He also reminded himself, not for the first time that day, of the gigantic favor Kyler had done for Christina. This man, despite being probably the busiest person on earth, had taken time to do a kindness for his wife.
Ben would not let him down when he needed a return favor.
He quickly read the amendment.
Section 1. In case of the removal of the President from office or of his death or resignation, the Vice President shall become President…
.
“You don’t have the authority to take me out of office on your own,” President Kyler said.
“The Constitution gives me the right to take over in the event the president in stark raving mad!”
“As determined by the vice president? If that were the law, no president would be in office very long. Especially not if you were their vice president!”
“Gentlemen,” Secretary Ruiz said, “please calm down. This isn’t a playground. The nation is in peril. Let’s proceed with this in a calm and orderly fashion and—”
“Proceed with what?” the president asked. “The delusions of this man who would be king? President Swinburne’s thinly veiled political coup?”
Ben read all the faster.
Section 4. 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… 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…
Swinburne continued. “In the event that the president is found to be mentally unbalanced—”
“You don’t have the authority or expertise to make that decision.”
“I shouldn’t have to!” Swinburne glared at Dr. Albertson. “Look, Doctor, no more mollycoddling. It’s time for you to step up to the plate. I know Roland is your longtime friend, but there are lives on the line now, so you’re going to have to cowboy up.”
Albertson coughed into his hand. “I don’t—I don’t know what you’re saying, or implying, but—”
“I’m saying I know how it pains you to have to make a decision, particularly if someone might get a little mad at you, but the time has come. You’ve seen the president’s aberrant behavior. You know he’s off his rocker. So say so. Make a formal medical declaration that he is unfit for office. So I can take over and save thousands of lives.”
Albertson looked down at the carpet. “I’m just—I’m—I’m not prepared to—”
“If you need to make a little examination or something, then do it already. Get on with it!”
“No, I’m saying, I don’t—I mean—I don’t believe—I don’t want—”
Swinburne slapped his forehead. “Would you stop stuttering already? Give me what I need. All you have to do is say the word and it’s a done deal and we can get the country out of this mess!”
“Actually, you’re wrong,” Ben said.
Everyone in the room looked up. Ben had spoken so much more quietly than anyone else who had spoken recently that it had the impact of a cry of “Fire!” in a library.
“What are you saying?” Swinburne said, his neck twisted to one side.
Ben cleared his throat. Here we go… “You don’t have the authority to declare the president incapable. Not even if you have the support of the president’s doctor. I’m sure his thoughts are worth hearing—nothing personal, Doctor—but the Constitution doesn’t mention the president’s doctor at all.”
“It mentions the vice president.”
“True. But you have the authority to displace the president only with the agreement of the majority of the leaders of the various executive departments. In other words, the cabinet.”
“Do you see the cabinet down here, Mr. Lawyer?”
“Only two members. The secretary of state, Mr. Ruiz, and the secretary of defense, Mr. Rybicki. But even if you have their votes, they don’t constitute a majority or even a plurality, so you still don’t have the constitutional requirement for forcing the president out of office.”
“Look, if the rest of the cabinet is unavailable—”
“That’s not what the Constitution says. It doesn’t cover that contingency. I’m sure the framers of this amendment never foresaw a situation like this one. But the fact remains. You don’t have the authority.”
Swinburne came right up to Ben, hovering over him. “Do you want to see innocent people killed, you fool? What are you doing?”
“My job. Advising the president on the law—and, if necessary, enforcing it.”
“This isn’t just a game, kid!”
Ben stood up and looked the vice president squarely in the eye. “No, sir. It is not. This is very serious. And that is why it is so important that the law be strictly followed. To the letter.”
“We don’t have time—”
“These constitutional protections were inserted into the amendment for a reason—to protect the president against any undesirable power plays or conspiracies.”
Swinburne seemed inflamed. “Are you suggesting—”
“All I’m suggesting is that the president, like any other U.S. citizen, is entitled to constitutionally provided procedural protections. Like due process. Like the right to a fair trial. Part of the reason these constitutional guarantees were created was to prevent hasty, reactionary decisions in difficult times that would undermine the fundamental philosophy of the nation.”
Swinburne turned and slapped his hand on the table. “Then what do you suggest, know-it-all? I for one will not just stand here yapping while this man takes us to the brink of disaster. I won’t be paralyzed just because we can’t contact the other members of the cabinet.”
Seemingly out of nowhere, Agent Zimmer popped into view. “Actually,” he said, “we can.”
Ben walked toward him. “Do you know where they are?”
“Yes. The other cabinet members have all been moved to—” He stopped short. “A safe location.” Ben was glad to see that someone in the room hadn’t forgotten that they very likely had a mole in the bunker. “But I am in contact with them. I can put them on speaker-phone. I can arrange for them to hear all of you in here. In fact, I can use my webcam to set up a video line so they can see what’s going on.”
“Perfect,” Ben said.
“Wait just a minute,” Swinburne said, stepping between them. “What are you talking about?”
“What I’m talking about,” Ben said, “is a trial.”
“Are you joking? We don’t have time for a trial.”
“You’re going to have to make time. The Constitution sets out a procedure. We will follow it.”
“But the missiles will be launched in—”
“I understand your opinion. However, the Constitution doesn’t make allowances for the suspension of constitutional rights in the event that the vice president is in a big hurry. Or even for a national emergency. The Constitution guarantees due process. To all citizens.”
“What is this, Kincaid, some kind of power trip? Indulging your ego? The trial lawyer wanting to pull everything into his arena? I won’t stand for this!”
“With respect, sir.” Ben took a deep breath. “You don’t have any choice.”
Swinburne slapped the table again and walked away.
Cartwright spoke up. “If we’re going to have a trial… even a quick one… don’t we need some kind of procedure?”
“To the extent possible, we can follow the normal federal rules of civil procedure,” Ben explained. “We might have to make some adjustments, since as far as I know I’m the only lawyer in the room. But I think the vice president has made it clear he can argue his case forcefully. He can be the acting prosecutor, presenting the case for removal. With his permission, I’ll represent the president—in effect, the defendant.” He shrugged. “It’s kinda what I do. Normally, anyway.”
The president gave him a little salute. “I’m honored to have you in my corner.”
Ben was touched by his response, although also mindful that the president at this point didn’t have a wealth of choices.
“Why does he need a lawyer?” Swinburne barked. “Can’t he represent himself?”
“The right to a fair trial includes the right to counsel. Surely you’re familiar with
Gideon v. Wainwright?”
Swinburne made a grunting sound. “I think I saw the made-for-TV movie.”
“Well, as you may recall, the happy ending came when Henry Fonda got a new trial, with a lawyer. Which totally changed the outcome.”
“That’s all well and good,” Admiral Cartwright said. “But if this is going to be a trial—a real trial—don’t we need a judge?”
“We do,” Ben said hastily. He could see already that with stakes this high—and tempers high as well—this would rapidly descend into chaos without some sort of restraint. “Perhaps Agent Zimmer can patch in the chief justice.”
“I think that’s a poor idea,” Zimmer said. “I can understand contacting the cabinet. It’s necessary, and they all have top-level security clearances. But that doesn’t extend to the judiciary. Let me just remind you all that these are extremely sensitive matters and we don’t want any leaks. Especially to the wrong people.”
Admiral Cartwright tossed down his pen. “Well, then, I guess this is where I have to make my ugly confession.”
Swinburne squinted. “What?”
Cartwright rose to his feet. “I guess none of you are aware of the fact but… well, Kincaid, you’re not the only lawyer in the room.”
Ben arched an eyebrow.
“I was a lawyer back in the day,” Cartwright said. “Spent years in the JAG Corps, till I moved onto bigger things. Never cared to look back, either. But I still remember the drill.”
“What are you saying?” Swinburne asked.
“I’m offering to be your judge,” Cartwright said succinctly.
Ben pondered a moment. Cartwright had the qualifications, and he was here. On the other hand, did Ben really want the judge to be the person in the room who hated him most?
“Well, Kincaid?” Swinburne said. “Don’t just stand there like a damn wax statue. Say something!”
Ben realized that Cartwright was now no longer the person in the room who hated him most.
“The defense will accept you as the judge for this constitutional proceeding,” Ben said.
“And so will I, if it moves this thing along any faster,” Swinburne said. “Have you people forgotten that we are facing a dire countdown?”
“I haven’t,” Ben said. “But before we can proceed… Mr. President?”
He seemed almost dazed, slow to respond. “Yes, Ben?”
“Does this proposed procedure meet with your approval?”
Swinburne slapped the table once again, right in front of Ben, making a thunderous noise. “I don’t approve of the procedure, but that didn’t matter to you. Why does he get to decide whether he approves of the procedure?”
Ben slammed the table equally hard, bringing his hand down nearly on top of Swinburne’s. He leaned forward and gave Swinburne a cold glare right in the eye. “Because, at least for the moment, he’s the president of the United States. Got it?”
Swinburne slowly drew his head back. “Fine. Let’s just get started.”
“Mr. President?”
Kyler nodded. “Yes, Ben, it does meet with my approval. And… thank you.” He crossed the room and took the seat beside Ben. Apparently this side of the room was going to be the “defendant’s table.”
“Don’t thank him yet,” Swinburne muttered.
“I’m thanking him for restoring some sense of law and order to this potential modern-day lynching.”
“Oh, give me a break.” Swinburne waved a hand in the air.
“It’s true,” Sarie said, looking up at him with the first friendly eyes Ben had seen in a good while. “Thank you for intervening, Ben.”
Ben tilted his head to one side. “It’s nothing.”
“I disagree. Right now, Ben, you’re the most important person in the room. Maybe the most important person in the country.”
Well, geez, he hadn’t thought about it like that. Nor did he want to.
Ben turned to Agent Zimmer. “Do you have the rest of the cabinet?”
“Yes,” Agent Zimmer said, pushing several buttons at once. “I’m patching them in right now.”
One of the overhead screens came to life. The blackness flickered away and was replaced by a ceiling-eye view of thirteen men and women seated around an oval table. Ben had no idea where they were located, but he could see that they were all present and waiting.
“I’m Ben Kincaid,” he informed them. “I’ll be representing the president. I assume you all already know the vice president, who will be acting as prosecutor. Have you all been briefed on the situation?”
The man in the center pulled a microphone toward him. Ben recognized him as Arnold Cross, the secretary of the treasury. “Yes, Ben, we have. I’ve been chosen to act as spokesperson on this end.”
“Good. Can everyone hear me?”
He saw many heads nodding.
“If you lose the signal or lose track of the argument at any time, please let me know.”
Cross nodded. “We will, Ben. We’re ready.”
“Very well.” Ben saw that, while he was talking, Admiral Cartwright had taken a seat at the head of the table. “Your honor, I believe we’re ready to proceed.”
Cartwright nodded. All at once, his expression was blank and unemotional. Judicial. He apparently had the ability to rein in his hyperactive emotions when the situation called for it. “Very well, gentlemen.
We don’t have a lot of time here, so let’s get started. I will ask you to both keep everything brief and to the point. No unnecessary legal games or tricks or stunts. We just don’t have time for it. Call the witnesses you need and then get the hell out of the way. Understood?”
Ben and Swinburne answered together. “Yes, your honor.”
“All right then.” Cartwright leaned back in his chair. “Mr. Prosecutor—call your first witness.”
Seamus gripped the steering wheel tightly and kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
D.C. Bytes was in Anacostia, and it was taking them forever to get there. Traffic was never good this time of day, but now they were caught in a steady stream of people fleeing the Mall, not to mention the chaos that can be expected anytime a ballistic missile has been exploded in the vicinity. He wasn’t normally given to fits of road rage, but on this occasion, when every second was precious—could be the last—he had a different attitude about people who drove slowly in the passing lane and grandpas who left their turn signal blinking.