WASHINGTON, D.C.
The Sikorsky S-61 Sea King helicopter raced in over the capital city faster than usual. The pilots of Marine One didn't share the president's confidence that it was safe to return to the White House, but they weren't in the habit of telling the president what to do, so, like the good Marine aviators that they were, they followed their orders and performed their duties to their utmost ability. The Secret Service, however, behaved slightly differently. Jack Warch, the special agent in charge of the presidential detail, had protested fiercely, first to Valerie Jones and then almost as fiercely, but certainly more respectfully, to the president himself.
Warch and the president had a good working relationship. The president almost always listened to the agent's security concerns, and would often do what he could to ease Warch's fears, but on the issue of going back to the White House in the midst of the crisis, the president could not be swayed. Warch put up a fight, but he knew when to quit. Just like the Marine aviators, when the president gave an order, you were expected and conditioned to follow it. Warch did officially state that he thought the move was premature and ill advised, but then went about arranging the president's departure.
Irene Kennedy had watched the proceedings in her usual silent but perceptive way, reading between the lines and looking for the political motive behind each rationale for returning to the White House. Having worked her entire adult life for the CIA, Kennedy believed in keeping secrets. There was little doubt in her mind that it would be better if the American people never knew what had just happened down in Charleston. Life was difficult enough for the average person without having to worry about nuclear annihilation.
Unfortunately, burying the entire matter, while a nice thought, was for all intents and purposes no longer an option. The press was onto the story. She herself had implemented Operation Ark with the expectation that they wouldn't make it past noon the next day before the press broke the story, and she was right. Not only had the reporter from TheTimes refused to back down when Jones spoke to him, but two additional reporters were now on the story. Poor Tim Webber, the White House press secretary, had his finger stuck in a dike that was about to lose all structural integrity. If they didn't get back to the White House quickly and help him field questions, there was going to be a flood.
Kennedy was a person with high standards but realistic expectations. Concealing from the press, and the American people, what had taken place over the last twelve hours was hopeless. The more rational course was to get out in front of the story and manage it. This was where Kennedy agreed with both the president and his chief of staff. She would have preferred to keep the president securely tucked away at Site R until they had a better understanding of what they had just thwarted, but there were huge economic and political issues at play.
The economic issues were easy enough to understand. Financial markets thrived on stability. If the announcement of a hike in interest rates, or an increase in unemployment, could send the stock market plunging, it was not difficult to imagine how news of the evacuation of America's political leadership from Washington would be received. Hayes didn't mention the political repercussions, but Kennedy knew what he was thinking. He was not going to sit safely in a secure military bunker while average citizens went to work, thus opening himself up to charges of cowardice by his opponents.
Hayes had been very adamant that the quickest and best way to avoid any type of panic was for him to be seen behind his desk at the White House running the country. For the most part Kennedy agreed, and when asked by the president she said so. An impromptu plan of sorts was then initiated by Hayes. He ordered the vice president and the Secretary of Homeland Security to stay put at the Mount Weather facility and Treasury Secretary Keane to meet him at the White House. Secretary of State Berg was to remain at Site R with National Security Advisor Haik, and Kennedy and Jones were to accompany him to the White House.
Kennedy couldn't remember how many times she'd been on Marine One, they were too numerous to count, but she could tell they were flying faster than normal as they came in low over the National Mall. She looked out the small window at the World War II Memorial. Workers were busy erecting bleachers and getting ready for the dedication ceremony on Saturday. Rapp was already on his way back, expected to arrive sometime this evening. In the morning she would have him start looking for any possible link between the thwarted attack and the ceremony.
The helicopter banked hard and everyone in back reached for their armrests. Kennedy looked up at Warch, who was sitting in a jump seat by the cockpit. Like most Secret Service agents he tended to carry himself in a very stoic manner, but Kennedy knew him well enough to elicit from him a roll of the eyes and a crooked frown. Warch was not in the least bit happy with the president's decision to come back to the White House.
Gripping his leather armrests the president leaned out into the aisle and said, "Jack, are you trying to punish me?"
"Wouldn't think of it, Mr. President. Just trying to make sure we get you back to the White House without getting you shot out of the sky."
Hayes looked over at Kennedy and flashed her one of his engaging smiles. For the second time this morning he said to her, "Great job, Irene. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Thank you, Mr. President," Kennedy allowed herself a smile, "but it's Mitch who you should be thanking."
"Don't worry, I plan on it."
He reached out and grabbed her hand with almost boyish enthusiasm and said, "We stopped the bastards, Irene! We stopped them cold. They took their best shot at us and we stopped them."
Kennedy's smile grew. "Yes we did, sir. Yes we did."
The director of the CIA was not one to gloat, but it was hard to suppress the heady, almost intoxicating feeling of having just foiled a terrorist attack that would have destroyed Washington, D.C.
THE MOTORCADE STEADILYpushed its way through the heavy downtown traffic; three big black Chevy Suburbans with government plates, lights flashing, sirens whooping, and no police escort. When the vehicles pulled through the heavy black gate of the White House, the pack of reporters standing on the north lawn dropped everything and ran to get into position. It was rather comical watching the pencil-thin TV journalists jostle with the more sturdy photographers and cameramen. Normally there was a pecking order, and reporters who had the most seniority in covering the White House were politely allowed to the front, but not this morning. The pressure was on. Producers were barking over ear pieces and editors were screaming into mobile phones. The rumor mill was in overdrive, and a scoop mentality was driving the pack.
The dark tinted windows of the trucks frustrated even the brightest flashes of the cameras as the photographers tried to get a glimpse of who was inside the middle vehicle. Through experience they all knew to disregard the first and last truck, which would only contain burly men in suits, with short haircuts and guns. If you hung out in Washington, let alone at the White House, this type of setup was common place. Important people being driven about in dark vehicles, with dark windows and bodyguards, was very Washington.
To these savvy reporters, such a sight would normally elicit no more than a passing curiosity, but not this morning. The lack of information or usable footage of anyone either entering or leaving the White House drove the reporters, photographers, and cameramen into a paparazzi-like frenzy.
The doors to the first and third vehicle sprang open and a group of men wearing lapel pins, sunglasses, and flesh-colored earpieces stepped onto the curb and made a path for their boss. Attorney General Stokes got out of the backseat of the middle vehicle with Peggy Stealey on his heels.
Reporters began shouting questions, photographers snapped photos, and cameramen jostled everyone in an attempt to get more than one second of unobscured footage.
Stokes strode through the phalanx without flinching. He been through this enough times to know it was important to stand tall, maintain a neutral expression, and ignore the cameras. Shielding your eyes from the flashes only made you look like you were trying to hide something.
"Attorney General Stokes!" one of the reporters shouted. "Is it true the president was evacuated from the White House last night?"
"Where is the president right now?" another reporter shouted.
Stokes stayed the course. His years of lawyering had taught him to usually ignore such questions, but this morning, after what they had just been through, he decided to have a little fun. "I'm headed inside to meet with him."
The attorney general and the tall blonde entered the building, and left the press looking at each other skeptically. They'd been on the White House press secretary all morning demanding to know where the president was, and they'd gotten nowhere. The fact that the press secretary refused to answer their questions was proof that the president wasn't where he was supposed to be.
A few reporters continued to shout questions after Stokes had entered the building, but stopped as soon as the heavy white doors were closed. When the din of griping had died down they grew aware of another noise. A noise they were all familiar with. They ran northward, away from the building, and began searching the sky. The distinctive thumping was that of a helicopter, and there was only one helicopter in the world that was allowed to penetrate the airspace around the White House.
One by one they began cursing Tim Webber for not allowing them to cover the arrival of the president from wherever the hell it was that he'd been.