Daniel smiled in an overflow of admiration. No wonder Stedman valued Lauren. She was good at this job, probably better than the White House press secretary.
“Ms. Mitchell!” A woman from the fringe of the media mob waved her hand. “Why are you in New York?”
Lauren froze for an instant, caught off guard by the question, and Daniel feared she might look his way and set the crowd on him. But she only tossed her head and bent to pick up her overnight bag. “I was visiting a friend,” she said simply. And then, while Daniel watched, she turned and moved through the automatic doors, leaving the airport security guards to hold the mob at bay.
Daniel turned the key and smiled as the Jag settled into a steady purring sound. He’d ask his mother to pray for Sam Stedman, but it looked like Lauren had things firmly under control.
THIRTY
10:25 A.M., Friday, August 6, 1999
UPSET BY THE UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS, DANIEL’S MOTHER HAD FLOWN back to Florida immediately after news of the president’s collapse. Daniel was secretly relieved to see her go—he enjoyed her company but found her constant references to the last days a bit unnerving. These were treacherous times, but life would surely go on as it had for generations. The world had been rocked before, and it would undoubtedly rock again. And as soon as Lucius Joshua was caught and the suitcase nukes were returned to safekeeping, life would return to normal.
Scarcely two days after Romulus’s announcements, forces claiming to be with the Morning Star Trust exploded a nuclear weapon at the Aviano Air Base in Cavalese, Italy. Over 3,000 American navy and air force personnel were killed, along with thousands of Italian nationals in the area.
As fear of terrorism from the Morning Star Trust wreaked havoc in the world, the governments of Europe, Canada, Russia, and China declared martial law. Vice President John Miller, acting for the incapacitated president of the United States, took to the airwaves and declared a state of national emergency in accordance with terms previously signed into law by President William Clinton. To protect the American people, the United States government would immediately enact stringent antiterrorism measures. All baggage would now be routinely screened at airports, bus terminals, and train depots. Canine teams would inspect all suspicious cargo and parked vehicles on government property.
But in declaring a national emergency, the government went far beyond antiterrorism measures. Relying upon Executive Order 12919, released by President Clinton on June 6, 1994, the vice president assumed the power to control all transportation; forms of energy; farm equipment; food resources and food resource facilities; health resources; and metals, minerals, and water resources. The writ of habeas corpus, which guarantees that the government cannot hold someone without charging them with a crime, would be suspended until the situation of national emergency ceased. Furthermore, the vice president proclaimed, as of January 1, 2000, in the interest of national security, any “untagged” individual without a Millennium Chip would be detained indefinitely and subject to questioning.
This development sent a flood of reluctant, procrastinating Americans rushing to their local post offices to receive their Millennium Chips. Each night local news reports featured footage of men, women, and children standing in long lines, eager to be tagged and counted loyal to the American government.
Meanwhile, life revolved around the television set. Daniel went back to work, his concentration interrupted by intermittent flash bulletins from Europe and Washington. The news reports stirred vague and shadowy memories of Daniel’s dark time in the hospital during Desert Storm. After he and Brad had planted the hardware device that confounded the Iraqis’ air defense system, they had lain in their hospital beds and watched the war on television, courtesy of CNN. “The war of the future,” Brad had remarked, staring up at the screen as General Norman Schwarzkopf demonstrated how a laser-guided smart bomb found and destroyed its target. “Prime-time entertainment brought to you by the United States Department of Defense and the good folks at CNN.”
Daniel realized the truth in Brad’s wry statement. Just as technology had changed the face of war, it had also changed the face of daily life. Though the mastermind Lucius Joshua was rumored to be in the United States, he had managed to elude the authorities at every turn. But Daniel knew the terrorist’s days were numbered if he insisted upon remaining in the land of the free past January 1. On that date every legally-registered citizen would have a Millennium Chip installed. Lucius Joshua would have to be either a genius or a ghost to evade the system for long.
Now, as in the days of Desert Storm, Americans clustered around their TVs at breakfast, lunch, and dinner to observe the progress of the world’s war on the Morning Star Trust and the search for the remaining nuclear devices. Grainy footage spilled into every home and workplace: video of French gendarmes inspecting the Eiffel Tower, British bobbies in flak jackets prowling through subway stations, United Nations forces inspecting the Millennium Chip readouts and identification cards of travelers moving across international borders.
News anchors reported that thousands of telephone calls had jammed the switchboards of every police station and military base. The man Lucius Joshua had been seen at a Wal-Mart in Wichita, on an Alaskan cruise ship, and feeding pigeons outside the Vatican. Tips poured in by the thousands, and ordinary police work took a back seat as law enforcement officers around the globe searched for the criminal mastermind.
Daniel found it extremely hard to concentrate on his work in the midst of such turmoil, but he knew the reason was more than simple distraction. Something kept niggling at his brain, some idea or fact he had processed and forgotten. As he sipped his morning coffee with the professor on the first Friday in August, he felt a momentary surge of adrenaline, a flash of alertness. The idea he sought was on the tip of his tongue—and then it disappeared.
Dr. Kriegel must have noticed his look of frustration. “Something bothering you, Daniel?” he asked, his eyes sharp and assessing. “Other than the fact that New York is first on the nuke list?”
Daniel snorted as a ripple of mirth passed through him. “Know what?” He crunched the empty Styrofoam cup in his hand. “Being nuked is the last of my problems. I’m concerned about how all this will affect the Millennium Project and that my mother thinks I may have helped usher in the beast of Revelation, and I’m worried about Lauren. I haven’t heard from her in two weeks.”
The professor’s hand fell on Daniel’s arm. “Look.” He nodded toward the corner television, where a special alert screen had just replaced the regular programming. “Perhaps you’re about to.”
The special alert logo vanished, and Daniel felt something go slack within him as he stared up at Adrian Romulus’s image. The diplomat stood before another press conference, this one from Brussels. Daniel recognized the conference room in the European Union Council of Ministers’ building. Romulus was gripping the same lectern Daniel had used when he convinced the people of Europe to implement his Millennium Code.
“I have good news to report to the world community,” Romulus said. He held onto the edges of the lectern with both hands and looked out at the camera with a pleased, proud, and faintly possessive expression. “We have found, interrogated, and imprisoned one of the terrorists involved in the Morning Star Trust plot. The man was apprehended as he sought to plant one of the stolen nuclear weapons in Rome. The citizens of that city are in no danger; the weapon has been safely dismantled. The terrorist is currently in a cell in Brussels, awaiting trial at the European high court. We are certain that we have begun to contain this threat.”
Romulus turned toward his left, and, as if on a prearranged signal, another camera picked him up from that angle. Daniel noted the camera work—Romulus may have wanted this to look like an impromptu news conference, but somewhere a director was calling camera shots. And Romulus had been rehearsed.
“However—” Romulus’s expressive face became more somber as he gazed into the closeup shot—“we have not yet located the other missing nuc
lear devices. And since the danger grows with each passing hour, we are declaring a state of worldwide emergency. The man currently in our custody has confessed that these weapons of mass destruction are scattered across the globe, and we cannot take chances with human life. Martial law is therefore declared in all European countries affiliated with the European Union.”
Romulus shifted again, and stared into the camera with eyes that had darkened with a sheen of purpose. “I am very pleased to report that John Miller, vice president of the United States, has joined with us in a search for these threats to humankind. This morning in Brussels, Acting President Miller and I signed the Millennium Treaty, a military and economic agreement that officially affiliates our two great nations in a new American-European Federation on January 1, 2000. With our pooled military and intelligence resources, we will find these terrorist weapons and end this threat.”
Daniel felt a cold panic start somewhere between his shoulder blades and prickle down his spine. Sam Stedman, silent and comatose, would never have approved this action, and neither would Congress. Miller had acted alone, under the broad powers granted to him in a state of national emergency.
The director shifted to another camera, and Daniel saw the semicircular table of the European Council’s assembly room. John Miller sat at one end of the table, his heavy cheeks falling in worried folds over his collar. Miller nodded toward the camera as if sending a silent greeting to the world, and Daniel felt his stomach sway. He was going to be sick. The world was spinning out of his control, and people he knew were caught up in the vortex.
Daniel grasped at the strings of reality and held them tightly, then gasped as the elusive thought he’d sought rose to the surface. In his conversation with Brad about a world dictator, he had asked what a dictator would do before assuming power—and Brad had laughed. “He’d do two things—eliminate his opposition and declare a worldwide emergency— something that would give him the authority to take over all communications, transportation, banking, even food distribution. Of course, he’d probably have to invent a war with aliens to threaten the entire world.”
Adrian Romulus hadn’t invented a war with aliens, but had he invented the Morning Star Trust? And did President Stedman’s illness have anything to do with Romulus’s need to rid himself of opposition?
Daniel stood, then gripped the back of his chair for support. “Excuse me, Dr. Kriegel. I have to call a friend.”
Back in his office, Roberta placed the call. Daniel could have wept with relief when he heard Brad’s familiar voice. “That you, Danny boy?”
“Brad,” Daniel kept his voice flat, knowing that all calls to the NSA were taped. “I think it’s time we got together.”
There was a nearly palpable silence, then Brad’s deep laughter broke the awkward moment. “Sure, buddy, come on down to Washington. Christine and I would love to see you.”
Daniel closed his eyes, understanding. This had to sound like a social call, though both of them knew it wasn’t.
“I can tie things up here right away. I’ll see you as soon as I land in Washington, but I might check in with my girl before I stop by.”
“Hey, it’s Friday. No rush. Call when you get in, and I’ll fire up the grill.”
Daniel felt his mouth twist in a grim smile. Yeah, right. Like a leading White House security advisor was going to barbecue pork ribs while the country was being handed over to a dictator.
Daniel disconnected the call, then tapped the button that instantly connected him with the Internet. With three keystrokes he was at the site for airline reservations, and with two taps on the touchpad he had located and booked himself on the next flight to Washington. He could have called for his own pilot and jet, but preparation for the flight would have required at least two hours, and he did not want to waste a single moment.
Daniel powered off his computer, then picked up his briefcase. “I’m leaving the office, Roberta. Record, encrypt, and hold all calls until I report in, please.”
“Certainly, Mr. Prentice. Have a nice trip.”
“I’ll try.”
Daniel flashed his White House security pass at the guard but had to be personally cleared before a marine escorted him into the West Wing. He knocked on the door of Lauren’s office and heard her muffled voice, then he slowly opened the door.
“Daniel!” She came out from behind her desk and embraced him, then pulled back and gave him a wavering smile. “I’m so glad you came!”
A masculine voice joined Lauren’s greeting. “I’m glad, too, Danny boy.”
Daniel looked to the left and saw Brad sitting in a chair across from Lauren’s desk. “I didn’t expect to see you,” Daniel began, but Brad cut him off with an uplifted hand.
“I knew you weren’t coming to Washington to see me, no matter how much you like my grilled burgers.” Brad’s voice was light, but his eyes were dark and serious. He jerked his head toward the door. “Lauren and I were just about to go out for some fresh air. Want to come?”
“Sure.” Daniel waited for Lauren to pull her purse from her desk drawer, then Brad lifted his briefcase. The three of them passed through the hallway and out of the West Wing, then blinked in the bright sunlight. The passing automobiles on Pennsylvania Avenue seemed to tremble in the shimmering heat haze.
Daniel lifted a brow—now can we talk?—but Brad shook his head. “Danny boy, did you rent a car at the airport?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s take your vehicle, then.”
Daniel looked at Lauren, an unvoiced question on his lips, but she merely lowered her head and quickened her steps toward the southwest appointment gate. Within a few moments they were at Daniel’s car, and as he unlocked the doors, a blast of hot air struck him in the face.
“Sorry,” he said, leaning down to press the automatic locks. The mechanism clicked, and Lauren opened the passenger door and slid into the bucket seat. Not quite so eager, Brad set his briefcase on the roof of the car and opened it, pulling out a small black box with an oval head protruding from a telescopic shaft.
Curious, Daniel said nothing as Brad flipped a switch and moved the device over the dash, the seats, and the ceiling. Finally he switched the power off. “The car’s clean,” he said, tossing the device back into his briefcase. He climbed into the back seat and waited for Daniel to take the driver’s seat. “We can talk now.”
Daniel frowned as he fastened his seat belt. “Did you really expect to find a bug in this car?”
“Why not?” Brad shrugged. “Lauren’s office and car are bugged, and so are mine. That little gadget has found eavesdropping transmitters in the West Wing men’s room, the Oval Office dining room, and the president’s private study.”
Daniel gave Brad a look of disbelief. “You mean your people didn’t put them there?”
“Not us.” Brad rested his hands on his knees and looked pointedly at the ignition. “Are you going to start the car, or are you planning to bake us in this heat?”
Daniel turned the key and powered up the AC while Brad and Lauren began to fill in the missing pieces of the story. “It all happened right after the president went into the hospital,” Lauren said, twisting in her seat to look directly at Daniel. “The vice president was in charge, of course, but I began to see people I didn’t recognize in the halls—a strange janitor, a new courier. That’s when I began to suspect that something was up, so I contacted Brad.” She raised her eyes to meet Daniel’s in an oddly keen, swift look. “I wanted to call you but was afraid the lines were being tapped. I was afraid even to use the PGP program on my computer, so I didn’t e-mail you.”
“The entire place has been bugged—and not by us,” Brad broke in. “We haven’t moved anything; we’ll play the waiting game and see who’s pulling the strings. I want to say it’s the vice president, but frankly, I don’t think he has the chutzpah to pull this off. Besides, Miller left for Belgium three days after the president went into the hospital. I don’t think he knows what’s going on here.”<
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“How’d Romulus get to Miller?” Daniel asked. He glanced at Lauren. “And how’d he keep you out of his business? I can’t imagine you allowing him to entertain Romulus’s offer without throwing a royal fit.”
Lauren groaned. “A fit wouldn’t have helped. Miller and I have never seen eye to eye, and I think he’s resented me from the first day of the campaign. Fortunately, Jack Peck, chief of staff, has enough respect for the president that he’s kept me in the loop. First, Romulus sent Miller copies of several European papers that blasted the United States for our unwillingness to participate in the International Day of Peace. Then the vice president started getting calls from political leaders and bankers in the European Union.”
“Bankers?”
“Yes. They hit him with hard facts—that the European Monetary Union has an economy larger than America’s, that the world financial markets may begin trading in the euro instead of the dollar, that pressure on the dollar would force U.S. interest rates to rise and subject us to whims of the international currency markets like never before. Finally, they pointed out that if both the Europeans and Japanese stopped investing billions in American Treasury bills, our economy would collapse. Miller took one look at the possibilities and decided that if we couldn’t compete, we might as well join the Europeans. He left for Belgium right after that.”
As he listened, Daniel kept his eyes on the road and occasionally glanced back in the rearview mirror. A black sedan had pulled out as they left the White House, and he suspected they had picked up a tail. He moved out onto the Beltway, planning to ride the circular interstate for as long as it took to hear the truth.
“What’s happening with the president?” he asked.
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