Situation Room

by J. A. Armstrong

  “I think I drank too much coffee this morning,” Jameson said. She chuckled at the signature raise of Candace’s brow. Her reasoning was truthful. She left out the reason she’d consumed unprecedented amounts of caffeine.

  “How much coffee did you drink? Candace inquired.

  “Only two.”

  “Two cups made you sick?”

  “Two pots,” Jameson replied.

  Candace rolled her eyes.

  “Coop,” Jameson addressed their son. “What do you say we let Mommy do a little work?”

  “Okay,” Cooper agreed as he spooned the final bite of ice cream from his bowl into his mouth.

  “Can Grandma come?”

  “Sure. If we can find Grandma,” Jameson joked.

  “I think she’s upstairs,” Candace offered. “Something about finding sanity.”

  Jameson laughed. She was grateful that Pearl had agreed to live in Washington. Pearl was accustomed to a routine, and to the home she’d known most of her life. Jameson was positive the only thing Pearl could possibly miss more than her home in Schoharie would be Candace. She’d handled the move with humor and grace. Everyone was homesick. Creating a feeling of home in this big White House would take time. Maybe a movie night with Pearl is what is in order. “Let’s go see if we can find Grandma,” Jameson suggested.

  Cooper nodded excitedly. He hopped off his stool and hugged Candace.

  “I’ll see you in a bit,” Candace told him.

  “Okay. Mommy?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s okay if you have to work,” Cooper told her.

  Candace tried unsuccessfully to fill her lungs with air. She managed a smile. She’d been looking forward to a night with Cooper and Jameson—alone. No words needed to be spoken for her to guess that she was unlikely to enjoy relaxation tonight. Tate’s posture told her the hours ahead were likely to be long and daunting. He’d waited patiently for her attention. Whatever he needed her to hear or see, it would command more than a light-hearted conversation over ice cream sundaes. She pulled Cooper close and reveled in his affection. Her eyes twinkled with an apology when they met Jameson’s. True to form, Jameson smiled and winked.

  Jameson looked at Joshua Tate. “Don’t let her eat all the ice cream tonight.”

  Tate nodded. “I’ll do my best to keep the president in line.”

  “Good luck,” Jameson joked. “Coop,” Jameson began. “Why don’t you show Mr. Tate what you’ve been building in your room?”

  “Another architect in the family?” Tate asked.

  Cooper grinned.

  “I promise, I will get her back to you in a minute,” Jameson said.

  “Take your time,” Tate replied, accepting Cooper’s hand.

  Jameson waited for a beat before addressing her wife. “Candace…”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop. Are you all right?”

  “I think I should be the one asking that question.”

  “I’m okay,” Jameson promised. She cupped Candace’s cheek in her palm. “I’m worried about you.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re not sleeping.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Candace said assuredly. “I was looking forward to a little downtime tonight.”

  Jameson nodded. “It’s okay.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t wait up for me,” Candace instructed.

  “I can’t make that promise. “

  “I mean it.”

  Jameson leaned in and kissed Candace’s lips softly. “I’ll see you later.”

  Candace sighed.

  “And, I’m serious about the ice cream.”

  Candace chuckled.

  “And the coffee,” Jameson said.

  “How about the scotch?” Candace quipped.

  Jameson laughed. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Jameson?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I—”

  Jameson winked again. “I’ll tell Joshua you’ll meet him in your office.”

  The only response Candace could muster was a nod. She’d been forced to alter plans with Jameson and Cooper more than suited her. As much as she hated it, she needed to focus her attention on whatever brought Joshua Tate to the White House. Whatever it was, it wasn’t so pressing that it required The Situation Room. That didn’t mean that the situation she was about to be presented was inconsequential. Chances were that Candace was about to confront another reality in the world that would challenge more than her political convictions. She rubbed her brow lightly and took a deep breath. Give me strength.

  ***

  Candace would never grow accustomed to the information that her advisers presented. She watched images on the screen before her without comment. How could any person absorb the reality of deliberate oppression? She’d witnessed more than a few disturbing images and read countless unnerving reports as a senator and as Governor of New York. Her years in elected leadership positions had forced her to face down tragedy. Fires, hurricanes, tornadoes, and floods had demanded her attention in both the Senate and as governor. Natural disasters and avoidable accidents devastated entire communities and families. She’d endeavored to be both Consoler in Chief, and a pragmatic legislator at those times—comfort those experiencing loss, and endeavor to find ways to mitigate loss in the future. No one could prevent natural disasters. People were fallible. Sometimes, they fell asleep at the wheel. Sometimes, they made miscalculations that resulted in unthinkable tragedy. Nature was alive, and sometimes it got angry. As a leader, Candace could find ways to strengthen infrastructure and ensure that towns, states, and the federal government were equipped to intervene quickly and efficiently when disaster did strike. She could help pass laws that limited the likelihood of human error, and she had. Nature and human fallibility were part of the price humans paid for living. She would search for any and every way possible to mitigate the fallout from both. Lessons could be learned from loss—lessons that could be applied to policy.

  Confronting the ugly reality that people chose to cause harm to others continued to challenge Candace. She’d addressed terrorist plots, police brutality, gang violence, state-sanctioned murders, and human-trafficking over the course of her career. She’d never accepted any of it as part of the price of being human. The choice to oppress or persecute people infuriated Candace Reid. She chose to concentrate on the best humanity offered itself. Occasionally, she was forced to confront the depravity a human heart could hold. She shook her head with disgust.

  “How sure are we that this is deliberate?” Candace asked.

  “As close to a hundred-percent as we can ever be,” Tate replied.

  Candace massaged her brow. “How prevalent do we think this tactic has become?”

  “On the border? More than initial estimates.”

  Candace closed the laptop in front of her. “I’ve seen enough.”

  “What do you want to do?” Tate asked.

  “I’m not sure what we can do. Sanctions aren’t going to correct this.”

  “No.”

  “Military intervention is out,” she continued.

  “I agree.”

  “Kapralov is starving his people. Do you believe the intel that they are experimenting on that population is accurate?”

  “I wouldn’t discount it,” Tate offered.

  “To what end?”

  “I don’t know,” Tate replied. “It’s subtle, Candace. It started long before Kapralov took power this year. It’s been gradual—withholding resources from the smaller villages along the borders. The water in some of these places has been tainted for decades.”

  “Do you think Kapralov’s goal is to make a move on the Baltics?”

  “Undoubtedly. There’s more than one way to do that.”

  Candace groaned. “I need to know what other mechanisms he’s utilizing.”

  “You want to get closer,” Tate surmised.

  “I do. Do we have that option?
”

  “We always have that option.”

  Candace felt sick. “I hate this.”

  “I know. Can I make a suggestion?”

  “That’s your job.”

  Tate smiled. “Touché. Talk to Alex.”

  “Alex?”

  “Look, no one has a better bead on the Russians than Alex and Claire. Trust me on that.”

  “From what I’ve heard, Alex’s hands have been tied at the FBI lately,” Candace commented. She hadn’t heard that from anyone at the bureau. She enjoyed her weekly chats with Cassidy Toles. While Candace didn’t disclose every state secret that troubled her to her friend, she did confide the toll her newfound knowledge took on her heart. Cassidy did the same. One of Cassidy’s latest revelations involved her concern for her wife, Alex. She explained to Candace that both Alex and Claire were frustrated with their workload, or lack thereof at the FBI.

  “So, I understand,” Tate commented.

  “Why is that, Joshua?”

  Tate shrugged. “Career law enforcement officers don’t have much use for career politicians.”

  “That’s the whole of it?” Candace questioned.

  “It’s part of it. The rest, I can’t say.”

  “Find out. The Russians have their thumb on everything. We know that it’s their mission to suppress the voice of their people. Economic oppression remains at the core of Russian domestic policy. Persecution?” Candace needed a moment to process her thoughts. “This is a nuanced war, Joshua. The overall objective is expansion. We both know that. I want to know if there’s any evidence of military movement near the borders. You and I both know what’s next. What we don’t know is when.”

  Tate nodded. “You expect them to posture.”

  “I do. Posturing has a purpose. He’s weakened the population to any resistance. They’re wholly dependent on the state. If your people are correct and he has compromised basic resources, his next play will be to offer the only hope of health—another place to find those resources. Create a problem to offer the solution. A large percentage of the population in these villages are not Russian by birth. Their roots lie a few hundred miles away. There’s a reason for all of this, and it’s only one component of a bigger scheme.”

  It might have been inappropriate to smile, but Tate couldn’t stop his lips from curling with satisfaction. Tate had worked with several presidents. He’d briefed military and congressional leaders of every stripe over the years. Few people in Tate’s experience possessed the command of world issues that President Reid did. She did her homework. She listened to every point of view attentively. She was insatiably curious and unabashedly determined to address any issue that threatened the United States or its allies. She walked a fine line between compassionate diplomacy and decisive action. Candace Reid was not afraid to make difficult decisions. She took a methodical approach and insisted on being informed. It gave Tate confidence.

  “In the meantime,” Candace said. “Let’s see if we can find a way to out the truth without compromising its origin.”

  Tate’s grin grew. “Get the information into the international press,” he guessed.

  Candace lifted her eyebrow. “It might not deliver significant relief; it will put Kapralov on notice. And, some of it will leak into those outlying communities. Try as he might, the news reaches the most remote corners of the world now—even village number 1933.”

  “I’ll get on it.”

  Candace pushed out her chair. “And, Joshua?”

  “Yes?”

  “Alex and Claire—”

  “Yes?”

  “Let’s keep this close to the vest—for now.”

  “You don’t want to bring The Cabinet in yet,” Tate surmised.

  “No.”

  “I understand.”

  “I thought you might.” Candace reached into a cabinet under her desk and pulled out a bottle of scotch with two glasses. “I think we’ve earned this.”

  “I know better than to refuse the president.”

  Candace laughed. “Thank God, someone does.”

  ***

  Jameson rolled over and flipped on the light.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Candace apologized.

  “You didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry about tonight, Jameson.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I am.”

  “You were needed.”

  “I know that.”

  “There are things that you have to respond to—”

  “You needed me. I could see it in your eyes,” Candace said.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  Jameson chuckled. “Is that so, Madame President?”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What am I doing?” Jameson asked.

  “Don’t placate me.”

  “I’m not.”

  Candace raised her brow.

  “Candace, you have more than enough on your plate without worrying about my nonsense.”

  “Nothing that you feel, and nothing that you need is nonsense,” Candace replied.

  “I only meant that you don’t need to worry about me.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Jameson sighed.

  “Don’t,” Candace warned again. “Don’t you dare start to shield me from what you think and feel.”

  “If it were important—”

  Candace took a seat on the edge of the bed. “You’re not burdening me.”

  Jameson was doubtful.

  “You’re not. I need to know what’s going on with you—with our family.”

  “I can see the stress on your face.”

  “I am stressed,” Candace conceded. “It doesn’t help when you hold back with me. Please tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “Nothing,” Jameson said. She saw Candace beginning to mount a protest and reached for Candace’s hand. “I miss you,” Jameson admitted. She looked to the ceiling briefly, closed her eyes to gather her thoughts and sighed. “I knew this would be hard. I miss you. You’re in the same house and I don’t see you.”

  Candace smiled. “I miss you too.” She kissed Jameson’s lips. “It’s not just me that you miss.”

  Jameson sighed again.

  “Why don’t you take a weekend and visit Marianne at home?”

  “What?”

  “Did I stutter?” Candace asked. “Take Cooper and go home for a few days.”

  “I am home.”

  “Jameson, take a few days. It will be good for you and Cooper.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have some things I need to focus on this weekend.”

  “Then, I should be here.”

  “You should take a break with Cooper. It’s only a couple of days.”

  “Let me guess—you’ll be busy anyway.”

  Candace’s wan smile gave Jameson the answer she expected.

  “Want to talk about it?” Jameson asked.

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “The beginning?” Jameson suggested lightly.

  Candace laughed. “I wish I could go with you.”

  “What happened with Joshua?”

  Candace shook her head.

  Jameson opened her arms and directed Candace to lie beside her. “Tell me.”

  “Sometimes, Jameson, I look at our family—at Cooper, and I wonder what I should say.”

  “About?”

  “Life. People. This world. How do I offer people hope in such an upside-down world?”

  “Must’ve been some meeting,” Jameson surmised. While Candace’s leadership style was pragmatic, her outlook was generally positive and hopeful. Jameson noted a hint of dubiety glistening in her wife’s eyes. That was not indicative of President Candace Reid’s attitude, neither was it commonplace in their marriage. “I told you what was on my mind. Your turn.”

  With a deep sigh, Candace shared her thoughts. “I want to understand people. I can’t always afford that lu
xury.”

  “What happened?”

  Candace snuggled against Jameson for comfort. “Can you imagine a leader starving his people into submission?”

  “No.”

  “Neither can I—imagine it. I’m watching it, and I still can’t accept that it’s real. It is. It’s real.”

  “Is there anything you can do?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it? When to intervene? How to intervene? Where should we intervene? The answer seems so simple looking in from the outside.”

  “But?”

  “It isn’t. Even things like starvation can become cultural, Jameson. How do you convince people who are patriots, people who believe they have all they need to thrive, that they are being persecuted? Whose perception matters in that equation?”

  Candace took a moment to center herself. The day’s events had her reeling. There were no good answers. There were no simple solutions. From Candace’s point of view, apathy remained the greatest evil mankind offered itself. After all, apathy allowed atrocity. When people failed to see their persecution—then what? She’d spent hours watching footage of villages in Russia. Images flashed through her mind of a malnourished and sickly population. She’d listened to the reports from agents in the field and the summation of her National Security Adviser. Food was being withheld from villages. Water had been tainted—if not deliberately, the contaminated water supply had been willfully ignored. Some intelligence reports went as far as to suggest the possibility of poisoning the population or some portion of it. She was grappling with the pictures she’d reviewed and information she still struggled to comprehend.

  “I feel impotent,” Candace said. “President Kapralov—”

  “This is happening in Russia?” Jameson interjected.

  “It’s happening in more places that I can count,” Candace answered. “But, yes—there’s evidence of intentional starvation in parts of Russia.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “I told you—submission.”

  “To what end?”

  “Submission leads to dependency, Jameson. It’s part of an age-old nationalist playbook. The people must depend on the power of the government for all things—protection, but also basic needs. They are Russian first, human second. The travesty in all of this is that many times these endeavors unfold so slowly, so gradually, that the oppressed lack any feeling of oppression. Even as they wither, even as they die, they feel grateful to the government that tells them they are special all the while demeaning the people’s basic worth at every turn.”