Category Archives: The Orb of Covfefe

Part VIII — smoking in Ipswich



Colin took a deep drag of his cigarette as he looked at the newspaper in front of him with disbelief.


A cartoon underneath depicted a crazy-eyed Farage punching a shocked Sadiq Khan, the latter draped in the flag of England. ‘FARRAGED’ read the caption.  Normally Colin ignored the papers as much as possible, but this rattled him. Especially after the phone call he received last night. First a friend of Nigel calling help, now this? Something big was going on. Colin glanced around the shady harbor bar. It was his favorite place to visit in-between work. Nothing fancy, just friendly personnel, decent coffee and a bunch of sailors and fishermen drinking and smoking, minding their own business. If only things everywhere could be as peaceful as in this bar, Colin thought to himself. With the smoldering butt of his cigarette he lit another cig and read the article.

‘A GRISLY turn of events as UKIP-leader Nigel Farage without provocation PUMMELED Prime minister Sadiq Khan in the FACE during a diplomatic dinner gone awry. Doubts on the Brexit-instigator’s sanity were raised earlier but…’

Colin stopped reading as the bar door opened and a tall young man with sunglasses and a blue hat entered. Which is exactly what the voice on the phone said he’d be wearing. Colin held up a hand. The youngster came over and sat down. Colin, watching him intensely, caught him glancing at the newspaper. ‘You know anything about this?’ The youngster stayed quiet. Something about him seemed very familiar to Colin. ‘Who are you?’ The young man looked around, as to check no one was listening in. Colin pressed. ‘C’mon man, give me something. Who are you? Why did Nigel give you this number? Why should I help you?’ Slowly, the youngster took off his sunglasses and with no small surprise Colin realized he was sitting opposite the son of the uncrowned God-Emperor of the United States of America. ‘Holy shit. You are –‘
– ‘Yeah, I know.’
‘So that explains how you know Nigel.’
– ‘Yeah.’
‘And I guess this brawl’ -Colin pointed at the newspaper- ‘involved you.’
– ‘Yeah.’
– ‘Can you get me to the Netherlands?’
‘Uh, what? Probably. Yeah, sure. Sorry I kind of need to process this.’
– ‘I’m not sure this disguise will fool anyone looking for me, and I’m sure they’ll be looking for me. Can you get me to the continent without anyone ehm… Authoritative finding me?’

Colin straightened up. ‘Well… It just so happens mr Farage sent you to the right guy. I’ve got just the thing that will get you straight to mainland without anyone knowing.’ For the first time since he met him, Colin saw a glimmer of hope cross Barron’s face. ‘Great. How soon can we leave?’
‘Ehhh tomorrow, actually. Be here at 6 AM. ‘
– ‘OK. Great. Don’t tell anyone about this. See you tomorrow.’ Barron stood up, but did not leave before taking a last look at the newspaper. ‘And don’t believe everything they tell you in the paper’ he said. Colin smiled. ‘Don’t worry, never do.’

Once alone again, Colin ordered himself a pint and absentmindedly took a sip. So he was going to smuggle the son of the Donald to the continent? He lit a cigarette and blew out a big cloud. God damn, these were exciting times.


Part VII — Life or Death


Perv swerved his arm to take aim at Sadiq, but the butch arm of a rainbow soldier knocked the gun out of his hand. As Sadiq and rainbow soldier jumped Perv, Hans and Mike handed out punches to the disbelieving blue-haired goons. Farage pulled Barron down to the ground behind a couch and talked as quick as an Englishman could talk: ‘Young man, judging by the effort our enemies are making to stop you, it is imperative that you obtain the orb of Covfefe. For this you must leave England in one piece.

A gunshot whizzed through the room, followed by the sound of broken glass, some of which Barron felt landing on his back. Barron looked up to see Sadiq Khan running at Perv with a swollen lip and fist raised in the air. Perv evaded the fist and punched Khan in the stomach. Barron turned to Nigel. ‘how do I get out of here? They must have the place surrounded.’
– ‘Yes, it is merely a matter of time before reinforcements arrive. But there is an escape. Follow me.’

They crawled to the back of the room, half-successfully avoiding the scuffling men and shards of glass. The last thing Barron saw before he exited the room was Hans landing a high-kick in the pierced nose of a rainbow warrior, and Perv ripping of his own shirt in a bloodrage, revealing chiseled abs underneath. Once out of the room Nigel and Farage got on their feet and Barron could hear Khan’s voice crying behind him: ‘Don’t let them escape! Get the boy!’ Barron followed Nigel who ran down a small stairway. Behind them Barron heard the sound of someone in pursuit.

Quickly Barron rushed down wooden steps until he found himself in a damp cellar, barely high enough for Nigel to stand upright, let alone Barron. Nigel was hurriedly pushing aside wine bottles and cans of food. ‘Where is it where is it’ he murmured.

Barron in the meanwhile grabbed a wine bottle and pushed himself against the wall behind the stairs. Nigel found what he was looking for: a wooden Santa Clause statue, as large as a hand. He pulled it towards him, and with minor rumbling a hidden door in the stone cellar wall slid open. Grinning, Nigel turned around, only to look straight into the barrel of a gun pointed at him by a very angry looking rainbow warrior. ‘Step away from the door, NOW’ she said. ‘Or else I will…’

It will never be known what she would have done, for at that same moment a green bottle hit her head so hard it broke into pieces, and 170 pounds of blue-haired butchness fell unconscious to the floor. Barron emerged from the shadows, the remainder of the bottle in his hand.

‘Splendid!’ Nigel said. ‘Here, take this.’ He hastily scribbled some notes on a piece of paper and gave it to Barron.

‘Make your escape through the tunnel. You will emerge safely at the other end. Get to Dover as quick as possible. Call the number on this paper, say I sent you. Now go quickly!’

Barron nodded and with bent head entered the low, dark tunnel. Before he disappeared, he turned around and faced Nigel Farage one last time. ‘Thank you’, he said. Farage’s eyes watered up. ‘Thank you, young Barron. Bless your father. Godspeed to your mission, the world depends on you!’ Nigel pushed the Santa Clause figurine back in its original space, and with the closing of the door darkness engulfed Barron.



Part VI — An unexpected turn



The sun had risen by the time the Land Rover rolled into Single street, Bromley. Green hedges and mansions adorned the sides of the road. ‘This is it’ said Perv and he pointed to an Aristocratic-looking white house. They parked in front of the house. Jack stayed in the car as look-outs, the others walked up to the gate. Perv pressed the intercom button and a distinctly British voice answered: ‘Yes?
– ‘Nigel, Perv here. Did you get my DM?’
Nigel? Barron thought, it couldn’t be..?
‘Ah, yes’ the voice answered. ‘Come in.’ The gate opened and the men entered. They rang the doorbell and the 3-meter high oak door was opened by no other than Nigel Farage. Perv put his hands on Nigel’s shoulders and said it was good to see him. Nigel averted his gaze. ‘I wish it was under different circumstances’, he said. Perv nodded. ‘So do I, my friend.’ Barron shook hands with Nigel. They had met before in the Golden Palace, but for some reason Nigel was a lot less friendly now. He looked like a man under a lot of stress. Barron shot a glance at Perv, who apparently noticed the same thing.
‘Uh, come on in’ Nigel mumbled, ‘I’ll make you some tea and we can, uh, talk things over.’

They followed Nigel into his living room, which was furnished with Persian carpets, red leather sofas and old, hand-made oak furniture. Sides of the room were decorated with blue velvet curtains. Nigel shifted around nervously, fluffing up pillows and adjusting the coffee table. ‘Yes sit down, I’ll make you some tea…’
Perv stepped forward. ‘Nigel. Is something wrong?’
‘NOTHING is wrong mr Pervert’ came a voice from behind the curtain. Out stepped a dark-skinned man with a gun in his hands. ‘Sadiqh Khan!’ cried Perv.
‘I am glad you still follow the media’ Khan said. He turned to Barron. ‘Ah the young Trump. I apologize for the mediocre welcoming committee earlier, perhaps now we can make amends.’ He snapped his fingers and from behind the curtains several butch women with short blue hair stepped forward. On their upper arm they wore thick bands with on them a rainbow symbol intercrossed with an Islamic moon. One of the blue-haired woman was holding a gun to another woman’s head, whom Barron recognized as Nigel’s wife.
‘How did you know we were here!?’ Barron asked.
– ‘Let’s just say I have… Sources. You see, we are everywhere. We have all the momentum. Your hateful, racist and misogynistic ways, your… ‘white supremacy’’ Khan spit out these words ‘is at an end. WE are the future!’
‘You won’t get away with this’ said Perv.
Khan grinned. ‘Oh but I already have. You see, with the death of a prominent presidential family member’ he waved his gun at Barron ‘at the hands of extreme right-wing terrorists, I have no choice but to declare martial law and rise above the petty limitation of democracy. And perhaps you hadn’t noticed, but back in America president Trump is not feeling to well and soon enough my friends will have to intervene to… Save America. Yes, things are looking pretty good I’d say.’
Barron was dumbstruck. Perv gnashed his teeth and started to raise his fist, a response met by Sadiq pointing his gun towards mrs Farage. ‘Ah ah ah, mr Pervert. One wrong move and Mrs Farage will meet a most unfortunate fate.’
‘The British people will rise up against you!’ cried Farage. Immediately, Khan hit Nigel’s cheek with the back of his gun. Nigel fell to the ground, blood spatters hitting the carpet. ‘Dorothy, Molly!’ Khan snapped his fingers.
2 rainbow soldiers grabbed Nigel’s arms and brought him up on his knees.
‘You know Nigel, I’ve been looking forward to this for such a long time. You have been such a pain in the ass, you know that? You know how much work it will be to permanently end Brexit?’ He punched Farage in the stomach, who bent over double in pain. ‘Not that it will matter. You people had your chance a long time ago, back when London still belonged to you.’ But you gave it all away with barely a fight. The West is ours now. Don’t worry, it’s for the better.’ Another punch. Nigel looked up with a blue eye and fat lip. ‘You’ll never win’ he said. Rage filled Sadiq’s face. As he raised his fist for another punch, Perv extended his arm towards the rainbow soldier keeping mrs Farage hostage. Suddenly a gun appeared in Perv’s hand. He pulled the trigger – the bullet connected with rainbow soldier’s forehead.

Then, many things happened at once.



Part V: a new plan



Barron landed in a tree. With the help of some sturdy branches he reached the ground with relatively few bruises. He opened the flashlight on his smartphone and headed in the direction where Perv landed. Soon enough he found him. Some phone calls back later the team was together again. Huddled in a circle they discussed their options.
‘Steal a plane?
– ‘First place they’ll be looking for us will be nearby airports. Perhaps some distant airport, but that will cost too much time.’
‘Head for the US embassy?’
Hans shook his head. ‘That’ll be the second place they’ll look for us. They’ll stop us before we enter the place and even if we succeed there’s no telling how long they’ll keep us there. We need someone we can trust, someone well-connected.’
The men were silent for a moment.
‘Okay’, Perv sighed. ‘Perhaps I know someone. He’s not exactly low-profile, but he is well-connected and they won’t expect us visiting him. He lives in London. Judging from our position it’ll be a few hours by foot. We’ll see if we can get a car.’
They nodded. Perv turned to Mike. ‘Can you arrange a car?’ ‘Maybe’, came the answer. ‘Has to fit 6 men.’
– ‘Great. Let’s move on before the dogs or whatever are on our tail.’

With as little light as possible they navigated through the woods, avoiding roads. Sometimes they’d stand completely still when they’d hear a sound too close for comfort, as when they heard a helicopter in the distance, but overall the men kept the tempo high.

After an hour Barron was exhausted. They paused near a creek for some rest and water. As Hans, Mike and Jack did some stretching, Barron caught some breath. Perv sat next to him. ‘You holding in there?’
– ‘yeah, I think so.’
‘Good. There’s something I need to talk to you about. The plan was, I escort you all the way to Saudi Arabia, but the plan did not include us being shot down. I don’t know what will happen next. Worst case scenario and I am taken out, you should not be a sitting duck.’
Barron listened intently as Perv continued.
‘Look, there’s three things in the world you need to survive: money, a passport and a phone. Phones you can buy anywhere. As for the other two…’ Perv held out a passport and a wad of money. ‘Here you go.’
Barron took the passport and opened it. In it was his face, but it went with quite a different name: Ashton Bucksley from Oakland, California. ‘I can’t take this!’
– ‘you can and you will. I’ve had strict orders to give it to you in case of an emergency. Take the money as well. Better to use cash only from here on. It’s a hundred 50 euro bills.  Should be more than enough to get you to Saudi Arabia and back.’
Barron sighed. ‘Let’s just hope it doesn’t get to that.’
Perv agreed. Barron let himself fall backwards and gazed up to the stars. Something about the sound of rippling water gave Barron a serene feeling, even if the circumstances were far from that.
– ‘hm?’
‘I’ve been wondering to ask you. Why do you do it?’
– ‘Do what?’
‘This. Helping me out. Are you with some kind of agency?’
Perv laughed. ‘Hell no. I am a free man. And as a free man, I enjoy the finer things of life. Finer things which are, quite unfortunately, under attack. So I must fight.’
– ‘You don’t have to.’
‘Of course I do! For thousands of years men have fought! It is a most noble and virtuous pursuit. Besides, I am needed.’
– ‘By whom?’
‘Well right now by you. But others as well. We must unite and cooperate, but many are stubborn. Through superior aesthetics, I will help teach our people submission, then cooperation, then victory! Do you understand?’
– ‘…I think I do.’
‘Good.’ Perv smiled. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, it is handsome Thursday. I have some business to take care off.’ And with that he turned to his phone.

The men continued their journey. After another hour the forests made way for meadows. They passed some farms. When Mike spotted an exposed car near one of them, he signaled the others to wait in a ditch next to a road. 20 minutes later a dark green Land Rover stopped on the road next to them. Mike opened the front door: ‘you guys need a lift?’ The men chuckled silently. Barron was very impressed, but as he got in he had to ask whether they could return the car later on. Mike raised his eyebrows. ‘If the situation permits it, sure.’

He put down his foot on the gas pedal and they sped towards Perv’s connection in South-East London.



Part IV: Under Attack



’20 minutes until checkpoint landing, please finish your whey and fasten your seatbelts.’

 Barron woke up to the metallic sound of Hans, the pilot, on the intercom. He yawned and peeked through the plane window. It was dark outside, but down below Barron saw land illuminated by hundreds of specks of light. They must already be in England. So far so good.

5 minutes later Perv came out of the cockpit and asked Barron to come with him. Something came up. As Barron entered the cockpit he saw Hans conversing with a voice crackling through the radio. ‘…Repeat, runway is damaged. Please confirm change flight course to six three zero Elstree Airfield.
– ‘Flight course six three zero Elstree airfield confirmed’ Hans answered. He looked nervous and when the radio switched off he immediately turned to Perv. ‘This is bad news. They say it’s a runway fire. Could be true, but it smells bad.’
‘I agree’ said Perv. ‘Smells like a trap.’
– ‘Maybe I can find some alternate landing spot. No way Elstree is safe.’
Hans grabbed a black address book. He leafed through it and pointed at a scribbled address. ‘Here. It’s more of a farm than an airport, but they’ll have fuel and I can…’
Before Hans could finish his sentence an alarm in the cockpit went off. Recognizing the sound, Hans looked at the radar. A dot was rapidly approaching their position. Hans turned white. ‘shit shit shit it’s a missile. The motherfuckers are actually shooting at us!’
‘What?’ Barron exclaimed. ‘But that’s an act of war!’
‘Maybe, but that doesn’t change a thing for us. At least this is not the first time I’ve had to evade a missile.’ Hans took the steering wheel and pushed it forward. The plane made a nosedive and started picking up speed. Through the front windows Barron could see the missile approaching in the distance. On the radar a second dot appeared, not far behind the first. Hans murmured: ‘two missiles huh? Oh man…’ Sweat dripped off his forehead as he steered the plane in a straight line towards the first missile.
‘Just a little bit further… Just a little bit further…’ The missile came closer and closer and Barron for the first time felt that dreadful fear of dying. Suddenly, Hans jerked the wheel to the left. The plane made a sharp turn, so sharp that Barron had to hold on to his chair as to not fall on the left wall of the plane. The missile passed straight underneath the cockpit, under the wings and passed the plane.
‘YEAH’, Perv shouted, but Hans was too occupied with missile number 2, which was now visible through the window. He stabilized the plane as fast as possible and made another nosedive, pushing his entire body on the steering wheel.
‘C’mon baby, go faster…’  Hans pushed the wheel so hard it seems to almost break. The missile was now less than 100 meters in front of them. Hans made the same turn and the plane jerked to the left. The second missile flew right passed the cockpit but a second later they heard a loud bang and everything shook. A voice shouted from the back: ‘the left wing is hit!’ Barron looked out and saw the tip of the wing was blown off. The jet engine was burning. Hans frantically tried to stabilize the plane but it was clear they were losing altitude. ‘Status report’ Perv demanded.
-‘Unsalvagable. We will crash. I might pull off an emergency landing.’
‘Too risky. We will jump, rendez-vous and head for our connection in London.’
-‘Yes sir.’ Hans switched on the intercom. ‘Gents, you may have noticed we have taken a slight hit. The Bombardier can not be saved, we can. Parachutes will be provided. Stand by.’
Perv handed Barron a parachute. ‘Put this on. Have you ever used one of these?’
Barron shaked his head. ‘Yeah that’s what I thought. I’ll keep it simple: pull this rope when the ground is getting too close for comfort. Don’t touch anything else. Understand?’ Barron nodded.

In the back Perv’s men stood by calmly as the shaking of the plane threw around cutlery and shards of ceramic plates. They put on the parachutes as Perv opened the emergency door and yelled: ‘We rendez-vous below! If you lose track of the team, call me! Good luck men!’
And with that the 6 men jumped out of the plane. Barron went 5th, followed by Perv. The plane quickly became a small spot and Barron was engulfed with darkness and wind. He was barely processing all that was happening, but the sudden turn of events gave him an adrenaline rush he had never experienced before. He had never seen the other parachutists so clear, never heard the rush of the wind so clear, never knew so clearly what to do. When he could distinguish leaves on the trees below he pulled the rope and the parachute opened. As he glided downwards, he saw a big explosion in the distance, where plane was heading to.



The Orb of Covfefe part III: Liftoff



Barron tried to maintain a sense of location, but when Perv stopped the car all he knew was that they were somewhere on the Virginian countryside. They had arrived at a tiny airport with a small entry hall, control tower and 2 private jets.
‘the left one will be our ride, your majesty,’ Perv said with a wink. ‘A Bombardier Global 20k, state of the art.’
– ‘Whose jet is this?’ Barron asked.
Perv shook his head. ‘Like I said, can’t tell you. Let’s just say he’s an, *ahem*, enlightened billionaire who wants to play it very carefully. Anyway, let’s go meet my team.’
– ‘Your team…?’ But Perv was already walking ahead.

They entered the hall. 4 men, one in pilot’s attire, where waiting for them. The first thing that struck Barron as he shook their hands was that they all looked as if they were chiseled out of marble. He jokingly said: ‘you all look like you walked off the cover of Men’s Health.’
Perv laughed. ‘Well, Hans here has indeed featured on that particular cover. But that is a side job. Their main task, besides ushering in a new aesthetic for Western man, is to fight the ZOG. You will find them to be well-trained and highly capable.’
Barron was as confused as he was impressed.

The plane lifted off within the hour. Once comfortably seated in the spacious chair, Barron took the time aboard to unload his curiosity.
‘Why are people trying to kill my dad?’ he asked Perv.
– ‘Why is water wet? Your dad has a lot of powerful enemies. I think they are very scared that your father will crown himself God-Emperor of America.
‘God-emperor?’ Barron blinked.
– ‘Yes. Kind of like when Napoleon crowned himself emperor of France. I don’t think your father originally intended to do so, but after the Texas- and California-hacking scandals of 2020, a lot of people lost faith in democracy, and I think your dad was one of them.’
‘So they are scared my father will stop them.’
– ‘Well either your dad stops them or they will stop your dad. And so far, your dad has done a pretty good job. He built the flying golden palace, he built the wall… So it’s not too surprised that they’ve decided to play dirty.’
‘They shouldn’t be able to poison him.’
– ‘You’re right. There is a security leak at very high level. It is bad news.’
Bannon didn’t like to think about the implications. He changed the subject.

‘What is the Orb of Covfefe?’ he asked.
– ‘Afraid I don’t know much about it’, Perv said. ‘From what I hear it has some kind of healing power. Supposedly the Muslim prophet Mohammed used it to conquer Arabia. Later, Genghis Khan tried to take it but died before he succeeded. And now it is in the hands of king Salman, head of the royal Saud family.’
‘Bannon told me the Sauds are very protective of the Orb. How will I convince them to lend it to me?’
– ‘I dunno kid. I guess Bannon thinks you can somehow pull it off. Try asking nicely?’
Barron laughed but frowned immediately after. He’d have to think it over. First they actually had to get there.
‘Are we flying to Saudi Arabia in a straight line?’ he asked.
– ‘Sort of. We need to make a brief stop in England to refuel.’
‘I thought England was on the brink of civil war?’
– ‘I didn’t say I like it. But we have no choice. Don’t worry, the refueling point is as safe as we can get.’

Bannon said nothing, but stared out of the window. So this was the plan. A dangerous stop, followed by an audience with a king who had very little reason to trust him. Asking a girl out for a date seemed easier. How could he obtain the Orb? Maybe fear of a world war would persuade the king? Perhaps he could convince the king that, as Bannon claimed, the Jews were behind it? Muslims didn’t like Jews, right? Perhaps he could even steal the Orb? As Bannon went over all the possibilities in his mind, his eyes closed and he finally caught some sleep.



The Orb of Covfefe, part II: The Pick-Up



That night Barron slept restless. His dreams were filled with images of fire, of his mother screaming and of men hijacking the Golden Flying Palace and crashing it into the One World Trade Center. He woke up in the middle of the night and, unable to fall asleep again, double- and triple-checked his luggage. Time crept by like a snail and Barron felt he had been looking at the clock for an eternity when, at 4:55, the doorbell rang. Barron rushed to open the door. To his great surprise a beautiful blond girl greeted him. Barron felt his cheeks turn red. ‘Ehhh… Hi?’ he said.
– ‘Hii!’ the girl said. ‘Soo nice to meet you! You’re taller than I expected!’

Barron looked at her sheepishly. ‘Are you my driver?’ The girl giggled. ‘No silly, I’m just here to ring the doorbell! Perv will be your driver.’
– ‘Perv?’
She pointed to a red convertible parked in front of the house. In the driver seat sat a muscled man with gelled blond hair, sunglasses and a colorful sleeveless shirt. Next to him sat another girl, a brunette. ‘Perv’ held up his hand and made a peace sign. Barron awkwardly waved back and turned to the girl in front of him. ‘Ok, I’ll grab my bags and we can go.’ The girl smiled the kind of smile you see on the covers of magazines. ‘Great!’

Five minutes later Barron shook hands with Perv, who up close was even more chiseled and broad-jawed than he looked from afar, and the brunette, who might as well have been a Victoria’s Secret Angel. Barron wondered where the hell Bannon found these people.

‘Good to meet you!’ Perv bellowed. ‘I presume Jenny has already told you who I am. Call me Perv.’ He turned to brunette next to him. ‘Time to say goodbye love.’ She pouted her lips but kissed him on the cheek and got out of the car, keeping the door open for Barron, who took her place on the warm leather chair. Perv stepped on the gas and off they were. In the car mirror Barron could see Jenny and the brunette waving them off. He looked at Perv. ‘Isn’t it rude to leave the women behind like that?’ Perv laughed. ‘Don’t fret young Barron. Their submission is as solid as your dad’s wall. They will be OK.’
– ‘Where are we going?’
‘To an undisclosed location where a billionaire who’d rather not be named has a private jet waiting for us.’
– ‘Us?’ Barron raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes. I’ll be travelling with you, as your personal bodyguard so to speak. I hope that’s not a problem.’
– ‘Not at all.’

As the car turned on the highway and the first rays of morning sun warmed his face, Barron started to relax. He wondered what other strange things would be ahead.

Somewhere in Italy a black limousine drove over a countryside road. In the back of the limousine sat an old man in a dark-blue custom made suit. The man had just secured an EU-funded bail-out of a bank he owned (although no one would find his name in any of the official documents), so he was feeling festive, insofar men his age still felt festive. He lit a cigar. As he inhaled, a metallic voice cracked through a speaker. ‘Sir, you have an incoming call from central. Highest clearancy.’ The old man exhaled a puff of smoke. ‘Put it on screen’.
A LCD screen switched on which projected the grey silhouette of a man. ‘Good day George. Congratulations on your success with Banco Di Diversità. Quite the multi-billion-dollar deal.’ The old man nodded. ‘Thank you, although I am sure that is not the reason you are calling.’
– ‘Indeed. I am calling because a situation has come up. A possible kink in our American plans.’
‘I thought we finally had a breakthrough?’
– ‘Yes, we did. And we still do. But it seems our success is not guaranteed after all. They are sending Trump’s son, Barron, to retrieve the Orb of Covfefe.’
– ‘Barron? He’s just a kid! Besides, the Saudi’s would never lend out the Orb to an outsider.’
‘Are you willing to bet all our plans upon the Saudi’s not lending out the Orb?’
The old man thought before answering. ‘No.’
– ‘Neither do we. The boy must be stopped. Either way. Take care of it.’
George nodded. ‘I understand.’
– ‘Good.’
The monitor flickered and turned off. The old man was alone again. He took a long puff of his cigar and stared through the window, admiring the luscious green vineyards they were passing. So, he thought to himself, the last stand of the Trumpists is the young Trump kid. How appropriate. Yet, how silly. Compared to the deal he had worked out today, stopping the boy would be like taking candy from a baby. He smiled. It was time to make some phone calls.



The Orb of Covfefe, part I: Dark Clouds over the Flying Golden Palace

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed across the grand hall of the Flying Golden Palace. Barely audible whispers spread through the corridors: ‘have you heard? He is ill.’ ‘What, like a flu?’
‘Maybe, but maybe not…’
‘Well he is quite old.’
‘Last week he was healthy as a 20 year-old!’
‘I heard his face has turned green.’

Young Barron tried to ignore the whispers as he trudged through the hallways. Yet he knew that he wasn’t called to his father’s chamber without reason. His father had looked a little pale last time Barron came over for dinner, but he hadn’t seemed too bad. Some cold, he guessed. But the request to visit his father had a tone of urgency to it that didn’t sit right with Barron. He opened the majestically gold-plated doors to the Trump residency.

Immediately he saw something was wrong. A team of what he assumed were doctors surrounded his father’s bed. His mother was sitting at the head, cleaning his father’s forehead with a washcloth. Everyone except for his father was wearing body-covering gear you’d normally see in operating rooms, covering all mouths and hair. A nurse at the door handed him similar garments. ‘The doctors don’t want to take any risks’ she said. ‘He is weak enough as is.’ Without a word Barron put on the mask and rushed to the bed. He gasped when he saw his father. Emperor-Elect Donald Trump’s eyes were closed, he was breathing heavily, and pearls of sweat were dripping down his head. This wasn’t just some cold, his father’s life was in danger!
At the sound of his son’s voice Donald’s eyes opened. ‘Hello son. Not feeling so great as you can see. Don’t worry, these doctors will fix me up soon. We have the best doctors!’ He tried to give a doctor next to him a firm pat on the back, but he could only muster the strength for a gentle touch.
‘Dad,’ Barron said, ‘you wanted to see me?’
‘I always want to see you’ Trump answered, but barely had he spoken the words when he groaned in pain and groped his stomach. A doctor turned to Barron: ‘your father is in a great deal of pain; it is best to let him rest. Come, I’ll show you the medical reports.’
Barron followed the man to an adjacent room where even more doctors and nurses were huddled around big monitors on the wall with displays of his dad’s vital signs and what seemed to be an extensive medical history. He caught bits of conversation between the doctors:
‘…. Gastro-intestinal infection…’
‘… Progressive illness…’
‘… Possible Russian involvement…’

Barron figured this would be where he would be instructed on the medical reports, but the doctor kept on walking, exiting the room on the other side. Barron followed. They went through a deserted corridor and just as Barron started to wonder why the doctor’s physique seemed familiar to him, the doctor opened a door to the right and went into what appeared to be a broom closet. He beckoned Barron to follow. Barron hesitated. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’ll tell you’, answered the doctor, ‘but first come in and close the door. Please.’ Something in the man’s eyes told Barron he could trust him. He closed the door behind him. The doctor ripped of his mask and Barron gasped as he recognized the face beneath. ‘Mr. Bannon! What are you doing here! My dad fired you!’ Stephen Bannon grinned.
‘Sometimes people need protection whether they want it or not. It seems your dad is in dire need of some protection.’
– ‘Will he die?’
‘On the current course: yes. I’m afraid your dad has been poisoned.’
Barron’s eyes grew. ‘Poisoned? By whom??’
‘The New World Order. The people actually in charge of this country. Jews, globalists, democrats, you name it.’ Bannon’s eyes flashed around nervously. ‘Already they are applying pressure to blame it on the Russians. The weaker Trump becomes, the less he will be able to resist the war they want to plunge America into.’
– ‘The doctors have to save my dad!’
‘These so-called medical experts can not determine the nature of the poison and even if they could, I’m not sure our American medicine can save him. We need a very special type of medication. We need… The Orb of Covfefe.’
– ‘The… Orb of cowfayfay?’ Barron looked puzzled.
‘The Orb of Covfefe. It is a mysterious Arabic artefact, rumored to have brought Jesus Christ back from the dead. It can cure any ailment, but only of those with a pure heart.’
– ‘You must be kidding!’
Bannon grabbed Barron by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. ‘No Barron, I am not kidding. The Orb is real and we need it to save your dad. I can not trust anyone. Barron, you must go and retrieve the Orb! You must! For America! For your father!’

Barron was silent for a moment.

‘This… Orb of Covfefe… Are you sure it can cure my dad?’
‘Yes Barron, I am 100% sure.’
– ‘Where is it?’
‘In the possession of the Saud family, in Saudi Arabia.’ Bannon pursed his lips. ‘I would’ve arranged for them to bring the Orb directly to us, but our relation is… Complicated. They don’t trust me. No Barron, it must be you. You must personally go to the Saud palace and convince them to give you the Orb.’
Barron breathed deeply. ‘Okay, I’ll go.’
Bannon smiled. ‘Great. You’ll fly in a private jet with as little stops as possible. I’ll have a guy I trust pick you up at 5 in the morning. Tell no one about this, not even your mother.’
Barron nodded.

When Barron stepped out of the closet, he thought he saw a shadow of a figure disappearing at the end of the corridor. He turned around to tell Bannon. But Bannon had disappeared. The broom closet was empty.