“I’m telling you, I won’t talk!”
Seamus had to stifle his laughter. Harold Bemis was clenching shut his eyes and mouth and standing rigid as a stick. He looked like nothing so much as a little boy who was determined to hold his breath till he passed out.
Seamus saw security arriving through a back entrance. Better late than never. He pulled out his ID and waited.
Are-are you going to waterboard me? Then take those awful pictures?”
“It might come to that,” Seamus said. “But for the moment, I think I’m content to extract information from your cell phone.”
“What? How?”
Seamus pulled up the last text message Bemis had received and saw that the number was blocked. No surprise there. He checked the recent cell activity on the phone. Bemis had received a lot of blocked-number texts in the past few weeks. But the four that had come today were local, and a few knowledgeable taps into the inner workings of the phone showed Seamus that they had a different point of origination than the others.
Because today, Seamus surmised, Ishmael was at the base firing the missiles according to Colonel Zuko’s orders.
The security officers started barking questions. That lasted about five seconds, until Seamus flashed his badge and demonstrated that they were not the top-ranking officers on the premises. He didn’t like to be rude, but he was working under a deadline and he simply had no time for rent-a-cops, especially not ones who took about twice as long to react to a dangerous scene as they should have done.
“I’ve got to get out of here. Call my office when you’re ready to write your reports.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll secure the crime scene.”
“Right. Oh, except-” Seamus crouched down by the inert body of the man who had tried to kill him-and yanked his car keys out of the back of his neck. “I’ll need these.”
The security cops stared at him, their mouth gaping.
Seamus left the two suspects in their care and started back toward the street, hauling Arlo behind him.
“How do you know where the base is?” Arlo asked, walking fast, trying to keep up.
“I don’t. Yet. But I will.” He punched a few buttons on Bemis’s phone. Someone picked up on the first ring. “Zira?”
“I’m here, Seamus. Have you found the base?”
“Almost. Two things first. Do you have a fix on my location?”
“Of course.” Like everyone else in the Agency, Seamus had a cell phone equipped with a homing device that allowed the central office to track him at all times.
“Good. I just left two suspects about two hundred feet behind me in a Macy’s department store. One is the computer genius who’s been conspiring with the enemy. The other is muscle. Gun muscle, anyway. You might want to send some boys over to interrogate them. Although the muscle may be dead. I’m not really sure.”
“Seamus, what in-”
“And I don’t think the geek knows anything,” he continued, ignoring her. “But it never hurts to try.”
“Seamus, so help me, if you’ve done anything-”
“I haven’t. Honest.” He had to smile. Tweaking Zira was his only pleasure in this otherwise grim day. “But here’s what I need you to do. I’m calling you now on the geek’s phone. Get a lock on the signal and look up his calling records. Someone has texted him four times today. The calling number was blocked. But I know you can get around that.”
“In a New York minute.” She began barking orders to some underling nearby.
“Can they do that?” Arlo asked while they walked.
“Which? Hack into a private citizen’s phone records, or pierce the veil to learn who made a given call? Doesn’t matter. Either way, they can.” And the NSA does it a lot more than we do, he wanted to add. But some family secrets were best kept private.
By the time they reached the car, Zira had an answer for him. “The phone was purchased at a convenience store. We’re triangulating on its signal to find its current location.” She paused. “It’s in northern Maryland.”
“Got it.”
“Call me as soon as you know something?”
“Always.” He snapped the phone shut and slid behind the wheel. Arlo hopped into the passenger side.
“Um, look, kid… I think this is where you get off.”
“What? No way.”
“You’ve been helpful, finding Bemis and all. But this next stop is likely to be dangerous. I can’t bring a civilian into it.”
“I saved your life.”
“And I appreciate what you’ve done-but not enough to let you get killed at the next stop.”
“But what if you need me to identify some computer gizmo or something?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. What kind of stuff do international terrorists usually have?”
Seamus smiled. “Get out, kid. I’ll send you a postcard when it’s all over.”
“I refuse.”
“Don’t make me get rough.”
“What if this isn’t the base? What if you need to track down another computer geek?”
Seamus craned his neck. “Well…”
“It’s possible.”
“It’s… remotely possible.” He frowned, then put the car into drive and pulled out into the light traffic. “All right. You can stay. But you do everything I tell you to do.”
“Got it.”
“Most important, this time, when I tell you to stay in the car, you actually stay in the goddamn car!”
“Got it!” Arlo said, holding up his hands. “I understand. Completely!”
“Good.” Seamus turned down a side street. He knew a shortcut that might get them to their destination ten minutes earlier. Especially since traffic wasn’t bad.
“So,” Arlo asked, “what are you going to do when you get there?”
Seamus shrugged.
“Right. You make it up as you go along. But if these people are launching missiles and hiding from the government, don’t you think the place will be guarded?”
“I can handle guards.”
“What about alarms? Motion detectors? Laser webs?”
“Been there, done that.”
“Ugly men with big guns? More than you can take down at once?”
Seamus gave him a fierce look. “I’m bringing in the people who blew up my man’s memorial. Before they can do something even worse. No matter what it takes.” He paused, then turned his eyes back to the road. “Even if I have to die in the process.”
Admiral Cartwright had granted Ben what was possibly the most generous gift he had ever received in his entire professional career: five minutes. From the fewer than forty they had left.
He joined Kyler in the briefing room. He had never expected to be in a position to woodshed the president of the United States, but that’s what it had come to.
“You need to level with me,” Ben said. “What’s going on?”
President Kyler held up his hands helplessly. “I just don’t know!”
“Do you know what brings these episodes on?”
“If I did, don’t you think I would’ve done something to prevent it?”
“Do you remember what happened when they’re over?”
“Sort of. In a hazy way. Almost as if I were recalling a dream. Something that seems almost real but isn’t.”
“Was Sarie lying?”
“I don’t think so.” He lowered his eyes. “I don’t have any reason to believe so.”
“Her account is pretty much the way it happened?”
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“So you remember sitting on the roof talking about offing yourself on live television, but it never occurred to you that maybe you ought to get some help?”
“The president does not have the option of just getting help!” he exclaimed. “The president can’t do anything without a hundred different people knowing. A thousand! I can’t even get a prescription without it going through a dozen desks, and then they have to buy it under at least three assumed names so no one is sure what exactly, if anything, went to me. And there’s a reason for that. Do you know what would happen to my standing in the world community if these medical issues came to light? Or what would happen to my chances for reelection?”
Ben was frustrated, but he supposed it was true. The president lived on display, and there was nothing he could do without someone somewhere seeing.
“All right, look. We’ll try another approach. This business about you and Zuko-I don’t believe for a minute that you’re motivated by some idiotic executive alpha-male arm-wrestling match.”
“Well, thank you for that, anyway.”
“So what is it? Why are you being so hardheaded about Kuraq?”
Kyler drew in his breath. “The United States cannot give in to terrorists, even if they are the leaders of a powerful nation. If we start that, in no time-”
“Will you stop already?” Ben said. “I’ve already heard the standard line. I’m bored to tears with it. I don’t believe you would put so many lives at risk over a matter of principle. That isn’t the man I voted for, the one who talked about global peace and a new world order. There has to be something more.”
No response.
“Well?”
Kyler’s voice was quiet. “Those people who went down in the helicopter… deserve to be rescued.”
“No one doubts that. But your best chances would be with a small razor-sharp task force. You don’t need to send in every battalion you’ve got stationed out there.”
“There’s more to it than you know.”
“I realize that!” Ben shouted. He took a breath and reined his voice back in. For all he knew, he was audible in the adjoining room. “So tell me already!”
The president looked at him reluctantly.
“I know you don’t want to do this,” Ben said. “Do you want to remain president? Because if you do, you need to tell me everything.”
“You-you don’t know what you’re asking of me, Ben.”
“No,” Ben said, looking directly into his eyes, “I don’t. But I know this: it’s your only chance.”
When Ben opened the door leading to the main room of the bunker, the buzz inside instantly disappeared.
Are we back in grade school? he wondered as he and the president entered. They gossip behind your back, then go all hush-hush when you return. Pretty soon someone’s going to suggest that the president has cooties.
“Right on schedule,” Cartwright said, glancing at the clock. “That’s the way I like it. Are you ready to proceed with your defense, Mr. Kincaid?”
“I am.”
“Please call your first witness.”
Ben nodded. “Let me say in advance that I beg the court’s indulgence-and that of everyone else in the room. We haven’t had a chance to prepare properly, obviously, and the next witness has no idea he’s about to be called.”
Several heads bopped up at attention. Who was he talking about? Could it possibly be me?
Ben let the suspense build for about a nanosecond. That was all the time he had to spare. “For our first witness, the defense calls Secret Service agent Max Zimmer.”
The people sitting at the table were surprised, even astonished-but there was no reaction from Zimmer, who was still sitting at the communications station, tapping on his terminal keyboard.
Ben realized he was still wearing his headphones, sucking in intel from the outside world. He hadn’t heard that he had been chosen.
Ben walked over to him and pulled off the headset. Zimmer instantly whirled around, an angry expression on his face, his hand on the barrel of his weapon.
“Keep it in the holster, Shane.” Ben smiled sheepishly. “You’ve been called to the witness stand.”
Zimmer looked at him as if he were some strange species of bug. “Me?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Then it shouldn’t take long.”
Zimmer shook his head emphatically. “I’m sorry, Ben, but I have to monitor the situation outside. We’ve got a crisis situation here.”
“Can’t one of the other agents handle it? At least for ten minutes or so?”
Zimmer clearly was not happy about this.
“We know this is an inconvenience,” Cartwright said, “but this proceeding is of the utmost importance, so I would appreciate it if you would cooperate-immediately.”
Zimmer frowned, then snapped his fingers. “Gioia?”
Another agent snapped to attention.
“Take over. You’ve got a direct feed from the CIA, the NSA, Homeland Security, our embassy in Saudi Arabia, the disaster relief team at the Mall, and about a dozen other operatives.”
“Understood,” Gioia replied.
“If anything of interest happens, or any significant intel is uncovered, I want to know about it immediately.”
“You will, sir.”
“Thank you.” Still frowning, Zimmer smoothed out his suit, tucked in his tie, and looked around the small room. “So where do I sit?”
Ben directed him to the makeshift witness stand. After he was sworn in, Ben got his personal details out as well as the essential points of his résumé. After spending some time overseas, including in Kuraq, hopping from one job to the next, he’d finally returned to the United States. He had been with the Secret Service, now a division of Homeland Security, for thirteen years.
“How long have you worked at the White House?”
“A little over four years. I was first brought in during the Blake administration to guard the First Lady. At her request. She and I had, um, known each other many years before. After her untimely assassination, I was assigned to the president.”
Ben could see from the tiniest cloud in his eyes that the memory of the First Lady’s murder-when he was on duty and guarding her-still stung. “And do you still hold that post today?”
“I do. The incoming president, Roland Kyler, was kind enough to retain me on his personal detail.”
“Before we go any further, Agent Zimmer, let me ask you about politics. Do you approve of the president’s political positions?”
“To be truthful, I don’t know that much about them.”
“You must absorb something from being around him so much.”
“Not really. I try to stay out of the political fray altogether. My job is to protect the president, and I think I can do that most effectively if I remain uninvolved with political issues. My dedication can’t waver depending upon what position he’s taken on the latest hot spot or political issue. So I might as well not know.”
“Surely you have some thoughts about his position on Kuraq. Do you approve of U.S. troops being deployed there?”
“Haven’t really thought that much about it.”
“Come on.”
“I assume the commander in chief knows far more about it than I do and is in a better position to make a decision about such matters.”
“But you lived in Kuraq for a time, did you not?”
“Yes.”
“So you must have a good deal of insight about the country.”
“That was a long time ago. Before Colonel Zuko came to power. It was a different country. A different Middle East. A different world.”
“And I believe you indicated that while you were there, you lived with someone with whom you became… close.”
Zimmer’s eyes seemed to burn air in a direct line toward Ben’s. “Yes.”
“Have you remained in contact?”
“No.”
“And that experience didn’t leave you with any personal feelings regarding this nation?”
“No. Especially not when I’m on duty. I protect the president, period. Doesn’t matter who or what he says or does. If the people elected a baboon, I’d protect him, too. That’s my job.”
Ben took a deep breath. He could see he wasn’t going to get anything more just by pounding at the man. It was time to move in a different direction.
“How do you like working for President Kyler?”
“We haven’t had any serious problems.”
“Any minor ones?”
“Well, as I gather Sarie mentioned, he does have a bad habit of wandering off. That’s never going to go down well with your Secret Service detail.”
“I would imagine not.”
“As far as we’re concerned, any moment he’s not in our sight is a moment he could be in a sniper’s sights.”
Yes, Ben thought, especially if he’s sitting on the White House roof. “What have you done about this problem?”
“I sat him down-” He looked up at the president abruptly. “I mean, with his permission. When time permitted. Because, of course, he’s the boss. But we had a talk.”
“What was said?”
“I told him why it was unsafe and unacceptable for him to continue using various and devious means to ditch his security detail. I told him that if he needed some privacy, that could be arranged in a secure fashion. But a rogue president running amok just wasn’t going to work.”
Ben would’ve loved to have been present for that conversation. “Was the meeting productive?”
“Very. He finally told me why he had been disappearing.”
“Why?”
Zimmer squirmed slightly. “I don’t think we need to go into that. It’s not relevant. The point is, once I knew what it was about, it was easy to arrange some privacy for him in a safe manner.”
Swinburne jumped up. “I object, judge. That question was posed by the defense lawyer to a friendly witness. It needs to be answered.”
Cartwright harrumphed. “The witness will answer the question.”
“No,” Zimmer said. “Actually, I won’t.”
“Agent Zimmer, you swore an oath to this court.”
“I realize that. But I also swore an oath when I joined the service. I won’t reveal the confidences of those I’m protecting. Goes against the very nature of the job.”
Ben knew Swinburne wouldn’t be satisfied with that. “Can you at least give us a hint what this was about?”
Zimmer appeared supremely uncomfortable, but he eventually answered the question. “Suffice to say that there were times when the president wanted to… do things… without his wife knowing about it.”
Ben’s lips parted. Damn. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. The president was sneaking around on his wife? It sounded as if the president was doing something unlikely to endear him to anyone.
Ben decided the best thing he could do was to ignore it and move on.
“Agent Zimmer, I know the vice president is keenly interested in whether the president has engaged in any unusual behavior, so I’ll just save him the trouble by asking you myself.” Meaning that if this incriminating testimony had to come out-and it did-Ben would rather it happened while he was in control of the examination. If Swinburne tried to delve back into it later, he could object on the grounds that the question had been asked and answered. “Have you observed any unusual behavior by the president?”
“On occasion, though nothing like what we saw earlier today in the bunker. Very mild by comparison.”
“Such as what?”
Zimmer reflected for a moment. “I recall one evening he got a call on his private cell. He didn’t say but I assume the call was from his daughter, Jenny. He didn’t give the details, but it sounded as if she were in some kind of trouble. After the call ended, he began talking about how he had failed as a father. He was very emotional about it.”
It was a strange business, almost comic, Ben thought, listening to a man testify virtually without emotion about someone else being emotional. “Did he seem despondent?”
“I suppose. He thought he had failed in the parenting arena. I didn’t know what to tell him. I’ve never had children. Don’t know anything about it.”
“Did he talk about killing himself?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.”
Thank God. “Any talk about flying? I mean, without an airplane.”
“No. Never. He talked about losing his freedom-but who wouldn’t? The president lives on public display, with vultures circling around waiting for him to make the smallest slip. It’s no life for anyone. I wouldn’t want it.”
Yes, but the vice president does. Which was why we’re here. “Any other instances of unusual behavior?”
“Not really. Well, unusual is a matter of opinion, I suppose. There was that one conversation about streaking.”
Ben blinked. “Streaking?”
“Yes. I was the only agent in earshot. We were making our way across the south lawn. And he mentioned that he would like to rip off his clothes, unchain himself from the suit and tie, and race stark naked across the lawn.”
“I see. Did you think he was serious?”
“Not at first. But he wouldn’t let it go. He continued talking about how freeing it would be, how he’d like to just take off and feel nature embracing him. He started rubbing his hands all over himself, getting this euphoric expression on his face. Tugging at his necktie.”
“Did you find this disturbing?”
Zimmer shrugged. “All in a day’s work.”
“And did he in fact remove his clothing?”
“Nah. I talked him out of it. I reminded him that out on the lawn, it was impossible to know who might have a cell phone camera at the ready. The last thing any president needed was to be up on YouTube stark naked, showing the whole world his shortcomings.”
Ben bit down on his lower lip. So the stoic Secret Service man did have a sense of humor after all. That was good to know.
“Any other remarkable incidents?”
“No. And honestly, I don’t know how remarkable those are. I’ve seen some seriously weird stuff go on at the White House in my time. I think it’s inevitable when you live in a goldfish bowl like the president does. And the First Lady. And really, the entire White House staff.”
“So there was never a time when you thought the president might be insane?”
“Absolutely not. Though I’m not sure I would find that particularly remarkable. I think it’s a miracle anyone can put in four years at this job without going insane.”
“And you’ve never observed any behavior that made you think the president might be incapable of performing his duties?”
“No. To the contrary, even on the days when I observed the incidents I just recalled, I saw him functioning very well.”
“Have you observed any pattern or frequency to these odd incidents?”
“Not really.” He pondered a moment. “I guess, now that you mention it, both of the main incidents I described occurred just after he returned.”
“Returned? From what?”
“From one of those… privacy moments I mentioned.”
Ben was perplexed. Was the man meeting an intern in a private room while his wife wasn’t looking? Ben could see where that might stress him out. In which case, why didn’t he stop?
“Your honor,” Ben said, “could I have a moment to confer with my client?”
“Didn’t you just do that? I gave you five full precious minutes.”
“I need more. Just one minute will do.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kincaid. In another world I’d probably say yes. But we just can’t afford all these time-outs. Please proceed.”
Ben looked at the president and hoped he could read minds. The message he was sending was: Write me a note. Explain. Unfortunately, his telepathy must be waning, because the president did not begin writing.
He would have to proceed in the dark.
“Agent Zimmer, have there been any other occasions when the president took you into his confidence?”
Unlike the other witnesses, Zimmer was not bashful about looking where he wanted to look. On this occasion, he was looking at the president.
He was seeking permission.
This message the president seemed to understand. He gave a firm nod. Zimmer returned it, though the expression on his face was grim.
“And,” Zimmer said, “you understand the consequences?”
It took Ben a moment to realize Zimmer was talking to the president, not him. Swinburne was slow on the uptake, too. He was just getting ready to object when the president answered.
“Do it.”
Zimmer directed his next comments to Ben. “Yes, there was one such occasion.”
“Can you tell us what happened, please?”
“The president contacted me because he wanted to arrange a visit with an individual living in Pennsylvania. A man named Abe Malik. It was a weekend trip, sandwiched between two speaking engagements.”
Sarie sat up straight. It was obvious she hadn’t known anything about this.
“Was there a reason he couldn’t just arrange it in the normal fashion through his chief of staff?”
“Yes. He wanted it to be private. In fact, he didn’t want anyone to know about it.”
“Is that so hard?”
“For the president, yes. Remember, Air Force One carries reporters with it. They would notice an unexpected detour to Pittsburgh.”
“So how did you manage it?”
“After his second speaking gig, which was only about a hour away from where he wanted to go, we put an agent who resembled him into Cadillac One-the president’s usual car-and put President Kyler in another car almost equally well protected but not quite so high-profile. The press were told he’d gone out to do some shopping for his wife. When he finished with his meeting, he returned to Air Force One and no one was the wiser.”
“Did you accompany the president on this journey?”
“Of course. Anytime he’s out in public, I’m with him.”
“So did you learn where he was going?”
“I already knew where we were headed. That was a condition of the arrangement. We had to check out the individual in advance. And we had to do a security sweep of his apartment, where the meeting took place.”
“What was the reason for the meeting?”
Zimmer inhaled, then slowly released the air through his teeth. “The president wanted to talk him out of joining the Red Cross.”
“But hasn’t the president been an ardent supporter of the Red Cross?”
“So I gather.”
“Why did he want to talk anyone out of joining?”
“The president felt the assignment was too dangerous. Mr. Malik was planning to travel to one of the world’s most treacherous hot spots. The Middle East.”
“The president wanted to keep him out?”
“Exactly. But his arguments were unavailing. Mr. Malik departed the next day. We tracked his progress as long as possible-till he was beyond our supervisory range.”
“Once he was overseas?”
“Yes. At that point, he was beyond Secret Service supervision. But I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that the CIA was asked to keep an eye out.”
It was time to bring everyone else up to speed. Ben asked the critical question.
“Why was the president so concerned for the safety of this one individual?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You’ve heard what was centermost in his mind. How often he lamented that he had been a poor father.”
“What are you saying?”
Zimmer folded his hands in his lap. “I’m saying that, according to the president himself, Abe Malik is his son.”
Judging from the astonished reactions in the room, Ben surmised that Agent Zimmer had done a very good job of keeping the president’s secrets. “How can the president have a son that no one knows about?”
“A few people know. His wife. His daughter, Jenny. Me. Maybe a handful of others. He’s several years older than Jenny. I gather it was a pregnancy in a prior relationship, before he was married.”
So the president had an illegitimate son. A surprise-but did anyone really care these days? Sarah Palin’s daughter had had a baby out of wedlock, but that didn’t seem to stir up much controversy. Would this? Or would it just be passed off as a youthful indiscretion?
“Did Abe Malik join the Red Cross?”
“He did. He was a pilot, and they always need more experienced pilots. He was posted to the Middle East, as planned, where he ran several emergency supply runs of food and medicine. Most recently, he was piloting runs to the beleaguered people in the Benzai Strip.”
“And where is he now?” Ben asked.
“Haven’t you guessed?” Zimmer spread wide his hands. “He was flying the helicopter. The one that went down in Kuraq. The one the president has sent troops in to rescue.”
At last it all began to make sense. Everyone was talking at once, barely bothering to whisper.
Cartwright pounded on the table. “I will ask again that everyone please remain quiet so that we can proceed. Our time is running out!”
The din slowly subsided.
Surely now, Ben thought, people would understand why the president was determined to send troops into Kuraq-and why he wouldn’t back off and abandon the people who went down in the helicopter. Even when the missiles were pointed at his head, how could anyone expect him to abandon his own son?
Ben glanced down at the president. His head was hung, his eyes were downcast. Ben had brought out the testimony they needed if they were to have any chance of salvaging this presidency. But it had come at an enormous cost. His secret was out. And his powers of judgment were still in dispute.
Ben didn’t know if Kyler was making the correct foreign policy decision or not, but he knew this: it was not insane to want to protect your own son. Zimmer had provided a perfectly sane motive for the president’s decisions. And right or wrong, that was what they needed to keep him in office.
“I have no more questions,” Ben said. “Pass the witness.”
“Very well,” Cartwright said. “Mr. Swinburne, it’s your turn.”
Swinburne skittered back to the table. He seemed eager to proceed. If this new development had caught him by surprise-and Ben was certain it had-he was adjusting admirably.
“Agent Zimmer,” he began, “are you familiar with the Twenty-fifth Amendment?”
“Well, I’ve heard a lot about it since you showed up.”
“Are you familiar with its provisions?”
“Not really.”
“Basically, it provides for the removal of the president when he is rendered incapable. We primarily think about that in terms of situations involving death and disease, but those aren’t the only possible events that could cause a president to be rendered incapable.”
Ben knew where this was heading and he didn’t like it, though to be honest, the same idea had already occurred to him.
“Isn’t it possible,” Swinburne continued, “that the president could be so personally involved in a political scenario that he is unable to be objective?”
“I suppose that’s theoretically possible,” Zimmer said.
“In this instance, we now know that the president’s actions have at least in part been motivated by the fact that his only son is currently behind enemy lines. How is it possible that would not influence his decision making?”
“That’s not for me to say, sir.”
“But you must see how having a child at risk would skewer your thinking process.”
“I’ve never had children, sir. I wouldn’t know.”
“Even if you haven’t had children yourself, you must see my point. Couldn’t his own personal ties to the crisis leave him incapable of dealing with it in a rational manner? Or make him susceptible to improper influence-especially if Zuko captures his son?”
“Objection,” Ben said. “This whole line is inappropriate. Mr. Zimmer is a Secret Service agent, not a constitutional scholar.”
“I think that point is well taken,” Cartwright said. “Sustained.”
“I’m not asking him to render a legal opinion,” Swinburne said. “I want him to tell us, based upon his own personal observations of the president, whether he believes that the man can be objective when his son is in the line of fire.”
“I have never seen anything that suggested to me that the president is incapable of fulfilling his duty, not in this situation or any other.”
“Well, what about that streaking business? Was that just par for the presidential course?”
Zimmer shrugged. “It’s not the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Do you think the country would be well served by a naked president?”
“If I may remind you,” Zimmer said with admirable calm, “he didn’t do it.”
“But he might’ve. You thought he was going to.”
“That was my first impression. That changed later. But what does it matter? He didn’t.”
“Next time he might.”
“Next time you might. Who knows? None of us can predict the future.”
“I can assure you I won’t be streaking. At least not until I lose thirty pounds.” Nice attempt, but things had become too dark for anyone to appreciate humor. “The president has become utterly unpredictable. Talking about streaking and flying and… killing himself in disturbing ways. Sneaking off on secret assignations. And keeping secrets from the American public, secrets about his own family.”
“I suspect President Kyler is not the first president who wanted to keep his family secret.”
“Yes, but the others didn’t. They faced up to the truth and took whatever hits came from honesty. President Kyler chose to hide.”
“I don’t know why he decided to keep his son in the closet. And I don’t think you do, either.”
“I think it’s obvious. He had an illegitimate child whom he abandoned. Why else would he not acknowledge what had happened?”
“As I said, I don’t know.”
“Has he had any other contact with Mr. Malik?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“How did he learn that Malik was planning to join the Red Cross?”
“I don’t know. But I suspect the message was transmitted by his daughter. As I said, she knows about Malik, and I believe they stay in contact.”
“I would think most fathers would be proud to have their sons join the Red Cross.”
“The president said he would support his participation in missions to any other part of the world. Just not the Middle East. President Kyler knew that the region was unstable, and about to get worse. Which proved correct.”
“Wouldn’t that be the time to acknowledge his son to the world? When he’s about to make such a noble gesture?”
“I think it would be more complicated than that.”
“How do you mean?”
“I believe this particular announcement would do critical damage to the president’s support ratings-particularly in the South. And that consequently would erode his ability to lead.”
“The South?” Swinburne took another moment. “Are you saying this son of his is of mixed race?”
“Exactly.”
Swinburne took a step backward. The light was dawning. “So there would be immediate political consequences. Because the man is half African American.”
Zimmer’s head tilted to one side. “Uh… no.”
“He’s not part black?”
“No.”
“But you said-”
“I’m sorry. I thought it was obvious. He’s not of African descent.” Zimmer paused just long enough to whet everyone’s interest. “He’s Middle Eastern.”
Swinburne’s jaw dropped so low it almost thudded against the floor. “Middle Eastern? His son is from the Middle East?”
“Well, his son’s mother was.” Zimmer frowned, glanced at the president, then added: “To be specific-she’s Kuraqi.”
Seamus sped down the highway toward a remote location in rural Maryland. They were still near enough to D.C. that the traffic from fleeing Washingtonians complicated travel, as did Zira’s erratic come-and-go information.
They had managed to triangulate on the cell phone’s signal to determine its location. The signal was emitted, however, only when the phone was turned on, and the user was apparently turning it on only when he wanted to use it. He was probably savvy enough to know that those times were when the phone was vulnerable, so he limited it as much as possible. He probably did not count on the efficacy of the CIA’s latest Sidewinder triangulation program, which could track a cell phone down in less than a tenth of the time it had taken the previous iteration.
Seamus pulled up beside what appeared to be an abandoned industrial plant of some sort. Seamus knew that this was one of many. The downturn in the economy had hit this part of the country particularly hard. The unkempt, weed-ridden lawn was enough to tell him that this place was no longer in use-at least not in any official capacity. Not doing any business the IRS would be notified about. At the far corner he spotted a broken sign: Barlow Bros. Manufacturing. He gave no clue what the plant had made.
“You stay here,” he told Arlo as he unbuckled himself.
“Okay,” Arlo replied.
Seamus gave him a narrow-eyed look. “I mean it. You stay right here. I’ll give you the car keys. If you see any trouble, leave. In fact, if you see anyone at all, leave. Here’s a number you can call if you need help. Do not leave this car under any circumstances.”
Arlo took the number. “Okay.”
“I’m not sure I believe you’re taking this seriously. I am serious. This could be very dangerous. I want you to stay out of it. Do not leave this car.”
“I said okay.”
“Yes, but your eyes are saying, ‘I helped him once. Maybe I can help him again.’”
“I don’t know where you’re getting that.”
“I’m getting it from twenty years of field experience.”
“Look, I have no desire to get hurt. I’m not going anywhere. You’re on your own.”
Seamus’s eyes narrowed still further. “And you mean that? You won’t leave the car?”
“Absolutely. You want me to pinky-swear?”
“That won’t be necessary. Just don’t leave the car.” Seamus pushed himself out. His ribs still ached where he had taken the boot several times. But he blocked that out of his mind. He had to focus on the task at hand: figuring out what, if anything, was going on in there, and then figuring out how to stop it.
The building was so expansive he assumed that the base wouldn’t use all of it. Even if they had the most elaborate James Bond-esque headquarters imaginable, it wouldn’t take up half of this facility, and Arlo had told him that the satellite control operation he envisioned wouldn’t require that much space at all. What he had to do was figure out where they were and then go in somewhere else.
He hung close to the building-so he couldn’t be seen from the inside-and called Zira.
“I’m there. Have you got the heat readings?”
“Yes. I’m sending it to your cell.”
Barely three seconds later, he had it. Another trick in the CIA magic show-one not many people knew about-was that the United States had satellites capable of zeroing in on any building in the country and using infrared imagery to get heat impressions of what was going on inside. Was this constitutional? Well, who knew? With the current conservative Supreme Court, almost anything the government wanted to do was potentially constitutional. For the time being, what mattered was that it told him where the heat was-where the people were. And at the moment they were primarily concentrated at the north end.
So he moved to the south.
“I don’t get that much definition on my cell screen,” Seamus said. “Can you tell how many there are?”
“Not to any degree of certainty. Looks like about ten people.”
Which meant they outnumbered him by nine. At least.
“Do you want me to send in reinforcements?” Zira asked.
“Let’s make sure this is the place first. But have them standing by.”
“It’s not as if I have a ready army, Seamus,” Zira said. “We’re dealing with several national crises here. I’ll have to pull people away from their current assignments.”
“Understood. If I need reinforcements, I’ll let you know.”
He closed the phone and approached the south wall.
He had two means of entry: a door and a window. The door would be suicide. Even if they were trying to keep their numbers small, he had to assume someone would be watching all the doors. The window might be unguarded, but entering by that means inevitably would be noisy and, well, he never liked to risk his neck on a “might.”
So he decided to try the roof.
He found a planter on the back end of the building that brought him four feet off the ground. Standing on that, with a concerted leap he was able to pull himself up onto the roof, though his ribs ached from the strain.
He didn’t have many advantages in this situation. In fact, the element of surprise might be his only one. And he couldn’t even be sure about that. By now, they must have noticed that the thug he left back at the mall hadn’t shown up with Harold Bemis. So they might well be on their guard.
Seamus hoped not.
If this were a movie, he reasoned, by now he would’ve spotted a curved air exhaust that led to an extensive network of ventilation shafts that would allow him to crawl anyplace in the building, overhear key information, and then penetrate their ranks and blow the whole operation sky-high. But here in real life, he had never yet seen a building with a passable network of ventilation shafts, and even if there were one somewhere, he probably couldn’t fit inside it. He was limber and in good shape, but there were limits.
He did find a door. Presumably the top of the stairs. He’d have to settle for that.
A chain secured with a combination lock was wrapped around the door handle-something about sixteen times stronger than the screws holding the door handle to the door, or the door itself. They must’ve comforted themselves knowing how hard it would be to open that lock. He wouldn’t even try. If he knocked the door handle off the door, he wouldn’t have to worry about it.
And he didn’t. Four well-placed kicks to the handle and it splintered away from the worn and warped door. Lesson to terrorists: invest in a good carpenter.
He quietly stepped inside, gun at the ready. It was dark, but he could see a thin shaft of light coming from below.
A few steps closer and he could see the floor. It looked like a concrete slab, not something you’d want to spend the day standing upon. The lighting was poor. It looked as if someone had strung a line of electric torches along the wall. They weren’t making the place homey-just operational.
No guards. Well, none that he saw. That would probably change.
How many punches had he thrown since this day began? Too many. He didn’t need to add to the running total. Even the best-toned knuckles gave out eventually.
He descended the stairs, clinging to the west wall, and made his way slowly toward the opposite end of the building. He knew it would be several minutes before he reached the source of all that heat. The building appeared to be divided into several large sections. Back in the days when the plant was operational, each had probably housed a different part of the manufacturing process. Now they were just empty spaces that the current occupants-or squatters-didn’t seem to need. Seemed wasteful, but perhaps there were advantages to using buildings that didn’t conform to what might be expected.
Seamus had sidestepped along the length of the building for almost four minutes before he heard the distant sounds of activity: a low-pitched drone that could be anything, or perhaps nothing. But he didn’t think so.
He crouched down and, even more carefully than before, inched forward.
He could see light, not just the bare-bones light that suffused the rest of the building but bold, bright overhead light-the kind you would need where people were working. There was a door between him and the northmost end of the complex, and the closed door was probably stifling a lot of the sound.
He crept close to the door and pressed himself against it. Was it possible he could open it and sneak in there without being noticed? He didn’t see anyone patrolling the hallway or watching the door. What should he do?
He could call Zira, but he still didn’t know what was going on or if these were the people he was looking for. He didn’t want to come out of this looking like an idiot. Of course, he didn’t want to be drilled by terrorists, either.
What the hell. Slowly, as gently as possible, he turned the knob.
It was always possible that a door in a long-abandoned building might squeak, so he didn’t open it any more than necessary. He released the knob, then slid through the narrowest opening he could get himself through. Then he closed the door behind him, just in case someone came along later.
He was inside.
The first thing he saw was the back of a row of computer equipment. Beyond that, he spotted a satellite dish, a large tactical display, and the tops of the heads of several computer operatives.
He recognized the tactical display. It showed the location and range of all the ballistic missiles controlled by the computer system Zuko had seized.
He had found the terrorist base camp.
In the midst of the tumult that followed this revelation, Ben wasn’t sure what to think. Everyone was reacting, but it was perhaps more subdued than he might have imagined. Perhaps that was because it involved race-no one in politics wanted to be accused of racism. At the same time, there were obviously sound nonracist reasons for recognizing that these newly revealed relationships-a son born of a Middle Eastern mother-could cause political problems for President Kyler.
That was something Kyler would have to work out later. Ben’s job at the present was to save his job, and the only way he could do that was by demonstrating that his policies in Kuraq were not insane. Prejudiced by personal feelings, perhaps, but not insane.
The president remained strangely phlegmatic. Calm was good, and far better than some alternatives. Ben just hoped it was a stable calm-not the prelude to another irrational outburst.
“Why wasn’t I informed of this?” Secretary Ruiz asked. “How can I attempt diplomatic relations with this nation when the president has secret relationships with the citizens?”
“Do we have any reason to believe Colonel Zuko knows about this?” Secretary Rybicki asked. “If he doesn’t know, I don’t see what difference it makes. You were a senator, Kincaid. You remember what Lincoln said: don’t assume your enemy knows everything you do.”
“Whether Zuko knows or not,” the vice president insisted, “it compromises the president’s ability to perform the functions of the office!”
“Are we doing closing arguments now?” Ben said. “Because I wasn’t even clear that we were done with this witness.”
Cartwright pounded on the table. His palm must be plenty sore by this time, Ben imagined. “I want everyone to stop talking-now!”
The buzz in the bunker diminished but did not subside.
“I know there have been some startling surprises today, but we simply do not have time for this babbling. So please, show the court that you can behave as the professionals you are.”
The chatter evaporated. Cartwright turned toward Swinburne. “Are you done with this witness?”
“Just a few follow-up questions, judge. A few questions I imagine are on everyone’s mind. Mr. Zimmer, is this mystery mother still in Kuraq?”
“I have no idea.”
“You never asked?”
“It’s none of my business.”
“Is she living?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has the president ever visited her?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Does Colonel Zuko know about this?”
“Honestly, sir, how would I know?” Zimmer looked as if he was reaching the limit of his tolerance. “I’m his Secret Service agent, not his priest. The only reason I know about his son’s background is that I of course had to perform a background check before the meeting, and his connection to Kuraq came up with a red flag. I still don’t know any of the details. And I don’t particularly want to.”
“Fine. It’s clear enough that these relationships compromise the president’s objectivity.”
“If you keep previewing your closing,” Ben said, “the cabinet will be bored of it before you actually deliver it.”
Swinburne didn’t blink. “I thank the defense attorney for his valuable trial strategy. No more questions of this witness.”
“Very well. Agent Zimmer is dismissed.”
Zimmer stepped down. He walked directly to the communications station and yanked the headphones off Agent Gioia’s head.
“Thanks for the help. Now scram.”
Gioia did as he was told.
“Anything else?” Cartwright asked. “Or are we done?”
“Just one more witness, I think,” Ben said. “But I have to talk to my client first. It’s absolutely essential. I promise to keep it brief.”
“Kincaid, we don’t have time.”
“Your honor, please.” Ben lowered his voice. “I need to ask if he’s willing to testify.”
President Kyler’s back stiffened.
“He has a constitutional right to remain silent, as I’m sure the court knows. If he’s going to waive it, it has to be an informed decision. I’m sorry for the delay, but it is essential to a fair trial.”
Cartwright frowned. “Very well.”
“Thank you, your honor.”
President Kyler immediately stood and entered the adjoining room. Ben started to follow.
“Just a minute, Mr. Kincaid. I’m not finished.”
Ben stopped. “Yes, your honor?”
“You’ve got three minutes. If you take any longer, we’re going straight to verdict.”
“Understood.”
Cartwright touched a button on his watch. “Your time starts now.”
Ben raced into the adjoining room-and was astonished by what he saw there.
After all the surprises this day had brought, why would such a little thing make any difference? And yet it did.
The president was smoking.
“Forgive me, Kincaid,” he mumbled as he took a long draw on his cigarette. “I need something to relieve the stress.”
“I don’t doubt it. Look, I know this probably sounds awful, and to be fair, it could backfire on us-but I think you should take the stand in your own defense.”
“Why? I thought Zimmer’s testimony went well.”
“I agree, but it wasn’t enough. At best, he justified your decision regarding Kuraq. At worst, he showed you were too personally invested to be capable of performing your job properly. But in any case, what’s really haunting our jury is your weird behavior-talking to portraits and threatening to kill yourself. And let’s not forget that two of the cabinet members and the vice president witnessed your last episode personally. That will be very hard to put out of their minds.”
“So how am I going to do it?”
“I have no idea. And I don’t have time to preview and vet your testimony. I’m just going to have to put my faith in the fact that a smart man will think of something.”
“And how do you know I’m smart?” he asked, blowing smoke into the air.
“Well, a stupid man isn’t going to be elected president of the United States. With one or two exceptions.”
When Ben returned to the main room, there were only twenty-five minutes remaining on the countdown clock. That left maybe ten minutes for this examination, maybe five or so for closings, and then the vote. That would barely leave time for the president to take charge-or the vice president to call back the troops, depending upon the outcome.
Best not to think about that. He needed to concentrate on the job at hand. He couldn’t think of another time in his entire career when he had gone into the critical defendant’s examination so blind. How ironic that it would occur on the occasion when he happened to be representing the most powerful man in the free world and his performance could have global consequences-could quite literally determine whether thousands of people lived or died.
“Mr. President, I’m going to skip all the discussion about your professional background and qualifications. I assume everyone here knows who you are and pretty much knows where you’ve been.”
“A fair bet.”
“So without wasting any more time, let’s get down to the heart of the matter. Is there any reason-medical or otherwise-you are incapable of executing your duties as president?”
To his credit, the president smiled a little bit at Ben’s bluntness. “No, there is not.”
“Are you sure about that? Because the vice president undoubtedly will suggest that a mentally ill man is not aware of his own condition.”
“I’m about as self-aware as anyone on earth, I would imagine. In this business, you have to be. If I were crazy, I’d be the first to know. And I’d resign on my own and this proceeding would not be necessary.
But the truth is, I’m not, and this whole business is nothing but a trumped-up power grab by a party or parties with an opposing point of view on a complex matter of foreign policy.”
Wow. Ben liked the sound of that. He made a mental note to steal that for his closing. “You’re aware, sir, that the prosecutor has put on eyewitness testimony regarding unusual behavior attributed to you. And some of us have even witnessed it.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Can you explain?”
“I’m not sure what there is you think I need to explain. Here’s the reality: I’m not as boring as everyone thinks I am. Or as some people want the president of the United States to be. I’m a free spirit, which is admittedly an oddity in the world of politics. I’m eccentric. Always have been. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Sure, that’s not the side I show when the cameras are rolling. But in the privacy of my home or my office, what’s the harm? Not every president has to be the same stuffed shirt.”
Ben pondered for a millisecond. He liked the approach the president was taking. It would appeal to all who considered themselves nonconformists, which was more or less everyone. But was it enough to cover some of the behavior the cabinet had heard described? Not on its own. Even though he hated to bring it all up again, they would have to delve into the details.
“I understand what you’re saying,” Ben replied, “but I’m not sure how it applies to some of the incidents we’ve heard about today. For instance, Sarie told us-”
“Sarie is a wonderful woman,” the president said, interrupting. Technically, he should wait for the question before answering it, but no one was going to object to any attempt to move things along. “Efficient, organized, and on occasion ruthless. But she’s also somewhat emotional. And conventional. She is disturbed by the slightest deviation from schedule. Nothing wrong with that. It’s part of what makes her a great chief of staff. But it does influence her opinions. She is readily thrown when people are anything but perfectly conventional.”
Out the corner of his eye, Ben saw Sarie’s brow crease. It was probably hard for her to hear him speak these words. But of course, her testimony had not been a picnic for the president to hear, either.
“Sarie recounted three specific incidents,” Ben recalled. “The first had you chatting with portraits hanging on the wall.”
The president smiled. “Which was grossly exaggerated, and besides, talking to pictures is not a crime or a sign of mental illness. Let’s have a show of hands. How many people in the room have ever talked to themselves? That would be everyone, whether you admit it or not. This was no different. Now, if I expected the portraits to answer, that would be bad. But I didn’t. I was just speaking my thoughts out loud, basically.”
“She said you were asking the portraits… philosophical questions.”
“My recollection is that I did it once. Maybe twice. So what? I’ve long been a student of the U.S. presidents, and I’m interested in how they dealt with crises such as contracting polio, and in how a purportedly devout Roman Catholic reconciled his marital indiscretions with his faith. And I vocalized those thoughts while I was looking at the pictures. To me, that’s no different from looking at yourself in the mirror and thinking out loud. I’d be willing to bet that even Sarie Morrell does that.”
Ben marveled, not for the first time, at the vast power of a good orator. President Kyler, like other presidents before him, was a great communicator. His calm and measured accounts were almost eradicating the incriminating images formed by Sarie’s earlier testimony. If he kept this up, they might just have a tiny chance of success.
“Ms. Morrell also recounted an incident involving you skinny-dipping in the White House pool.”
President Kyler tucked in his chin. “Well now, that episode was embarrassing for the both of us. The only difference was that I tried to keep cool, while she just about lost it.”
“Were you in fact swimming naked?”
“Yes, and what’s wrong with that? Lots of people do it. It’s my pool, for Pete’s sake. I can swim in my birthday suit if I want. It’s not as if anyone was there, or invited in there. I didn’t ask Sarie to track me down. That was her idea. And she inexplicably hung around even after she saw that I was not dressed. If there was any odd behavior, in my opinion, it was hers.”
“Have you done this on other occasions?”
“Yes. I like it. Haven’t you ever swum nude?”
“I don’t have a pool.”
“Ever gotten into a hot tub naked?”
“No.”
The president smiled. “What was I thinking? You’re Ben Kincaid. You probably don’t even get into the bathtub naked.”
“Well…”
“Most people I know who own hot tubs don’t bother with the swimsuit. You heard Sarie talk about guys swimming in the buff at the Y. That’s how it was in my hometown, too. It’s very cleansing. Supposed to be good for you. And at any rate, there’s nothing wrong with it. Granted, if I had sought out Sarie while naked, that would not be acceptable. But that’s not what happened.”
“Is this something you’ve done on other occasions?”
“Of course. My whole life long. Why not? Here’s what you need to understand about me. Even though I’ve been in politics for a good while, I have always been able to maintain some measure of a private life. Until now. These past four months have required an incredible adjustment from me. Even when I was governor, I didn’t have this kind of transparent existence. I keep struggling to find opportunities to be myself, to express myself, to enjoy some personal freedom. But between the press, the Secret Service, and Sarie, that has become almost impossible. And that is very frustrating for me.”
Nicely done, Ben had to admit. This examination, which he had expected to be supremely difficult, was almost effortless. He pitched soft-balls and the president knocked them out of the park. Could they really rehabilitate the president’s reputation? Or was this just the calm before the storm?
He glanced up at the monitor to try to gauge the reaction of the all-important cabinet members. For the most part, they weren’t showing whatever thoughts were buzzing around in their brains. But they were paying attention.
Something still troubled Ben, though.
None of the others could see it. They were too far away or sitting at the wrong angle. But Ben could tell. He could see the telltale movement in the upper leg. And when Ben “inadvertently” dropped a page of his hastily scribbled notes, he confirmed it.
The president’s feet were tap-dancing again.
If he had started that, what would he do next?
“Sarie brought up one more incident, Mr. President. Perhaps the strangest of them all. It involved you up on the roof of the White House, a purported attempt to fly, and threats to kill yourself. What really happened?”
The president sighed heavily. “Well, you’re right about one thing, Ben. That one was very different from the others. Very different indeed.”
“Please explain.”
“I suppose, at the end of the day, it does reveal an error in judgment on my part. Not insanity, to be sure. But a mistake. I thought I could trust Sarie Morrell.”
Across the table, Ben saw Sarie’s lips part. The sadness on her face was palpable. Ben keenly regretted this. He genuinely liked Sarie and thought she was the shining light in an otherwise middling staff. But her testimony had been damaging to the president. If he was going to win this trial, he was going to have to confront what she said head-on.
“Please explain.”
“Let me say one thing up front. I don’t blame her. She didn’t want to testify. But when she did, she revealed things that were told to her in confidence, and honestly, if a president can’t trust his own chief of staff, who can he trust? Apparently, no one.”
Sarie looked as if she had been stabbed by a butcher knife, but the president continued.
“Yes, I went out on the roof. I was desperate for some privacy. Some time to myself, something I never seem to get. Don’t you like to be alone occasionally? I think everyone wants some alone time every now and again. But I never get it, not unless I make it. So I ditched my keepers and climbed out on the roof. But I was there less than ten minutes when, what do you know, here comes Sarie, hunting me down. I was furious. I will admit I acted a little weird. But I did it purposely. I did it because I wanted her to leave.”
“Did it work?”
“Hell, no. The weirder I got, the more determined she seemed to stick with me. It was a lose-lose scenario. Yes, I talked about flying. Who hasn’t dreamed of flying, of just taking off and going wherever you want? Up, up, and away, right? I even pantomimed it a bit. But I didn’t plan to do it. Why Sarie ever thought I might-well, who knows? I think she had already made up her mind that I was nuts. Or perhaps just too much trouble. At any rate, she told me she was done. Through. She was resigning.”
The creases in Sarie’s brow deepened. Ben wasn’t sure if that meant she remembered doing this or didn’t.
“How did you respond to that?”
“I tried to talk her out of it, of course. I told her we all get despondent at one time or another. That’s when the topic of suicide arose. I confessed that on occasion I’ve had dark thoughts of doing dark things. I think that’s universal. We all have that blackness at the heart of our soul. I was trying to comfort her, to bolster her spirits. Isn’t it ironic, then, that she takes the words that were offered to help her and turns them into a weapon? Her desire to quit becomes my desire to die.”
“Are you in fact suicidal?”
“Not in the least. Not even in my worst moments. Not even when I desperately want to be alone. Not even now. There were times when I was a kid when I may have entertained such thoughts-when a girl dumped me, or after rereading Romeo and Juliet. But it wasn’t serious. And now I’m a mature grown-up and there’s just no chance.”
“Not even during a press conference?”
“I don’t know where that bit came from. I don’t recall saying anything like that. But to answer your question: no, not during a press conference. Or anywhere else. Absolutely not.”
“You’re sure?”
“Do I look suicidal? Honestly, if most people had to go through a day like today has been for me, I think they’d be doing a lot worse than singing sitcom songs. But I’ve been in politics a while now. I’m used to it. They can’t get to me, not the real me. I have no reason to want to die.”
“And since you mentioned the singing…”
“Thank you,” President Kyler said eagerly. “I wanted to talk about that. I mean, forgive me for saying so, Mr. Vice President-but when did you become such a self-righteous, pompous ass?”
Cartwright leaned forward. “The witness will address his comments to the court and the jury. Not the prosecutor.”
If the president heard this at all, there was no sign of it. “If I want to sing, I will damn well sing. It’s a great way to relieve tension. Who hasn’t sung in the shower? Sung along to their iPod when they’re driving. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Your choice of song was somewhat… eccentric.”
“So what? I like that song. In fact, I love that song. I’ll sing it if I damn well please. Even the president needs a little something, some kind of release, every now and again. As long as I keep it out of the public eye, there’s nothing wrong with it. And it’s no one else’s business.” He paused, drew up his shoulders. “I’m the president of the United States, people. If I want to kick back and get silly, I will.”
“And you have no trouble returning to business afterward.”
“Absolutely not, and I haven’t heard anyone testify that I did. Even Sarie acknowledged that after these so-called episodes were over, I got back to business as usual. So what’s the harm? Forgive me for saying so, but I think they’re making a mountain out of a molehill. And if the vice president weren’t so eager to rest his butt in the Oval Office, he’d see how flimsy this case really is.”
Ben paused for a moment, pleased at how well the testimony was going. This was better than he would’ve thought possible. Even though he hadn’t covered every single point Swinburne raised, he’d covered enough of them. The president had argued in favor of his right to express himself freely in private, and who would deny a president that? Like a brilliant trial lawyer, he had framed the issue in a manner that made it impossible for anyone to rule against him.
And in Ben’s book, that meant it was time to move on. He had intentionally started with the “crazy” arguments. He thought the jury would be most interested in hearing about that, and he didn’t want to finish on that note, with the president having to defend himself. Better to get it out of the way and end with something more positive.
But before he could do that, there was one more matter that had to be addressed.
“Mr. President, we’ve just heard Mr. Zimmer testify that you have a son, heretofore unknown to the general public. Is that true?”
The president blinked rapidly, then looked around the room, making eye contact with many of the people there. “Yes, it’s true.”
Many significant looks passed through the room as President Kyler offered this confirmation, but nothing like the shock that had registered earlier. In only a few minutes this had become yesterday’s news.
“Please tell us what happened.”
“Of course. But I have a request first. I have no way of enforcing this. But I will ask that everyone in this room please maintain the confidentiality that goes with being in the cabinet or on the White House staff. This has become relevant to this trial, and while I regret that, I accept it. But there is no reason why this needs to be made public, especially if I remain in office once this trial is over. So I respectfully request, out of respect for my wife and children, that you keep this to yourself.”
“I’m sure everyone will honor your request,” Ben said, expressing a confidence he did not feel. “Please proceed.”
“My son’s name is Abe. That’s short for Abram, of course, a very popular name in the Middle East. I met his mother when I was very young and naive, just finishing up at the School of Government and Law at Yale. Tovah-that’s his mother’s name-was in some of my classes. She was a cousin of the royal family in Kuraq, which is the only reason she was there. Although the ayatollah in charge at the time was running the government, he had allowed the royal family to remain intact for symbolic purposes. Not unlike the royal family in England -they don’t actually have any power, but the government still keeps them around. Most women in Kuraq wouldn’t even be educated, much less at Harvard. But her family’s prestige gave her special privileges.”
“And I assume you came to know her there.”
“It took awhile. I was a bit shy around women back then-not a ladies’ man like you, Ben.”
Ben blinked.
“But she was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. The smoothest, creamiest complexion and elegant light brown skin. Lovely. I’d never seen anyone before who struck me as so gorgeous. So I spent about half the semester stuttering around her. But eventually I managed to ask her out.”
“And?”
“We hit it off almost immediately. We had a lot in common-our idealism, our desire to serve our people, our devotion to education and political theory. But what was most intriguing was how we were different. I loved words; she loved numbers. I loved poetry; she preferred nonfiction. I liked rock and roll; she preferred classical. We didn’t duplicate each other. We complemented each other.” He shrugged. “Is it any wonder I fell in love?”
“And were these feelings of yours reciprocated?”
“Absolutely. We loved each other with an intensity that few people before or since have ever experienced. And out of that love was born a child.”
“Abe Malik.”
“Yes. Malik isn’t his surname, but it is a family name. It’s Arabic for ‘strong.’”
“Why didn’t you marry?”
“I wanted to. She refused. Remember, she was from Kuraq. And although she was determined to bear the child, a marriage to a Westerner would be impossible, at least if she ever intended to go back. And she did. She had great plans. She wanted to make the royal family relevant again, to bring her country out of that stagnant theocracy. And she couldn’t do any of that with me.”
“Did you ever see the child?”
“No. She gave birth in Kuraq, in secret. I was not allowed to visit. I didn’t see him for almost twenty years.”
“What happened then?”
“She returned to America. Her plans for her country never materialized. It was not the royal family that wrested power away from the ayatollah. It was Colonel Zuko.”
“I see.”
“And as you might imagine, he was not as comfortable with the royal family’s presence as his predecessor had been. He didn’t want any potential threats to his supremacy around. Like the rest of her family, she fled. She returned to America -this time with her son.”
“Did she contact you?”
“She did, although it wasn’t easy. I was governor by then, and not the easiest person in the world to contact privately. But she was always a very smart woman. I met her in secret. She had never married, never had any other children. She was devoted to Abe and her cause, nothing else. She had, I think, hoped that we might be able to… to pick up where we had left off. But it was impossible. I was married to Sophie by then-very happily, I might add. And I was in the public eye. No journalist had managed to tumble to Abe’s existence yet. We decided it was best to keep it that way. And so we parted.” He slowly exhaled. “I didn’t see Abe again for several years. Not until she sent word that our son was planning to join the Red Cross.”
“And that concerned you?”
“It concerned both of us. You can see why he wanted a posting near Kuraq. That’s his heritage. But I knew Colonel Zuko was on the warpath. He had already begun the invasion of the Benzai Strip. I knew trouble was coming. I knew U.S. intervention was likely. And I didn’t want my son in the middle of it. It was dangerous for anyone-but imagine if Zuko discovered Abe was his archenemy’s son. Abe’s life would be in constant jeopardy.”
“I gather you were not able to talk him out of it?”
“No. He’s very stubborn.” The president’s lips turned up slightly at the corners. “He probably gets that from me.”
“Did you hear anything else from him thereafter?”
“Precious little. I had a few people watching out for him, but I didn’t want to make a big deal about it. The fewer people who knew the truth, the better. I didn’t know how the American people would respond to the revelation that I have a secret son, but the connection to Kuraq could make that very tricky. Very dangerous politically. I hadn’t heard much about him for some time-until I saw the passenger manifest on that downed helicopter. And found his name there. As the pilot.”
“So of course you prepared to bring in troops. To mount a rescue operation and secure the country.”
Kyler nodded. “I like to think that I would have done that in any case. But yes, once I knew my son was in that helicopter, there really was no choice. Not for me. No choice at all.”
“Just a few more questions, Mr. President. Do you regret your decisions regarding Kuraq?”
“Absolutely not. That man-Colonel Zuko-is dangerous. A serious threat to the nation, as today’s events have proved. If we let him go unchecked, it will establish a precedent that quite literally could rip this country apart at the seams.”
“The secretary of state has suggested that your failure to withdraw the troops, now that Zuko has control of some of our missiles, is insane. Do you agree?”
“Ruiz is a good man, but I’ve never been able to get him to see the big picture. Zuko may be able to do some damage with those missiles, and I regret that. But if he does, he will earn the enmity of the world community and the UN. He will find himself cut off, unable to function, and he knows this. I think he’s trying to scare us-after all, that’s what terrorists do. But it’s brinksmanship, and I don’t think he’s stupid enough to take it too far. In the meantime, if we withdraw, we lose a good deal more than a marble monument and the people in that helicopter. Hundreds of thousands of people will be slaughtered in Benzai. I won’t have that on my conscience.”
The vice president rose to his feet. President Kyler raised his palm and continued before he could speak.
“Now, I am keenly aware that Vice President Swinburne has a different opinion. He’s entitled. But differing with the vice president does not mean you’re insane. Personally, I think caving in to terrorists is insane, but you’ll notice I’m not trying to have him committed.” His tone dropped a notch. “But I’m not going to let him have my job, either.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Ben said. “Your honor, I have no more questions for this witness.”
Ben wiped his forehead. He hadn’t realized it before, but he was sweating profusely. It wasn’t the heat; this bunker was perfectly temperature-controlled. He had been under enormous pressure, trying to figure out how to salvage this administration. But the testimony had gone well-better than he’d dreamed, actually. If the president could only survive cross-examination…
Unfortunately, that was a huge if.
Vice President Swinburne cleared his throat, then began his cross. “Are you seriously suggesting that there’s something normal about dissociative episodes in which you revert to infantilism?”
“Objection,” Ben said instantly. “Argumentative.”
Cartwright didn’t wait for any explanations. “It’s cross-ex, son. It isn’t supposed to be friendly.”
“But-”
“The truth is,” he said, pointing at the clock, “we don’t have time for minor-league objections. So unless Mr. Swinburne does something so bad it threatens to induce heart failure, don’t interrupt.”
Ben sat down, frowning. Cartwright had just given Swinburne virtual carte blanche to do whatever he wanted on cross. That could be all too dangerous.
“What I said, I think,” the president replied calmly, was that if I wanted to sing a song, that was my right, and so long as I get my job done, as I always have, it’s no sign of insanity and none of anyone else’s business.”
“Just as you apparently feel the members of your family are none of anyone’s business. That you can ask people for their vote but don’t need to tell them about your Middle Eastern son.”
“Well, you’re sort of right. I think my private life is my own. Everything about me does not have to be up on display just because I’m running for office.”
“You don’t think the public has a right to know?”
“Of course, that’s the excuse journalists always use for prying into people’s personal lives. Or they say it’s a character issue, when it’s really just gossipmongering.”
“It is a character issue.”
“No, it’s an excuse for reporting tittle-tattle instead of reporting news.”
“Are you seriously suggesting that the existence of an illegitimate son is not reflection on a candidate’s character?”
“I think we all made mistakes when we were young.”
“This is more than a mere mistake. You brought a human being into existence.”
“And he’s a fine boy. What’s your point?”
Swinburne put his fists on his hips. “My point is that you know as well as I do that this son, if revealed, would cost you votes. That’s why you kept him secret.”
“I kept him secret? I barely knew anything about him until a few years ago. He has no desire to be a part of my life. I can sympathize with his desire not to live in a goldfish bowl. So I respected his desire for privacy.”
“Which coincidentally dovetails nicely with your own political needs.”
The president’s words were becoming terse, overenunciated. He was getting angry-the worst possible attitude for a witness on cross. “I don’t believe that most people are so shallow and judgmental they would change their vote based upon a mistake I made almost thirty years ago.”
“But you weren’t willing to take the risk, were you? That’s why you kept him hidden.”
“I’ve already explained that decision.”
“Your honor,” Ben said, “I know you’re not looking for interruptions, but this line of questioning is not relevant. Although the vice president seems to be enjoying it, it does not pertain to the question of whether the president is capable of performing his duties.”
“I have to agree with that, Mr. Swinburne,” Cartwright said. “Please move on.”
“Let me address this in a way that is directly relevant,” Swinburne replied. “Mr. President, is it fair to say that the fact that your son has gone down behind enemy lines figured prominently in your decision to send in the troops?”
“Of course.”
“And you have indicated that you have no intention of altering that decision. No matter what Colonel Zuko threatens.”
“That’s exactly right.”
“Would it be fair to say you would be incapable of making a decision that might endanger your son?”
Ben bit down on his lower lip. He knew Swinburne had not chosen the word incapable by accident.
“I would not say that I’m incapable of doing it. I’m saying I don’t want to, at least not at this time. Of course, I always have to consider the greater good for the greater number of people. There might be a time when I have to change this position. But we haven’t reached it.”
“So at least for the present, you are incapable of rendering a decision to withdraw the troops.”
“Not incapable. Unwilling.”
“Even if Colonel Zuko sends missiles to kill thousands of American citizens.”
“You know my position. We can’t give in to terrorist threats.”
“Yes, especially not when your son is out there.”
“Is that so wrong?”
“No. That’s the act of a considerate, caring father. And we’ve all heard your concerns that you’ve been an inadequate parent. Perhaps that’s why you are so adamant about sending in the troops. But by your own admission, at this time, you are incapable of rendering a decision to withdraw, even if it is in the best interests of the American people. That makes you incapable of performing your duties.”
“Objection,” Ben said. “He’s speechifying again.”
“You’ll have to forgive me, judge,” Swinburne said. “I’m not a trial lawyer by training. But you don’t have to go to law school to know the difference between right and wrong. And having a commander in chief who is compromised-rendered incapable-by personal entanglements is wrong.”
“Since he’s still doing his closing, your honor,” Ben said, “can I assume he’s done with this witness?”
Swinburne didn’t wait for Cartwright’s response. “No, sir, I am most definitely not done with the witness.” He redirected his attention to Kyler. “Mr. President, do you honestly expect anyone to believe that your erratic behavior is caused by your… personal eccentricities? Because you’re a rebel in a blue suit?”
“I certainly don’t expect you to believe it,” President Kyler replied. “You’ve clearly got your own agenda.”
That irritated him. “Let’s review some of the actions you have deemed harmless and goofy.” Swinburne glanced down at his notes. “You intentionally ditched your security detail.”
“I never left the premises.”
“You held conversations with portraits.”
“I was thinking aloud.”
“You queried JFK’s portrait about his sexual escapades.”
“I queried him about his faith in God. I mean-” The president stuttered, stopped. His face reddened. “I pondered aloud whether he was a deeply religious person. I have always been interested in matters of faith. I am a man of faith.”
Swinburne kept barreling ahead like a snowplow. “You were skinny-dipping in front of your female chief of staff.”
“I didn’t ask her to come in there!” His voice was becoming strained. He was getting defensive. “I didn’t know she was coming!”
“Balderdash. You ditch your security people, it’s a sure bet your chief of staff will come looking for you. That’s her job. And if you didn’t know it beforehand, you would certainly know it after the first ten or twenty times it happened.”
“I did not know-”
“It was perfectly simple to anticipate that she would walk in on you. That’s probably why you did it. So you could see the shocked expression on this poor young woman’s face when she found the president stark naked!’
“That’s a lie!” Kyler said, but the more he insisted it was not, the more it sounded as if it were. Swinburne was doing a good job of shaking him out of his comfort zone and putting him on the defensive. Ben knew that anytime a defendant appears to be stretching, making excuses, juries start to lose faith in him. He needed to find an excuse to intervene.
“Are you sure, Mr. President? Are you sure exposing yourself didn’t appeal to your sense of goofiness?”
“Objection to the use of the term ‘exposing himself,’” Ben said, finding his opening. “It’s unnecessarily inflammatory.”
“Oh, whatever,” Cartwright said. “We all know what he’s getting at. Let’s move along.”
“But he’s talking about this minor incident as if he were talking to someone accused of a sex crime. That’s totally inappropriate.”
“Can I help it if the president has urges to flash the American public? I haven’t even gotten to the nudity fetish yet.”
“I object to the terms ‘exposing himself’ and ‘fetish’!”
Cartwright looked as if he were about to explode. “Could you please use a different terminology, Mr. Swinburne? We need to move along!”
“Yes, judge. Of course.” Swinburne continued working through his list. “You dangled off the edge of the White House roof and talked about flying.”
“It’s a universal dream,” the president replied through thin lips. “I hope you noted that I did not, in fact, attempt to fly.”
“This time.” Swinburne kept blazing ahead. “You talked about committing suicide.”
“In the abstract,” President Kyler emphasized. He was becoming louder with each sentence. His voice was strident. It had a razor-sharp edge. “I never ever said that I wanted to kill myself, or planned to kill myself, or even could kill myself. It was a purely abstract, philosophical discussion designed to comfort Sarie. I’m sorry she didn’t grasp that. She’s very efficient, but sometimes she’s a little slow. Maybe she didn’t get her grits that morning.”
Ben closed his eyes. That was not a smart play. Attacking his cute and spunky chief of staff was not a winning strategy. Ben wished there were a way to object to his own defendant’s answers, but unfortunately, that objection did not exist.
“I think she could have had all the grits in Alabama and still not be prepared for the image of the president of the United States blowing out his brains during a live press conference!” Swinburne wasn’t even asking questions anymore. He was just being argumentative, trying to agitate the president. And it was working. “I don’t think anyone could be prepared for that!”
“I never said that! And I would never do that!” Kyler leaned forward. Beads of sweat appeared at his temples.
“I’m not going to give you the chance.” Swinburne turned a page in his notes. “Earlier today, when faced with a national crisis, you retreated into a mentally withdrawn and delusional state.”
“Is it a crime to laugh? To sing?”
“It’s a bizarre and inappropriate response to a crisis situation. One that does not inspire trust.”
“Look, Conrad, I’m the president. And if I find it useful to sing ‘There’s a Hole in the Bucket,’ then I will sing ‘There’s a Hole in the Bucket’!”
Swinburne fell silent. He looked as if he had just seen a specter from the netherworld. Eventually, he said, “That’s not what you were singing.”
The president’s left eye began to twitch. “It isn’t?”
Swinburne’s lips parted. “No.” He laid his hands flat on the table. “My God, man-do you even remember what happened a few hours ago?”
President Kyler looked down at his hands. He was fidgeting. “Of course I do.”
“Tell me what you were singing.”
“What does it matter?” the president said, his voice cracking. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face. “I sing all the time. I don’t happen to recall what I sang last. What difference does it make?”
“My God,” Swinburne said, almost breathlessly. “You don’t remember anything about it, do you? Did you totally black out? Has your brain erased it from your memory?”
“Look, I’ve been very busy. Just because I can’t dredge up the details-”
“I remember all the details,” Swinburne said. “They are indelibly imprinted on my brain.” He paused. “But you seem to have undergone some kind of… mental erasure. As if the brain has erased memories that might cause stress or unhappiness. I believe the same thing happens after people experience seizures or bipolar episodes.”
“Would you stop talking about mental!” the president shouted, before Ben had a chance to lodge an objection. “I’m tired of all this talk about mental! Maybe you’re mental, huh? Maybe it’s… it’s… you…” All at once, Kyler reached forward, clasped his knees, and began to rock back and forth in his chair. “The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout… down came the rain and washed the spider out…”
Ben closed his eyes. No. Please, God, no.
“Out came the sun and dried up all the rain…” His eyes widened. He stared up at the ceiling, as if he were seeing something that wasn’t there. “Then the itsy-bitsy spider went up the spout again.”
This time, as Ben surveyed the faces in the bunker, what he saw was not so much shock as embarrassment. After all they had seen and heard this day, Kyler’s actions no longer had the power to produce shock. What they produced, at best, was pity.
The president began the song over again. Swinburne shook his head sadly. “I think that’s enough from this witness, judge. I’ve seen enough.” He turned away. “Surely we’ve all seen enough.”
“Thank you,” Cartwright said. “If there’s no redirect…”
Ben shook his head. What could he possibly do with this suddenly imbecilic witness?
“Then the witness is excused.” Ben took the president by the arm and led him back to his chair. He barely seemed to understand what was going on around him.
“Now we’ll proceed to brief closing arguments,” Cartwright said. “And I emphasize brief. This trial has already consumed more time than we can spare.
“Understood,” they both agreed.
As he spoke, Ben was already contemplating what he might say. What could he possibly do to salvage this mess now? He wondered if the noble thing would be just to throw in the towel. He couldn’t possibly pretend that they hadn’t seen what they had all just seen. And he couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t justify it. There was nothing he could do to prevent the inevitable judgment.
And he wasn’t sure anymore if he should try.
It was all well and good to be loyal to an inspirational leader. A man who wanted peace. And of course he would always be indebted to anyone who did his wife a kindness. But how could he justify leaving this man with obvious issues in control of the country in the midst of an imminent missile crisis?
And yet…
Something was bothering him. Something was nagging him at the base of his spine, jabbing him in the cerebral cortex. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. And he wasn’t at all sure that Vice President Swinburne was proceeding from altruistic motives. Everything he had seen suggested he was more interested in his own career than he was in the good of the nation.
What was it that bothered him? Why couldn’t he put his finger on it?
He knew from experience these things never came when you wanted them. He needed to focus on the task at hand and hope the inspiration arrived serendipitously in the process.
“Mr. Swinburne,” Cartwright said, “we are ready to hear your closing remarks. Members of the cabinet, please play close attention. As soon as these two advocates are done, I will poll you, and there will just barely be enough time afterward for whoever is in charge to take decisive action. In simpler terms: your vote may well decide the future course of this nation.”
The noise was considerably louder in here, Seamus realized, although it sounded much like any office in any other place. A little talking, a few mechanical beeps, keyboards clicking. Nothing out of the ordinary.
He used the long row of silhouetted machinery for cover and inched forward, still careful to keep watch on all sides.
The first face he saw was that of a woman, dark-haired, dark-skinned. She was wearing an earpiece and typing into a computer terminal. Someone was hovering over her shoulder, a man in a white shirt. He looked more like a college professor than a terrorist. Another computer geek? Or some other kind of scientist? Neither of them looked managerial. They were employees.
Seamus could see the tops of at least five other heads. They all seemed glued to their screens. Who was running this show?
He tiptoed a few steps forward, trying to obtain a better view. It was basically three tiers of seriously complex-looking computers, including one master. If it wasn’t a Blue Gene/L-the IBM supercomputer with a peak processing speed of 596 teraflops-it was something very near. There were a few overhead monitors and one large dish-probably capable of transmitting signals to that deadly satellite in the sky. Probably would attract too much attention if they put it on the roof, but it seemed to function where it was. It all seemed familiar except for a large red button at the base. He didn’t even want to think about what that might do.
Seamus supposed they had everything they needed to make this missile hijack work. Still, he would like to have some confirmation…
Then Seamus saw him.
Seamus’s spine stiffened. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
The supervising figure who had just entered his line of sight was the man from the Washington Monument. The man with the scarred face.
The man who’d made off with the nuclear suitcase.
So he was involved with this missile hijack as well. Which meant Colonel Zuko was also involved in the Arlington suitcase heist. The dictator now had not only the East Coast missiles but a nuclear weapon.
This was bad. End-of-the-world bad.
“Tell me what is happening out there!” Scarface bellowed to the woman in the white shirt. She didn’t look entirely comfortable working with him. Seamus guessed she was more likely hired technical help than a true believer.
She mumbled something in reply that Seamus couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, it didn’t appease her boss.
“That’s not good enough!” he shouted back at her. “Will you be ready to launch when I give you the signal?”
“Of course I will,” she said. “Everything is in place.”
“When the colonel calls, he will want us to take action immediately.”
“And we will!”
“Make sure that we do!” And with that, he raised his hand to strike her.
Seamus instinctively surged forward-then checked himself.
Scarface stopped his hand just inches short of her face. She flinched, then turned her head away. Tears trickled out the corner of her eye. “I’ll be ready. I promise.”
“See that you are. We must be strong. Though thousands may die, Kuraq will live!” He stomped off. The woman-and everyone sitting near her-seemed intensely relieved.
Seamus bit down on his lower lip. He would love nothing more than to knock that SOB down again-this time well enough that he didn’t get up again. But that wasn’t the smart play. He needed to contact Zira. Call in the troops. Then get Arlo out of here and let the boys with the big guns take over.
He lifted his phone and took a quick photo, then sent it to Zira. Moving like a ninja, he tiptoed back to the door and turned the knob.
Still no one seemed to notice. He was having a charmed day. This was the downside to bullying your employees. They tended not to be distracted by their surroundings-even when they should.
He eased his way through the opening, the same way he’d come in, and closed the door behind him. Now all he needed to do was make his way back to the stairs leading to the roof, or maybe just walk through the back door…
And that’s when Seamus saw the guard. Who also saw him.
“Stop!” The man yelled.
Seamus bolted. The problem was, he had nowhere to go. The guard stood between him and his destination, and the computer ops base was behind him. So Seamus moved laterally, working toward the east side of the building.
Another guard heard the cry. A few seconds after that a third one zeroed in on Seamus. Where were they coming from? Had they all been on a coffee break a few minutes ago?
He reached for his gun, but they reacted by doing exactly the same. Mistake. He couldn’t outdraw all three of them. He withdrew quickly and threw both hands up in the air.
“Sorry about that,” he said amiably. “Didn’t mean to scare anyone.”
“What are you doing here?” the first guard barked. The three of them surrounded him.
“Sorry. No cause for alarm. Health Department.” He pulled out a wallet and quickly flashed a badge-not his real one. “Just doing inspections on the abandoned property in the area. Had no idea anyone was in here.”
“How did you get in?” Guard One had a serious and sullen expression. He was trying to look tough, but Seamus suspected it was more a case of a tough guy with a swagger being forced to actually do something for the first time. He would’ve probably been perfectly content to go on guarding for the rest of his life without ever encountering any trouble.
“Through the roof.” In this case, honesty was the best policy. The doors might be wired to an alarm, and the windows were not broken. “We’re allowed to do that. It’s in the city charter.”
“What do you want?”
“Just to make sure everything’s clean and safe. Sometimes these abandoned buildings can become dangerous. Attractive nuisances. But I didn’t realize anyone was working in here. Did you take out a lease?”
“I’ll ask the questions!” the guard barked back. His two companions looked more relaxed. If Seamus worked it hard enough, he might be able to pull off this health inspector charade.
“Are you alone?” the guard asked.
“Yes. Look, if you have any questions about this, call my supervisor. She’ll straighten the whole thing out.”
He hesitated. “She will?”
Was he actually buying it? Praise God, from whom all blessings flow. “Of course. Her name is Zira. Just give her my name and she’ll tell you that I’m legitimate. You can use my phone if you want. I don’t mind.”
“Well… I suppose it won’t hurt to call.”
Fabulous. Zira could think fast enough on her feet to carry this off. And if not, he’d knock them down while they were distracted by the phone. He punched the number on his cell and handed it to Guard One. “Here. Talk to her. She’ll be able to give you a complete-”
“You! You!”
Seamus’s eyelids closed briefly. He didn’t have to turn to know whose voice that was.
A moment later, Scarface appeared before him.
“You were at the Washington Monument! You hurt me! You killed my comrades!”
The guards tensed. All at once, Seamus had three guns pointing down his throat.
“Where did you find him?” Scarface asked. The first guard answered all his questions succinctly. “Good work. He is a government spy.” He reached inside Seamus’s coat and took his gun. “Who sent you?”
“No one. I sent myself.”
“Liar!” He cuffed Seamus’s chin with the butt of his own gun. It hurt.
“I am not lying.”
“Who else knows you’re here?”
“No one.”
“Liar!” He hit Seamus again.
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“This is pointless,” Scarface said. “And I do not have time to waste. Take him to the sleeping quarters. Strap him down. Make sure he cannot move.”
Seamus didn’t much like the sound of that.
The guards grabbed Seamus by the arms and shoulders. He made a show of struggling, but he knew it was useless.
“Once he is secure, come and find me. I will go find my tools.”
Tools? This was not going to be pleasant.
Scarface grabbed his hair and jerked it back. “I saw what you did to my friends. Men of faith. I will do as much to you and more. You will tell us what we want to know. But I hope you will resist first. Because I want you to suffer as they did. I want you to suffer to your dying breath. Which will not be long in coming.”
Before Swinburne began orating, Ben took the president by the arm and led him gently to the other room. Kyler resisted a little, but not too much. He started to speak, more mindless babble, but Ben hushed him.
“I want you to stay in here,” Ben said. “The jury does not need to see you acting like this during the closings.”
The president pouted. “Don’t wanna be all by myself.”
“Tough. Stay in here and you can sing or rock or whatever. Just don’t get too loud.”
“Are you sending me to my room? I don’t wanna be locked up. I wanna fly free. Free!”
Ben tried to stay calm. “I’m just trying to help. So stay put. At least until you’re feeling better.”
“You’re mean.” The president folded his arms across his chest, then began to sing. “The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout…”
It was just too sad. Ben closed the door and quietly slipped back into the main room.
Swinburne moved a few steps away from his usual spot at the table, to a place directly before the webcam. Ben knew he was looking for a vantage point that would allow him to look directly both into the faces of those present and into the camera for the benefit of those cabinet members watching from the undisclosed secure location.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a sad occasion,” Swinburne began. “We are gathered here to decide whether to retain the elected president of the United States or to remove him, as provided for by the Twenty-fifth Amendment. This is not pleasant for anyone, least of all me. I have worked with and admired Roland Kyler for years. This is perhaps the hardest and most unpleasant task that has ever fallen upon me to perform. But pursuant to the Constitution, this duty falls to the vice president, so I will not shirk from it, even though it gives me no pleasure.”
Ben thought about objecting on grounds of profound insincerity, but decided against it.
“I don’t know what more there is for me to say. This is a case where a picture is worth a thousand words, and I think the spectacle that you have just witnessed will likely linger longer in your memory than anything I have to say. So I will just briefly outline the main points for you to consider, and then I will sit down.”
He continued. “First and foremost, the president’s mental state is clearly unbalanced. I’m not a psychiatrist and I don’t know the proper technical term, but I think we can all agree that what we have just seen is not something anyone should ever see from the president. And the testimony demonstrates that these irrational episodes, to varying lengths and degrees, have occurred many times in the past and with increasing frequency. This is not something we can turn a blind eye toward, not in such troubled times, and especially not in the midst of an enemy attack that puts this nation at dire risk. When it became clear that the emperor Caligula was hopelessly insane, the Praetorian Guard removed and replaced him. I’m sure it gave them no great pleasure, but they did it. We can do no less for our own people.”
Although he had gotten better at reading faces over the years, Ben had no idea what was going on in the minds of those who would cast the deciding votes. They still seemed a little stunned by all they had seen and heard. He knew they were listening, but he had no idea what they were thinking.
“Second, the fact that the president has personal ties to the nation of Kuraq, and a son now behind enemy lines, obviously compromises his ability to render an objective judgment as to what course is best for this nation-which again makes him incapable of performing his duties. You may feel that this is or is not his fault, but he has admitted that so long as his son is in danger, he will only entertain one possible course of action. A president who cannot or will not consider an action that may be in the national interest should not be running the country.
“Third,” he continued, “Secretary Ruiz testified about the president’s extreme single-mindedness-you might say obsession-with regard to Colonel Zuko and Kuraq. Now that we know the truth about the torrid affair in his past, and the love child it produced, that is perhaps more understandable. But it is still true nonetheless. The president is obsessed with taking down the colonel, just as he is obsessed with rescuing his son. Both of these two factors leave him incapable of performing his duties competently.”
Ben got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Some of the cabinet members were nodding in agreement.
“Finally, ladies and gentlemen, we must consider the president’s physical ailments. Diabetes is a serious disease. It is unfortunate that President Kyler was struck with this so soon after taking office-but he was. My son-in-law has diabetes, which is why I know so much about it. It’s debilitating, and it may well be the cause of his current mental infirmities. The president should have resigned as soon as the diagnosis was made.”
Swinburne clasped his hands before him. “We are very fortunate, my friends, that the Constitution has given us a means of ensuring a ready succession from one leader to the next. Every four years, the people vote, and if there is a change in the executive office, the transition is made smoothly and without the threat of upset or revolution. Similarly, the Twenty-fifth Amendment provides for a smooth succession in the event that the president becomes incapacitated-which is exactly the situation we have here. Thank God we can make the necessary change without the sort of upheaval that puts men such as Colonel Zuko into power.”
He leaned forward, balancing himself against the table. “My point is simply this: I know no one wants to do this. But we must. And the Constitution has made it possible for us to do it with as little angst as possible. The Constitution has only been amended a handful of times. The fact that it was amended not long ago to ensure an orderly means of removing a disabled president shows just how serious this matter is. We cannot take risks with the leadership of the nation when a foreign dictator is threatening to kill hundreds of thousands of people. We can’t ever afford to take that risk, because we know America ’s enemies are always looking for an opening. We will not give it to them. Not now. Not ever. So as distasteful as it may be, I ask you to do the necessary thing. Find the president incapable of performing his duties. Let me take the reins. You may or may not agree with what I do, but you’ll know that someone dependable, someone unbiased, and someone sane is making the decisions. And that’s what is most important here.”
He pushed away from the table. “Thank you for your kind attention.”
Ben slowly pushed himself away from the table, still not really knowing what he was going to say. This was a occasion when, like it or not, he was going to have to follow his instincts. In past years he might’ve found that notion laughable, because he knew his instincts were so untrustworthy. Christina used to say that he liked everyone, especially those who deserved it least. Not anymore. His perceptions had become more finely attuned as time passed and he had more experience in the courtroom. And he had learned that the smartest thing a trial lawyer can do is to pay attention to the expressions on the jurors’ faces.
What he saw on the faces of the cabinet members at this time did not fill him with confidence. But they had told him what aspect of the vice president’s case he needed to address most, so he would do his best. He had agreed to take the president’s defense. In fact, come to think of it, he had volunteered.
He would not let the man down now.
Ben made contact with each of the cabinet members in the room, then made contact with those on the other end of the blinking webcam. “Let me make one thing clear up front. I am not going to make excuses for what we have seen today. I’m not going to tell you it’s no big deal. It’s disturbing. Even bizarre. I won’t attempt to sweep that under the rug. All I will tell you is that the Constitution is very strict in its wording. It did not intend to make the removal of a president easy, or something that can be done quickly for political reasons. It can only occur for one reason-because something has rendered the president incapable of performing his duties. And I will respectfully argue that, as disturbing as what we have seen and heard today may be, we have no evidence that the president is incapable of performing his duties.”
Ben took a tiny step to the side. There was precious little room here to maneuver, but he knew that the tiniest change in gesture, expression, or anything else helped maintain the audience’s interest. “I will address the points raised by the prosecutor in reverse order. First, the president’s diabetes. I think we can safely assume that when the Twenty-fifth Amendment was passed in the mid-sixties, Birch Bayh and the other drafters were capable of inserting a clause providing for the removal of the president in the event that he contracts a serious illness. It had happened before. William Henry Harrison caught pneumonia and was incapacitated for a month before dying. Wilson had a stroke and never functioned at full capacity for the remainder of his term. But the framers did not address that. They only provided for removal in the event that something renders the president incapable of performing his duties.
“What evidence do we have that diabetes has left the president incapable? None. Absolutely none. Mr. Swinburne argues maybe this and maybe that, but he has no proof that this disease has impacted the president’s ability to function in any way. So, with respect, not only do I not think you should make this a basis for your decision, but I believe that you cannot. The Constitution simply does not provide for the removal of a president because he has a disease.
“Next.” Ben took a few steps in the other direction. Got to keep it moving…
“Mr. Swinburne alleges that the president should be removed because he is obsessed with Kuraq and Colonel Zuko.” Ben paused and let his eyes run to all those in the audience. “Why is that bad? When we have a dire threat to this nation, I think it should be uppermost in the president’s mind. I would think there was a problem if it were not. Let’s be honest about what we all already know-Secretary Ruiz wants us out of the Middle East.”
Ruiz swiveled around in his chair, a profound frown on his face.
“What Ruiz basically says is, ‘The president has a different opinion from me, and anyone who has a different opinion from me must be crazy. Or dangerously obsessed. So let’s get rid of him.’ Well, that may be how it works in a dictatorship, but last I heard, Americans have the right to hold contrary opinions, and that includes the president of the United States. This is a purely political attack, and the Constitution makes no provision for removing a president because his positions are unpopular with one cabinet member or another-or even all of them. The president has autonomy to think for himself-thank goodness. Whether you agree with him or not, this argument is simply without merit.”
Ben felt as if he was doing an adequate job of carving out a small space for success with what little was available to him. They might not like what they had seen the president do, but if he could bring them back to the high standard set by the Constitution, it was just possible he might be able to bring this trial back around.
At any rate, they weren’t laughing out loud at him.
“Third, we must consider the matter of the president’s son. I wish this had been revealed in a different way. I wish the president had informed the people of this blood relation on his own-especially after his helicopter crash made Mr. Malik a potential chess piece in a geopolitical conflict. But he didn’t. And we are not here to judge whether the president’s decision was right or wrong. Our only inquiry is whether the existence of the son renders the president incapable of performing his duties.
“Have we seen any evidence of incapability? No. All of Mr. Swinburne’s examples are instances of the president not doing what Swinburne thinks he should do, or supposedly not having the ability to do in the future what Swinburne wants to do now. Is that evidence of disability? Only in the jaundiced eyes of the vice president, and probably the eyes of the secretary of state. But again, disagreeing with them is not tantamount to being insane. Let’s hope that’s never the measuring stick. Because frankly, I’ve disagreed with the vice president about forty-two times today, so if that’s the standard, I’ll be committed as soon as this trial is over.”
That got a few small grins, which if nothing else showed Ben they were still listening. But now he was going into the tricky part. This was where he really had to do some work. This was where he really had to be good.
He heard a clicking sound on the other side of the room.
The president was reentering.
Jesus God-why now? Ben tried to hide his dismay from the others. It was the worst possible timing. Kyler seemed calm. Perhaps the episode was over. But his very presence, his return to the room, only reminded everyone of the disturbing sight they had seen only a few minutes before.
Ben took a breath and tried to block all those thoughts from his mind. Focus. Focus! “Finally, we have to consider the matter of the president’s alleged insanity, based upon his unusual behavior both here in the bunker and on a few previous occasions. I think the president did about the best possible job he could of explaining those situations, and I won’t repeat what he said. They were eccentric at best. Disturbing at worst. But ask yourself-was there ever any evidence that these episodes prevented the president from performing his duties?”
He paused, giving everyone a moment to think about it.
“Was there? I don’t remember any such evidence. I don’t think you do, either. Because there wasn’t any. Even after the president had his chat with the presidential portraits, he returned to the garden and handled the Easter egg roll. Even Sarie, whose testimony did him no good, admitted that he always did his job. Agent Zimmer testified that he never saw the president’s behavior interfere with the performance of his duties. And even today, as shocking as these spectacles may have been, the president always snapped out of it and returned to work a few minutes later. Even now he has returned to this room, even though I’m sure there are a million other places he would rather be. He has not been derelict in his duties. Not now. Not ever.”
Ben spread his hands wide. “So where is the evidence that he is incapable of performing as president? Nowhere. It doesn’t exist. All day today, he has been performing his duties and managing this crisis. Sure, he hasn’t made the same decisions that Secretary Ruiz would. He hasn’t pleased the vice president, which, let’s face it, might well be impossible. But he has made decisions, and he has always been able to explain why he has taken them. Is he the first leader to refuse to back down in the face of terrorist attacks? Of course not. So why is it so controversial now? I understand that crises produce heated feelings, but this is a sober deliberative body, so we have to put those feelings aside and think clearly. The only question before us is this: has the prosecution presented any evidence that the president’s disease, his personal life, his politics, or his odd behavior has prevented him from performing his duties as president? Has Mr. Swinburne been able to produce one example of a duty unfulfilled or fulfilled incompetently? He has not. And since there is no such evidence, the constitutional standard has not been met.”
Ben took one final look into the eyes of those before him. “Being goofy is not the same as being incapable. And since there is no evidence of incapacity, the Twenty-fifth Amendment cannot be put into play. I urge you to respect the letter of the Constitution and to let the president remain in the office to which he was duly elected by the citizens of the United States.”
Ben broke eye contact and took his seat. His throat felt dry, achy. It was probably the shortest closing argument of his life-and also the hardest. He had no idea whether they would listen to him, whether they could put aside what they had seen and think logically, as he had urged, to stick to the letter of the amendment.
And at the moment, he was too tired to think about it anymore.
Worry was pointless. In a few minutes, they would all know.
“Mr. Swinburne,” Cartwright said, “you have about one minute for a rebuttal.”
“I’ll take less than that,” Swinburne said, buttoning his coat. “I just have two sentences.” He addressed the jury, gazing into the webcam. “At another time and place, we might have the luxury of doing as counsel asks, of giving the man some more rope and seeing if he hangs himself. But today, when ballistic missiles could be launched at any moment, we can’t take the risk.”
And with that, Swinburne sat down.
That rebuttal was all-time short-and probably a thousand times more effective for its brevity. Swinburne had put the jurors exactly where he wanted them: totally focused on the impending missile crisis and the potential danger of an unbalanced president calling the shots.
“All right, then,” Cartwright said. “I thank counsel for their service. And now, members of the deliberative panel, it is time to vote.”
Seamus was strapped down to a cot, his arms tied above his head, his legs tied down as well. After he was secure, they hoisted the cot sideways and mounted it against the wall. He didn’t know how it was done. He couldn’t see behind himself. Were there hooks on the wall? That would just figure. Scarface had done nothing for the décor, but he had made sure he had an efficient place to torture people.
Most of the security detail disappeared after he was hung on the wall. Apparently they thought he posed little threat at that point. His old sparring buddy, Guard One, stayed on, though, just in case.
“Hey,” Seamus said, winking. “I’ll make you a deal.”
Guard One didn’t even blink. From the looks of him, Seamus thought, he might as well have been guarding the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
“You’re an American citizen, aren’t you? You let me go and I’ll make sure you aren’t prosecuted for treason.”
“Go to hell,” Guard One spat.
“That may happen in time,” Seamus said, “but I’d like to delay it as long as possible.”
“You’ll be there within the hour.”
“All the more reason for us to make a deal first. Tell you what, I’ll not only give you total immunity from prosecution, I’ll give you an IRS waiver, too.”
“A what?”
“An IRS waiver. Haven’t you heard of it? You can file anything you want, and the IRS will never audit you. Guaranteed. It’s like a tax-department get-out-of-jail-free card.”
“Pass. I haven’t filed a tax return for years.”
Well, that must simplify his April 15. Seamus tried again. “You know, these guys are probably promising you virgins in heaven, but I can get you the best booty in the tristate area. Who wants a virgin, anyway? Wouldn’t you rather have someone who knows what she’s doing?”
Guard One’s expression dripped with contempt. “I’m not Muslim.”
“Then what are you in this for?”
“Money. Lots of it.”
“Oh.” No wonder he was hard to bribe. Uncle Sam probably didn’t have a slush fund to match Colonel Zuko’s. “Interested in real estate? I’ve got a great place for duck hunting on the coast of-”
“Would you just shut up?” the guard said.
“Well, if you’re going to be unfriendly…”
The door opened.
Scarface stepped into the small room. He closed the door behind him.
He was carrying a tool belt. Like something Bob the Builder might carry, except with sharper edges.
“I am glad you are amusing yourself and having great fun,” he said. He walked up to Seamus until they were practically nose to nose. “Now it is time for me to have some fun.”
Arlo checked his watch again. Seamus had been gone a long time. It was possible he hadn’t been able to get inside. But if so, why hadn’t he returned to the car? It didn’t make any sense. He knew Seamus wouldn’t quit without making every effort. If he couldn’t get in right away, he’d have come back for a tire iron or something.
So he must’ve gotten inside. Why hadn’t he returned?
Could he still be looking around, taking notes? Stretching his legs?
Arlo could think of a far more likely explanation.
He couldn’t forget what Seamus had told him. The man had drilled it into his head. He said it three times: do not leave the car.
Apparently he meant it.
Arlo had the keys. He could drive away from here.
And abandon Seamus? The man who had saved his life? No. Even if he weren’t indebted to him, he wouldn’t leave him hanging out like that.
But he had promised…
So many difficult decisions. He didn’t know what to do. But he wasn’t content just to sit here doing nothing. He needed a plan of action. If this were a World of Warcraft scenario, what would his avatar do?
One thing was certain: real life was a lot harder.
Seamus didn’t know what he hated most: the fact that Scarface was invading his personal space or the fact that his breath was truly rancid.
“Why are you here?” his captor demanded.
“Well, jeez Louise,” Seamus said, “isn’t that obvious?”
Scarface slugged him hard, deep in the pit of his stomach. It hurt much more than it should have. That was because his ribs were still aching on the right side. But explaining it didn’t make it feel any better.
“Why are you here?” Scarface shouted, even louder.
“Are you kidding? You’ve hijacked a nuclear bomb and the U.S. missile system. Did you think no one would come looking for you? Every federal agent on the East Coast is looking for you.”
“How did you find us?”
Seamus didn’t see any point in lying about that, either. “I got the address from that clown you sent to the mall to pick up Harold Bemis.” That was true, more or less. “By the way, neither one of them will be showing.”
Scarface was enraged. “We need him!”
“Oh, yeah? Got a glitch in the system?”
“Your fascist government is trying to interfere.”
“You mean we’re trying to boot you out of our computers. Imagine that.”
Scarface pummeled him again, several times, all delivered to the same soft sore spot in his stomach. Seamus thought he felt something rupture. The pain was excruciating. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face.
“It does not matter. You will not succeed before the colonel’s deadline has expired. And if I sense we will soon lose control, I will fire all the missiles at once!”
That would be bad. And Scarface looked just crazy and pissed off enough to do it. Seamus knew Colonel Zuko was an extremist, but he didn’t think he was totally starkers. He wondered if the dictator knew his first officer was so far gone.
“Who came with you?”
“No one. I came alone.”
“Do not lie to me!”
“Look around you, pal. Do you see anyone? I’m alone.” He hoped the creep bought it. Arlo might’ve had the sense to drive off by now, but then again, maybe not. He didn’t want the kid dragged into this.
Of course, he didn’t want to make Scarface mad, either. Truth to tell, his ribs weren’t going to hold up to much more of this.
“Who else knows you’re here?”
“No one.”
“You must’ve called your superior.”
“No time. Your top cops grabbed me just as soon as I spotted the control room, or whatever you call that.”
Scarface paused a moment. Seamus could see he was considering, weighing the words, wondering if his captive could be trusted.
“How long would it take your colleagues to arrive?”
“They’d already be here,” he lied.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why would I lie about that?”
“How much do you know about what we are doing? How much does anyone know?”
“No one knows anything. I don’t know anything. And I’ve seen the operation in action. But I’m still clueless.”
“You lie!” He pounded Seamus in the stomach again and again. Seamus suspected he was bleeding internally. He was used to blocking out pain, but all the mental discipline in the world couldn’t stop a hemorrhage.
Scarface brought his hand against the back of Seamus’s face. “Talk to me!” Blood and spittle flew from Seamus’s mouth. “Tell me what you know!”
“Do I look like a computer genius?”
“You are an American spy!” he shouted, battering Seamus’s face again.
“I am just like you!” Seamus shouted back. “I take orders!” Not entirely true, but he thought it was the best way to appeal to this guy. The solidarity of soldiers and all that. “I do what I’m told!”
That seemed to give Scarface pause, at least for a moment. Not long enough. “Then your masters have ordered you to your death.” He turned and reached for his tool belt. He returned with a pair of shiny steel pliers. “I do not have much time for this. I expect the colonel to call soon. So the question is whether you will die quickly and painlessly or whether I will have a chance to use my tools.”
“You’re not listening to me. I don’t know anything.”
Scarface slugged him again, this time with the pliers. That stung. Seamus could feel blood trickling out of his mouth. He felt around with his tongue. Damn-one of his molars felt loose. Not that he hadn’t lost teeth before. But he didn’t like it. There were only so many to go around.
Scarface pulled open Seamus’s shirt, popping the buttons. The shirt hung in tatters, dangling from Seamus’s shoulders. Scarface jabbed the pliers into his left pectoral. Then he twisted.
Seamus screamed. There was no shame in screaming, he told himself. When you feel pain, let it out. Holding it in only made it worse.
And this was bad enough already. Seamus could feel his flesh tearing, feel the muscle separating from the skin. Blood gushed down his chest.
“Still not convinced? Let us try the other side.”
Scarface twisted the pliers around the right pec. Seamus screamed, a longer and louder cry. Blood and sweat poured down the sides of his body.
“And if that’s not enough, we’ll work on some of your other extremities. We will take you apart bit by bit. We will take away all that makes you a man.” He paused, grinning with malice. “Before I am finished, there may be nothing left of you to kill.”
“I think we can assume,” Admiral Cartwright continued, “that the vice president wishes to initiate an action to remove the president.”
“You can,” Swinburne concurred.
“So I will poll each of the cabinet members, in order, and I will ask if you vote to retain or remove. Does everyone understand?”
There was general assent, indicated by nods.
“Good. Let’s begin. Mr. Secretary of-”
“Excuse me!” It was Agent Zimmer, standing by the communications station, one earphone pressed against his right ear. “I have Colonel Zuko.”
The president rose. “Put him on speaker.”
Swinburne stood. “No, wait just a-”
“I’m still the president. At least for the next few minutes. And so long as I am president, I will do my job. So get out of my way.”
Swinburne frowned but got out of the way.
“Colonel Zuko. Are you there?”
The deep, guttural voice Ben had come to dislike so strongly returned to the airwaves. “I am.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed, as I have, that there are only five minutes remaining on the clock.”
“Is that right? I must’ve lost track.”
“This is not a time for levity, Mr. President. Let me assure you that I mean what I say. The missiles have been targeted. They will deliver their payload to heavily populated residential areas.”
“Where? Anacostia? Georgetown? Morgan? Cleveland Park?”
“Why do you ask? So you can begin an evacuation, as you did on the National Mall? I’m afraid I cannot answer your question.”
“Because you want people to die.”
“Because I can see from your failure to act earlier today that the taking of lives is necessary to make you understand that you have no choice in this matter. You must withdraw your troops.”
Silence. The president chose not to answer.
“Have you changed your mind?” Zuko demanded.
“I have not,” the president said, looking at Swinburne out the corner of his eye. “But… it’s possible that things could change.”
“I hope for your sake that they do. Because if I cannot see in the next few minutes that you are withdrawing the troops from my sovereign territory, thousands of your civilians will die. And you will be known forevermore not as the man who brought peace to his nation but as the warmonger who allowed thousands of his own people to be butchered.”
“Colonel Zuko-”
Too late. The line was dead.
“And on that happy note,” Cartwright said, “it’s time for us to vote.”
Ben pulled out his ballpoint pen, ready to tick off the votes. Please, God, he thought, please…
What did he really want? What did he think was truly best?
Please, God, do what’s best for this nation and the people in it. He would leave it at that.
“Mr. Secretary of State?”
Ruiz answered, “Remove.”
Ben cursed silently. Why did he have to be first? He hoped Ruiz hadn’t started a trend that would be impossible to buck.
“Mr. Secretary of Defense.”
Rybicki replied, “Retain.”
Thank God. So the score was even, at least here in the bunker.
The president leaned toward Ben’s ear and whispered, “However this turns out, Ben, I want to thank you. You’ve done a great service for me, and I appreciate it.”
“I wish I had-”
The president squeezed his arm, stopping him. “You’ve done the best job anyone could possibly do with a virtually impossible case. And I will never forget it.”
Cartwright continued. “Mr. Secretary of the Treasury.”
“Retain.”
Ben’s eyes widened. They were ahead. Was it possible…?
“Ms. Attorney General.”
“Retain.”
Ben closed his eyes. Yes! Keep them coming…
“Mr. Secretary of the Interior.”
“Remove.”
Well, there were bound to be a few.
“Mr. Secretary of Agriculture.”
“Remove.”
The score was tied again. And they still had more than half of the cabinet members to poll.
“Ms. Secretary of Labor.”
She was shaking her head sadly as she answered, “Remove.”
“Mr. Secretary of Commerce.”
“Remove.”
Ben looked at the president firmly. “Don’t give up. It isn’t over yet.”
The president nodded, without much enthusiasm.
“Mr. Secretary of Housing and Urban Development.”
“Retain.”
See? Always hope…
“Mr. Secretary of Transportation.”
“Retain.”
Even odds again…
“Mr. Secretary of Energy.”
“Retain.”
Sweet God! Was it possible? They were ahead, with only a few votes outstanding. For the first time, Ben allowed himself to hope.
“Ms. Secretary of Education.”
“Remove.”
That’s okay-still several votes out there…
“Mr. Secretary of Veterans’ Affairs.”
“Remove.”
Well, it was predictable that he would side with the secretary of state.
“Mr. Secretary of Homeland Security.”
“Retain.”
Dear God, was it tied again? It could go either way at this point. On one hand, Ben was pleased to know that he had managed to persuade a few cabinet members-or perhaps they were simply loyal to the man who had appointed them. In any case, it wasn’t the rout it could have been. But why did it all have to come down to one vote?
“Someone correct me if I’m wrong,” Cartwright said, “but I believe that makes the vote of the Cabinet members exactly seven to seven. Looks like it all comes down to the last vote. Mr. Secretary of Health and Human Services, you’re making the final call.”
It was obvious he didn’t want that responsibility. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“I know, sir. But you’ve got it, anyway. How do you vote?”
It seemed an eternity passed before he finally spoke. “Remove.”
Ben felt as if his heart had just stopped. Damn! He knew the odds had been stacked against them, but to lose by one vote! He suddenly realized his whole body, especially his legs, were shaking. Had they been like that all along and he just didn’t know it? Did it take the crash of the adrenaline infusion before he realized what was going on with his own body?
He looked beside him at the president. Kyler was shaking his head, fighting to keep his expression even. He had to be devastated. The temptation to shout, argue, or break into tears must be profound. But he was managing to keep it together.
“It’s not your fault, Ben,” he said generously. “You did everything that could possibly be done. I’m indebted to you.”
“That’s not-” Ben began, but he was cut off by the admiral.
“The vote of the cabinet is eight for removal, seven for retention. The majority favors removal. Therefore, in my capacity as judge of this constitutional tribunal, I hereby declare that the Twenty-fifth Amendment will be implemented. Although the amendment provides for a resolution to be provided to the Congress, under the circumstances I’m sure everyone will agree that we will not delay the transition of power, but will only ask that this technicality be fulfilled as swiftly as possible. The president has been found incapable of performing his duties and is therefore relieved of said duties. The office of the president will be assumed by Vice President Swinburne.”
“The oath of office is in the football, with a Bible,” the president said helpfully. His voice sounded as if it was on the verge of breaking, but didn’t quite.
Did he mean the nuclear football? Ben wondered. The silver attaché case with all the codes for nuclear launch plus, apparently, a few other essential emergency items?
“Since I’m the judge, sort of,” Cartwright said, “I guess I can be in charge of that. Mr. Swinburne, let’s do it in the next room.”
“We can do it later,” Swinburne replied. “Have you noticed the clock?”
In fact, in the midst of all the excitement, Ben had actually forgotten about the ticking countdown. As he turned his head, the display changed to show only one minute remaining until Colonel Zuko’s grace period ran out.
In less than sixty seconds, another missile could be headed toward a nearby residential neighborhood. For the first time, Ben found himself almost grateful he had lost the trial.
“Get out of my way,” Swinburne growled, pushing away everyone who was between him and the communications station. “Let me talk to Zuko!”
Agent Zimmer glanced up at him calmly. “As you say, sir. We have a continuing connection. I’ll see if he will pick up the line again.” A few seconds later, he said, “I have the colonel for you, Mr. Vice President.”
“That’s Mr. President now,” Swinburne said, snatching the headset away from him.
“Colonel? This is Conrad Swinburne. I don’t have time to explain all the details, but I’m the commander in chief now, and I am immediately giving the order to-”
And then, without warning, all the lights in the bunker went out, including the lights on the communications station. Ben listened with horror to the slow, eerie dying whine of the electronic equipment powering down.
“What the hell just happened?” Swinburne bellowed in the darkness.
“I don’t know,” Zimmer said. Rustling noises told Ben he was trying a dozen things at once, trying to discern what was going on. “We seem to have lost power.”
“I thought the bunker had its own generator!”
“It does,” Zimmer said succinctly.
“Then what’s going on?”
“If you could just give me a minute to investigate-”
“We don’t have a minute! That madman will launch the missiles! Get him back!”
Ben heard Zimmer frantically pushing buttons, trying to raise a ghost in the machine. “I… can’t.”
“Then get me the Joint Chiefs. So I can give the order to have our troops withdraw!”
“At the moment I can’t do that, either.”
“Then let me the hell out of this bunker!”
“No.” Ben didn’t know how, but he got the distinct impression that Zimmer was restraining Swinburne.
“Get your hands off me, man. I’m the president now!”
“Which is exactly why you have to remain in the bunker. I’ll send someone else to check out the power problem.”
“Does anyone know the time?” Cartwright was asking the question.
Across the table, Ben detected a small green glow.
Secretary Rybicki had a glow-in-the-dark watch.
“The time… is up,” he said in quick, clipped tones. “It’s too late.”
Ben felt his heart pounding in his chest. Sarie reached for his hand. He took it and squeezed tightly.
He could feel Swinburne crumbling to the table. “After all that. After all that. We’re still too late.”
The bunker fell eerily quiet. When Swinburne spoke again, he spoke for them all.
“Oh, my God,” he said, and his words seemed to contain all the pain of tens of thousands of innocent civilian lives. “Oh, my dear God.”