The Plot (38 page)

"Excuse me? Yes. Okay. “Whenever she's ready. Okay. We take you live to the Attorney General, who is speaking outside of her home in Bethesda..."

Max awoke to the sound of sirens screaming past and looked out the window to see tongues of fire stretching high against the horizon in the direction of the Capitol, illuminating tall clouds of thick black smoke. Rushing to the living room, he switched on the television and frowned at the sight of the Attorney General, surrounded by split-screen images of pandemonium.

"Ladies and gentlemen,"
said the news broadcaster,
"we turn now to a live news briefing by the Attorney General of the United States."

The tall, gangly woman stepped up to the microphone amid a cacophony of voices. She raised her hand, gesturing for silence, and when the din subsided, began reading from a prepared text.

"Thank you all for coming. I will make a brief statement and will try to take as many of your questions as time allows. As I'm sure you are aware, I am quite busy at the moment, but I felt it was important to share as much information as we can with you ... and the American people."

Max's mind reeled as she told of the assassinations of the President, the Conservative Party nominees, and bombs exploding at selected historical sites throughout the nation.

"At the very moment the bombs were exploding, the FBI received an e-mail from a well-organized, well-armed, and widespread organization that we have been investigating for some time. The group claims responsibility for the bombings and is demanding the resignations of every member of this Administration, the leaders of Congress, and all nine Supreme Court Justices. They further state that, unless these demands are met within twenty-four hours, they will unleash even greater ... and more deadly ... destruction."

A file photo of the assassinated President appeared in the upper right hand corner of the screen, juxtaposed against a video clip of the Vice President standing before the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, her hand on the Bible.

Oh, my God, Max thought. It's
happening
. He raced across the room to the telephone and dialed Ed's number, afraid he wouldn't be home, praying that he would.

Ed held his badge and identification to the open window, was waved through the cordon around the Capitol complex by a D.C. police officer, and maneuvered the car past the emergency vehicles scattered in the streets and on the grass. The Senate Office Building was just ahead, but as he drew closer, the crush of activity forced him to park and walk the rest of the way. Screams and shouts filled the air, punctuated by the softer, more terrible sounds of grief, and he steeled himself against being drawn into the horror. He had one mission and one mission only. He couldn't allow anything to distract him.

A Capitol police officer stood at the front of the building and stepped forward as he approached. “Sorry, sir. This is off limits."

The man looked middle-aged and way past his prime. No doubt he'd much rather be at home in bed. Ed showed him his badge. “I'm here on official business on behalf of the ranking member of the Senate Select Committee on Government Reform."

The officer cocked his head, his brow furrowed. “Uh, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you're a little late...” He let his sentence dangle in the air.

Ed looked at him a long moment. “What do you mean?"

He gestured toward the Capitol Building. “That committee was in special session when the bomb blew. There's nothin’ left of that part of the building except ashes and shards. Sorry."

"Yes, uh, I know. That is exactly why I was dispatched here. There are some vitally important papers...” He was interrupted by the crackle of the officer's shoulder-mounted radio.

The officer held up his hand to Ed and spoke into the radio. “Ten-nine? Where? Uh...” He looked at Ed, shrugged, and motioned for him to go inside as he spoke into the radio again. “Ten-four. I'll be ten-fifty-one."

Ed practically sprinted up the stairs, afraid to use the elevator. Afraid of other bombs. Afraid that if, somehow, someone decided to stop him, the elevator would be too slow. He was starving for breath when he reached the top floor. A sharp pain knifed through his left side, but he went straight to the office on the right, jimmied the door open, and entered, grateful for the battery-powered emergency lights.

The cardboard box was not on the Senator's cluttered desk. Ed went to the closet at the left of the room, easily unlocked it with his credit card, and opened the door. The box, which he had marked with his badge number, was in the corner on the top shelf. “Thank God, it's still here,” he said aloud, but as he took it down, he could tell without looking that it was empty. “Shit,” he grumbled, searching the rest of the boxes and envelopes on the shelves in hopes that the Senator had merely transferred the documentation to another container. No such luck.

He envisioned the Senator carrying the evidence with him to the Committee meeting, and
kaboom!
No Senator, no documents, no nothing to stand between Penseur and power. “Damn,” he muttered. “Damn and double damn.” Wait a minute. He wouldn't have taken them with him. He knew their importance.

He strode to the file cabinet, pried it open, and riffled through the drawers. “C'mon, come
on,
” he muttered, frustrated by the clumsiness of his fingers. But they weren't there. He closed the last drawer and looked around the room.

Maybe there was a safe somewhere. He checked behind the pictures on the walls, behind the books on the shelves. It was an old building. If a safe had been added, it would be obvious, he thought, but he came up empty again.

The desk. Of course. Ed crossed the room in two strides and sat in the large chair. He jimmied the top-drawer open, releasing the locks on the other drawers, and looked through each in turn. Nothing. Nothing. And more nothing.

A piece of paper, half-hidden on the floor under the desk, caught his eye. Picking it up and reading it, his heart dropped into his stomach.
"6:00 p.m., Hamilton Bates returned your call. I told him you were with the Agent and to call back in about thirty minutes."

Ed remembered looking at his watch just before leaving the Senator's office. It had been right at six-thirty. And the Senator was about to take a phone call.
No
. The Senator was one of the finest men he'd ever known. He wouldn't betray his country. Bates
must
have called him about something else.
But if so, where the hell are the documents?

Cassie glanced over her shoulder at the short, squat agent on the couch. Until he had spoken, she wasn't even aware of his presence.

"I had nothing to do with any of this,” she responded to his charge. “In fact, I—” She stopped. No point in trying to talk to these goons, she thought, turning her attention back to the television screen as the new President of the United States, sitting behind the desk in the Oval Office, began to address the nation. On the President's right were the Senate Majority Leader and Chief Justice. To her left stood the Speaker of the House, the Attorney General, and Uncle Hamilton-wearing the same suit and tie he had worn to Daddy's memorial service.

The new President seemed surprisingly calm, even serene, Cassie thought, noticing that she looked like she had just stepped out of the beauty parlor. Hardly the demeanor or appearance of someone who had been awakened to find herself suddenly thrust into the Presidency in the middle of a crisis.

"My fellow citizens,"
the President began, focusing her eyes on the camera.
"Tonight we are faced with a grave threat to our government, our country, and our people. A well-organized militant group has assassinated the President of the United States ... “
She paused, as if remembering something. “
My predecessor. The Conservative Party nominees for president and vice president, fine and loyal Americans, have also been assassinated, and many of our most cherished national monuments have been destroyed. This group now threatens even graver action if we fail to meet their demands."
She paused a moment, for effect.

And probably for a long look at the teleprompter, Cassie thought.

"But we will not surrender to their demands. As a people, we have never shrunk from any challenge nor fled from any threat, either from within our borders or from without. But the threat this group poses is real and
must
be dealt with swiftly and forcefully.

"Therefore, after conferring with the Congress, my staff, the United Nations Security Council, and prominent leaders of the media,"
she nodded to each of those around her in turn,
"I am declaring a National State of Emergency and the imposition of Martial Law throughout the United States and all her territories. Sadly, this means that the Constitution is immediately suspended and elections postponed until such time as our enemies are defeated, the security of our nation restored, and the safety of our citizenry assured.

"I am certain that you, my fellow citizens, will be as grateful as I to learn that, in view of the fact that most of our own armed forces are stationed in other areas of the world, the member countries of the United Nations have agreed to deploy their militaries to assist us in our struggle. Fortunately, Russian, Chinese, British, French, and German forces are already on United States soil as part of the international training exercises, and, even as I speak, are mustering to defend our streets, our homes, and our institutions.

"Thank you, each and every one of you, for your prayers and cooperation in this time of great national turmoil. God bless you all, and God bless America."

Cassie watched the newly installed President lower her head as if in prayer. The camera panned away to the American flag in the corner, and the news anchor's face appeared on the screen to interpret the President's remarks.

Daddy was wrong, Cassie thought. We all were. It hadn't been about the elections at all. Nor would it have been, now that I think about it. Elections are too unpredictable. Penseur would have left nothing to chance. And didn't. She shook her head. Martial law will give the President absolute control. With just a stroke of the pen, she can turn the United States government into a puppet of the United Nations. Congress will be powerless. The press will be muzzled. Dissent won't be allowed. And foreign soldiers won't hesitate to enforce whatever measures are enacted. Welcome to the Fourth Reich.

"Well, girlie, looks like your goose is really cooked now,” Thompkins sniped. “And, I for one, am proud to have had a part in bringin’ a traitor to justice. You'll be lucky if you just get life in prison. Personally, I'd vote for a slow-and very public-execution."

Cassie looked over her shoulder at the two agents sitting side-by-side on the couch.
The Queen of Hearts and the Cheshire Cat
-
willing followers of the Mad Hatter
. She narrowed her eyes at them, then turned away, thinking about the media. They would be furious about the bombings and stand in support of the new Administration, but those who still believed in the independence and true mission of the press would be even more furious and turn on the Administration like a pack of wolves if they ever learned the truth. Which they would if her father's book ever reached the public. And the documents were revealed.

If
. The biggest word in the English language. Penseur was terrified of being exposed. It wasn't only Daddy they'd feared. They had framed and murdered Philip, who could have led the authorities to Daddy's real murderers. Killed Philip's friend, too. May Lee was forced back to Hong Kong, where she could pose no threat. Jonathon, Hank Charles ... She wondered how many others had been sacrificed on their altar of “peace.” And whether she was next in line.
Maybe. But not without a fight.

She stood and turned toward the agents across the room. “Well, you just may get your wish,” she said, keeping her voice even. “But even the condemned are allowed to sleep.” She strode into the bedroom and shut the door, surprised that they didn't move to stop her.

Thompkins looked across at her partner. “Gettin’ uppity, isn't she?"

He nodded. “Why don't you go and have a little chat with her? Bring her back down to earth."

"I will in a little while. It'll have more effect if I interrupt her beauty sleep. Look.” She gestured toward the television at the live coverage of a Russian convoy crossing the George Washington Bridge from New Jersey.

Slade whistled softly. “Good Lord. That thing stretches for miles. Must be thousands of soldiers in those trucks."

Thompkins smirked. “Pity the poor fools who thought they could mess with
our
government."

The city's silence was almost palpable as Ed pulled up to the curb and rolled down the car window. Never before had he seen a city so completely shut down. Enjoy it while it lasts, he told himself, remembering the massive mobilization following the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon back when Bush was President. Soldiers were already massing in the major cities, and it wouldn't be long before they'd be here, too.

He thought about the anger Americans had felt against the Muslim terrorists. That was nothing compared to what they'd feel toward the home-grown variety once the shock wore off. They'd be even more outraged if they ever learned that members of their own government were responsible for tonight's carnage.

He looked at the tall hotel at the end of the street and shook his head. If this didn't work, Cassandra Hart wouldn't have a prayer. He'd seen martial law before. In Panama. Soldiers had filled the streets. He'd been one of them. Now he was on the other side. He took a deep breath against the fear that clutched at his insides. By morning, America would be a police state. There'd be wholesale arrests and convictions of anyone who even dared to question the government. He grimaced. It wasn't too late to turn back. All he had to do was start the car and head home. To his wife. To his career. Nope. Not to his career. Word was bound to get out about his visit to the Senator. He sighed. No. If he was going to go down, he might as well make it worthwhile.