle of ’75, his security detail having been compromised. Some suspected (and still do suspect) foul play.

The Second Potentate (this man’s father) had been one of those rare leadership geniuses that only come along every couple centuries or so: Successfully navigating the civil war that erupted after the death of the First Potentate, he unified the states once again and brought peace and prosperity to the country. Surprisingly, he maintained control and kept his approval ratings at record highs throughout his entire life, only just recently having passed away of natural causes at the age of seventy.

And there is great promise in his son, now Third Potentate, having just recently won the national election over several political rivals by a landslide victory. I can only hope that, with him, if things continue as they have, we might once again become the world superpower that…

“Ben … Ben,” ... “I don’t think you’ve heard a word I’ve said. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Hmmm? … yeah. Sorry … I was just…”

“Thinking.”

I nodded.

“Yes, you seem to have been doing a lot of that these days.”

---

General.

Yup, just General. Not Arch-General, not Head of National Defense or anything. Just General.

But that’s because General means something.

It means everything. As of that morning, I was head of the Army, the Navy, the Air-force … you name it; I was in command of it. It didn’t get any higher than where I was (well, except for the Potentate, of course. He still retained the title “Commander-in-Chief” from the days of the Presidents).

That reminded me, I needed to get back to him––he looked like he had wanted to say something right before I left. I refilled my glass and returned to the table.

I know, I know: “General” doesn’t sound that exciting––like a “Secret Service Agent” or “Espionage Intelligence Operator.” But trust me, I run into just as much drama and intrigue as those guys, and then some. Oh sure, we still have our CIA, FBI, Secret Service, and so forth, but they tend to work outside the country. For inside … uh, research, you might say, well … I’ve had more than my share of experience.

…As had my predecessor.

“You know, Ben, I must tell you I am quite impressed with how you’ve handled this somewhat awkward situation so far.” I set my drink down. My reception had run its course––the greetings had been made, the courses had been served, and the cabinet heads had given words of affirmation and departed. It was only me and the most powerful man in the country. We were by ourselves, and he looked like he wanted to talk.

Ah well. All in a day’s (or rather night’s) work. It was already eleven-thirty.

“It’s not every week you play hit-man one day, assassinate a man, then turn around the next day and play politician by giving a speech to the entire nation,” he continued. “You’ve done quite well.”

“All under your command sir,” I reminded him.

“Yes, yes, I know that. Still, I am impressed, and may I say ‘thank you’ for keeping your speech short and sweet? I drank four cups of coffee in preparation, just in case.”

I raised my eyebrows. He didn’t drink coffee.

“I’m not sure whether to be offended or not––no wonder you’re still wired, sir.” A pause. “So how has the public handled the news of our late General’s death?”

“Oh, you know, they raised some fuss, but that’s only to be expected. It’ll all smooth over.”

Right. Smooth over. I was sure of that. Just like everything else that had been smoothed over recently––his own brother’s execution, his marriage to a questionable celebrity from Egypt (of all places), and just this past week the impeachment and deportation of Senator Priest, long-time Speaker of the House––yet recently incriminated in the ADONI Scandal.

Yeah. It would all smooth over.

“Nickelson’s been advised of the changes he will be required to make, has he not?”

“Yes sir. They take effect tomorrow.”

“Good, good.” Another pause. “Have I told you about my new lumber contract in the Middle-East? The best quality imaginable. I expect it to bring almost instant benefits to our National Capita. By July, they should almost be paying us to take their lumber.”

Lumber? Why was he always talking about lumber? Seriously, for a statesman of his rank … Sigh.

“Yes sir, you did.”

He had a way of beating around the bush, working up towards speaking about a topic, but when he couldn’t make a smooth transition, sometimes he just jumped right in:

“Funny he should go the way he did.” He looked sideways at me. “What with all the times he’s given the axe to someone else.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “My father never would have said so, of course, but he was quite the hit man, you know.”

I knew. I probably knew more than he thought I did––being a politician, well … it was my job to know.

He tipped his chair back and rested his feet on the one long-vacated by his wife. “In many ways, I think Dad was actually a bit afraid of the old chap.”

I watched him closely for signs of emotion, since he was still a little raw after his father’s death, but none were apparent. Of course his dad had been afraid of the General, though! Who hadn’t? With a track record like his, any politician who’d been around Capitol Hill a few times knew better than to toy with him.

It felt odd to talk about the man whom only last night I had, well, murdered, I guess, if you want to be blunt, but I said nothing. One never knew what one might glean from another’s musings, and in this business, information was always valuable.

I could play dumb.

“You know he was my cousin, don’t you?”

 “Your cousin?”

 “Surprised?” His eyes lit up.

“Maybe just a little. He’s so much older than you––or me, for that matter. How?”

“Dad’s sister. She had him and two other boys. You’d recognize his brother––Gold Medalist at the Sedan Army Finals of ’98.”

“What, Mr. ‘Wild Gazelle’?!? Are you kidding me? That was his older brother?”

“Younger. He was taken out during the Civil War. Apparently separated himself from his squad after picking up a hot lead. After a while his boys started getting his signals, but by the time they found him, it was too late. There wasn’t much left of him.”

He leaned in.

“It was his speed that killed him. They say he actually tracked down Baron One’s personal Field Unit. He wanted to avoid radar detection, so he stepped out of his own AUV (stupid, I know) and started chasing their squad on foot, relying on his quickness to keep up. I guess he thought he’d get a bead on them and call in Air Support. Anyways, long-story-short, Baron One himself spotted him and blew him to pieces with a machine gun.”

“I’m sure the General was pretty cut up about that. As I recall, the bond between him and his brothers was very strong.” I paused just long enough for effect; then crinkled my eyebrows, making the connection. “Wasn’t … the, um, wasn’t the General involved in the Argon Settlement Treaty incident after the war where the Baron was unexpectedly killed?”

“More than you think. Dad was going to grant the Baron amnesty in spite of State Secretary Johnson and others’ warnings against it. I guess Dad felt the Baron was loyal and committed to the country, but would follow the leader that seemed to have the greatest right to the Potentatency until it was clear who was in power––much like many other faithful generals throughout history who have ended up fighting for the losing side. He saw no reason to punish the Baron’s loyalty to the old regime.

“Well the General felt otherwise, and he acted quickly––found the Baron alone one day, taking a break from the proceedings, and shot him point blank. Didn’t run, didn’t try to hide it, or anything, just killed him outright. Dad was furious, of course. Tried to get the General on all kinds of charges, but the General wasn’t stupid. He pulled out incriminating espionage papers from the Baron’s jacket and claimed protection under the National Security Exception Clause by stating that since the Baron was caught in the act of Treasonous Espionage, his death was technically to be listed as a war casualty––thus the killer was unable to be convicted or tried, of course. He had to have fabricated and planted the papers on the Baron somehow, but Dad was never able to pin him down on it. The whole matter went all hush-hush, of course.”

I shifted in my chair. “Surely there was something: fingerprint evidence, security camera footage, a witness … something.”

“Nothing.”

“So, out of the patriotic loyalty of his heart, he shot the Baron, huh? But you think there was more to it.”

“Obviously. That ‘more to it’ definitely involved his dead brother. He wanted revenge.” He sighed. “I think that’s when Dad first began to be wary of him. Until then, I think he had just sort of assumed that God…

––Oh yeah, I forgot to mention: The Potentate was a Christian––just like his dad had been. I know: big surprise, right? As if there’s been a single Potentate or President since this country’s founding who hasn’t claimed to be a Christian: I mean, let’s face it––you wouldn’t get very far up the ladder in this business without at least going to church somewhere.

Which is fine. I think it’s great that they’re Christians––I’m one myself. It’s just that, well…

It’s just that Christians and politics don’t seem to mix. Call me jaded, but why does it seem like every famous person who’s ever stood up big for God and made a public display of being a Christian has gotten wrapped up in a big scandal?

…especially a sexual one.

Is it that hard to stay pure when you’re placed in such a visible position? Does the devil specially focus his destructive energies on you when you become famous or something? I don’t know. I try to be open. I don’t want to become hardened. But…

…well, take this guy’s father, for instance. Always big about God. Gave powerful speeches over live broadcast that stirred people’s hearts spiritually. But…

He liked women. Plural. Not woman. Women. And, well I’ll just say, not all his boys have the same mommy. And of course things like that are concealed from the media and the public as much as possible, but…

And then there was the incident with this guy’s mom. That was something else. I believe they referred to that in-house as the…

…“‘Almost Scandal of ’87’, I think was when the General began to get even more of a hold on my dad, since he got in on one of his biggest secrets.” He was still going. I shook the thoughts out of my head and returned to the present, glad he hadn’t noticed my metal wanderings. I needed something to say quickly to uphold my end of the conversation:

“What makes you say that?”

Now that he had my attention, he reached for another chocolate and started from the beginning.

“Agent Alpha did our best work overseas. You may or may not know who he really was,” (I did) “since his work was of the utmost confidentiality. He was the reason for so many things––the reason International Enemy-Number-One Danny Marino was brought to justice; the reason Afghanistan woke up one day to realize their entire nuclear weapons program had been wiped out; the reason the Whitehouse Intelligence Leak of ’82 never actually happened, and so much more.

“Tragedy came, as it inevitably does. I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but Agent Alpha mistakenly got assigned to an old mission––one in which the lid had already came off; the cover had already been blown, you might say. Of course, it was vital that everything be kept top secret: Alpha had about a million and one people who wouldn’t have minded the honor of finishing him off. Well, one lucky person got to do just that. When Alpha left for Bulgaria, his location was public info and he didn’t even know it. He didn’t stand a chance.

“Dad felt so bad, he married Alpha’s widow: my mom. But that’s where the General came in. He claimed Dad had been having an affair with Mom even before Alpha’s death. Whether or not the General’s claim was true, it was a story Dad wasn’t willing to risk getting out––he begged the General to keep it quiet. And the General did. But it was another leverage point for the General.”

I wondered if my dining companion was either in the dark or in denial: Fact was, bit traces found on government computers indicated a correspondence between the Second Potentate and our General, revealing they had carefully and delicately conspired to take out Agent Alpha. Of course, only a handful of higher-ups knew this, and all but one (my source) had taken it to the grave with them as far as I know, but the facts still remained.

He looked at me. “You’ve been quiet for a while––what’s on your mind?”

I ran my fingers through my hair. “Well,” I sighed. “I think you’re a little generous towards your father.”

He raised an eyebrow, daring me to go on.

I did. “I think we both know your dad wasn’t the saint that he was portrayed as a lot by the media. I’ll be frank, sir: he wasn’t careful when it came to the way he handled women, and it got out. You can only cover up so much.”

I looked him in the eye. “And what’s more, sir, I’m afraid I’m starting to see that in you too. I’ve been watching you. I can see the way you act, and I can tell you’re headed down a dangerous road. Look at me––I want to tell you something as an older man to a younger man: ‘Don’t go down that road. It’s not worth it. You always get caught.’”

He didn’t say anything. “I’m serious, sir. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the political rat-race, it’s that the dirty stuff always leaks out.”

After returning my level gaze, he leaned back in his chair again, folded his hands behind his head, and looked up at the ceiling. “Well thanks, Ben. I glad to see you’ve got my best interests at heart.” He chuckled. “But that’s not what we were talking about, was it? We were talking about the General.”

“Right.”

“Back to the subject at hand, class.” He was jovial now. “Dad finally had the sense to relieve him of his position. We should have known that wouldn’t work. Can anybody tell me what happened?”

I raised my hand.

“Ben.”

“I believe he murdered his replacement.”

“That is correct. Have a mint.”

Whatever.

“And he had the perfect timing too. Right before the War on Homeland Terror. The General quickly assumed his old role again and had the army whipped into shape before Dad even had time to catch his breath. I think he always had the soldiers’ loyalty.”

I glanced up at the clock on the wall: One-thirty. I needed to be wrapping things up.

“Well, I suppose he would have had to have retained their loyalty for him to be able to accomplish all that he did. He was a man who left quite a legacy.”

“Yes, yes, that’s true,” he mused, then chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it would have been pretty hard to have gotten away with murdering Abe if he hadn’t had a lot of backing from the people.”

Oh. He was bringing that one up. Another touchy situation.

“Course it helped that Abe had for all practical purposes compromised the security of the Pentagon’s InterFile System. I don’t know what had gotten into him. He was always the weird one in our family. Anyways, he threated to leak just about everything––and of course we couldn’t have that. He put Dad in quite the awkward position. Should have seen it coming though: the General solved it all by just knifing up Abe––I know, quite gruesome. But poor Dad was heartbroken. I think he had always hoped he could find some way to resolve things with my oldest brother, but you know, sometimes life just…” His voice trailed off.

It was quiet for a very long time. I put my head in my hands and rubbed my eyes. As much as he seemed to enjoy reminiscing over all the dirty, scandalous details of my predecessor’s life, I didn’t. Why couldn’t we have a major political leader who actually behaved for once? Who actually kept his life clean? I was tired of this conversation.

Actually, I was just tired, period. Especially since it was pushing two.

I raised my head.

“Well, sir, as much as I’d love to stay here and chat all night, I’d better get back to the wife.” I grinned: “If I don’t show up soon she might think I’ve become the next assassination scandal.” Raising my empty glass, I continued. “Here’s to our late General. May his cruelty and brutishness be forgotten as quickly as the buds of spring forget the ice of winter past.”

He shook himself out of his thoughts and clicked his glass with mine: “And here’s to our new General.” He had a mischievous smile. “May he ever be as brave, clever, and bold as his most recent colleague.”

We clinked glasses again.

---

“I’ll walk you out.”

He’d walk me out. Like the White House was a little country cottage or something. We passed through the great halls in silence.

It was dark outside. And quiet. Strangely quiet for the capital. He stopped walking and breathed heavily, gazing up at the cool night sky. I knew our conversation wasn’t quite finished.

“I know what you’re thinking, Ben.”

“You’re thinking about what a mess the General was. You’re thinking about what a mess my father was.” He turned around to face me.

“And right now, you’re thinking about what a mess I’m apparently turning out to be. And you’re starting to lose faith, aren’t you?”

What could I say? He had me.

“But you know Ben, for all his glaring sins, the General … was used for good. Countless times it was his unfaltering voice that spurred his soldiers on in the heat of battle when all hope seemed lost; countless times it was his wit and intelligence that kept my dad from making a foolish executive decision; countless times it was his loyalty to the government that gave our people the inspiration to fight for their country; the example they needed to follow; the passion to give all they had.”

“God used him, Ben. Do you remember when Dad sponsored that big international Nuclear Power Summit in Seattle?”

I did. He would have been just old enough to remember it too. His dad had invited foreign dignitaries from all over the world, hoping to awe them with our country’s military potency. And he had succeeded.

“A performance never before or since rivaled,” I affirmed.

“Yes, but a tragedy nonetheless. The tens of thousands in Seattle who died in the following months from the radiation leaks stand in silent witness of the cost of my father’s pride. The choices of a national leader have national consequences, and God judged our nation for my dad’s arrogance. And what’s more, the General knew it.” He paused. “You know, Ben. You were there.”

I couldn’t deny it. I had been there. Though only a teenager, I had been watching the Congressional meeting that day. I remembered hearing the Second Potentate propose the plan, outline the proceedings and suggest the diplomats to be invited. And then the General had stood up. He hadn’t minced words:

“Sir, with all due respect, you know this is wrong. Everyone here knows this is against God’s will.”

After an awkward silence, a few Congressional leaders had tactfully smoothed things over, but I still vividly remembered the Second Potentate’s face.

It was a shocked face. A beaten face. A face that knew the General had spoken the truth.

I sighed. “Yes. I do know. I was there.”

“The General spoke words of life to my father, even though he was a mess. He spoke God’s words. And even though my father too was a mess, God also used him many, many times to speak truth into the hearts of people. He used him to convict the public of their sin and cry out for repentance. God used him.”

He stopped.

“And you know what, Ben? I can’t help but feel, even with all my faults and problems, and even with all my weaknesses, that God will use me too. That God will use me to speak to His people––perhaps even long after I am dead.”

I turned and looked at him. His tall, stately silhouette was standing straighter than ever. And I knew he was right.

“He will, Solomon. He will.”

He nodded; then turned and strode majestically back into the White House.

I headed home to my wife.

---

Disclaimer: This is the story of Joab the General, told mainly in the form of a conversation between King Solomon and his General, Benaiah son of Jehoiada. In this modernized version, I assign extra-biblical words, thoughts, and motivations to biblical characters. I have no real point I am trying to bring out other than the simple fact that God uses messed-up people. For the real facts, see 2 Samuel 2-3, 8, 10-12, 14, 18-20, 23-24; 1 Kings 1-2, 11; and 1 Chronicles 2, 4, 11, 18-21, 26-27.