I - Number 45

Memories. The President of the United States had many of them. Seven White House easter egg hunts, seven G8 summits, six state of the union speeches, five hurried broom closet handjobs on the ninth floor of the capitol building -- all these memories flashed before the President's eyes as the red phone blinked on his desk.

Blink blink. Blink blink. Blink blink.

He wished it was a fantasy. Some sort of Batman and Robin game with giant light signals in the sky, spandex costumes and a sports car with a pointy spoiler. But was he Batman or Commissioner Gordon? Was some kind of -- joker -- turning his world on its head, making this phone blink on a lark, as if to say "I can put fear into your mind, delve deep into the cruddy place where you've buried your fears and dig them up, bare-handed, for all to see"?

The President knew this was no prank.

He called in Dougie, his top adviser, who bumbled into the oval office carrying a portable Walk Man in one hand and half a salami hoagie in the other.

"What's up, chief?" That's what they all called him. Chief. As in Commander-in. As in the man with the feathered headdress. The wise man. The leader.

The President didn't respond. He looked Dougie in the eye and then, without speaking, both men knew what had to be done.

Half a salami hoagie dropped to the floor.