Ben shrugged. “Whatever the man wants.”
Sarie knocked on the door. “Roland?”
The door opened, and on the other side, Ben glimpsed the POTUS himself—the president of the United States.
“Come on in, gang.”
Cartwright, predictably, entered first, though Sarie was racing so hard they almost bumped shoulders passing through the doorway. Albertson followed close behind. Ben was content to be fourth. Meyers moved in the opposite direction, presumably off to prepare a press release.
Sarie and Cartwright sat on the two facing sofas with such speed that Ben wondered if they had assigned seats. Albertson stood at the north end of the room beside the portrait of George Washington. Ben wasn’t sure where to go, but the president gestured toward two high-back Martha Washington-style lolling chairs in front of the fireplace. Ben took the seat on the right. He had noticed during previous meetings that the president always sat on the left. He wasn’t sure why, but given how every move any president made these days was carefully calculated and orchestrated in advance, he was sure there was a reason.
President Kyler was a tall Californian who had managed to maintain his tan even in the often inclement climate of Washington, D.C. He had the sort of distinguished senior-statesman good looks that photographed well on television, an essential these days for anyone hoping to be elected to the highest office in the land.
Ben couldn’t resist smiling when he saw Kyler, even though these days he normally saw him at least once a week. The thrill never died. He had been a huge supporter of Kyler during his campaign, though at certain times and places he’d had to keep it to himself—he didn’t want his own failing senatorial run to impact negatively on Kyler’s. Christina was the one who had singled Kyler out early in the campaign as the best hope for the nation. After his predecessor’s tumultuous, saber-rattling administration, Kyler looked like a much-needed breath of fresh air. He favored all the progressive people-first programs that the previous president had ignored. He pushed education and alternative energy and, best of all, dreamed of augmenting diplomatic missions to ease world tensions and render future invasions and wars unnecessary. His speeches had so inspired Christina that anytime she could spare time from Ben’s campaign, she devoted it to his.
This had become important barely a month after Ben started working for Kyler, when Christina needed a favor. Ben was barely comfortable speaking to the president, much less asking for a favor. He knew how busy the president was and doubted he could find time to do anything for them. He was wrong. Kyler remembered that Christina had been one of his earliest and most ardent supporters. He put her problem at the front of his executive to-do list and had the whole mess cleared up in less than a day. It was hard not to admire someone like that, someone who could take the highest office in the land and still not forget who his friends were. Ben never forgot anyone who had been kind to his beloved wife, especially not someone who had taken time to do her this favor. He owed the president a debt of kindness he would always remember, and which he would be happy to pay back any way he could.
“Please, everyone, take a seat,” the president said. He seemed preoccupied, which was not surprising, given what Ben had just heard.
Kyler had installed a wide-screen video monitor over the fireplace, which Ben knew was capable of receiving every television channel known to mankind, satellite transmissions, closed-circuit transmissions, and just about anything else the president might ever wish to view.
The president launched into the discussion exactly the way Ben had expected—a discussion between two men, the president and his legal counsel. “You’ll forgive me if I’m brief, Ben. There’s a lot going on right now. Not only—”
Admiral Cartwright interrupted. “What’s the latest intel on the stolen suitcase?”
Kyler blinked a moment but remained unflappable and turned to answer the question. Ben marveled at the temerity of a man willing to interrupt the president of the United States.
“Nothing concrete. We had a promising report from a field agent, but he’s been out of contact for over twenty minutes now and we don’t know his location. Seamus McKay.”
“I know McKay,” Ben said, then immediately wished he hadn’t, after every head in the room turned to face him. “It was just a little… I mean, nothing—” He cleared his throat. “I met him once, when I was a senator. Gave him some advice. Seemed like a good, capable man.”
“He’s the best we have,” the president rejoined. “Spent almost two decades in the Middle East. He’s like Superman. James Bond on steroids.”
“But you haven’t heard back from him,” Cartwright said.
“No.”
“I hope someone hasn’t pulled off Superman’s cape.”
“Exactly.” The president paused. “Still, the investigation is ongoing. We have no reason to believe there is any present danger.”
Cartwright made a dismissive noise with his lips.
“The situation in Kuraq concerns me a good deal more. As you know, we’ve had aircraft carriers and troops poised in the Gulf for some time, ready to invade Kuraq if they don’t back off their occupation of the Benzai Strip. They’ve been threatening to instigate a genocidal war against the natives. The UN is still debating, but I’m not going to stand still and do nothing while they slaughter thousands of people.”
“What’s the new development?” Ben asked.
“A Red Cross helicopter on its way to Benzai went down just over the Kuraqi border. We think at least some of the passengers are still alive. But the military leader, Colonel Zuko, won’t give us permission to recover them.”
“Why should he?” Cartwright said. “He’s not blind. He can see you’re preparing to invade. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t grab them all and turn them into hostages.”
“Yes, thank you, that possibility had occurred to us.”
“Then what are you doing about it?”
“Everything we possibly can, Will.” Ben couldn’t help admiring how well Kyler kept his cool, even when being openly challenged by that tinhorn brass hat. He supposed some people might see it as weakness, but Ben admired a man who didn’t need to get into a cockfight to show who was boss. The president of the United States had no need to prove himself. He was the commander in chief, whether Cartwright liked it or not.
“But this isn’t what I wanted to talk with you about, Ben. As you know, the SageTech firm has filed for injunctive relief from federal regulations preventing them from offshore drilling near the coast of Virginia. If they are successful, it could upset my entire energy plan. Are they going to be successful?”
“Predicting the outcome of lawsuits is a fool’s game,” Ben replied.
A corner of the president’s mouth tugged upward. “I must be paying you for something.”
“Here’s the reality of the situation. There are many places SageTech could’ve filed this lawsuit. They undoubtedly chose Virginia because the state’s supreme court leans heavily to the right. Regardless of what happens in the lower courts, it will eventually end up before the state supremes, and some of them might be tempted to vote their politics instead of their legal precedents.”
“But then we could appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court.”
“Yes, but it’s also heavy on the Republican side.”
“They can’t just ignore the law.”
“No. They’ll say the law is unconstitutional and argue that is should be set aside.”
“I assume you’ll have a response.”
Ben raised his eyebrows. “Now that
is
what you pay me for.” Ben removed a stapled bundle of papers from his legal pad. “I’ve prepared three drafts exemplifying different approaches we could take. All of them are geared toward one thing.”
“Winning in the Supreme Court.”
“No. Winning everywhere. Because we don’t want a lower-court loss. Even if we can later get it reversed, the press will be all over it, the Speaker of the House will declare it a victory, and your energy plan will suffer.”
“You’re exactly right.”
“So we need to win, not just in the last court, but in every court.”
“That would be a miracle.”
Ben shrugged slightly. “Miracles are kind of my specialty.”
President Kyler extended his hand. “Kincaid, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I like you. And I’m glad to have you on my staff.”
“The feeling is mutual, sir.”
“I hate to break up this lovefest,” Cartwright barked, “but when the Middle East is on the brink of disaster, don’t we have more important things to discuss than some damn lawsuit?”
Kyler sighed. “Stay calm, Admiral. It’s not as if the United States has never intervened in Middle Eastern affairs before.”
“Don’t I know it! There’s been too much of it. Never comes to anything good.”
“That’s not—”
“We have no jurisdiction there,” Cartwright said adamantly. It seemed he was willing to address the newly elected president in the same officious manner he used to address Ben.
To Kyler’s credit, he took it all in stride—though this close up, Ben did notice a tiny twitch in his eye. “Will, there’s no point in being the leader of the free world if you’re not willing to lead.”
“All you’re doing is asking for more trouble in the Middle East, as if we hadn’t had enough already. And for what? A bunch of overfed, overpaid sheiks who blow their money on fancy hotel rooms instead of building a nation?”
“That’s only a small percentage of—”
“It doesn’t matter. America’s first concern should be America.”
“And it is. But when we wield so much power, it would be immoral to stand idly by and—”
“If you send in those troops, you’ll leave a gaping hole in our national defense.”
“A hole? A hole?” Kyler smiled and, to Ben’s amazement, began to sing. “There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza. There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, a hole.”
The room fell silent. Ben saw Dr. Albertson and Sarie exchange a meaningful glance.
Kyler continued grinning. While the others watched silently, he rose from his chair and walked to his desk.
Ben knew he had been under a good deal of stress during his first few months in office. Was the strain already starting to get to him? His eyes seemed unfocused and distant.
“I love this desk,” Kyler said, rubbing his hand lightly over the inset leather blotter. “It’s called the Resolute desk. Do you know why? It was made from the timbers of the British frigate HMS
Resolute
, which was discovered by American whalers after it was stranded in the ice and abandoned by all hands. The ship was repaired by the U.S. Navy and returned to England. This desk was a reciprocal gift from Queen Victoria to President Rutherford B. Hayes. Can you imagine the great minds that have sat at this desk? Great minds. Great minds.”
“Mr. President,” Cartwright said, his bushy eyebrows tightly knitted together. “Can we talk about Kuraq? I assume—”
Kyler flung himself across the desk. “Ha! But you should never assume. Because when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.
A-s-s, u
, and
m-e
. Get it?”
Dr. Albertson quietly rose to his feet. Somehow a sphygmomanometer had materialized in his hands. He approached the president. “Sir, I’d like to take your blood pressure and conduct a small examination, just to make sure—”
“Oh, leave me alone.” Kyler turned and faced the large window behind the desk. “So much history has occurred in this room. So much history. Did you know that the White House—which they used to call the Executive Mansion—originally didn’t even have a West Wing? True. You can thank Teddy Roosevelt for this. Before him, this whole wing was covered by gardens and greenhouses. Teddy was the one who decided he needed a retreat from his wife and children and pets and nieces and nephews. He had the West Wing constructed to give himself a private retreat where he could actually get some work done. Taft enlarged it, and every president since has worked right here, in this office, gazing out at this magnificent view.”
Albertson tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir, I really must insist—”
“On what? A round of croquet?”
“On invoking my authority as White House physician to do a spot examination to make sure you’re of sound mind and body.”
“Of course I am. Go away, Henry.”
Ben noticed Cartwright was watching this exchange carefully.
“Give me two minutes and I can confirm that you have not suffered a cardiac arrest or a brain hemorrhage. That will do for now. Later we can—”
Without warning, the northwest door flew open and four men streamed through the opening. From their dress, Ben assumed that they were Secret Service agents. In fact, Ben recognized one of them—Max Zimmer. He had met Zimmer during the second tragedy in Oklahoma City.
“Mr. President, please come with us.”
President Kyler seemed even more befuddled. “Come with you? You come with me!”
“No, sir.” Without further comment, Agent Zimmer placed his hands under the president’s arms and hoisted him into the air.
“Up, up, and away, in my beautiful, my beautiful balloooooon!” the president sang. “Where are we going?”
“To the PEOC, sir. Immediately.”
The PEOC? Ben wondered. Had he heard right? What—or where—was that?
The Secret Service men took no notice of the president’s behavior. Ben wondered if that was because they were so professional and focused—or because they were used to it.
Another agent grabbed Ben’s arm. “You’ll have to come, too, sir.”
“Me? I’m just a lawyer.”
“Our instructions are to relocate everyone in the Oval Office immediately.”
“Can I call my wife first?” Ben asked, taking out his cell phone.
“No, sir,” the agent said, snatching it away from him. “You may not.” He gave Ben a push and herded him toward the doorway. Ben saw the other agents doing the same for everyone else in the room.
Just as they almost had him through the door, President Kyler put his foot down—literally. He pivoted in the doorway and faced them.
“Just one damn minute,” he said forcefully. He seemed like his previous self once again. “I’m the president of the United States. I demand to be informed why I am being relocated.”