“No bullshit, right, sir?”
“No bullshit, Tommy,” replied Arnold.
And with that, all six of them, plus the Marine guard detail, marched along the corridor towards the office of the President of the United States.
Outside the Oval Office, Bill Hatchard was speaking to the President’s secretary, who bid General Scannell a polite “good afternoon,” curiously looking at the little group. She had not realized there were so many people scheduled for the short meeting, she said, apologetically.
“Don’t worry about it.” General Clark turned to one of the two Marine guards already on duty outside the Oval Office and ordered him to summon at least eight more to the corridor.
“SIR! YES, SIR!” the guard snapped, obeying quickly and instinctively. The secretary now looked vaguely anxious and her alarm deepened when General Clark said to the other guard, “Head down to the main telephone switchboard and ensure that there are no incoming or outgoing calls. The order to suspend all service in and out of the White House has already been issued.”
“SIR! YES, SIR!” he replied to his Commandant, and set off instantly for the Old Executive Building, where the lines of telephone operators guard the President and his senior people from unwanted calls.
General Scannell now walked straight past the stunned secretary and opened the door to the inner sanctum of the U.S. Government. Charles McBride was at his desk, reading some papers, and he looked up in surprise, as five senior military figures strode in behind the General.
“General, this is unacceptable. I agreed to see two people, not six. Please ask four of them to leave.”
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs simply ignored him. “Mr. President, at 10 A.M. you informed me you would not give permission for the United States Military to take steps either to prevent, or otherwise cope with, a threat from the Middle East terrorist organization Hamas. May I presume you have not changed your mind?”
“You may. It’s just a load of nonsense. Now, if that’s all you have to say, I’ll thank you to leave now.”
“Sir. This is by no means all I have to say. I must confirm that the Head of your Navy, the Head of your Army, the Supreme NATO Commander, the Commander in Chief of the Atlantic Fleet, the Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, plus Admiral Morgan are unanimous in their belief that you are wrong.
“Each one of us believes that the East Coast cities of the United States are in mortal danger from a ruthless enemy. You are not just absolving yourself from the responsibility, you are hindering our efforts to protect the citizens and their property. Not to mention the historical documents and treasures of this country, which are held in those important cities.”
“Listen, General, these decisions are mine to make…not yours, nor any other Military Officers in the Pentagon.”
“Sir, I assure you that if we consider this nation to be threatened, and we have an incompetent President in this office, he will go, not us. We are the permanent guardians of this nation. And I think you’ll find that the people of the United States trust us more than a politician.”
The President stared at him, disbelief on his face.
“How dare you speak to me in that manner? I’ve had enough of it, do you hear? I have had quite enough. Now get out, all of you, before I have you escorted out by the guards.”
“Perhaps I should remind you, sir, that the White House is guarded by the Marine Corps, and their Commandant is standing right next to me…”
The President banged his fist on the desk. “We’ll see about that,” he shouted, picking up the telephone. But the line was dead, as were all lines in the White House. And that was the way they would stay for another twenty-five minutes.
He crashed down the phone, his hands shaking. In short angry bursts, slightly disjointed, and too loud, he hissed “I’ve always thought you were all crazy…You’re asking the impossible…I can’t just evacuate the East Coast…I can’t persuade Israel to help…I don’t even understand deployment of ships…Why are you doing this? Why the hell can’t you leave me alone? To do what I was elected to do…”
“Sir, it is our opinion that you are not competent to lead this nation in the crisis we now find ourselves in. The President has to talk to the people…today…and it plainly cannot be you.
“On behalf of the United States Armed Forces, I am relieving you of office. For the next ten minutes, this country will be under a self-imposed Martial Law. By that time, we shall have sworn in the new President…As you know, under our Constitution that’s Vice President Paul Bedford…”
“YOU CAN DO NO SUCH THING!” yelled Charles McBride.
“Can’t I?” replied the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “General Clark, summon a Marine Guard of four men…”
“Yes, sir.” General Clark walked to the door and ordered four armed Marines into the Oval Office. “Stand on either side of the President’s chair and be prepared for him to do something careless,” said the Commandant.
“Sir,” said General Scannell. “This sheet of paper contains your resignation. You will see it already has the Presidential Seal embossed on it…Read and sign…”
The President read the sentence…“I hereby resign the office of President of the United States for reasons of failing health. Signed by my own hand on this twenty-ninth day of September 2009.”
“And if I refuse…?”
“We shall place you under arrest for deliberately, and willfully, endangering the citizens of the United States by refusing to take military precautions in the face of an enemy threat. That would mean, of course, your instant impeachment, and disgrace. Sign it, sir, and sign it now, or we’ll carry you out of here. Time, for us at least, is very short.”
“But you cannot just appoint a new…”
“SHUT UP, McBRIDE!” rasped Admiral Morgan. “You’ve said plenty.”
The President was stunned into silence. With the generals glaring, he signed the resignation paper.
“You will now be escorted to a Navy helicopter out on the lawn and be flown to Camp David, where you will remain under house arrest until we have dealt with the Hamas threat…Is the First Lady in residence? Any other members of family?”
“Just the First Lady upstairs in the residence.”
“She will be brought to the helicopter immediately. At Camp David neither of you will be permitted any contact with the outside world whatsoever. No phones will be connected. Mobile phones will be confiscated.” General Scannell glanced at his watch and muttered, “Have him escorted out right now. We’re going straight to the office of the new President. Judge Moore is already in the Old Executive Building, specifically to swear him in.”
The operation had been conducted, so far, with immense precision.
The High Command of the United States Armed Forces was trusted implicitly to tell the truth and to operate objectively, free from political or civilian agendas. The members of the Supreme Court understood that perfectly, and the two Supreme Court Judges, required to authorize Judge Moore’s powers, had instantly complied to the request from the Pentagon.
The only politician who had been informed of the palace coup was Senator Edward Kennedy, the senior member of the Senate Armed Forces Committee, whose patriotism was unquestioned and whose personal motives to act on behalf of the United States were always impeccable.
In this instance, Admiral Morgan had assured everyone of the Senator’s support since, he said, the entire Kennedy compound was situated on the shores of Nantucket Sound, in the direct path of the ensuing tsunami.
“But I know Teddy,” he said. “If he lived on top of the goddamned Rockies, he’d still do the right thing about a threat like this. Also, he knows us, and he knows the Navy. He’s head of the Subcommittee on Sea Power. And he knows we wouldn’t be making this up. He’ll trust us, and he’ll give us his total support. You can count on it.”
And now Charles McBride was on his feet, with a Marine guard on each elbow, being frog-marched to the door of the Oval Office.
Upstairs, Mrs. McBride was being escorted more gently along the corridor, carrying only her purse. Their personal possessions would be ferried up to Camp David in the early part of the evening. The announcement of his retirement, to a shocked nation, would be given in a broadcast within the hour, when President Bedford would cite McBride’s nervous breakdown.
The six White House visitors walked behind the Marine escort as far as the portico door to the lawn. One hundred yards away they could see the huge rotors of the helicopter already howling. Mrs. McBride emerged from a different door. General Clark remained to watch the U.S. Navy helicopter take off, bearing the President and his First Lady into exile from the seat of Government. The others headed directly to the office of Vice President Paul Bedford. They had agreed to ignore the intricacies of the Twenty-fifth Amendment, which essentially dealt with the transfer of power to the Vice President if a President was incapacitated and unable to carry out his duties. (The Twenty-fifth has only been used twice — once when President Reagan was shot, and once when President Bush underwent general anaesthesia in April 1989.)
In this instance, it was decided that the VP would be immediately sworn in. There was, after all, no possibility of McBride making any kind of a comeback.
Senator Kennedy had already arrived in the VP’s office, and Judge Moore intoned the sacred words that all Presidents must recite: “I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of the President of the United States, and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.”
Section 2 of the Constitution made him, at that moment, Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy of the United States.
Within moments, he had signed the prepared document that appointed Adm. Arnold Morgan his Special Adviser for the forthcoming crisis with Hamas. He willingly signed the rider to the document that ensconced the Admiral in the Oval Office, as Supreme Commander of all U.S. military forces involved in Operation High Tide, “with civilian powers as far-reaching as may be necessary for safe evacuation of the citizens of the affected areas.”
General Clark, the only person in the room with a working knowledge of a digital camera, photographed the entire scene for the public record, somehow managing to wipe out four pictures taken by Mrs. Bedford the previous week at Camp David in the process. But they had to avoid the intrusion of an official photographer and the endless ramifications of this incredible private ceremony being leaked to the media.
Senator Kennedy observed the formalities and swiftly headed back to the Capitol to brief the heads of Senate Committees on the oncoming political bombshell. The remainder of the House would learn of the shift of power at more or less the same time as the media, and indeed the nation. The Military Chiefs were confident that Teddy would combine his legendary down-home friendliness with the certain tough authority that was his trademark, to convince the elected representatives of the fifty States that the nation stood in mortal danger.
Meanwhile, back in the West Wing of the White House, it was plain that staff members had to be informed and then silenced, until the press had been given the news. Admiral Morgan, standing in the Oval Office with General Scannell, decreed that senior staff should report immediately to President Reagan’s specially built Situation Room in the basement of the West Wing. There they would be briefed by the Admiral himself, and there they would watch the television address to the nation by the new President of the United States. A guard of four Marines outside the door would ensure that no one left the room, and all mobile phones would be surrendered to the guards as each senior staffer arrived.
“It’s important that Paul tells our story just the way we want it,” emphasized Arnold Morgan. “We do not want some newsroom rewrite asshole speculating and jumping to conclusions. This White House already has a reputation for press leaks, and we don’t want anyone releasing information until we’re good and ready, and we have the situation under control.”
He glanced at his watch. It showed five minutes before four. He walked out through the Oval Office door and past the ex-President’s secretary to tour the building and inform all heads of departments to report to the Situation Room. Since internal communications were down, he ordered one of the Marine guards to walk down to the Press Room and inform those present that there would be a Presidential Address in twenty minutes in the White House Briefing Room.
By now, Admirals Dickson and Doran, in company with Generals Boyce and Clark, had arrived back in the Oval Office. Arnold Morgan, already seated behind the only available desk — that of the former President — was writing fast on a legal pad, on which the former occupant had been drafting a personal speech to the Third World Initiative.
Still scribbling, he spoke without looking up. “Okay, I’ll take Frank Doran with me to the Situation Room, where I’ll stress the enormous task of the Navy to the senior White House Staff. I think everyone else should go with President Bedford and stand behind him on his port-and-starboard quarter. General Scannell and General Boyce on his four o’clock, Admiral Dickson and General Clark on his eight. That’s the Head of the Pentagon, the Head of NATO, the Head of the Navy, and the Head of the United States Marine Corps. Solid, right?”
Just then, Paul Bedford walked in, and Admiral Morgan immediately stood up, nodded, and said, “Mr. President…I’m just drafting a few notes for your address…They’re only notes…but we have no time…You’ll just have to wing the speech, but it’d be a good idea to stick to the outline here…
“Stress the nervous collapse and subsequent resignation of the President, who is currently under medical care at Camp David…Tell ’em how shocked we all are…then come clean over the Hamas threat, tell ’em the whole story, not in detail, but start with Mount St. Helens, then the demands of the terrorists…” His finger ran down the notes on the legal pad. “Then the threat that convinced us of the imminent danger of our country, when they blew Montserrat. Explain the terrible danger, the silent terrorist submarine with its nuclear-warhead guided missiles, the vulnerability of Cumbre Vieja, and the certainty of the tsunami, if they hit the volcano.”
Paul Bedford nodded as firmly as he was able to. Right now, in his own mind, he was not so much President of the United States as a Naval Lieutenant receiving a briefing of the most staggering importance from one of the most senior Admirals ever to serve his country.
Arnold ripped the page off the writing pad and handed it to the new Chief Executive. He had printed everything in bold capitals, including the first two sentences, then a clear synopsis of the rest.
“Is that it?” asked President Bedford.
“As best as we can do,” said Arnold agreeably. “You’re on parade in fifteen minutes, and I’m out of here with Frank, right now.”
“Okay, sir,” said Paul. “I can follow this.”
“You can call me anything you like in this room,” replied Arnold. “But for Christ’s sake don’t call me ‘sir’ in public!”
“No, sir,” said Paul Bedford, laughing, despite the gravity of the situation.
“And, Mr. President…” said Arnold, as he headed for the door. “Remember one other thing…when Sir Winston Churchill demanded an entire reorganization of the Navy fleets in the North Atlantic…he told his First Sea Lord if it wouldn’t fit on one side of one sheet of paper, it hadn’t been properly thought out.”
And with that, he was gone, the Commander in Chief of the Atlantic Fleet, with Admiral Frank Doran somewhere in his wake.
“Jesus,” President Bedford said to himself. “Is he something, or what?”
And then, to everyone’s surprise, Admiral Morgan’s head popped back around the door. “Oh, Paul, I forgot. You’d better fire Defense Secretary Schlemmer and NSA Romney right now, and then Hatchard, right after he’s released from my briefing. Handwritten notes thanking them for all they have done. One side of one sheet, right?”
“Okay, Arnie, you got it,” replied the President of the United States, slipping into the easy informality
enjoyed by men under severe stress. “Is it okay if I borrow your desk?”
Still chuckling, Admiral Morgan headed for the West Wing basement, where he found a scene of extraordinary restlessness. The heads of White House Departments had mostly arrived. Protocol, Secret Service, Communications, Catering, the chief Butler, Security, Transportation, the Press Office, the State Department, Speech Writers, Bill Hatchard, and indeed the former President’s secretary were crowding into the room. All requesting information, yearning to know what was going on. The four Marine guards had taken up positions outside the door, and two more guarded the exit from the elevator. With the correct credentials, they would let you in, but no one was leaving. Not until the Presidential Address was completed and on television. A small pile of surrendered cell phones occupied a desk behind the principal Marine detail.
Arnold Morgan and Admiral Doran made their way into the soundproof teak-paneled conference room that, aside from its central table, was filled with secretarial desks, computers, and video-conferencing telephones. None of this was currently active, though staff members were hurriedly claiming the desks, since the packed gathering could plainly not fit around the main table.
Admiral Morgan moved into the big chair once occupied by President Reagan. He dragged another seat next to him for the C in C Atlantic Fleet and called the meeting to order by banging his open palm down on the polished surface of the conference table.
“For a very few of you, this may seem a bit like old times. For the rest of you, my name is Arnold Morgan, former Admiral in the United States Navy, former Director of the National Security Agency, former National Security Adviser to the President.
“I’m not precisely sure how fast rumors move around here these days, but I would like you all to know that President Charles McBride resigned within the last hour for health reasons. According to the Constitution, the Vice President has instantly assumed the Oval Office, and he was sworn in by the man appointed to do so by the Supreme Court of the United States, Judge Moore. The ceremony took place in the Old Executive Building, and President Paul Bedford swore to uphold the Constitution of the United States.
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