Ben could understand how the loss of his only child could hit the president hard. Anyone could. But the thought of him blubbering about it on the roof of the White House was not going to encourage anyone to keep him in office.
“He said he couldn’t stand to go it alone,” Sarie continued. “He needed the support of his wife, his offspring. Without them, he was nothing.” She paused, though she was clearly not finished. Her eyes darted from one side of the room to the other. Even though Ben was sure she didn’t mean it this way, he knew the break was having the effect of giving particular emphasis to whatever blockbuster was yet to come.
“Yes?” Swinburne said. “Please go on.”
Sarie licked her lips. “He said he didn’t think he could stand to go on living.”
There was an audible gasp in the bunker. Papers shuffled on the television screen. The secretary of education stood and got a drink of water. The president slid deeper into his chair.
A suicidal president? That was simply unacceptable. On any grounds. No one would care now whether he was crazy or not. A suicidal president had to go, by whatever pretext was possible.
“How did you respond?”
“Of course I tried to bolster his spirits. I told him that he was wrong, that he was a great president, that he had done everything he could for Jenny. That it wasn’t his fault she was unmanageable. And I told him that in time she would come around. It’s true. I was a bit of a rebel myself back in the day. Didn’t talk to my parents for almost ten years over some grievance so petty I don’t even remember what it was now. I told him everything I could think of to say. But nothing seemed to help.”
“What else did he say?”
“He just went on and on in that vein, for probably almost half an hour. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to get the Secret Service-I didn’t want anyone to see him like this. So I waited it out.”
“And he was still talking?”
“Yes. Eventually he wrapped his hands around his knees and began to rock back and forth-” She cut herself short. “He said he was going to kill himself, just get it over with. Just jump off the roof and be done. Over. I tried to get him to think about what impact that would have on his wife, his child. ‘They’ll never miss me,’ he insisted. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘maybe they will at first, for a week or two. But they’ll get over it. They’ll move on. And they’ll be much better for being rid of me.’”
The other people in the room were shifting in their seats, wishing there were someplace they could go. This would be uncomfortable to hear in the best of circumstances, but when the president was sitting right there, only a few feet from all of them, it was awkward in the extreme.
“Did he talk about how he might do it?”
“Yes.” Another deep breath. “He realized in time that jumping off the roof might not be fatal, though it was sure to bring great pain. He talked about getting a knife from the kitchen and doing himself in hara-kiri style. He talked about grabbing a Secret Service agent’s gun and shooting himself through the head. Then-then-”
She choked. Ben realized it must be incredibly difficult for her to do this. She wasn’t presently married. As far as anyone knew, the primary man in her life was Roland Kyler. And now she was effectively betraying him, in what was perhaps his moment of greatest need.
“Then,” she continued, with great difficulty, “he talked about doing it at a press conference.”
The secretary of education gasped.
“He said he’d smuggle a gun in when no one was looking, and once the cameras were rolling he’d blow his head off in living color. That would show the bastards, he said. That would show Colonel Zuko and all the other people who were conniving to bring him down. He wouldn’t give them the chance. He’d just do it himself.”
Ruiz threw down his pencil and turned away. Rybicki covered his face. No one looked the president in the eye. The murmuring and whispering in the tiny bunker was so intense Admiral Cartwright had to pound the table several times. “There will be quiet in here! The witness is still testifying.”
“I’m really not,” Sarie said. “That’s all there is. That’s everything I’ve seen. Before today.”
“Let me ask you one more question before you go,” Swinburne said. “And let me thank you for your honest testimony. I know it wasn’t easy for you and I appreciate it. But my question is this: when you witnessed this spectacle on the roof of the White House, did the president seem… sane?”
“Objection,” Ben said. “She’s not qualified.”
Cartwright waved him down. “She sees the man virtually every day. She may be the best observer we’ve got of his daily condition. I’m going to allow her to answer the question.”
“But she’s not a-”
“I’ve ruled, Mr. Kincaid. Sit down.”
Ben unhappily returned to his chair.
Sarie shook her head. “I don’t know if I would call him insane. He didn’t seem himself. I will say that. He didn’t seem like the Roland Kyler I know. It’s was as if somehow he had been changed. Altered.”
“Incapable?”
“I’m not a psychiatrist.”
“I’m not asking for a medical diagnosis. But you can give us your own opinion, based upon what you saw and heard. I’m sure the judge will allow it.”
Sarie continued shaking her head, searching for the words. “I just don’t know what was wrong with him that night, or in the pool, or before the Easter egg roll. I don’t know what brings on these… episodes. But I know they’re real. And I know they’re scary.”
“But Ms. Morrell, did he seem stable? When he was threatening to kill himself? In graphic and bloody ways?”
Her head hung low. “No,” she said quietly. “I suppose not.”
“Thank you,” Swinburne said. “Your witness, Mr. Kincaid.”
30
11:16 A.M.
Very generous of Swinburne, but what the hell was Ben supposed to do with this witness? She looked as if she couldn’t go on, at least not without a recess, something the judge couldn’t and wouldn’t grant. He didn’t doubt that she had been telling the truth. There was no chance that he was going to impeach her on cross. Her credibility and honesty were ironclad.
Still, he had to do something. He just didn’t know what that might be.
He stood and addressed the witness. Some of the people in the room were absolutely glaring at him. They didn’t want him to go on. They’d heard enough.
“Sarie,” Ben said, “I know this has been a terrible ordeal for you, and in most circumstances I would ask for a recess before proceeding. In this case, though, there just isn’t time. Do you think you could answer a few questions for me? I promise I won’t go on too long.”
She looked up. Her face was pale. “I’ll do my best.”
“Sarie, the whole purpose of this proceeding is to determine whether the president is incapable of serving as president due to some mental infirmity. The president can be as odd as he wants. That doesn’t matter. It’s only important if it prevents him from performing him official duties.”
“I understand.”
“And I know you saw some strange things. But I haven’t heard anything that suggests that the president couldn’t do his job.”
Ruiz slapped himself on the forehead, looking at Ben as if he had lost every marble he ever had.
“You’ve testified that these episodes come without warning or any discernible trigger.”
“That’s true.”
“And you’ve said that they eventually pass.”
“Yes.”
“After a brief time, he seems normal again. Able to perform as president?”
“Absolutely.”
“Has he failed to accomplish any work as a result of these odd interludes?”
“Never once.”
“Has he ever been unable to respond in a crisis or to take an appropriate action?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Does his ability to make decisions seem
impaired?”
“Not after the episodes are over. He’s the most decisive man I’ve ever known.”
“Then would it be fair to say that you do not perceive him to be rendered incapable?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“But what about during the episodes?” Swinburne barked. “What if a crisis breaks out while he’s having one? Like now!”
Admiral Cartwright glared. “It is not your turn to speak, Mr. Swinburne. Please desist.”
Swinburne folded his arms across his chest. “My apologies,” he grumbled.
“So, Sarie,” Ben continued, “I gather you would not want to label the president incapable. Or insane.”
She hesitated. “No. I would not want to.”
Not quite good enough. Ben wanted her to distinguish these odd episodes from genuine and severe insanity. He tried again. “Sarie, do you have any experience with people suffering from mental illness?”
“Yes, actually I do.” She folded her hands in her lap. “You may not know this, but one summer when I was in college I worked at a state hospital. In the mental ward.”
Ben’s stomach was churning. Why did he suddenly have the distinct feeling he was going to regret having asked this question?
“I spent the whole summer changing sheets and dishing out pills. Caring for the inmates. It was educational-but also very chilling. I had never been around such disturbed people in my entire life. I never got used to it. There was just something… different about them. I’m not talking about their behavior. I mean, when I looked into their eyes. Shakespeare says the eyes are the window to the soul, and I guess that’s right, because whenever I looked into these people’s eyes, it seemed like something was missing. Something was… wrong.”
Ben tried to cut her off, but she ignored him. Tears began to trickle out of her eyes. “And when I sat beside President Kyler on the roof that night and I looked into his eyes, I saw the same look. The same vacancy. The same wrongness.”
The whispering in the room spiked. Cartwright pounded on the table, but it made little difference. On the television, the cabinet members watched with gaping mouths.
Sarie tried to control her broken voice. “I’m sorry, Roland. I’m so, so sorry. You are a good man. But you are not well. You need help. And I hope you will get that help, because I know there is so much you can contribute to the world. But not now.” Tears flowed. Her voice rose an octave, then cracked altogether. “I am sorry, but it’s true. We’re in a crisis situation, and we need a leader, someone dependable, not someone who might start having an irrational episode at any moment-might be having one now for all we know!”
She reached out to him with both hands. “Roland, you need to step down. You need to do it now. For everyone’s sake. Please!”
After that, the room descended into chaos. Cartwright tried to regain control, but it was useless. Everyone was talking at once, expressing their opinion, their contempt, their outrage. Ben couldn’t pick up the televised conversation, but he could see the discussion among the cabinet members was equally agitated. Everyone was talking.
Everyone except the primary subject of the chatter. President Kyler rose, quietly slipped into the other room, and closed the door behind him.
Swinburne moved toward Admiral Cartwright. “Judge, we rest our case.”
“I thought you might.”
“Furthermore, given what we’ve heard, and given the exigencies of time, I will ask again that we move to an immediate roll call vote. Honestly, Kincaid, what could you possibly put in evidence at this point that would change anyone’s mind?”
Which was exactly the question Ben had just been asking himself.
Ben was not a quitter. Not ever. Went totally against all his instincts, all his training.
But what was there to do? Kyler had been shown to have a serious medical condition, diabetes, and to be dangerously unstable, threatening to kill himself in front of millions of people. It was obvious he couldn’t function during these episodes. Wasn’t it?
What was left to do?
Of course, Kyler could’ve said the same thing when Ben had come to ask him a special favor…
Ben closed his eyes. He would not give up on the man. But he needed to talk to him. And he needed a minute to think. To plan. To come up with… something.
Because if he didn’t come up with something fast, something new, something unexpected, there was no question about how the vote would go. Not only was Ben certain that the president would be removed if the vote were taken at that moment, but he suspected it would be unanimous.
Part Three. The President’s Defense
*
31
11:16 A.M.
“I’m telling you, I won’t talk!”
Seamus had to stifle his laughter. Harold Bemis was clenching shut his eyes and mouth and standing rigid as a stick. He looked like nothing so much as a little boy who was determined to hold his breath till he passed out.
Seamus saw security arriving through a back entrance. Better late than never. He pulled out his ID and waited.
Are-are you going to waterboard me? Then take those awful pictures?”
“It might come to that,” Seamus said. “But for the moment, I think I’m content to extract information from your cell phone.”
“What? How?”
Seamus pulled up the last text message Bemis had received and saw that the number was blocked. No surprise there. He checked the recent cell activity on the phone. Bemis had received a lot of blocked-number texts in the past few weeks. But the four that had come today were local, and a few knowledgeable taps into the inner workings of the phone showed Seamus that they had a different point of origination than the others.
Because today, Seamus surmised, Ishmael was at the base firing the missiles according to Colonel Zuko’s orders.
The security officers started barking questions. That lasted about five seconds, until Seamus flashed his badge and demonstrated that they were not the top-ranking officers on the premises. He didn’t like to be rude, but he was working under a deadline and he simply had no time for rent-a-cops, especially not ones who took about twice as long to react to a dangerous scene as they should have done.
“I’ve got to get out of here. Call my office when you’re ready to write your reports.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll secure the crime scene.”
“Right. Oh, except-” Seamus crouched down by the inert body of the man who had tried to kill him-and yanked his car keys out of the back of his neck. “I’ll need these.”
The security cops stared at him, their mouth gaping.
Seamus left the two suspects in their care and started back toward the street, hauling Arlo behind him.
“How do you know where the base is?” Arlo asked, walking fast, trying to keep up.
“I don’t. Yet. But I will.” He punched a few buttons on Bemis’s phone. Someone picked up on the first ring. “Zira?”
“I’m here, Seamus. Have you found the base?”
“Almost. Two things first. Do you have a fix on my location?”
“Of course.” Like everyone else in the Agency, Seamus had a cell phone equipped with a homing device that allowed the central office to track him at all times.
“Good. I just left two suspects about two hundred feet behind me in a Macy’s department store. One is the computer genius who’s been conspiring with the enemy. The other is muscle. Gun muscle, anyway. You might want to send some boys over to interrogate them. Although the muscle may be dead. I’m not really sure.”
“Seamus, what in-”
“And I don’t think the geek knows anything,” he continued, ignoring her. “But it never hurts to try.”
“Seamus, so help me, if you’ve done anything-”
“I haven’t. Honest.” He had to smile. Tweaking Zira was his only pleasure in this otherwise grim day. “But here’s what I need you to do. I’m calling you now on the geek’s phone. Get a lock on the signal and look up his calling reco
rds. Someone has texted him four times today. The calling number was blocked. But I know you can get around that.”
“In a New York minute.” She began barking orders to some underling nearby.
“Can they do that?” Arlo asked while they walked.
“Which? Hack into a private citizen’s phone records, or pierce the veil to learn who made a given call? Doesn’t matter. Either way, they can.” And the NSA does it a lot more than we do, he wanted to add. But some family secrets were best kept private.
By the time they reached the car, Zira had an answer for him. “The phone was purchased at a convenience store. We’re triangulating on its signal to find its current location.” She paused. “It’s in northern Maryland.”
“Got it.”
“Call me as soon as you know something?”
“Always.” He snapped the phone shut and slid behind the wheel. Arlo hopped into the passenger side.
“Um, look, kid… I think this is where you get off.”
“What? No way.”
“You’ve been helpful, finding Bemis and all. But this next stop is likely to be dangerous. I can’t bring a civilian into it.”
“I saved your life.”
“And I appreciate what you’ve done-but not enough to let you get killed at the next stop.”
“But what if you need me to identify some computer gizmo or something?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. What kind of stuff do international terrorists usually have?”
Seamus smiled. “Get out, kid. I’ll send you a postcard when it’s all over.”
“I refuse.”
“Don’t make me get rough.”
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