The Time I Convened a Cabinet Meeting in South America
The next morning. After spending the night in the duty room at the Ministry of National Defense, I opened my eyes to Isabella's greeting.
"Senhor Presidente, gostaria de um café?" — "Mr. President, would you like some coffee?"
"...I'm not the president, though?"
"I was simply trying it out."
She held out a cup of light brown coffee.
"I'll enjoy it."
One sip, and a fragrant aroma swirled up through my nose.
"This smells wonderful."
Coffee was one of the few things I'd come to like since arriving in San Marcos. The quality is genuinely excellent.
The problem was that the coffee industry had driven the country's food self-sufficiency straight into the ground. The landowners who owned the bean plantations made a fortune, but for everyone else, the share of income spent on food had punched through the ceiling. It felt like a country where everyone was poor — and the gap between rich and poor just kept widening anyway.
I have to do something about this somehow.
I clicked my tongue inwardly and set the cup down. Isabella brought over a chair and sat across from me.
"I have a brief report for you."
Facing a face that called to mind Jessica Alba in her prime, first thing in the morning, made my heart hammer in my chest. She's beautiful today, too... And her figure was even better. Those curves were no joke.
"...Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I, I was just looking. Am I not allowed to?"
"Well... I suppose you are."
She handed me a file folder with a cool, composed expression.
"This is a summary of last night's unrest."
"Unrest?"
"The incidents that occurred in the interval between the declaration of martial law and the deployment of the military."
"Ah..."
Right. I did declare martial law.
I opened the file. Last night's operations by the martial law forces were laid out with perfect, clinical clarity.
"It's all gang-related. And the contents are... mostly murders."
"Yes. They appear to have moved aggressively, exploiting the gap in public security."
"How was it handled?"
"Commander Pedro urgently deployed the martial law forces and apprehended nearly all of them."
"......"
As in any Central or South American nation, gangs were a national problem in San Marcos. But I had never expected them to move this boldly.
"Do you intend to leave them as they are?"
Isabella asked the question with complete, unblinking firmness.
"Well, what else would I do?"
"I don't believe it would be unwise to wipe them all out while we have the opportunity. Shall I simply issue the order to Martial Law Commander Pedro at this time?"
"When you say 'wipe them out,' what exactly do you mean..."
"We send in armored vehicles and tanks and turn their territory into a wasteland. They will only cause harm if they live, so we may as well cut them off at the root."
"No."
What on earth was she thinking?
"On the first day of martial law — and without even attempting to identify the perpetrators — you want to kill them all? Absolutely not."
I laid down a clear guideline.
"And the criminals arrested yesterday are to receive a proper trial as well. No matter what they've done, they're entitled to a trial, aren't they?"
"Hmm. It is such a good opportunity to deal with the gangs... Very well. I will pass that along."
Isabella nodded with a look of genuine disappointment, then moved on to the next item on the agenda.
"It appears you will need to convene a cabinet meeting today."
"...We don't have any cabinet ministers."
"That does not mean we can allow the government to grind to a halt. If anything, this is precisely when you must seize the reins of state even more firmly. There is the matter of the funerals for President Juan and the cabinet ministers, for one — we have a great deal of work to do."
"Hmm... Then let's call in the first vice ministers from each ministry. Ah — no need to summon anyone from the Ministry of Resources and Tourism. Their vice ministers haven't even gotten a handle on their own work. Come to think of it, I'm not sure the other ministries' vice ministers are any better."
"An excellent point. We should take this opportunity to weed out the incompetents who do nothing but collect a paycheck."
"......"
I was too terrified to say another word.
That day at noon. People began arriving one after another at the underground strategic situation room of the Ministry of National Defense, which had been converted into a cabinet chamber.
Those assembled were the first vice ministers of each ministry. With every minister-level official dead from the terrorist attack, they were, in effect, the ones running their respective departments.
They were the sort of men who had every right to put on airs — the kind who, anywhere else, would have held their heads high and their necks stiff. Today was different.
Because rumors of Eugene, the psychopathic killer who had snapped Major General Tiago's neck less than six hours after the bombing, had already spread far and wide.
Of course, the official statement was that Tiago had broken his neck in an accident. Not a single bureaucrat in that room believed a word of it.
A coup-plotting Major General Tiago just happened to trip and break his own neck in a meeting with Eugene, who then conveniently appointed Pedro as martial law commander and seized control of the military? Coincidence? Not a chance.
"......"
Tension settled over the underground situation room. Then the heavy door opened, and Eugene appeared.
To his right, Isabella, her expression a sheet of ice. To his left, Martial Law Commander Pedro — now the undisputed power in the military — followed like a shadow.
Eugene took the seat of honor. Rather than joining the table, Pedro planted himself behind Eugene's chair. Isabella sat immediately at Eugene's side, drawing out a thin file and a fountain pen.
A formation that flaunted complete control of the government. The vice ministers swallowed hard at the sight.
A dictator even worse than President Juan has arrived...!I haven't done anything to get on his bad side, have I?Will I walk out of this room alive today?
Eugene found the suffocating silence awkward, but decided to get down to business first.
"Thank you all for coming, despite how busy you must be."
His calm voice carried low through the speakers, but not a soul dared meet his eyes.
"We're short on time, so let's get straight to the point. Vice Minister of the Interior."
The named vice minister shot to his feet as if launched from his chair, his face bone-white.
"Yes, sir!"
"Has the party behind the terrorist attack been identified?"
The question was aimed at the San Marcos Intelligence Agency — the SIA — which fell under the Interior Ministry. The vice minister answered, sweating profusely.
"W-we're doing our utmost, but we don't have results yet... Th-the agents are looking into it, so if you could just wait a little longer..."
We're doing our best. The people underneath are looking into it. In other words: they hadn't done a thing.
Salary thieves, the lot of them...
Eugene clicked his tongue as he looked at the Vice Minister of the Interior.
"Tsk... Fine. Please expedite the funeral arrangements. It will be a state funeral, and I'd like it held at the ruined Presidential Palace."
"Yes, sir! I'll do my utmost to see it through."
The moment the vice minister finished answering, Isabella picked up her pen and wrote something down.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Eugene paid it no particular mind and moved on to the next item.
"We'll proceed with that, then... Vice Minister of Finance?"
"Y-yes, sir!"
"Yes!"
This time the Vice Minister of Finance shot to his feet.
"What's our current fiscal reserve?"
"Th-that's..."
"In a situation like this, that's the most important matter of all... and you don't know."
"I have no excuse."
"Can't be helped. Please get a handle on it as soon as you're back and report to me. This is urgent, so as quickly as possible."
"Y-yes, sir. Understood."
The Vice Minister of Finance sat down. Isabella picked up her pen once more.
Scratch. Scratch.
The questions that followed were no different. He asked the Vice Minister of Agriculture about the food situation and received a promise to look into solutions. He asked the Vice Minister of Commerce whether there were any disruptions in energy imports, and was told they would look into it.
Does anyone here actually know anything?
Scratch, scratch — scratch, scratch —
Watching Isabella jot something down after every exchange, the vice ministers arrived at a single, terrible realization.
Wait. Is that...?
The fountain pen sounds were far too brief to be notes on the questions and answers. Nine times out of ten, she was writing down names.
Which meant...
A... a kill list?
It was unmistakably the new king of San Marcos sorting the men who would live from the men who would die.
Writing a kill list on his first day in office...!The rumors that he's worse than President Juan weren't wrong!Am I going to get executed by firing squad just trying to keep my job?
The vice ministers' faces went white in real time. A few trembled so hard they looked ready to wet themselves.
And yet not a single one of them made a sound.
Because Eugene sat there with a murderous gaze that looked ready, at any moment, to demand, "Who was that? Who just coughed?"
"......"
In the suffocating silence, Eugene looked over the vice ministers and spoke slowly.
"I'm sure you've all heard the sad news about Major General Tiago. A regrettable affair."
His offhand condolences nearly sent the vice ministers into convulsions.
He was bringing up the name of a man he had personally killed — in this atmosphere?
But Eugene, San Marcos's new dictator and psychopathic killer, paid their reactions no mind whatsoever and continued.
"I'm not a political person the way Major General Tiago was. If I had to put a label on it, I'd say I'm someone who values practical results."
The vice ministers heard something entirely different.
"I've heard your answers to today's questions. What I find a little disappointing is that most of them were either 'I'll look into it' or 'I'll do my best.' Frankly, I'm a bit disappointed."
"What San Marcos needs right now isn't effort. It's results."
"By nine o'clock tomorrow morning, I would like reports — with precise figures — on every status and every measure I asked about today. If... that isn't possible, there's no need for you to attend the next meeting."
The vice ministers didn't dare meet Eugene's eyes. They just nodded their heads like madmen.
Because the moment anyone so much as complained, they were certain soldiers would drag them off to a firing squad.
"Well then, that's all for today. I'm sure you're busy, so please get back to work. Thank you all for your efforts."
And with that, Eugene declared the cabinet meeting adjourned.
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They began to applaud with extreme, almost frantic enthusiasm.