Falcone looked at his watch and said, “Assuming that such a document is feasible, what do I get?”
“Isaiah is very powerful. He warned me that if I ever revealed his name my daughter would be killed. I need a month to disappear. Thirty days from today you will receive Isaiah’s name and whatever evidence I have to prove his guilt. What you do after that, is up to you. I will, to all intents and purposes, no longer be alive.”
Falcone picked up the recorder, sat down in the chair, and did not speak for a full minute. Morton dead. Hudson dead. Schiller dead. We pick up Parker, sweat him. The President gets his answers.
“Okay, Miller. Here’s the deal,” Falcone said, looking at his watch again. “You will stay here until I tell you otherwise. I am heading from here directly to the White House. FBI agents have impounded your aircraft and are searching your home. If the President signs the document you requested, we will release your aircraft and you can carry out your plan.
“If I do not get Isaiah’s name within thirty days, the wrath of the federal government will fall upon you. We will issue an international warrant for you on charges of masterminding the Savannah explosion. We will track down your daughter in Switzerland, and extradite and jail her for aiding a federal fugitive. We will seize every cent that you and True North possess from here to Singapore and Dubai. We will move in federal court to have you brought before a grand jury in Savannah. And you will enter that federal courthouse without the protection of U.S. marshals. That, Mr. Miller, is our side of the deal.”
Dake had waited for Falcone to finish before entering the room. “I’m heading off, Phil,” Falcone said, walking toward the hallway. “It’s nearly time for the President to head for the Hill.” He pointed to Miller. “He’s staying here to wait for news from me. As for you, Phil, there’s an embargo on everything that happened here today until I tell you. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Dake said as Falcone opened the door.
*
PRESIDENT Oxley was scratching out the speech he was going to deliver at the joint session. He had not summoned his speech writer. And there would be no teleprompter. This one was too personal—and, he was discovering, too hard to write. This was going to be from the heart.
The angry buzz from his telephone console jarred him out of his dark ruminations. He angrily answered with, “Damn it, Margie. I said no more—”
“It’s Sean, Mr. President. He said it was urgent and I thought—”
“It’s okay, Margie. Put him through.”
“Mr. President, I need to see you now,” Falcone said, speaking into his cell phone and speeding down the Georgetown Pike toward the Capital Beltway.
“I’m getting ready for the Hill, Sean.”
“Don’t leave before I speak with you. And I think I’ll need the attorney general there, too. She may to have to draft a document.”
“What in hell is going on, Sean? Where have you been? I tried to—”
“Answers, Mr. President. I have answers!”
“What? What answers?”
“Can’t tell you on the phone. I’ll be there in twenty … no, fifteen minutes.”
“Sean, I can’t wait. I have to leave. Congress—”
“Congress will wait, Mr. President. Just don’t leave until I speak with you. I’ll explain everything,” Falcone said as he hit the Firebird’s accelerator and swung into the Capital Beltway.
63
ON THE way to Capitol Hill, Oxley turned introspective. How tremendous is the power of the president, he thought in this rare moment of meditation. How terrible as well. The power to heal or destroy. A minute might change the course of a speech or that of a missile …
As the line of black, light-flashing limousines and SUVs sped up Constitution Avenue, Oxley marveled at the strange and the capricious ways that life unfolds. You think it’s meaningless or you think you’re driven by fate. But who said, “Control your fate or somebody else will?” And these men, these Brethren. How could men who loved this country and the doctrines of Christianity plan a mass murder? And what happened, what atoms went awry to produce catastrophe in the land they said they loved?
The phone in the car rang. It was Falcone, confirming Schiller’s death—an apparent suicide—and reporting that FBI agents had surrounded the House of The Brethren.
Oxley’s vehicle turned quickly off Constitution Avenue and passed through the barriers guarding the entrance to the Capitol. Oxley peeled open the small envelope Falcone had handed him just before they had walked out of the Oval Office. He was surprised that Falcone had declined his offer to ride with him to the Hill. But Falcone had begged off, saying that he had to get back to work finding more answers.
Oxley glanced quickly at the two lines Falcone had scrawled: He may live long, he may do much. But here is the summit. He never can exceed what he does this day.
A smile broke across Oxley’s face as he contemplated the words. He remembered reading John Kennedy’s Profiles in Courage about Edmund Burke’s eulogy to Charles James Fox. He hoped that he was worthy of the sentiment.
The limousine stopped. A Secret Service agent opened a door of military armor five inches thick. As Oxley exited, he looked up at the magnificent dome of the Capitol, one of the most beautiful and most recognizable pieces of architecture in the world. Sixty-two tons of steel, two hundred and eighty-eight feet high, topped off with the Statue of Freedom. He couldn’t see Freedom in the darkness, but he had studied her so many times before, he knew her every line.
Her right hand rested on a sheathed sword while her left hand held the laurel wreath of victory and the shield of the United States. Oxley had always been fascinated by the history of her construction. Originally, Thomas Crawford, the sculptor, had planned to have Freedom’s head wear a liberty cap, a Roman symbol of an emancipated slave. But Mississippi Senator Jefferson Davis, an avowed slaveholder who would become president of the Confederacy, supervised the Capitol’s construction. He was enraged when he saw the liberty cap and ordered it replaced with a military helmet and crest of feathers.…
Amazing, Oxley thought. Old Jefferson Davis trying to erase the bloodstain of racism from our history.… I wonder what the old boy would say if he saw me walking into the Capitol, a free man and leader of the free world.…
A Secret Service agent, seeing the President as a standing target, touched his arm gently and broke Oxley’s momentary reverie. He nodded for Oxley to proceed to the center door of the Capitol. Wrapped in a tight cocoon by his heavily armed escort, Oxley moved quickly up the stairs and entered the Rotunda.
Once there, he paused again, taking in the architectural simplicity of the massive room, and then walked briskly down the corridor that led to Statuary Hall, where all of the major networks had staked out their cameras and crews so they could apprehend members of Congress eager to pass their comments on Oxley’s speech.
The dark mahogany doors to the House Chamber parted and Oxley entered as the Sergeant at Arms bellowed, “Mr. Speaker, the President of the United States!”
Oxley could see that virtually every member of Congress was present. None dared to be seen on the campaign trail on such a momentous occasion. All stood and applauded as he strode toward the raised dais. There was none of the handshaking and hugs that usually marked a president’s entrance and departure. Just respectful applause.
The Speaker officially greeted Oxley, which again produced an outburst of applause that was unusually brief. The traditional political battle lines had been drawn, but tonight little difference existed between those who had voted for Oxley and those who were determined to defeat him.
Sipping from a glass of water and clearing his throat, the President made a quick survey of all in the room. Members of the Supreme Court were present. So were the uniformed Joint Chiefs of Staff. Diplomats had not been invited and the visitors’ galleries had been closed to the public. Security had never been as tight as it was tonight.
Because of a surge of death threats against the President,
he had grimly decided to assure an orderly transition. “I want you out of the line of fire,” Oxley laughingly told Max Cunningham, ordering him back to his undisclosed location. Everyone noticed that the seat next to the Speaker, where the Vice President normally sat, was empty.
“Mr. Speaker,” Oxley began, thinking as he looked into all of the somber faces, I hope to God, Falcone got this thing right.
“I have been invited by the Congress to address you and the American people about the state of our nation. It is not about budgets or programs, but rather our nation’s security, and our very survival.
“This is one of the most critical issues we have ever faced, certainly in recent history. During the past four days, ever since the terrible destruction took place in Savannah, Georgia, I have tried to keep you informed as best as possible under very difficult circumstances.
“There was great confusion at first. We received reports that a tsunami had struck our coast. As with most first reports, it proved to be in error. What destroyed much of the beautiful, historic city of Savannah, as we now know, was a nuclear bomb.…”
Oxley paused, casting his eyes from left to right, focusing on the faces of individual members. He easily picked out Senator Mark Stanfield’s face. Stanfield stared back expressionless.
“As your commander-in-chief, charged with the duty to protect America and to vigorously respond to any attack upon our country, I have been relentless in the pursuit of the facts involved in this horrible event … to determine who could do such a terrible thing. And why.
“I am absolutely resolute in my determination to capture and punish those responsible.…” Oxley was hoping for applause, but it did not come. He still sounded like a law professor.
“Tonight, I am prepared to disclose to you, to the American people, and those around the world, who perpetrated the attack, how they were able to do it and why.
“First, the bomb that exploded just four days ago was made in America.”
Members turned to each other. Some audibly gasped.
“And those who caused the bomb to explode were Americans. Successful members of our society who occupy positions of power and influence in our lives. I can only describe them as men of zeal, men who once were committed to principles, men who were once well-meaning, perhaps—men who meant no harm to their fellow Americans. In their excessive and outrageous zeal, their blind devotion to a cause that was not rightfully theirs to pursue, they caused egregious, catastrophic harm to the very people they professed to protect.”
Oxley systematically disclosed how this small band of zealots, whose religion had little to do with Christianity and everything to do with power, planned to retrieve the bomb ejected by a U.S. Air Force bomber in 1958 off the coast of Savannah, and transport it to the shores of Iran with the goal of detonating it there.
“Their plans went awry. As the bomb was being raised to the surface of the water, it suddenly exploded.
“Let me say that at this very moment, The FBI is in the process of arresting the leader of this small group of men—three of whom have died, two in the explosion they caused, and one apparently by his own hand. So as not to impede the FBI’s ongoing investigation, I will not disclose any names at this time. They know who they are and they now know that we are coming for them.
“At this time, I also want to say to my friend, Senator Mark Stanfield (my loathsome friend, Oxley was thinking), I know how strongly you feel about the threat that Iran poses to us and to our allies. I share your view. I believe you were correct in suggesting that the two men who were taken off the cruise ship in Boston were no mere sightseers. They were Iranian operatives who, we believe, were making a trial run on a cruise ship to assess a serious weakness in our security system.
“You assumed that the cruise ship was carrying a nuclear weapon. It was not an unfair assumption … but it was a false one. This does not diminish in any way the threat that Iran poses to us and the free world. What it does do, however, is offer us a lesson that we must always remain dedicated to the pursuit of facts—and not be guided by phantom or false leads … leads that can cause some to take action that will harm our nation for generations to come.”
The heads turning toward Stanfield made a rustling sound. Stanfield looked straight ahead, again showing no expression. But his neck and face started to flush. He knew Oxley’s spear had just landed in his chest.
“There’s another lesson for each of us willing to listen and learn. We must do everything in our power to rid ourselves—responsibly rid ourselves—of these terrible weapons. These weapons that, as Winston Churchill said, ‘we must beware, lest the Stone Age return upon the gleaming wings of science.’
“For too long we have held the notion that these are just bigger, more powerful arrows that we hold in our military’s quiver. It is nonsense. They are weapons that one day will lead to the total destruction of all that we cherish and hold dear.
“What happened in Savannah was just a small sample of their destructive power. Today’s nuclear weapons are of such size and power that they will turn the earth into a wasteland. Where birds do not fly. Where fish do not swim. Where people do not live.…
“I ask all of you here, and those who are watching, to join in the effort to call upon all nations that have nuclear weapons to begin the process of eliminating them. And all nations that are pursuing nuclear weapons to abandon their goals.
“President Kennedy reminded us so many years ago, that we hold in our hands ‘the power to abolish all forms of human poverty or all forms of human life.’
“Let us make the wise choice, Mr. Speaker. The right choice.
“Thank you. And God bless America.”
Epilogue
IT WAS unusually warm for a November evening, allowing Falcone to step out in shirtsleeves onto the large terrace of his apartment. His favorite libation in hand, Falcone surveyed the magnificent panorama he enjoyed from his terrace. The Washington Monument, Capitol Hill, the Justice Department … He was convinced that global warming was real and not a fabrication of hot-eyed environmentalists.
But just three days ago, a cold snap whipped through Washington, dumping four inches of snow onto the traffic-clogged streets. Predictably, critics of man-made weather catastrophes ridiculed the notion that the planet was heating up.
The weather didn’t make much sense, but as Rachel had reminded him on leaving his office, not much did these days.
Three weeks had passed since Oxley had delivered his speech on Capitol Hill. It hit the Congress and the country like the bomb that had destroyed Savannah. Most members were stricken speechless, so much so that they avoided the cameras that lay in wait for them in Statuary Hall.
They needed time to think about the folly of their plan to issue a declaration of war and move to impeach Oxley if he refused to attack Iran. But some were brazen enough to express total rejection of the President’s account of what happened. They rushed to the microphones of friendly broadcasters who shared the belief that Oxley had lied to the American people and had engaged in a bizarre cover-up of an Iranian-sponsored attack on America.
Those expressing disbelief were a minority, but, sadly, there were millions of people who would believe them. Partisan political talk-show hosts, crazed bloggers, political misanthropes, paranoids and psychopaths, or just plain Oxley haters—all enjoyed equal access to the new social media, a force powerful enough to sweep out governments across the globe.…
*
PHILIP Dake had filed a blockbuster story in the Washington Post, under the sensational headline: U.S. DESTROYED SAVANNAH.
Falcone had smiled when he read the story online just after midnight. There was not a word about The Brethren, although Dake divulged considerable details of how the plan had been conceived and how its execution had been so horribly mangled. At the request of the Justice Department he omitted the names of the individuals involved until the men were in custody.
Falcone was not completely surprised. Dake was being true to his par
ticular tradecraft. He was going to make a major book out of what he knew, and why take all the air out of the sails with a full disclosure in a daily paper? Maybe Falcone was being too cynical. Dake was crucial to breaking the story, and maybe he didn’t want to see Oxley’s campaign get swamped by storms of protest that would blow across the country. The protesters would claim that Oxley had indicted the Christian faith itself instead of the small group of zealots who perverted the Christian religion in the pursuit of absolute power.
There were hints, disconnected references buried in the bottom of the story, just enough to tease the readers and make them wonder whether there were more levels to the truth of what really happened. Post editors had given Dake all the room he had wanted. They knew someday soon they’d be running a six-part series once the inevitable book was published.
Overnight polling showed that Mark Stanfield’s numbers had dropped after Oxley’s speech. Oxley didn’t gain much. The people were still angry that it all had happened on his watch, but hell, that was all part of the game.…
*
THE morning after the President’s address. Falcone had risen from his cot and found J. B. Patterson’s signed report on his desk. On Falcone’s orders, the FBI released Norman Miller’s private jet. Miller, surrounded by a phalanx of bodyguards, boarded the plane and flew off. His pilot had filed a flight plan for Montreal, where he boarded a chartered airliner flying to Zurich.
An FBI Critical Incident Response Team had stormed the house when Parker refused to emerge. Fighting off arrest, he broke an agent’s nose. He was put in a restraining jacket and placed under military guard at Fort Myer, near the Pentagon. A search of Parker’s home produced computers and evidence that the house “had been bugged and the phones tapped by unknown parties.”
Schiller apparently shot himself with a .22-caliber semiautomatic Beretta found at his side. Investigators were analyzing the contents of his computer and hard drives hidden in his home.
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