Once, in the seventies, during the training one of the officers of the tactical squadron accidentally flew to the territory. He was immediately ordered to return to the airfield, he was taken to a stone bunker and has been providing violent interrogation for several days. He stayed alive only because he didn’t see anything serious.

The patrol went about by white jeeps with the government numbers trying not to speak with civilians. Excessive curiosity on the secret territory could lead to a fine of six hundred dollars.

It was very difficult to get into the Zone-51 passing the patrol and sensors. In sand there were hiding hundreds of small cameras and detectors for heat radiation, which reported a signal of the approach. At night around that area there flew black helicopters with spotlights without any wing marking. The patrols, barbed wire fences, signs with warnings confirmed that there was something serious in the Area 51.

In this warehouse, covered with the military mystery and inaccessible for any intrusion, the Chief of the Armed Forces of the United States, has been managing the theatre for two days. Since the first day of the television center in Atlanta capture passed the whole week. The president was showed on TV every day. But those speeches were very short.

A rich week exhausted him completely. Constant movements over the sky, on the ground and underground, twenty-four-hour calls, meetings, an endless stream of waiting in the waiting room. Semblance of moderation disappeared. Most of the administration couldn’t even calmly eat eggs and bacon, so there were double hamburgers with tea on every leather armchair.

That night the President wanted only one thing. To sleep, to stretch, to go to a clean fresh bed with two velvet cushions and hide under the blanket for four hours. He remembered reading notes of the Ministry of Justice in the Senate, which stated that "sleep deprivation can not be considered as a torture, because it does not cause severe pain, weakening of bodily functions and death." The president suspected that it wasn’t true and intuitively promoted the prohibition of the torture in the Senate, because insomnia has always been for him the Achilles heel.

*

This morning he has to tell Americans the main words in a calm and confident voice.

"For the first time in the history of the United States there is an incomprehensible cruel inhuman enemy looking like...". The whole week he has been carefully preparing strong and biting phrases. America instinctively expected a great performance of the President, similar to the speech "a divided house " of Abraham Lincoln during the war on the South and the North in 1861 or address of Winston Churchill's “blood, sweat and tears" in England in 1940.

The most offensive for the President was that for the whole awful week special services prohibited to assembly free audiences voters being afraid of that his "Maher’s people " would penetrate into his surroundings. That’s why, in few TV address there were only thoroughly tested family members of the administration, security services and generals.

The spirit of America began to die like a flower in a broken jar from which water began to trickle.

- Just a little, and we begin to turn into a suspicious totalitarian state, having got into the hostel of doubtful pariah - he thought.

The consolation and justification of the ponderous work of the US President were meetings with ordinary people. With them he transformed, begin to glow, his disarming smile, pierced even into the most hard-nosed opponents and enemies. His warm remarkable charisma melt the ice and in large classrooms, small halls and community of bridge amateurs, in local offices "Rotary International" and stately mansions North Shore, and his extraordinary charm suddenly led to his US presidency.

Sometimes he felt like a prophet in the pulpit, a lecturer of the ideal world, the warmth overcoming hostility. For him, talking to an ordinary man has always been like a breath of fresh air after the stale rooms, full of top- intriguer, whether it was the White House, the Senate or the palaces of hundred and ninety-two countries around the world, which many of them had to visit by his profession.

*

President’s tired consciousness was plunging into the bliss of Morpheus sleep. A leaving father, crying of his early childhood, painful identification, first harsh lessons of betrayals and resentment. Crossing the street with a bag of books from a red-haired pert neighbor.

And in a color dream were slowly twisting colorful leaves of trembling sylphs, and a teenage girl who didn’t get his love and indifferently passed to her another America.

The President with all his being did not want to hear a nasty rising vibro sound, similar to invitation to death penalty. The sound of the alarm clock seemed to be like a fire point-blank, and he has been lying for a few minutes under a blanket like a log.

*

There are dreams that are more than a reality.

His friends and he ran with delight through the reeds on the cultivated rice fields and his heart sank from the mystery of his future. And from there, the beautiful world, the President inevitably got into the maze of grey concrete boxed corridors and distorting mirrors reflected his cheers and stone mask of grief. But he escaped from the endless dungeons dull underground to the place where there was a cloud of created pure fresh air, and then in front of him, like an idol, appeared Maher.

They were sitting on a hill that was covered with green soft pleasant grass, at the bottom it was rounded by the river bend. They looked straight into each other's eyes.

*

The President of the leading country of the world and the secret ruler of the earth, the transient guest and usurper of the universe, the temporary mortal citizen and the eternal immortal tyrant.

The president had never earned big money. Maher made his billionaire business alone. Life of the president, wearing white collar, had passed in the libraries of prestigious colleges. Maher made the first million when he was fifteen, becoming the leader of the teenager’s gang between the streets 113-130 in Harlem, holding a short Beretta in his pocket. The most time the president spent for election races, intrigues in the Senate and chat with voters in his reception room, getting from it the incipient dispelled sclerosis. Maher has built his own freedom as he wanted. In the morning, he walked in his beautiful garden a couple of hours, implementing his strategic plan. Since 10 o'clock in the morning he held meetings and created new teams. After a snack Maher wore overalls and was in his numerous laboratories. As his final, he geniously, held financial transactions for 120 minutes and in the evenings he was composing his own music, studying humanity, the universe, made sport or changed women, whom he had a lot.

A high boyish President’s figure had a long face with an incredibly bright smile. His dark brown eyes smoothly and calmly passed thousands of scrutiny.

Maher’s head was too big, maybe in one and a half times bigger than the President’s one, with an elongated Skull of the occipital wide bone. His massive hooked fleshy nose was eaten away by smallpox. His height seemed to be twenty centimeters lesser than the President’s one, he had a paunch and his big black eyes were burning in hellfire of the bushy eyebrows.

*

Maher and the President slowly flew above the ground. It was already infected by the new virus in many places. Transcontinental companies of Maher did their job.

- A boy! Do you realize which forces did you contacted with?

These were not the words, but the thought-forms.

- Why are you doing this? - The President asked quietly.

- I'll be the first in history to bring it to its logical conclusion.