Chief Justice Walters began speaking in a booming voice: “Unfortunate events have brought us to this point. Raise your right hand and repeat after me.”
To Mahegan, Jamie Carter appeared to be suppressing a smile. Tragedy had struck the nation and she was . . . amused? Satisfied? Jamie was unmarried and without children. There was no family she could call her own except a few distant relatives. The full vetting of her had shown her parents passed much earlier than either of them should have. Her mother to a bad case of the flu that led to sepsis, and her father had a blood clot in his left anterior descending artery, often nicknamed the “widowmaker heart attack.” He died instantly one morning after a jog at their Charlottesville Farmington Golf Course home. Her mother had died a slow, painful death; her father, a quick merciful one. With no other siblings, Jamie had inherited an eight-figure sum while attending the University of Virginia Law School. She graduated, worked in a prestigious firm, made partner, and very quickly ran for governor, won that, and then four years later ran for Senate, won that, kept winning, and expected the train to keep on rolling, until Jack Smart upended her run of luck.
A progressive politician who had the luxury of saying what she believed, but not having to live with the consequences of her decisions or legislation, Jamie was known for three things: her natural youthful good looks, her intellect, and her ambition. There was no denying that she was impatient as well. After winning the popular vote, but losing the Electoral College to Smart, she had asked for recounts in key states and districts, refusing to go away. Smart’s brash style, coupled with Jamie’s progressive policy positions, had ignited massive protests around the country by liberals who could not fathom that Jamie was not going to be the president.
Smart was a tough Las Vegas real estate developer used to dealing with the Mob, hucksters, and Hollywood. He had parlayed an investment from his family into a multibillion-dollar global real estate empire. That he had emerged out of political thin air and beaten Jamie Carter was out of the question for 50 percent of the population. Not only was it unacceptable that a political neophyte had beaten both party establishments, but that he had beaten the heretofore-unbeatable Jamie Carter and her wildly progressive agenda was heresy. It wasn’t supposed to happen, all the polls had told everyone that.
And so, Mahegan figured, whatever was happening today, directly in front of him, would be seen by at least half the population as simply the world setting itself right, like a body rejecting a bad organ transplant and welcoming its healthy original back into the fold. While Jamie’s image had been one of shiny perfection, Mahegan’s work with Biagatti’s intelligence team had uncovered byzantine connections domestically and internationally. Extensive travel to Europe and Canada had strengthened her progressive impulses. She had embraced the socialist economies and the cultural intersectionality of many European nations in particular. The rising tide of Islam in Europe had seeped into the historically secular governments, and their collective media now forbade any speech against Islamic crimes. Jamie had been a staunch supporter of the United Kingdom government’s response to reporter and activist Tommy Robinson, who had published stories about the Islamic “grooming,” which was a rite of passage for young Muslim men in Great Britain. Jamie’s support for “these oppressed young men” and outrage at Tommy Robinson for “expressing xenophobic views” had made her a media darling in Europe and to liberals in the United States. She had walked back those comments, once she learned that the oppressed young men were gang-raping white British women as part of their transition to manhood. But by then, the story had passed and the monolithic mainstream media in the United States gave no airtime to Jamie’s faux pas in supporting rape.
President Smart, though, had taken to Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram and had made sure that at least his 56 million followers knew that his likely foe in the next election had wholly supported Islamic gang rape in Great Britain. Jamie’s odds were looking good, according to all polling, until this tweet:
@realjacksmart: Why is the FakeNews not talking about Jamie Carter’s love of Islam and hatred of women?? She supports Islamic “grooming” which is GANG RAPE by Muslims of white British teenagers! Carter supports rape and Islamic Jihad. Is that what we want, America?
That short statement last year from the sitting president had exposed one of Jamie Carter’s few mistakes. There was no way to unring the bell. The intelligence trail on Carter had subsequently shown she had spent ample time traveling throughout the country, shoring up her base, denying she supported rape, and walking the fine line between denouncing “all violence,” while not alienating whatever Muslim support she perceived she might have. It had been a difficult time for Jamie, as she had gone from shoo-in to loser to an even bigger shoo-in to now potentially snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
Had she engineered certain victory? Mahegan wondered.
Jamie raised her right hand, placed her left hand on the Bible, which Cassie held for her, and repeated after the chief justice’s booming voice: “I, Jamie Elizabeth Carter, 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.”
When she was finished, there was no ovation or congratulations. The weight of the moment seemed to be settling over everyone. During the brief silent moment, Cassie’s eyes lifted from the Bible to Mahegan, as if recognizing him being there for the first time. She held a steady gaze, unflinching, unmoving, and uncertain.
He didn’t dare signal anything to her, understanding that she might be in over her head with Jamie Carter and Zara Perro.
“Madam President, I need to provide you an intelligence update on the attacks,” Biagatti said.
“Let me first address the media,” Jamie replied. She nudged Biagatti to the side and stepped to the microphone. The scene was claustrophobic inside the conference room. Reporters had piled in. Word had traveled fast as people were racing to the Russell Office Building. The Capitol Police had strengthened their numbers and established a solid cordon outside of the office. The fallacy in Jamie’s thinking had been that she had only one exit. Her departure would be through the masses, layer by layer, but perhaps that was what she wanted.
She leaned into the microphone, appearing poised and in command as she had done so many times on the campaign trail three years earlier.
“To those in this room, and to all Americans watching at this moment, it is with deep sorrow that I find myself standing at this podium. The criminal activities that have led to this point are reprehensible and I promise to get to the bottom of these crimes. With so much happening around the world, it is imperative that we move swiftly to assure our citizens, our allies, and the world that we are a stable nation with a steady hand on the rudder of our global responsibilities. I need to be briefed by Director Biagatti before I answer any questions, which I will do in the next twenty-four hours.”
As Jamie stepped away from the microphone, the press corps erupted in a thunderous round of questions.
“Who killed the president?”
“What is your plan for domestic policy?”
“Was this a coup?”
“Polls show fifty percent of the country are happy the president is dead. How do you feel about that?”
The words became an indistinguishable mash as Mahegan led Biagatti to the senator’s office. He closed the heavy oak doors and turned to find Cassie staring at him. The office was huge, forty feet in both directions. Biagatti and Carter had already huddled by her desk at the far end from the door. Zara Perro was standing off to the side. And two Secret Service agents were walking toward them.
“Jake, what are you doing here?”
“You know. My detail is Director Biagatti. And it appears yours is now . . . President Carter?”
“I had no idea you would be here. This isn’t easy for me,” she said.
“Me neither. But we both have jobs to do,” Mahegan said.<
br />
“I understand that. I’m learning the ropes, as I’m sure you are as well.”
“Your wound is healing nicely,” Mahegan said, pointing at the side of her head. Her hair was tucked behind her ears and he could see the tip of a bandage.
“Yes. Part of the job. I’m out of Band-Aids. Have a spare?”
Mahegan palmed what he had retrieved from the medical cooler and shook Cassie’s hand. She closed her fist around the device and quickly pocketed it.
“Be careful with those blows to the head. You’ve been through enough, Cassie.”
“Tell me about it. Things are crazy right now.”
“We should see what they’re talking about,” Mahegan said. He chinned in the direction of Biagatti and Carter.
They walked toward the two new Secret Service agents, who were presumably guarding the door. Cassie walked past them, but then they closed ranks in front of Mahegan.
“Not invited,” the man on the left said. They looked like identical twins. Both were about six and a half feet tall, with block bodies, dark suits, earpieces, and bulges under their jackets. Cassie stopped, turned, and said, “He’s with me.”
The two men nodded and parted for Mahegan to pass as they exited the senator’s office and took up their posts outside the door.
As Mahegan approached the conversation, Biagatti said, “We should all sit down.”
The four of them sat in two facing sofas, with Jamie sitting in a chair in between, like the head of the table. Jamie was wearing a ruby-red-and-gold brooch of a cardinal perched on a flowering dogwood branch, the cardinal’s tufted hair in its distinctive angular point. It fit nicely with her navy blue suit and white silk blouse, blending into a patriotic red, white, and blue and complimenting the smaller American flag pin on her lapel.
“I’ve got a lot on my plate, Carmen, but I guess there’s nothing more important than what you know. Why isn’t the FBI here also?”
“Can’t be trusted,” Biagatti said.
“And you can?” Jamie replied.
It’s game on, Mahegan thought. He watched Zara Perro, whose eyes bore into Biagatti as she squared off with Jamie.
“Yes. After Operation Crossfire Hurricane, the FBI’s reputation is still in shambles. Nobody trusts them. All the texts and insurance policies to protect against a Smart presidency.”
“Yes, but it seems the president and vice president were killed in your presence. How do I know all of this isn’t your doing?”
“You don’t, but I can assure you it isn’t. I was attacked this morning by four women. Another six were found at the Speaker’s murder site. Two women are on video departing the safe house where the president and vice president were killed. We’ve traced some of the DNA already and we’ve got indicators that lead back to the Valley Trauma Center, where it appears Dr. Perro worked as a psychiatrist and Cassie Bagwell was a patient.” Biagatti let that statement hang in the air a moment.
“What are you implying?” Jamie said.
“Nothing. Just stating facts. Jake here has done most of the analysis. I’ll let him take over from here,” Biagatti said.
Mahegan shifted forward, leaning his elbows on his knees.
“We think it’s a coincidence and don’t see any connection between Cassie, Dr. Perro, and the other events. We know they are part of your inner circle now and would like an opportunity to discuss the activities at the Valley Trauma Center with Cassie and Dr. Perro. The CIA is handling this because of the foreign implications, and as Director Biagatti said, in addition to their incompetence, the FBI is seen as being complicit with the coup. Local law enforcement in North Carolina has turned up some interesting leads on Hite’s death. There’s some evidence he wasn’t alone, that someone may have either been partnering with him or intentionally murdered him. When you look at the events, including Hite’s death, the president and vice president, and now the Speaker’s death, it’s a very unlikely and unusual chain of events that led to your being president.”
“Sounds like you’re accusing me of something, Mr. Mahegan,” Jamie snapped.
“Joe Six-Pack will be able to see the linkages and we want to clear things up for you to serve as the president. Our mission is to find those that led this coup, prosecute them, and clear the way for you to serve out your term.”
Mahegan felt Cassie’s eyes on him, steady and firm. Always a good listener, Cassie was processing and synthesizing. The lack of communications for the last day and a half had been tough on both of them. Her eyes were drawn, lacking their usual ferocity, dimmed from either the drugs or the pressure of maintaining her legend. Like him, she was most likely assessing threats and the path forward, the exit strategy from this predicament. Zara was a lethal killer and could lash out at any moment. Jamie was no slouch herself. The intel on her was that she was an expert marksman. Mahegan had to do everything he could to convey a sense of equanimity to Jamie so that the new president would see him as evenhanded. The truth was that he wasn’t sure who had initiated the coup or who was involved. There was only one way to find out and that was to give Jamie all the rope and freedom she desired.
“Go on,” Jamie said.
“I just need time with Cassie and Dr. Perro this morning. I know it has been nonstop and that it is hard to wrap your head around everything happening right now,” Mahegan said.
“It’s not difficult at all, Mr. Mahegan,” Jamie said. “I have a single-minded purpose of leading this country. I didn’t kill anyone and didn’t ask for anyone to be killed. I moved to North Carolina almost a year ago. It was impossible to foresee the events that have unfolded in the last three months, much less twenty-four hours. Women being trained as assassins? I know that you have been involved in many plots around the world to protect this country, but something as nefarious as a conspiracy to establish a training camp to stage a coup on the Smart administration strains credulity.”
“It’s no secret that high-profile celebrities have threatened this president with death and dismemberment,” Mahegan said. “And it’s also no secret that chief among those most upset about the Smart victory was you. And so again, to properly protect you and your new team as you begin your duties, we need to get out in front of possible perceptions. At the moment, the nation is stunned, reeling from the loss of a president that half the country voted for.”
“Less than half,” Jamie snapped. “By a few million votes.”
“My point,” Mahegan said. “You’re in a room of five people and you can’t control your kneejerk hatred of the man.”
“I’m among friends, aren’t I?”
Cassie leaned forward and said, “I think what Jake is saying is that you’re among people who want this country to succeed. All of us will do everything possible to stabilize the country and make sure that the conspiracy theories, which will surely arise, are put to rest as quickly as possible. The best way to do that is to look at the worst-case theories and work backward from there.”
Mahegan couldn’t deny the rush of emotion he felt for Cassie, something he had held in check ever since the day before she was transferred and he had visited her, held her hand, told her about what was going to transpire, asked her if she was up for it, and then assured her that all would be okay. He didn’t dare lock eyes with her. The electricity would be visible to everyone, like lightning before the thunder.
“I agree,” Mahegan said.
“You would, wouldn’t you?” Jamie countered. “Given your feigned love for my goddaughter.”
Mahegan said nothing.
“You’re here now,” Jamie continued. “But where were you when Cassie needed you in Iran?”
Mahegan said nothing.
Zara chimed in: “Your presence in this room creates trauma for Cassie, Mahegan. It’s probably best you leave.”
“I get a vote here,” Cassie said.
“Actually, you don’t,” Jamie countered. “I’ve had enough of this ‘briefing.’ Director, this meeting is adjourned.”
Biagatti nodded. �
��Very well, Madam President.”
They stood, Mahegan staring at Jamie, whose eyes had never left his.
“Good luck,” Mahegan said. He then walked to Cassie and shook hands with her, saying. “Stay strong.”
Cassie nodded and said, “You, too, Jake.”
He turned and walked out the door, picking up the lead as he shouldered his way through the throng of reporters, Biagatti holding his arm. They ricocheted through the crowd until they were outside, found the Panamera, and were heading back to a new CIA safe house in southeast D.C.
“What did you make of that?” Biagatti asked.
“Lots to sort through. Sitting in Hite’s former office instead of the White House was a big middle finger to all of us. My guess is Carter had him killed, maybe even by Perro. She’s lethal. But sitting in that room confirmed in my mind that we need to go back to the beginning. Everything that has happened since Hite’s death is like a fast-burning lit fuse. It all started with lighting the fuse—killing Hite.”
They pulled into the driveway and entered the garage, where Mahegan parked the car. As they got out, O’Malley, Owens, Van Dreeves, and Hobart came out to meet them, having repositioned during the swearing in ceremony.
“Shit show,” Hobart said.
“About right,” Mahegan replied.
“I’ve got something to show all you geniuses,” O’Malley said. O’Malley was the computer expert in the group, and given the CIA resources, he had been a kid in a candy store for the past twenty-four hours.
They walked into a small study turned conference room, where O’Malley had set up shop. He had three MacBooks linked together by LAN cables, which were connected to the CIA server farm, giving him full access to CIA algorithms and programs. He pointed at the fifty-five-inch monitor on the wall, which was connected to the computer array. Blown up on the screen was a grainy picture of Zara Perro sitting in a helicopter that was landing at night on a helipad near a body of water.
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