by Darrell Case
“We must maintain control over this situation.” President Jerold Robbins said to his chief counsel Barney Gibbons.
`He's going to wear a hole in the carpet.' Barney thought as he watched his boss pace over the Oval Office.
“Security is utmost in this operation.” Robbins continued.
“Yes, sir, I understand.” Gibbons said for the fifth time. `As if we ever had control,' he murmured under his breath.
“What was that, did you say something?”
“I was just thinking out loud.” Barney, answered, sweat forming around his collar. His position dictated that he counsel the president on the legality of his actions. Robbins would heed that counsel not today, not ever. The only one Robbins listened to was himself. Barney thought of resigning. He could use the 'spend more time with the family' excuse. Fat chance. Jerry would never accept his resignation.
“That last hit in Texas was a disaster.” Robbins said, stopping to stare out the window at the White House lawn.
“Why didn't someone tell that idiot that Card was to be executed on his way to prison? Not on courthouse steps in front of the whole town?”
“He was informed of the . . . er. . . proper disposal required,” Barney said gripping the arms of the chair to keep his hands from trembling. He hated this business. Why didn't he stay in private practice?
“He was informed of the . . er… proper disposal required.” Barney said, gripping the arms of the chair to steady his hands. He hated this business. Why didn’t he stay in private practice?
“Are you telling me this man deliberately disobeyed a direct order?” Robbins asked, turning to face his chief counsel. Barney couldn't look his boss in the eye. He found his briefcase, placed it on his lap, and began rummaging through its contents.
The President faced Barney, still shuffling through documents and memos.
“What are you looking for, Gibbons? Answer me!” Robbins demanded, stepping to within a foot of the attorney. “Wasn’t he ordered to shoot Card on the way to Huntsville? Yes or no?”
Barney ran his right hand over the zippered flap inside the briefcase. Robbins snatched it off Gibbon's lap and tossed it to the floor. Several confidential memos skittered across the seal of the United States.
Robbins stood up to answer the scarlet-faced Gibbons. Some of the papers had swirled in a pile around his feet. Barney sighed. Even when they were children, Jerry Robbins was a bully.
“Yes, Mr. President, he knew. There is a deserted stretch of highway. One of the deputies was to stop at a specified location.”
“And?”
“Card was to be brought out of the car on the pretense of using the bathroom, stretching his legs or some such excuse.” Barney ran a finger around his color. His tie seemed to be choking him.
“Our man, where was he to be?”
“Waiting behind an outcropping of rock. One shot the head. The deputy was to wait thirty minutes to give him time to escape.”
“And he disregards the command?”
“Yes sir.” Barney said. He gripped the arms of the chair tighter until his fingers ached.
“Perhaps it's time we eliminate this operative and replace him with someone who obeys orders.” Robbins said.
Sweat broke out on Barney's forehead. The room felt like an oven. He struggled to breathe. Finally, he drew in a deep breath. He attempted to calm himself and said, “I don't believe that would be wise Mr. President.” His mouth felt like a dry creek bed. His heart quaked.
“Why not? Let me remind you we have eliminated twenty murderers from our nation's streets and it’s only the fifth of May,” Robbins countered. “Our plan is right on track.”
“Your plan Jerry, your plan. Murdering people was never my idea. I accepted the appointment as Chief Counsel hoping you would take my advice.” He could never voice these thoughts or he would be the next target.
“By the time I run for reelection well over five hundred will have been executed. The streets will be safer and our victory will be assured for another four years.” The intercom buzzed. Robbins punched a button. “Ms. Chandler, didn't I tell you no interruptions?”
“Sorry, Mr. President. The Attorney General has arrived.” Rose Chandler said.
“Oh very well, send him in.”
Attorney General Keaton Wallace stepped into the Oval Office, closed the door and dropped into the nearest chair. A plump man in his late 50’s, Keaton continually fought his weight problem and nursed a heart condition.
“Have a seat, Keaton.” Robbins said grinning, “We were just discussing eliminating our friend from the CIA.” The attorney general's face grew pale. Terror gripped his ailing heart.
“You must be joking, please tell me you're joking,” he said looking from one man to the other. “Mr. President we can't do that.”
Robbins laughed.
“You're behind the times, Keaton. I'm president of the United States of America. I can do anything I please.” Jerald Robbins said. Sitting down behind his desk, he rested his forearms on the surface and smiled at the two men.
“Remember three years ago when we had that pesky little problem in the Middle East? He bragged about the nukes his county was prepared to manufacture?” Keaton said pulling out a handkerchief and mopping his forehead.
“Of course I was one of the few senators who voted to declare war. He boasted he would rule the world in five years. If he hadn't died of a coronary he... " The President's voice trailed off. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "Are you telling me our friend . . .?”
“What we are saying,” Keaton glanced at Barney.
“What I'm saying,” Keaton lowered his voice. “What I'm saying Mr. president is we could all end up dead, and the best experts in the world wouldn't be able to find any evidence of foul play.”
Robbins tried to smile, the muscles of his face seemed frozen. "Gentlemen, you forget I'm surrounded by Secret service agents twenty-four seven.”