The Story of My Summit with Drumpf in South America (2)
It was a brilliantly sunny day.
With a thunderous roar, Air Force One settled onto the runway of San Marcos International Airport. Moments later the stairs locked into place, the door swung open, and a massive figure in a signature red tie stepped into view.
Donald Drumpf, the forty-fifth President of the United States — the most powerful man on the planet — appeared at the top of the stairs, waving.
A twenty-one-gun salute cracked across the tarmac in honor of the visiting head of state as he strode down the steps.
"Oh! Eugene!"
Spotting Eugene waiting at the bottom, Drumpf threw both arms wide and came striding over. He seized Eugene's hand in a bone-crushing grip and pumped it hard, up and down.
It was the infamous handshake the world had seen a thousand times on television — Drumpf's personal method of establishing dominance before a word was even spoken. Eugene didn't flinch. He braced his core and held his ground.
"Huh…?"
For a split second, Drumpf looked faintly thrown.
"A sincere welcome to San Marcos, Mr. President. The greatest of all time. The GOAT."
Eugene delivered the line he had been rehearsing for two days.
"The GOAT…?"
Caught off guard by the preemptive flattery, Drumpf cleared his throat.
"Ahem. Ahem. I wouldn't go that far."
"This way, if you would."
"Beautiful weather. Just like Florida. Reminds me of Mar-a-Lago — that's where I've got my place."
"Even the sky seems to be welcoming your visit to San Marcos, Mr. President."
"Ahem."
Drumpf was rattled. In two terms as president he had met dozens of heads of state, but never once had he been hit with flattery this shameless, this completely unvarnished. Most leaders put dignity first. This young one, apparently, had never even considered the concept.
Maybe I should probe a little.
He was about to lean in the way he always did when someone showed weakness — and then Eugene beat him to it.
"Mr. President, if it isn't too much of an imposition, might I ask you to sign this?"
Eugene produced a book and held it out. Drumpf's eyes went wide the instant he read the title.
"Isn't this The Art of the Deal? I wrote this!"
"Yes. It's been a guiding light in my life. It would be no exaggeration to say I am standing here today entirely because of this book."
The pages were densely underlined from cover to cover — Ana had frantically done it the night before, of course — and Drumpf, confronted with the evidence, could not for the life of him collect himself.
"Is that so? Hahahaha! Glad it helped! You know, this book is really a distillation of everything I've learned in life—"
"I knew it. I mean, I only read the book, and yet…"
And so, in the warmest of atmospheres, the two of them climbed together into The Beast, the White House's armored limousine, which had been flown in ahead of time to San Marcos.
The engine hummed. They left the airport and rolled into the city, where the roadsides were packed with people as far as the eye could see.
A roar went up as the motorcade passed. Drumpf rolled down his window, waved to the crowds, then turned his head.
"Did you bus these people in?"
"Not at all. Every one of them came of their own accord."
"Of their own accord?"
That was when the chant reached them from outside.
"Your people seem to like you."
"A little, yes."
Eugene answered as if it were nothing. Drumpf pressed on.
"Do they? Hmm… what's your approval rating?"
"The most recent poll from the state broadcaster put it at 99.8 percent."
At a number that should not have existed in nature, Drumpf's thick blond eyebrows twitched.
"…99.8 percent?"
An approval rating like that — in this world? He could not bring himself to believe it. Eugene, perfectly unbothered, went on.
"Yes. I take it to mean we're still 0.2 percent short, so we're working hard to hit 100."
"……"
A brief silence. Then Drumpf cleared his throat.
"Ahem. Truth is, I came here to show a little goodwill to the San Marcos-Americans who poured a fortune into the Republican Party."
"Goodwill? Please. Every one of them donated from the heart."
"No, no. I had no idea the San Marcos community was that passionate."
Drumpf's voice climbed.
"They're real patriots. They understand Republican values, and they backed me to the hilt. Thanks to them, we're heading into the midterms with the biggest war chest in history."
"I'll say it again — our countrymen living in America simply recognized Your Excellency's greatness. That's all."
Eugene's modest reply sent Drumpf into a booming laugh. He slapped his knee.
"Hahaha! I like hearing that. I like it a lot. So — I hear San Marcos has been buying U.S. Treasuries?"
"Sharing the profits is what makes a true ally. I didn't think a relationship where only one side makes money could ever be called a friendship."
The United States and San Marcos had not even built embassies in each other's countries, but Eugene invoked the word ally with a perfectly straight face. Drumpf, far from objecting, nodded and clapped.
"Smart. Very smart. Of all the leaders I've met, I think you might be the sharpest. A young guy who actually understands what diplomacy is. I like that. I like that a lot."
The truth was, Drumpf had boarded the plane for San Marcos with no particular expectations. And why would he? To the most powerful nation on Earth, San Marcos was a rounding error.
Oil fields? Tempting, sure — but America was already swimming in oil. The terrorism? The perpetrators had already been handed over, and the compensation had been more than sufficient. He had come for one reason only: to keep the donations and the loyalty of San Marcos-Americans flowing.
That was all he had wanted. And yet—
"I like this! I really like this!"
Drumpf liked Eugene. A great deal.
"When I was a kid living in Korea, my dream was to live in the Drumpf Tower they put up in Yeouido."
"Korea? You're from Korea?"
"…I mean, I look pretty obviously Asian."
"Right, right. It felt so natural I didn't even notice."
A man of utterly unblemished impartiality, this Drumpf. Eugene answered without missing a beat.
"Born in Korea, raised in Korea. One hundred percent pure Korean. Did my military service, too."
"I knew there was something different about you. So you served with an allied military. That explains it."
"Honestly, I got my MBA in the States because I wanted to become a great businessman — like you, Mr. President. I just somehow ended up in politics."
"Is that right? Hahahahaha!"
With a few well-chosen lines, Eugene finished manufacturing goodwill in a matter of minutes. And once they reached the Presidential Palace and the summit proper began, Drumpf found himself even more astonished.
"Unlike Mexico, San Marcos barely produces any illegal immigrants at all. Any particular reason?"
"I'd imagine it's because there's an ocean in the way."
"They could come by boat, couldn't they? Illegal smuggling is usually a gang's main revenue stream."
"There are no gangs in San Marcos."
"No gangs? How is that possible?"
"By special order, we sent them all to collective farms. They're atoning for their sins and healing their hearts out in the great outdoors."
"……"
Drumpf fidgeted with his tie and cleared his throat. He had a reputation as the most hard-line president in American history, and even he had never imagined "collective farms" as a policy solution.
"…I wish the president of Mexico were more like you."
The irritation on Drumpf's face was entirely genuine. Eugene did not let the opening go to waste.
"If illegal immigrants in the United States are a headache, I believe I can be of some assistance."
"Come again?"
"They crossed into America because they needed work, didn't they? San Marcos has too few people and too much land — we're desperate for labor. Send them to us and we'll put them to work on the farms."
Eugene had said it because he actually needed the manpower. Drumpf heard something else entirely.
This guy is the real deal…!
Looking at Eugene, he found himself thinking of Joseph Stalin in the old days of the Cold War.
Drumpf was silent for a moment. Then he shook his head and let out a booming laugh.
"Hahahaha! I like you. I really like you. No nonsense — that's what I like! This is a man who understands business. I can't get anywhere with ordinary politicians, but you and I, we speak the same language."
"You're too kind."
Now for the finishing blow. Eugene smiled the smile of a man who had been waiting for this exact moment.
"In that spirit, I have a request."
"Name it. Anything you want. Weapons? An F-35? Patriot missiles? Whatever you want, just say the word. I'll sell you everything except the nukes."
"Rather than that… I would like to dedicate the newly discovered northern oil field to Your Excellency. In your name."
Drumpf's eyes went round.
"Dedicate it? In my name?"
"Yes. I would like to call it Drumpf Field. I ask for your permission."
"Wh— what?!"
Drumpf's mouth fell open. An oil field with his name on it. That, he had genuinely never imagined.
"The field we've just developed is nothing less than the hope of San Marcos. If the President's name is on it, the people of San Marcos — and San Marcos-Americans — will remember Your Excellency for generations."
Drumpf sat stunned for a beat. Then, overcome, he clapped Eugene on the shoulder.
"I love it! I love it! Drumpf Field! That's a hell of a name! You have my permission!"
And that was not even the end of it.
"Do you see that coastline? World-class scenery, and it's sitting completely empty. If this were Florida or California, it would already be wall-to-wall resorts and hotels."
Lunch was over. In the gardens of the Presidential Palace, Drumpf was gazing out over the Libertad waterfront, unable to stop marveling — and Eugene offered him a staggering concession.
"If the President wishes it, I will provide the finest parcel of land there, rent-free, for a hundred years."
Fully conquered, Drumpf stood before the San Marcos Presidential Palace with a dazed look on his face and delivered a press conference that left the room in shock.
The summit between the United States and San Marcos was over.
In the years that followed, political scientists around the world would render their verdict on what had taken place that day.
It was, they agreed, the cheapest summit ever held to keep Drumpf from throwing a tantrum.
As for the casino, hotel, and resort the Drumpf Group developed on that coastline — ten years later, they were seized by the government of San Marcos on charges of tax evasion.