Turning to the assembled body, Talbot asserted slowly and without emotion, but with evident conviction, “Gentlemen, I’m not going anywhere on this general’s say-so alone.” Others quickly interjected their concurrence, while some seemed questioning and uncertain.
Paul Latimer rose to his feet and remained standing silently until the room became still and all eyes were upon him. Slowly he began to address the group. “Gentlemen, the president of the United States has been shot today. In this room are the legally authorized power centers of this administration and executives of the government of the United States of America. Every moment we waste here may be jeopardizing the president’s life and the security of our country. This is not the time or place for saying what we will not do. We must act. We must act decisively. And we must do it now.” Looking at General Slaider, Latimer continued, “With all due respect to you General, you are in violation of the law by your actions. You cannot sequester the president from his own administration. And frankly, General, we don’t know whether anything you think you know about the president’s condition or location is correct. You are here and he is there, wherever ‘there’ is. You are with us, not with him. You are depending on indirect evidence as are we. This is intolerable. You are completely out of order in telling us we must relocate to a position of remoteness as complete as the president’s is now. We don’t know if he is safe or if we will be safe. And there is no way in hell we can justify this action as a result of current circumstances.”
Turning to Frank Morrison, Latimer continued, “Frank, the first order of business has got to be to secure the safety of the president and provide all necessary medical treatment. He cannot be held incommunicado any more than he can declare himself incommunicado. This whole thing stinks. I will draft an order for you to transmit to Colonel Anderson directing him to ignore the nuclear attack protocols and further directing that the protection of the president be immediately transferred back to the Secret Service. Furthermore, Dr. Randall must be brought to the president immediately so that his diagnosis can be compared with that of the military physicians. We don’t even know who is treating the president at this time.”
“Mr. Vice President,” General Slaider interrupted, “Colonel Anderson will not respond to any such orders in that they are in direct violation of the nuclear attack protocols.”
“Well goddammit, General Slaider, there is no nuclear attack and we’ve got to do something.” Latimer’s voice rose with frustration.
The vice president looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to eight o’clock. “Gentlemen, we must stop. We must tell something to the people—give them some reassurance. General Slaider tells us the president has not been mortally wounded. This is wonderful news we can share with the American people. We must act to do this, at least. We can’t allow ourselves to get bogged down at a time like this in a procedural squabble. It is clear that in order to communicate with the president we must now go to him. Otherwise this discussion will go on forever. We must contain any conspiracy and we must normalize our governmental leadership. I believe it is inappropriate on the authority of General Slaider, alone, for us to relocate. Mr. Speaker, I request that you go to see the president using General Slaider to convey you to the hardened White House using protocols for nuclear attack. You will then convey to the president our determination that we cannot relocate the seat of government without his personal direction and without our concurrence that that direction is legal and fitting to the circumstances. General, will you arrange for the conveyance of the speaker to the hardened White House?”
“I’m ready now, Mr. Vice President.”
“Good. I will be meeting with the press in a few minutes. I will tell them that Emerson is wounded but not critically, that for security purposes I cannot disclose his location, that he is still the president, and that there is disturbing evidence that there may be a broader conspiracy. I will also say that there will be an announcement at three o’clock on the travel restrictions imposed by the Washington Command. Finally, I will say that the FBI director and Colonel Anderson are working cooperatively and that the investigation of all the recent events will be under the direct jurisdiction of the FBI. This is an extremely awkward position I find myself in, gentlemen. I want none of you, please, to make any announcements beyond what I have just indicated to you that I will be announcing to the press. I don’t want any contradictory statements or pregnant pauses during questioning, or rolling eyes or any other signals in any other way that you are not all 100 percent convinced of the accuracy and correctness of my forthcoming statement.”
Latimer paused to control his own rapid breathing. He took a deep slow breath and let it go out just as slowly. He asked all those assembled, “Is there anyone here who will have a problem with the restrictions I have just placed on you? The room was silent. “Good. Are there any questions or comments?” Again, there was silence.
At that moment an aide entered the Situation Room and handed a note to Vice President Latimer. Latimer studied it for a moment as the room fell silent.
“I regret to inform you that large demonstrations have broken out in New York, Boston, Chicago, and San Francisco, protesting the attempted assassination of the president. It would seem from the placards at least that the demonstration organizers are blaming the oil interests for the spate of recent events. I am also informed by the Metro Fire Department that the scattered arson activity has become more widespread now and serious fires are burning in the downtown business district. No government buildings have been affected as yet. Mr. Speaker, please proceed with General Slaider now and report back to this room as quickly as possible. We will reconvene in two hours. General Slaider, you will work out the communication protocols for the speaker to communicate back to us before you leave with him.”
49
As Latimer walked into the presidential briefing room, he felt his knees going weak, and his stomach turned at how hollow his statement would seem to this armada of reporters and to the listening world. His confidence drained from him quickly, along with his color, as he entered the room. Instantly, there were hundreds of shouted questions hurled at him, eager, determined faces, arms waving in the air, demanding recognition, cameras following and magnifying every movement, every twitch, every blemish. The news conference, he knew, would be a disaster.
50
FBI Director Amanda Brock, sat in her office in the Justice Department building and was not happy at all with herself. She had not leveled with the president and now she had not leveled with the vice president about her concerns regarding General Slaider.
She exhausted herself developing and analyzing alternative scenarios to these present events had she first gone to the president when she learned of Slaider’s association with that Leach character. But she never thought Slaider would get involved in anything really dangerous.
She hated herself because she was still not leveling. Only now she knew better. Her excuses were all gone. This was pure and simple covering her ass. She knew it. And she didn’t like herself for it. And this was getting way out of control. What could she do?
Brock fingered the telephone message on her desk. Roger Talbot had called. Talbot. Talbot also knew about Slaider and he hadn’t done squat about it either. But at least Talbot took Slaider on in the Situation Room. She wondered why she always underestimated Talbot. She knew perfectly well that his “good ole boy” charade was just that. Maybe it worked better than she thought.
She had also underestimated Slaider and she had underestimated Leach. She had a lot of catching up to do. And the first item on her list was—“Where is Jeremy Leach?”
Pushing the intercom on her desk, Brock informed her secretary that she would be going to the Communications Center. She was to send all messages to her there using the vacuum system she had installed. She wanted everything except cabinet-level calls to her stopped at her desk. No press or congressional callers were to be put through until further notice. Maybe longer than she planned, she thou
ght to herself.
Right now, she had a job to do. But later—later, she would write her resignation.
51
Without taking his eyes from the telescreen screen, Senator Jeb Paxton reached to pick up the ringing phone on his desk. He had been receiving anxious calls from his constituents all morning. Interspersed with these were calls with hurried assessments from his political contacts throughout Washington’s political community.
This call, however, was from his wife.
“Jeb, I know you’re busy and this is a bad time to call, but Jeb, I have to talk to you. Please, sugar, just for a moment.”
“Ginny, that’s okay. Of course we can talk. Right about now everyone’s startin’ to just repeat themselves anyway.”
“Jeb, what’s goin’ on? Can you tell me? The TV’s got everyone scared to death. It just sounds so awful. Have you any news about Emerson? Is he alive? Oh, Jeb, what’s happenin’? What’s happenin’ with the army? Who is this Colonel Anderson who has the president?”
“Whoa, slow down there, Ginny,” Paxton interrupted. “Didn’t you see Latimer’s news conference, darlin’?”
“Oh, phoo on Paul Latimer, Jeb. He sounded just like a weasel. I don’t believe a word of what he said and no one else does either. Can’t you tell me what’s really happenin’, Jeb, just this once. This is too important for me not to know if you know.”
“Darlin’, I’m afraid that Paul Latimer is callin’ it plain as you see it this time. It’s just as he says. Emerson has been shot but his wounds aren’t critical and the army is protectin’ him for security reasons. Ginny, we’ve got several hundred thousand people in this town, all of them more or less angry about one thing or another and some of them may be plottin’ the overthrow of our government. It’s just too big a job for the Secret Service, darlin’, so General Slaider has arranged for some of our military boys to step in and fill the breach. That’s all there is to it.”
“But why haven’t we heard from the president or at least from his doctors? Nothing can explain that. Does the army think there are more people tryin’ to kill the president? Reuters says no one in government has seen the president or spoken with him. Why, for godsakes, are we getting news about America from Reuters? Folks are goin’ just about crazy. Have you been watchin’ the telly? People are just pourin’ into the streets. They don’t know what to do or what to think. I swear, Jeb, no one is givin’ anybody a straight answer. And don’t tell me about Paul Latimer again, Jeb, please . . . Jeb, is that your line? Is someone trying to get through? Don’t hang up, darlin’, please”
“I have to go, Ginny. I’m expectin’ a call right now on an interview with the president. We should have this whole mess cleared up very soon. I’ll call you when I know somethin’. An’ sugar, try not to believe everything you see on TV.” He made a kissing sound into the phone and tapped the flash button. It was Alexander Llewellyn on the line.
“Jeb, call me back on a secure line. I’m in my office.”
“All right.”
Jeb Paxton had known Llewellyn for many years as a congressional colleague before Emerson appointed him secretary of state. Of Drummond’s cabinet members, Llewellyn had the best relationship with the Congress. He quickly called Llewellyn back on a secure line.
“Well, Alex—what have you got?”
“It’s not good, Jeb. The speaker has informed us from the hardened White House that he was unable to actually speak with the president, but was handed a document authorizing the imposition of martial law in Washington. He said it was the president’s signature. He’s certain of that. He also said that according to the document the president still insists on the entire cabinet joining him until the Army has Washington under control and there’s a better understanding of this conspiracy.”
“By Jesus, Alex—what do we do now? Are we playin’ some kind of game of chicken with the president? This is not like Emerson. Does he know somethin’ we don’t know?”
“I don’t know Jeb. But the vice president is adamant. He will not transfer the government to the hardened White House. He’s going along with the martial law because things are rapidly approaching anarchy here. But he won’t do anything else without a direct visual communication from President Drummond. He will not sequester the entire executive branch of the government on the basis of a piece of paper handed to him by the military.”
“Is he concerned that Colonel Anderson is not playin’ square with him, Alex?”
“Jeb, I just talked with Roger Talbot and there is reason to believe that General Slaider is not playing square. I informed the vice president of Roger’s concerns.”
“What are you saying, plain out, Alex?”
“That’s as far as I can go now, Jeb. But you better get the ducks lined up, because this cabinet may declare the president unable to discharge his duties. Paul will be acting president until we can get a handle on what is going on with Emerson.” Secretary Llewellyn sounded tired and resigned as he made this declaration. Reluctant, but resigned.
“I understand, Alex. Keep me posted. I’m goin’ to have to play this very, very close to my chest, you understand. Not a word of this can get out. If you all go ahead with Twenty-fifth Amendment, I want to know as soon as the decision is made and I’ll need one hour, at least, before you go ahead an’ lay this little bombshell to media talkin’ heads. Alex, don’t let this turn into a pissin’ contest between Paul and Slaider. You make sure, you hear me out, that Paul Latimer tries everything—and I mean everythingbefore it comes to makin’ that particular announcement.”
“I understand, Jeb. Believe me, I understand.”
Senator Paxton placed the phone back on its cradle.
Ginny had it about right, he thought. What the hell is going on? The city is out of control and martial law seems appropriate. But why is Emerson incommunicado if he is okay as Slaider claims? And why is Alex Llewellyn suspicious of Morgan Slaider? What had Roger Talbot told him about Slaider?
And who did shoot Emerson anyway? It’s been hours now and no word from Brock or Anderson. They should have called a news conference by now. It would calm the rest of the country down. Are things so bad that a declaration of incapacity is needed?
Jeb Paxton looked around his office. Opening his current copy of the almanac, he turned to the constitution and the Twenty-fifth Amendment. Article 4 was what he wanted to reread:
Whenever the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive departments or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit to the president pro tempore of the Senate and Speaker of the House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall immediately assume the powers and duties of the office as Acting President.
Thereafter, when the President transmits to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives his written declaration that no inability exists, he shall resume the powers and duties of his office unless the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive department or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit within four days to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office. Thereupon Congress shall decide the issue . . .
Thereupon Congress shall decide. No, he thought not. By the time the cabinet had their vote and transmitted it to the president pro tempore and the speaker, and Emerson sent his letter saying he was just fine, thank you, and Congress convened, taking the full four days, no doubt, they being not in session at the moment, anyway—well, the whole thing would most certainly be resolved by then. He could not see any way that Emerson and his true condition could be still in question afterwhat would it be, he figuredabout five or six days, before Congress actually got to work on it. No, Congress would not decide this one. Not on your
life, he concluded.
52
James Marshall was sick to his stomach. Inside his head, unleashed and out of control, his brain was screaming at him, “For nothing—it was all for nothing. Berman was missing, perhaps dead, just as they predicted. Cranshaw was now missing as well. His articles had done nothing to protect them. They had not saved anyone. It was all bullshit. The pen is not mightier than the sword. It never has been. They—we—were all deluded by our own myths.” But now he knew the real truth. The one with the biggest sword wins.
How could he have been such a fool? How could Drummond have thought he would really be allowed to complete the UN joint venture? This wasn’t the patent for the telephone they were dealing with. That was just money. This was so much more. The joint venture with the UN was dealing in higher stakes, stakes where a few lives . . . Jesus, a few hundred thousand lives, Marshall realized now, didn’t matter all that much. In the big picture, they probably didn’t matter at all.
What was at stake here was global power.
With his journalist’s sensitivity to words Marshall was offended by the inadequacy of this five-letter word, power, with its layers and layers of meaning representing the root of the chaos turned loose upon the world by AJC Fusion’s discoveries and President Drummond’s vision. The president, Cranshaw, Samuel Berman, how many others had been tinkering with forces the magnitude of which they had not fully understood or appreciated.
They had inescapably challenged a secret universe of interests whose scale they could not begin to comprehend. Their challenge went beyond national and international economics. It went beyond governments and armies and penetrated to the core of a power that even the president of the United States had not anticipated, to the inner heart of passions they could never have imagined.
They had all miscalculated, underestimated the size of their adversaries and the degree to which they were willing to act. Marshall saw it clearly now. Their unseen enemy was brutish and direct. Never send a boy to do a man’s job. Raw power would do the job. Apply it quickly and thoroughly. Apologize later if you have to, but get the job done. And the job was getting done, Marshall concluded. He was pretty sure he knew what that job was.
On Deception Watch Page 20