The guards tensed. All at once, Seamus had three guns pointing down his throat.
“Where did you find him?” Scarface asked. The first guard answered all his questions succinctly. “Good work. He is a government spy.” He reached inside Seamus’s coat and took his gun. “Who sent you?”
“No one. I sent myself.”
“Liar!” He cuffed Seamus’s chin with the butt of his own gun. It hurt.
“I am not lying.”
“Who else knows you’re here?”
“No one.”
“Liar!” He hit Seamus again.
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“This is pointless,” Scarface said. “And I do not have time to waste. Take him to the sleeping quarters. Strap him down. Make sure he cannot move.”
Seamus didn’t much like the sound of that.
The guards grabbed Seamus by the arms and shoulders. He made a show of struggling, but he knew it was useless.
“Once he is secure, come and find me. I will go find my tools.”
Tools? This was not going to be pleasant.
Scarface grabbed his hair and jerked it back. “I saw what you did to my friends. Men of faith. I will do as much to you and more. You will tell us what we want to know. But I hope you will resist first. Because I want you to suffer as they did. I want you to suffer to your dying breath. Which will not be long in coming.”
Before Swinburne began orating, Ben took the president by the arm and led him gently to the other room. Kyler resisted a little, but not too much. He started to speak, more mindless babble, but Ben hushed him.
“I want you to stay in here,” Ben said. “The jury does not need to see you acting like this during the closings.”
The president pouted. “Don’t wanna be all by myself.”
“Tough. Stay in here and you can sing or rock or whatever. Just don’t get too loud.”
“Are you sending me to my room? I don’t wanna be locked up. I wanna fly free. Free!”
Ben tried to stay calm. “I’m just trying to help. So stay put. At least until you’re feeling better.”
“You’re mean.” The president folded his arms across his chest, then began to sing. “The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout…”
It was just too sad. Ben closed the door and quietly slipped back into the main room.
Swinburne moved a few steps away from his usual spot at the table, to a place directly before the webcam. Ben knew he was looking for a vantage point that would allow him to look directly both into the faces of those present and into the camera for the benefit of those cabinet members watching from the undisclosed secure location.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a sad occasion,” Swinburne began. “We are gathered here to decide whether to retain the elected president of the United States or to remove him, as provided for by the Twenty-fifth Amendment. This is not pleasant for anyone, least of all me. I have worked with and admired Roland Kyler for years. This is perhaps the hardest and most unpleasant task that has ever fallen upon me to perform. But pursuant to the Constitution, this duty falls to the vice president, so I will not shirk from it, even though it gives me no pleasure.”
Ben thought about objecting on grounds of profound insincerity, but decided against it.
“I don’t know what more there is for me to say. This is a case where a picture is worth a thousand words, and I think the spectacle that you have just witnessed will likely linger longer in your memory than anything I have to say. So I will just briefly outline the main points for you to consider, and then I will sit down.”
He continued. “First and foremost, the president’s mental state is clearly unbalanced. I’m not a psychiatrist and I don’t know the proper technical term, but I think we can all agree that what we have just seen is not something anyone should ever see from the president. And the testimony demonstrates that these irrational episodes, to varying lengths and degrees, have occurred many times in the past and with increasing frequency. This is not something we can turn a blind eye toward, not in such troubled times, and especially not in the midst of an enemy attack that puts this nation at dire risk. When it became clear that the emperor Caligula was hopelessly insane, the Praetorian Guard removed and replaced him. I’m sure it gave them no great pleasure, but they did it. We can do no less for our own people.”
Although he had gotten better at reading faces over the years, Ben had no idea what was going on in the minds of those who would cast the deciding votes. They still seemed a little stunned by all they had seen and heard. He knew they were listening, but he had no idea what they were thinking.
“Second, the fact that the president has personal ties to the nation of Kuraq, and a son now behind enemy lines, obviously compromises his ability to render an objective judgment as to what course is best for this nation—which again makes him incapable of performing his duties. You may feel that this is or is not his fault, but he has admitted that so long as his son is in danger, he will only entertain one possible course of action. A president who cannot or will not consider an action that may be in the national interest should not be running the country.
“Third,” he continued, “Secretary Ruiz testified about the president’s extreme single-mindedness—you might say obsession—with regard to Colonel Zuko and Kuraq. Now that we know the truth about the torrid affair in his past, and the love child it produced, that is perhaps more understandable. But it is still true nonetheless. The president is obsessed with taking down the colonel, just as he is obsessed with rescuing his son. Both of these two factors leave him incapable of performing his duties competently.”
Ben got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Some of the cabinet members were nodding in agreement.
“Finally, ladies and gentlemen, we must consider the president’s physical ailments. Diabetes is a serious disease. It is unfortunate that President Kyler was struck with this so soon after taking office—but he was. My son-in-law has diabetes, which is why I know so much about it. It’s debilitating, and it may well be the cause of his current mental infirmities. The president should have resigned as soon as the diagnosis was made.”
Swinburne clasped his hands before him. “We are very fortunate, my friends, that the Constitution has given us a means of ensuring a ready succession from one leader to the next. Every four years, the people vote, and if there is a change in the executive office, the transition is made smoothly and without the threat of upset or revolution. Similarly, the Twenty-fifth Amendment provides for a smooth succession in the event that the president becomes incapacitated—which is exactly the situation we have here. Thank God we can make the necessary change without the sort of upheaval that puts men such as Colonel Zuko into power.”
He leaned forward, balancing himself against the table. “My point is simply this: I know no one wants to do this. But we must. And the Constitution has made it possible for us to do it with as little angst as possible. The Constitution has only been amended a handful of times. The fact that it was amended not long ago to ensure an orderly means of removing a disabled president shows just how serious this matter is. We cannot take risks with the leadership of the nation when a foreign dictator is threatening to kill hundreds of thousands of people. We can’t ever afford to take that risk, because we know America’s enemies are always looking for an opening. We will not give it to them. Not now. Not ever. So as distasteful as it may be, I ask you to do the necessary thing. Find the president incapable of performing his duties. Let me take the reins. You may or may not agree with what I do, but you’ll know that someone dependable, someone unbiased, and someone sane is making the decisions. And that’s what is most important here.”
He pushed away from the table. “Thank you for your kind attention.”
Ben slowly pushed himself away from the table, still not really knowing what he was going to say. This was a occasion when, like it or not, he was going to have to follow his instincts. In past years he might’ve found that notion laughable, because he knew his instincts were so untrustworthy. Christina used to say that he liked everyone, especially those who deserved it least. Not anymore. His perceptions had become more finely attuned as time passed and he had more experience in the courtroom. And he had learned that the smartest thing a trial lawyer can do is to pay attention to the expressions on the jurors’ faces.
What he saw on the faces of the cabinet members at this time did not fill him with confidence. But they had told him what aspect of the vice president’s case he needed to address most, so he would do his best. He had agreed to take the president’s defense. In fact, come to think of it, he had volunteered.
He would not let the man down now.
Ben made contact with each of the cabinet members in the room, then made contact with those on the other end of the blinking webcam. “Let me make one thing clear up front. I am not going to make excuses for what we have seen today. I’m not going to tell you it’s no big deal. It’s disturbing. Even bizarre. I won’t attempt to sweep that under the rug. All I will tell you is that the Constitution is very strict in its wording. It did not intend to make the removal of a president easy, or something that can be done quickly for political reasons. It can only occur for one reason—because something has rendered the president incapable of performing his duties. And I will respectfully argue that, as disturbing as what we have seen and heard today may be, we have no evidence that the president is incapable of performing his duties.”
Ben took a tiny step to the side. There was precious little room here to maneuver, but he knew that the tiniest change in gesture, expression, or anything else helped maintain the audience’s interest. “I will address the points raised by the prosecutor in reverse order. First, the president’s diabetes. I think we can safely assume that when the Twenty-fifth Amendment was passed in the mid-sixties, Birch Bayh and the other drafters were capable of inserting a clause providing for the removal of the president in the event that he contracts a serious illness. It had happened before. William Henry Harrison caught pneumonia and was incapacitated for a month before dying. Wilson had a stroke and never functioned at full capacity for the remainder of his term. But the framers did not address that. They only provided for removal in the event that something renders the president incapable of performing his duties.
“What evidence do we have that diabetes has left the president incapable? None. Absolutely none. Mr. Swinburne argues maybe this and maybe that, but he has no proof that this disease has impacted the president’s ability to function in any way. So, with respect, not only do I not think you should make this a basis for your decision, but I believe that you cannot. The Constitution simply does not provide for the removal of a president because he has a disease.
“Next.” Ben took a few steps in the other direction. Got to keep it moving…
“Mr. Swinburne alleges that the president should be removed because he is obsessed with Kuraq and Colonel Zuko.” Ben paused and let his eyes run to all those in the audience. “Why is that bad? When we have a dire threat to this nation, I think it should be uppermost in the president’s mind. I would think there was a problem if it were not. Let’s be honest about what we all already know—Secretary Ruiz wants us out of the Middle East.”
Ruiz swiveled around in his chair, a profound frown on his face.
“What Ruiz basically says is, ‘The president has a different opinion from me, and anyone who has a different opinion from me must be crazy. Or dangerously obsessed. So let’s get rid of him.’ Well, that may be how it works in a dictatorship, but last I heard, Americans have the right to hold contrary opinions, and that includes the president of the United States. This is a purely political attack, and the Constitution makes no provision for removing a president because his positions are unpopular with one cabinet member or another—or even all of them. The president has autonomy to think for himself—thank goodness. Whether you agree with him or not, this argument is simply without merit.”
Ben felt as if he was doing an adequate job of carving out a small space for success with what little was available to him. They might not like what they had seen the president do, but if he could bring them back to the high standard set by the Constitution, it was just possible he might be able to bring this trial back around.
At any rate, they weren’t laughing out loud at him.
“Third, we must consider the matter of the president’s son. I wish this had been revealed in a different way. I wish the president had informed the people of this blood relation on his own—especially after his helicopter crash made Mr. Malik a potential chess piece in a geopolitical conflict. But he didn’t. And we are not here to judge whether the president’s decision was right or wrong. Our only inquiry is whether the existence of the son renders the president incapable of performing his duties.
“Have we seen any evidence of incapability? No. All of Mr. Swinburne’s examples are instances of the president not doing what Swinburne thinks he should do, or supposedly not having the ability to do in the future what Swinburne wants to do now. Is that evidence of disability? Only in the jaundiced eyes of the vice president, and probably the eyes of the secretary of state. But again, disagreeing with them is not tantamount to being insane. Let’s hope that’s never the measuring stick. Because frankly, I’ve disagreed with the vice president about forty-two times today, so if that’s the standard, I’ll be committed as soon as this trial is over.”
That got a few small grins, which if nothing else showed Ben they were still listening. But now he was going into the tricky part. This was where he really had to do some work. This was where he really had to be good.
He heard a clicking sound on the other side of the room.