The Duke of Oil – Chapter 3

The following is a work of fiction.

It is the third in a series of sci-fi novels of the type known as
alternate history. What’s different is that this series takes place in
our time, with characters familiar in your real life.

The first book in the series, The Chinese Century, was written late 2004. Its table of contents is here. The second,  The American Diaspora, was written in 2005. Its table of contents for that book is here.

Once we have a few chapters set up, I’ll create a table of contents for the book and keep it near each chapter as it is written.

Meanwhile, settle down and relax. Any similarity between the
characters in this book and real people is purely coincidental, purely
a product of imagination, and not meant as real in any way.

It was his very favorite place in the world.

The American Hospital, across a single bridge and a lake from the Airport, had literally made a new man of him.

Cheney chuckled at the memory. What Karl Rove didn’t know, two years before, was that he had brought a full-time personal physician into Walter Reed with him. Dr. Didi Ameen had been born in Iraq, rescused by U.S. troops in Kuwait during the first Gulf War, and grown into a strong, handsome and (best of all) most loyal man.

He kept a PDA with him at all time, linked wirelessly to the boss’s vital signs, so that the instant Rove stabbed him with what turned out to be insulin he sprang into action. He rushed through the corridors like a man possessed, ran into the room with a syringe of glucagon already prepared, then worked all night to stabilize him.

Realizing that Washington was now dangerous to him, Dr. Ameen worked with Mrs. Cheney to jet the patient here, under an assumed name (Kerry Sample), so that while the President did move to replace him, he also gave his doctors time to do their magic.

And it was magic indeed. A new heart, they said, from a Sri Lankan man (he didn’t ask if it was an accident or just a drive-buy) was installed, he was put on a regimen of 160 Mg Lipitor and Niaspan to raise good cholesterol, and his other problems just went away. That pain he’d been having in his leg? The minor cholesterol blockage was wiped away.

Within a month he felt completely renewed. Like he hadn’t felt since the Ford days. But he ruled out a hair weave – if they don’t recognize me it’s no good, I said.

Then an Emirates Air jet landed at Andrews, a helicopter flew him onto the Capitol Grounds and, just as the debate over the Rove nomination was reaching a climax, he bounded up to the rostrum, nudged presiding officer Judd Gregg aside, and quoted Ian Bannen’s speech from Ned Devine.

“What a wonderful thing it would be to visit your own funeral. To sit at the front, and hear what was said. Maybe to say a few things yourself. Oh, and the nomination is out of order.”

It was the first standing ovation he’d ever received, both the floor and the gallery exploded with applause. He rapped the little gavel on the desk a few times, then joined in the laughter.

All thanks to Dr. Ameen. All thanks to the American Hospital. All thanks to Dubai.

He owed them everything, although he never told them. He just set his plans, from that moment, for what was now taking place. And while they were talking about where might live, why not here, or as close to here as practical. The Sofitel had some very nice places, not too high up and suitably anonymous. It was just a few blocks from the American Hospital, as well as the Canadian and the Al-Rashid. For a man like Dick Cheney, it was like a gambler being surrounded by casinos.

Lynne and the grandchildren had enjoyed Jumeirah Beach, although she did look a trifle worn out from the sun. “And to think it’s just March,” she said, rapping her sunhat against a thigh then throwing it across the room to embrace her husband. “I take it you’ve found something more permanent.”

Cheney smiled. “I think so,” he said. “Although Philip might want something more ornate for the kids and Elizabeth. Everything we do will be by limo, so a little distance will be no problem. And I want to be closer to the ground than we are right now.”

A young Indian woman knocked on the door then, and, bowing low, offered a tray with a message as he answered. “It’s from Mo. He will give us an audience tonight. In the restaurant. Elizabeth, throw some videos on for the kids and get ready for some house hunting tomorrow. Anything you want, so long as it’s secure.

“Your mother and I are going to do a little business.”