by Brandt Legg
“This man is a criminal. He killed a federal agent and was attempting to assassinate the president of the United States.” Hudson stared at the man and let the words hang.
“I’m not claiming that he’s a decent person,” the doctor said. “But he is a person, a human who is suffering, and it’s my job to keep him alive. If he survives, and is well enough to leave the hospital, then you can chat with him all day long. He’ll no longer be my concern. You can try, convict, and then sentence him to death if that’s what you want.”
“I understand,” the president said. “But this is a matter of national security, so I’m going to talk to that man, and if he happens to die while I’m doing it, that’ll be inconvenient, but I can assure you I know where he’s going.”
The president turned and stormed out of the room.
The doctor followed after him. “Mr. President, I must insist.”
Without turning around, through gritted teeth, the president said, “Detain him.”
A Secret Service agent immediately stepped in front of the doctor. Another stepped up and informed him that he would be placed under arrest and taken to jail should he make any attempt to stop the president.
The corridors ahead were cleared as President Pound and the agents found the intensive care unit where the suspect was being guarded in a private room. The suspect, a battered, twenty-something white guy with a military haircut and athletic build, looked noticeably disturbed when he saw the president enter.
“Do you know who I am?” Hudson asked.
The man nodded and licked his dry lips.
“Good,” Hudson said, pulling a chair right next to the suspect’s bed. “You tried to kill me earlier today, didn’t you?”
The man just stared and said nothing.
“Listen to me you uneducated, neglected, troubled, product of a bad school system,” the president ranted in a hushed but firm voice. “You radicalized misfit. Yet another member of the common class tortured by the one percent, confused by the oppressive life you find yourself stumbling through . . . Is it money? Is it the chance to rise above the hopelessness? A moment when you can make a difference instead of wallowing in the damp despair of powerlessness?” Hudson’s eyes never left the suspect’s. “Do you even know what you’re fighting for, and why you can’t stop the flood of anger that drowns you every morning? Where does the hate come from? You’re desperate, aren’t you? I can see it on your face. You want out so bad it’s impossible not to scream sometimes, but you can’t, so you swallow it again, and it mixes with all the other bitter bile that constantly gnaws at you.”
The man stared attentively at Hudson, his expression less angry.
“You’re going to tell me what I need to know.”
The suspect shook his head.
“You killed a federal agent during an attempted assassination of the president of the United States, they’re going to execute you for what you did today.” Hudson softened his tone and expression. “And I’m the only friend you have.”
“You aren’t my friend. I want a lawyer.”
Hudson shook his head. “I don’t think you’re hearing me.” Hudson put his hand firmly on the man’s injured leg.
The man winced.
“Sorry, that wasn’t intentional,” the president said sincerely. “You know what happened to me don’t you? I’m sure you heard about the day I died.”
The man nodded slightly.
“Those nine minutes . . . ” Hudson said, his voice filled with wonder as if discussing magic. “I know where you’re going. I learned some things up there—”
“In heaven?” the man asked weakly, sounding almost like a child.
“No. Up there at thirty thousand feet aboard Air Force One.”
“What?”
“You tell me what I need to know, I’ll tell you what you need to know.”
The man blinked his eyes and licked his dry lips again.
“Where did you get those weapons? Who sent you?”
“Can you guarantee I won’t die?” the man asked.
Hudson shook his head. “Because of you, an innocent man who was just doing his job is dead.”
“Then no deal.”
“You’re way beyond deals. You may not even survive the night, and if you do, it’s going to be a whole lot of horrible for the next couple of years. Solitary confinement, shackles, interrogations that are going to seem more like torture, and then you’re going to be executed. This life is over. All you have is what’s happening next.”
“I’m going to hell? You go to hell!”
“Where did you get all this hate?”
The suspect glared at Hudson. “You don’t understand.”
“Maybe not, but I’m all you got.”
“I don’t got you! We’re not friends!”
“You’re right,” Hudson said. “But we’re brothers.”
The suspect looked confused.
“Brothers,” Hudson repeated. “You tell me, and the rest of your life, whatever time you have left, will be easier. But if you don’t, you’re going to die cold and lonely without knowing what’s next. Don’t you want to know?”
The man looked at the agents in the room. They stared blankly back. “You aren’t gonna tell me nothing. You ain’t told no one.”
“But I’ll tell you.” Hudson stared at the man. “Look, I do understand. I have a pretty good idea of why you hate this much. The world is a mess. It feels like the Hunger Games sometimes. Did you read that book?”
“I saw the movie.”
“Well, it’s not that bad yet, but it could be. The system is rigged, corruption is everywhere. We’re living under a repressive conspiracy that we help sustain, but I’m trying to fix it. You tried to kill the wrong guy. They don’t want me to change anything. That’s why they want to kill me. You think they bother assassinating people that aren’t a threat? You’ve been working for the very empire that you hate.”
The man looked at Hudson and almost smiled. “That’s why we’re brothers?”
The president nodded. “Lots of us are on the same side, but we don’t know it. They divide us our whole lives. They can’t let us know that the only real enemy we have is them.”
The man thought for a few minutes and finally said, “Okay. Clear the room, and I’ll tell you.”
“Mr. President, we can’t do that,” Agent Bond said.
“He’s restrained, hooked to a bunch of machines—I’ll be okay,” the president said, and then added firmly, “Go.”
After they were alone, the man confessed the details the president wanted to know. Hudson thanked him, then whispered his side of the bargain. He began with the words, “Don’t worry about heaven or hell, those are myths.”
Ten minutes later, when the president emerged from the room, the suspect was happily crying.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Hudson used the short helicopter ride from the White House to Vonner’s old Potomac River estate to contemplate his next move. Soon they would have to make the decision on whether to arrest REMies and seize assets. It was a daunting prospect which would inevitably lead to negotiations with the elites.
Or, Hudson could choose to simply implement the new system by force.
Neither option seemed palatable, given the thin margin for error. One bad decision, and they’d be in the middle of a bloody revolution with no obvious or quick way out.
As Marine One landed, the president spotted Rex, Granger, and Schueller already talking at “the shack.” The shack, one of Schueller’s additions, was an enclosed glass structure that allowed them to view the beautiful Potomac River year-round in a temperature-controlled space surrounded by trees and boulders. The structure gave the illusion of being nearly invisible. Both sides of the river had security stations on high alert.
By the time Hudson reached them, they were in the middle of a heated debate regarding the very subject he’d been thinking about aboard the chopper.
“As you know,” Rex said, “we�
��ve expanded the Gypsy program quite significantly. I’ve added all of Vonner’s data, including everything VS had. The results have been very impressive. Our next—”
“Mr. President,” Granger said as Hudson entered. “We were just going over the new Free and Fair system.”
Hudson greeted them and made it clear he didn’t have much time. Used to his tight presidential schedule, they all jumped back into the deliberations.
“We’ve come up with quite a bit on Thorne,” Rex said. “Not only do we now know where he is, we also have a profile from Gypsy which seems to indicate he’s a little more radical than we previously thought.”
“I can’t imagine,” the president said sarcastically. “Thorne’s whole persona is to continually surprise.”
“He’s a shock-jock,” Schueller added.
“Yes. However, these findings, if accurate, and I believe they are, show that he’s planning to lead a post-NorthBridge victory.”
“What’s that mean?” the president asked.
“If the NorthBridge revolution fully ignites,” Rex began, twisting some blue dice in his hand, “then whatever happens after, whatever is left from the resulting wars, Thorne plans to be the new leader.”
“Our analysis of such an event,” Granger interjected, “shows that there’ll likely be six or seven regional areas controlled by different groups.”
“Thorne plans on initially leading the West Coast,” Rex continued, “and then quickly working to unite the other areas under his control.”
“That’s crazy,” Schueller said. “It sounds like a bad plot of a dystopian novel.”
“Thorne is crazy,” Rex said.
“How can he be planning to be some post-apocalyptic dictator, or chieftain, while espousing the return to the Founding Fathers’ principles and the US Constitution as his guide?” Schueller asked.
“I think Gypsy has misinterpreted,” Granger said. “Artificial intelligence in machine learning built into the Gypsy program isn’t perfect yet. It takes all of Thorne’s outrageous remarks and applies them in such a way that paints our friend as a madman.” Granger laughed. The others couldn’t help but join in his amusement.
“Let’s hope you’re right, Granger,” the president said. “If the computer has every inflammatory remark Thorne has ever said, I’m surprised the AI system hasn’t overheated and crashed the program.”
“He’s still dangerous,” Rex said.
“Let’s move on. Our main concern today is when and how to implement Granger’s new Fair and Free system in place of the REMies’ unfair and not free system.” He couldn’t help but chuckle again at his own humor.
“That’s exactly why Thorne came up,” Rex said. “I’ve pushed the projections and scenarios out and looked at the pro formas, and it shows that what we might think is the riskiest course, isn’t.” Rex pulled a laptop computer around so the president could see the screen. “See for yourself. The conclusion is that to arrest and seize assets and forcibly implement the Fair and Free system, while dismantling the central banks—including the Federal Reserve—is the way to go.”
“The treacherous approach seems the safest,” Granger agreed.
“Are we ready for that?” Schueller asked. “It’s going to be violent . . . brutal.”
“The REMies are never going to go away quietly,” Granger added.
“Maybe not,” the president said. “But one way or another, the REMies are going away.”
On the way back to the White House, ignoring the views that he loved, the president worried about all the risks to unseating the REMies. He felt the urgency, knowing he was lucky to still be alive, knowing at any moment that luck might run out.
They needed to launch Cherry Tree as quickly as possible. However, with all the potential things that could trip them up in the minefield of making Cherry Tree go off perfectly, the leaks worried him the most. Everything else could be planned for, but the leaks threatened to destroy the element of surprise, or worse, reveal their game plan to the REMies or NorthBridge.
Who is it? Hudson ran through all the possibilities again. There were nearly twenty people who had access to all the material that had been leaked. However, it seemed to be more than one person. If so, that meant the list of suspects swelled to more than one hundred.
What if it’s Fitz, or the Wizard, or Dranick? Dranick would never betray me. Would the Wizard? No, but he has that crazy Universal Quantum Physics connection to Booker . . . Still, it couldn’t be him. I’ve got to find out who it is!
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The B-4 committee met for what they hoped would be their last session prior to the coup that would remove Hudson Pound from the presidency. A large, gold fringed American flag on an eagle-topped pole stood in the corner of the room, three stories below ground level at the Pentagon. The sensor light on a signal-blocking device indicated they could not be overheard. General Imperia began with a review of the charges against the president.
“One: The commander in chief declared that he was a pacifist and would not use force to defend the nation. On your summary, you will see the evidence for the alleged crime as footnotes detailing the occasions on which he made the statements,” the general said, scanning the stony faces of his comrades. “We will vote today on the contention that these statements by the commander in chief would, at any time, call into question his ability to lead, disqualify him for his position, and that his own words constitute an admission that he is unfit to carry out his duties as commander in chief. However, in a time of war, as currently exists domestically with NorthBridge and internationally with the war on terror, his statements clearly represent an act of treason.”
The other men in the room nodded solemnly.
“Item two,” Imperia continued, his impeccable uniform seemingly matching his uptight I’m-always-right attitude. “The president’s refusal to continue drone operations and bombings in the aforementioned war on terror, which has been part of the country’s foreign policy for more than two decades to various degrees, depending on the level of technology, and regardless of which administration was in the White House.”
“The Constitution does give him that authority,” the Air Force general said.
“True,” Imperia admitted. “However, it is our assessment that this dramatic departure from long standing policy weakens the nation and strengthens our enemies. Obviously, the Founding Fathers could never have envisioned the type of war in which we find ourselves with stateless terror groups, so no provision was made for a president refusing to exercise his duties.”
The tick from the track lighting blinked. All the men looked up, at each other, raised their eyebrows, then continued.
The explanation seemed to satisfy the general.
“Three: The president’s illegal subversion of congressional authority by making an ‘eleventh hour’ secret and unauthorized mission to communist China after Congress had declared war on the country. Title 10 of the US Code § 904 - Article 104, states that: ‘any person who aids, or attempts to aid, the enemy with money, or other things; or without proper authority, knowingly harbors or protects or gives intelligence to, or communicates or corresponds with or holds any intercourse with the enemy, either directly or indirectly; shall suffer death or such other punishment as a court-martial or military commission may direct.’”
“Again,” the Air Force general interrupted, “doesn’t the president have the authority referred to in the statute?”
“Congress had declared war. The president did not consult with them,” Imperia said firmly. “Any other questions?”
The room was silent. The lights blinked again.
“Then if it is this committee’s determination that this president is guilty of high crimes and misdemeanors, including treason, the appropriate legal classifications of the above charges leave but one remedy. The president must be removed from power.”
“The normal channels are not appropriate in this case,” the admiral said.
“Co
rrect,” Imperia agreed. “As we have previously discussed, impeachment, though the normal remedy for cases such as this, and the twenty-fifth amendment as another option, are unavailable due to the urgent threats we face. Such public and time-consuming methods would only aid and encourage the nation’s enemies further.”
The admiral nodded while wishing the room had windows.
“Therefore, it is with absolute resolve and tremendous deference we move forward with the motion to remove President Pound from office,” Imperia said, pausing to meet the eyes of the other members of B-4.
Each signaled their approval.
“He’ll be temporarily replaced with a military leader until such time that a new election can be held?” the Marine Commandant asked, wanting to confirm what he already knew.
General Imperia nodded. “Yes. Because the vice president is also a devout pacifist, and has shared in and condoned the president’s actions in every case, she is also not qualified as a replacement, and due to the chaotic and corrupt climate, we believe it is best to avoid the normal line and succession and, therefore, a military appointment is in order.”
“Then we are agreed,” the Admiral said gravely. “We will go forward and remove the president of the United States from office for the first time in our nation’s history.”
“God help us,” the Air Force general said.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Lester Devonshire threw a heavy brass book-end into a glass coffee table when he heard that the two largest news networks were not covering the latest sexual harassment claims against the president. As the shards of glass splintered into hundreds of pieces and landed across the dark hardwood floors, he cussed a storm and swore the Pounds would not enjoy “his money” much longer. One of the networks he knew had links to his uncle’s, Arlin Vonner’s, former holding. The other he’d discovered was part of Booker Lipton’s media conglomerate.