Prime Minister Francis Urquhart and 9/11
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"Tonight on the Factor we have Weekly Standard senior writer and Fox News Contributor Sarah Brady. Ms. Brady, as everyone knows, was embedded with the SAS unit that successfully rescued British Prime Minister Francis Urquhart from Al Qaeda terrorists. Ms. Brady, how is the Prime Minister."
"Well, Bill, he is on the mend. He was treated very roughly—"
"You mean tortured."
"I mean tortured. He suffered compound fractures in both arms and a leg, cracked ribs, bruises, contusions, and other injuries. He is a man of a certain age, but he is also tough and determined to recover."
"That is good to hear. Now we move to the most controversial strategy now being employed by the Coalition in Iraq, Syria, and Afghanistan, that being the decision to bury dead insurgents in a culturally inappropriate manner. How’s that working?"
"Well, Bill, there have been massive demonstrations against the new policy, which involves burying the dead terrorists with pig carcasses and even sewing their bodies up in pig skins. The policy has been condemned by every human rights organization one can imagine and is the subject of a proposed UN resolution.
"On the other hand, in the weeks since the policy has started, there has been a significant drop off of suicide bombings and other terrorists actions, with an accompanying drop in Coalition and Iraqi civilian casualties."
"Why is that?"
"Well, it’s one thing to persuade some Middle Easterner to kill himself while killing those people his leaders tell him are the enemies of Islam. In that eventuality, they expect to go immediately to the 72 virgins. But if it turns out that their bodies are going to be desecrated in the most horrible way imaginable by a Muslim, thus denying them entry into Paradise, the incentive to blow oneself up or even fight it out with Coalition troops just isn’t there."
"Thank you Ms. Brady. After the break we’ll have Joe Trippi, the former campaign manager of former Vermont Governor and current Presidential candidate Howard Dean, as to why his ex boss continues to plummet in the polls."
* * *
Francis Urquhart left the hospital in the middle of March and drove immediately to Number 10. There was a huge crowd gathered to watch and cheer as he slowly, painfully, emerged from the limo and hobbled toward the front door, supported by a cane. His doctors had informed him that he would never walk normally again. This judgment, which he fully intended to defy, irritated him. The roars of approval of the crowd as he flourished the cane in the air did mollify him just a little.
Later that day he showed up at the House of Commons for Question Time. “I apologize to the House if I have arrived just a little late,” he said. “But it seems that I have not just grown old in the service of King and Country, but lame.” The House erupted deliriously and the words served as the basis of hundreds of headlines the next day.
A few weeks later, there was one other, more pleasing duty to perform. There was a castle in the remote highlands of Scotland that rose stark and gray like something out of Tolkien. A convoy bearing the formally most feared man in Iraq, Al-Zarqawi, pulled up to the front gate and entered the courtyard. Al-Zarqawi, who was in chains, was frog marched into the castle and down to a little room illuminated by just one light hanging from the ceiling. There was a heavy, wooden door in the floor, now opened. Al Zarqawi was shoved into the room.
“Leave us, please,” a voice said from the shadows. The guards left the room.
Francis Urquhart hobbled out of the shadows into the light. “I warned you, did I not,” he said. Al-Zarqawi said nothing. “I am told that your interrogation has borne great fruit. Al Qaeda in Iraq is broken. What is left of the Insurrection is now on the run, mostly to Iran.”
”You’re a liar.” It was the first time Al-Zarqawi had spoken since leaving his cell in England.
“You might say that. I couldn’t possibly comment,” Urquhart allowed himself a slight smile. “In any case, there is now the question of what to do with you. We could give you a fair trial, of course, followed by a fair hanging. But I somehow have not the stomach for the kind of posturing that would accompany such a spectacle. I see in your eyes that you are concerned that I will serve you as you served me. I must admit that the idea has its temptations.
“But really, you did me a favor. I looked a proper mess when I was brought out of captivity. Now every world leader, every politician on the planet, can now imagine that instead of I, it is they who suffered the beatings, the electric shocks, the other unspeakable things. There are now no objections to whatever must be done to win the war.
“You must be wondering what this place is. It is Urquhart Castle, once the seat of my family before we moved from Scotland down to England. As with most noble families in Scotland during the Middle Ages, ours was a bloody history. The place below the open door is called an Oubliette. In French, it means, “place of forgetting. It is totally dark and totally silent. The Urquharts of the time of Braveheart used to dispose of their enemies here. No torture. Nothing too nasty. Just throw them away and forget about them. The acoustics of this place are as such that no one can hear you, so pray scream all you want.
“I am told that, as with a lot of places like this, Urquhart Castle has its ghosts. The ghost of this place, though, is like none other in the British Isles. It is the spirit of everyone who ever suffered and died down there. It is a nameless horror of pure rage and pure hate—or so I am told. Perhaps you will meet it while you are down there. Guard!” The guard reappeared. “Go ahead.”
The guard unceremoniously grabbed Al-Zarqawi pushed him, struggling, to the open door, and pushed him in.” Then he closed the door and slid the bolt, locking it.
“I trust that the metal spike was removed?” Urquhart asked. “I do not want his stay here to be too short.”
“It was done yesterday, Prime Minister.”
“Good. Now let’s go up to dinner. I am positively famished.”
"Well, Bill, he is on the mend. He was treated very roughly—"
"You mean tortured."
"I mean tortured. He suffered compound fractures in both arms and a leg, cracked ribs, bruises, contusions, and other injuries. He is a man of a certain age, but he is also tough and determined to recover."
"That is good to hear. Now we move to the most controversial strategy now being employed by the Coalition in Iraq, Syria, and Afghanistan, that being the decision to bury dead insurgents in a culturally inappropriate manner. How’s that working?"
"Well, Bill, there have been massive demonstrations against the new policy, which involves burying the dead terrorists with pig carcasses and even sewing their bodies up in pig skins. The policy has been condemned by every human rights organization one can imagine and is the subject of a proposed UN resolution.
"On the other hand, in the weeks since the policy has started, there has been a significant drop off of suicide bombings and other terrorists actions, with an accompanying drop in Coalition and Iraqi civilian casualties."
"Why is that?"
"Well, it’s one thing to persuade some Middle Easterner to kill himself while killing those people his leaders tell him are the enemies of Islam. In that eventuality, they expect to go immediately to the 72 virgins. But if it turns out that their bodies are going to be desecrated in the most horrible way imaginable by a Muslim, thus denying them entry into Paradise, the incentive to blow oneself up or even fight it out with Coalition troops just isn’t there."
"Thank you Ms. Brady. After the break we’ll have Joe Trippi, the former campaign manager of former Vermont Governor and current Presidential candidate Howard Dean, as to why his ex boss continues to plummet in the polls."
* * *
Francis Urquhart left the hospital in the middle of March and drove immediately to Number 10. There was a huge crowd gathered to watch and cheer as he slowly, painfully, emerged from the limo and hobbled toward the front door, supported by a cane. His doctors had informed him that he would never walk normally again. This judgment, which he fully intended to defy, irritated him. The roars of approval of the crowd as he flourished the cane in the air did mollify him just a little.
Later that day he showed up at the House of Commons for Question Time. “I apologize to the House if I have arrived just a little late,” he said. “But it seems that I have not just grown old in the service of King and Country, but lame.” The House erupted deliriously and the words served as the basis of hundreds of headlines the next day.
A few weeks later, there was one other, more pleasing duty to perform. There was a castle in the remote highlands of Scotland that rose stark and gray like something out of Tolkien. A convoy bearing the formally most feared man in Iraq, Al-Zarqawi, pulled up to the front gate and entered the courtyard. Al-Zarqawi, who was in chains, was frog marched into the castle and down to a little room illuminated by just one light hanging from the ceiling. There was a heavy, wooden door in the floor, now opened. Al Zarqawi was shoved into the room.
“Leave us, please,” a voice said from the shadows. The guards left the room.
Francis Urquhart hobbled out of the shadows into the light. “I warned you, did I not,” he said. Al-Zarqawi said nothing. “I am told that your interrogation has borne great fruit. Al Qaeda in Iraq is broken. What is left of the Insurrection is now on the run, mostly to Iran.”
”You’re a liar.” It was the first time Al-Zarqawi had spoken since leaving his cell in England.
“You might say that. I couldn’t possibly comment,” Urquhart allowed himself a slight smile. “In any case, there is now the question of what to do with you. We could give you a fair trial, of course, followed by a fair hanging. But I somehow have not the stomach for the kind of posturing that would accompany such a spectacle. I see in your eyes that you are concerned that I will serve you as you served me. I must admit that the idea has its temptations.
“But really, you did me a favor. I looked a proper mess when I was brought out of captivity. Now every world leader, every politician on the planet, can now imagine that instead of I, it is they who suffered the beatings, the electric shocks, the other unspeakable things. There are now no objections to whatever must be done to win the war.
“You must be wondering what this place is. It is Urquhart Castle, once the seat of my family before we moved from Scotland down to England. As with most noble families in Scotland during the Middle Ages, ours was a bloody history. The place below the open door is called an Oubliette. In French, it means, “place of forgetting. It is totally dark and totally silent. The Urquharts of the time of Braveheart used to dispose of their enemies here. No torture. Nothing too nasty. Just throw them away and forget about them. The acoustics of this place are as such that no one can hear you, so pray scream all you want.
“I am told that, as with a lot of places like this, Urquhart Castle has its ghosts. The ghost of this place, though, is like none other in the British Isles. It is the spirit of everyone who ever suffered and died down there. It is a nameless horror of pure rage and pure hate—or so I am told. Perhaps you will meet it while you are down there. Guard!” The guard reappeared. “Go ahead.”
The guard unceremoniously grabbed Al-Zarqawi pushed him, struggling, to the open door, and pushed him in.” Then he closed the door and slid the bolt, locking it.
“I trust that the metal spike was removed?” Urquhart asked. “I do not want his stay here to be too short.”
“It was done yesterday, Prime Minister.”
“Good. Now let’s go up to dinner. I am positively famished.”
Well, I've got to say that your method of handling Zarqawi was the best way to go about it in the story. You can't really do any kind of torture with Urquhart, since torture, to me, is a way of indulging one's appetite for sadism, and F. U. is a man who isn't as coarse as to sink to that. Just locking Zarqawi up to die is much more intellectually satisfying form of vengance than draining his blood or power-sanding his eyes out.
BTW, does anyone else read thing and, every once in a while, in the darkest pit of your soul, wish Urquhart was actually running Britain? While I'm horrified by what he does, there's also a sort of strange attraction to his take-no-prisoners, under-the-table method. Anyone else getting this, or am I just crazy?
BTW, does anyone else read thing and, every once in a while, in the darkest pit of your soul, wish Urquhart was actually running Britain? While I'm horrified by what he does, there's also a sort of strange attraction to his take-no-prisoners, under-the-table method. Anyone else getting this, or am I just crazy?
You mean with full suspension of civil liberties, massive versions of Gitmo and Mazanar spouting up every which way, and notable figures dying in "terrorist attacks" everytime the POTUS doesn't get what he wants initiality? Bringing back an updated version of the Alien and Suspension Acts won't help crush Jihadist terror.
At least Urquart as an American would still be bound by something resembling checks and balances....provided, of course, that his underlings make the same mistakes that lost Nixon all of his power when he abused it.
Keep up the story, Mark! I'm guessing that the Coalition will either move against Iran or Sudan next (for the oil, of course).
The absurd man was clearly enraptured by himself, Francis Urquhart noted. The British Prime Minister was in his office being briefed by his chief political advisor through the aid of a TV monitor.
“…we're going to South Carolina and Oklahoma and Arizona and North Dakota and New Mexico, and we're going to California and Texas and New York … And we're going to South Dakota and Oregon and Washington and Michigan, and then we're going to Washington, D.C., to take back the White House! Byaaah!!!"
“Are you quite certain no one put something in his food or drink?” Urquhart asked.
“We’re very certain, Prime Minister, that he did this stone cold sober,” the advisor said.
“Let’s move on to the actual Democratic nominee, shall we?”
A still image of a tall, dark haired man appeared. “John Kerry, Senator from the American state of Massachusetts. He seems to have won the nomination almost entirely by default. That and his status as a veteran of the Vietnam War, the service in which won him a number of medals. He seems to be basing his entire campaign on that basis, because his political record and philosophy seems to be somewhat to the left of Tony Benn.”
“Anything we have to worry about?”
“Not really.” The advisor hit his remote. A younger version of the Senator was seated at a table and was speaking.
“They told the stories at times they had personally raped, cut off ears, cut off heads, taped wires from portable telephones to human genitals and turned up the power, cut off limbs, blown up bodies, randomly shot at civilians, razed villages in fashion reminiscent of Genghis Khan, shot cattle and dogs for fun, poisoned food stocks, and generally ravaged the countryside of South Vietnam in addition to the normal ravage of war, and the normal and very particular ravaging which is done by the applied bombing power of this country.”
“My, my,” Urquhart said.
“Naturally this characterization has caused quite a bit of resentment in the American veteran community. There is also some question as to the circumstances of how Kerry got his medals.”
“Do we need to do any intervention?”
“Likely not. A group of Senator Kerry’s brother officers, styling themselves ‘Swift Boat Veterans for Truth’, have banded together to sink the Senator’s effort to become the American President. It seems to be having an effect. Likely Bush will be reelected comfortably.”
“Good, good. Keep an eye on it, though.”
“We’re also looking at some members of the American Congress. Nothing on our radar screen at this time. But we are looking ahead at 2008.”
Kerry’s image was replaced by that of a woman. Urquhart had an expression of distaste.
“Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton is being talked about as the odds on favorite to win the Democratic nomination four years from now.”
“She’s an appalling woman,” Urquhart said. “I met her on a number of occasions when I visited over there or her husband visited here, as well as at conferences. She once had the temerity to lecture me about our health care privatization. She was certainly not in any position, I dare say, not that it stopped her.”
“We are gathering a file, just in case.”
“Good, good. We certainly do not want to have to deal with her. Eight years of her ridiculous husband was quite enough.” He was silent for a moment, remembering the MI6 tapes of the phone sex the previous American President used to engage in. Then something else occurred to him. “I’m now the longest serving Prime Minister of modern times, you know. And I am just turned seventy. It has occurred to me that Churchill was past eighty when he finished his second term in this office. There should be no reason I can’t beat that, don’t you think?”
“Certainly not, Prime Minister.”
“…we're going to South Carolina and Oklahoma and Arizona and North Dakota and New Mexico, and we're going to California and Texas and New York … And we're going to South Dakota and Oregon and Washington and Michigan, and then we're going to Washington, D.C., to take back the White House! Byaaah!!!"
“Are you quite certain no one put something in his food or drink?” Urquhart asked.
“We’re very certain, Prime Minister, that he did this stone cold sober,” the advisor said.
“Let’s move on to the actual Democratic nominee, shall we?”
A still image of a tall, dark haired man appeared. “John Kerry, Senator from the American state of Massachusetts. He seems to have won the nomination almost entirely by default. That and his status as a veteran of the Vietnam War, the service in which won him a number of medals. He seems to be basing his entire campaign on that basis, because his political record and philosophy seems to be somewhat to the left of Tony Benn.”
“Anything we have to worry about?”
“Not really.” The advisor hit his remote. A younger version of the Senator was seated at a table and was speaking.
“They told the stories at times they had personally raped, cut off ears, cut off heads, taped wires from portable telephones to human genitals and turned up the power, cut off limbs, blown up bodies, randomly shot at civilians, razed villages in fashion reminiscent of Genghis Khan, shot cattle and dogs for fun, poisoned food stocks, and generally ravaged the countryside of South Vietnam in addition to the normal ravage of war, and the normal and very particular ravaging which is done by the applied bombing power of this country.”
“My, my,” Urquhart said.
“Naturally this characterization has caused quite a bit of resentment in the American veteran community. There is also some question as to the circumstances of how Kerry got his medals.”
“Do we need to do any intervention?”
“Likely not. A group of Senator Kerry’s brother officers, styling themselves ‘Swift Boat Veterans for Truth’, have banded together to sink the Senator’s effort to become the American President. It seems to be having an effect. Likely Bush will be reelected comfortably.”
“Good, good. Keep an eye on it, though.”
“We’re also looking at some members of the American Congress. Nothing on our radar screen at this time. But we are looking ahead at 2008.”
Kerry’s image was replaced by that of a woman. Urquhart had an expression of distaste.
“Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton is being talked about as the odds on favorite to win the Democratic nomination four years from now.”
“She’s an appalling woman,” Urquhart said. “I met her on a number of occasions when I visited over there or her husband visited here, as well as at conferences. She once had the temerity to lecture me about our health care privatization. She was certainly not in any position, I dare say, not that it stopped her.”
“We are gathering a file, just in case.”
“Good, good. We certainly do not want to have to deal with her. Eight years of her ridiculous husband was quite enough.” He was silent for a moment, remembering the MI6 tapes of the phone sex the previous American President used to engage in. Then something else occurred to him. “I’m now the longest serving Prime Minister of modern times, you know. And I am just turned seventy. It has occurred to me that Churchill was past eighty when he finished his second term in this office. There should be no reason I can’t beat that, don’t you think?”
“Certainly not, Prime Minister.”
If the situation in Iraq, Syria, ect. is indeed quieting down, then Bush will likely win an easier victory...unless an even worse version of Abu Ghraib comes to light in the US press (F.U. seems to have the British press thoroughly muzzled).
Interesting....keep up the great work.
Interesting....keep up the great work.
If this Urquart fellow interferes in US elections, he might be overreaching and could get into trouble.
On the other hand, with all the interference by multinational corporations, industry lobbyists, cabals of the military-industrial complex, terrorists, and the Illuminati, it'll be a real breath of fresh air to have just a foreign government meddle in an American election. At least it'll give the party hacks someone new to whine about.
“It is considered the height of virtue in all of the three great religions of the world, Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, to be considered a peace maker,” the American President said to the assembled dignitaries and media in the White House Rose Garden.
Which is why, Prime Minister Urquhart mused from where he was sitting, we have so many religious wars.
“The road to this peace treaty was long and arduous and indeed bloody, for it took the carnage of the last Middle East War to finally make the peoples of Israel and Syria aware fully of the cost of continued conflict. The fall of the old Assad government and the instillation of a new, freely elected government in Syria was just the next step. Months and months of negotiations were necessary to reach this point.”
That, thought Urquhart, and certain private threats made by a certain British Prime Minister to the same freely elected government in Syria.
“Thanks to the tireless diplomacy of my good friend, Sir Francis Urquhart, a breakthrough occurred not more than three weeks ago.”
Sir Francis. I do like the sound of that. Makes the torture at the hands of that man almost worth it. And it’s good to get credit where credit is due. I wonder if there’s a Nobel in it, in the fullness of time?
“The provisions of the treaty are well known. The State of Israel has agreed to cede the Golan Heights back to the Republic of Syria. The Golan Heights, which shall be patrolled by an international force, shall be demilitarized. Road and rail links shall be built between Haifa and Damascus to facilitate the free movement of trade and peoples. And the State of Israel and the Republic of Syria agree to recognize one another. There are also provisions for trade and military cooperation.
“I now invite the two parties, followed by the witnessing parties, to sign the treaty of peace and recognition. I invite the representative of the State of Israel to now sign.”
Ariel Sharon heaved his massive bulk up to the table and affixed pen to paper.
“I invite the representative of the Republic of Syria to now sign.”
The new President of Syria, who five years before had been in exile in Paris, signed the document.
“The representative of the United States will now sign.”
The American President left the podium and signed. He returned.
“The representative of the United Kingdom will now sign.”
Urquhart, feeling very pleased with himself, complied.
There followed the Arab witnessing countries—Egypt, Lebanon, Jordan, and the provisional government of Iraq.
There would be a state dinner that night, but before a private meeting with the American President in the Oval Office.
“Francis,” he said, using the familiar style they both affected for such meetings, “we’ve got some trouble in Iraq.”
“Indeed, George. And the source of it is Iran.”
“You think so?”
“MI6 concurs. The weapons and bombing material are coming from Iran.” But, since the gloves off strategy, attacks had mainly comprised car bombings and sniping. Nobody was willing to die as a suicide bomber or die in battle against the Infidel. The terrorists tended to run when confronted by Coalition Troops, which made for a shortage of examples for dead insurgents to bury in a culturally inappropriate manner.
“In any case it is now March, 2005. Five hundred dead in Iraq since the invasion and people are starting to ask questions.”
“Indeed. And we need to provide answers and fast. And that means—“
“Another country to deal with.”
“One down, two to go.”
“Which reminds me, what do your people have to say about North Korea? Where are they hiding their nukes?”
Sir Francis Urquhart smiled. North Korea. Yes, that was more like it. Time to deal with that pot bellied, dog eating tyrant.
Which is why, Prime Minister Urquhart mused from where he was sitting, we have so many religious wars.
“The road to this peace treaty was long and arduous and indeed bloody, for it took the carnage of the last Middle East War to finally make the peoples of Israel and Syria aware fully of the cost of continued conflict. The fall of the old Assad government and the instillation of a new, freely elected government in Syria was just the next step. Months and months of negotiations were necessary to reach this point.”
That, thought Urquhart, and certain private threats made by a certain British Prime Minister to the same freely elected government in Syria.
“Thanks to the tireless diplomacy of my good friend, Sir Francis Urquhart, a breakthrough occurred not more than three weeks ago.”
Sir Francis. I do like the sound of that. Makes the torture at the hands of that man almost worth it. And it’s good to get credit where credit is due. I wonder if there’s a Nobel in it, in the fullness of time?
“The provisions of the treaty are well known. The State of Israel has agreed to cede the Golan Heights back to the Republic of Syria. The Golan Heights, which shall be patrolled by an international force, shall be demilitarized. Road and rail links shall be built between Haifa and Damascus to facilitate the free movement of trade and peoples. And the State of Israel and the Republic of Syria agree to recognize one another. There are also provisions for trade and military cooperation.
“I now invite the two parties, followed by the witnessing parties, to sign the treaty of peace and recognition. I invite the representative of the State of Israel to now sign.”
Ariel Sharon heaved his massive bulk up to the table and affixed pen to paper.
“I invite the representative of the Republic of Syria to now sign.”
The new President of Syria, who five years before had been in exile in Paris, signed the document.
“The representative of the United States will now sign.”
The American President left the podium and signed. He returned.
“The representative of the United Kingdom will now sign.”
Urquhart, feeling very pleased with himself, complied.
There followed the Arab witnessing countries—Egypt, Lebanon, Jordan, and the provisional government of Iraq.
There would be a state dinner that night, but before a private meeting with the American President in the Oval Office.
“Francis,” he said, using the familiar style they both affected for such meetings, “we’ve got some trouble in Iraq.”
“Indeed, George. And the source of it is Iran.”
“You think so?”
“MI6 concurs. The weapons and bombing material are coming from Iran.” But, since the gloves off strategy, attacks had mainly comprised car bombings and sniping. Nobody was willing to die as a suicide bomber or die in battle against the Infidel. The terrorists tended to run when confronted by Coalition Troops, which made for a shortage of examples for dead insurgents to bury in a culturally inappropriate manner.
“In any case it is now March, 2005. Five hundred dead in Iraq since the invasion and people are starting to ask questions.”
“Indeed. And we need to provide answers and fast. And that means—“
“Another country to deal with.”
“One down, two to go.”
“Which reminds me, what do your people have to say about North Korea? Where are they hiding their nukes?”
Sir Francis Urquhart smiled. North Korea. Yes, that was more like it. Time to deal with that pot bellied, dog eating tyrant.
Hmm.....peace in (some) parts of the Middle East. What's up between the Israelis and the Palestinians?
Can't wait for more!
Can't wait for more!