Red Dot: Contact. Will the gravest threat come from closer to home than we expect? (21 page)

“I’m going to get right to the point, Secretary Fitzgerald: It is best for my administration and for the country if you step down from your position.”

“Yes, let’s not waste time on this crucial issue. I will resign my position, Mr. President,” Fitzgerald said as he took some papers out of his folder. “After you sign the executive order we have prepared and put it into effect.”

Douthart could not help but gasp as the Secretary of Defense laid the papers on the desk. The President had anticipated a wide range of responses from Fitzgerald; the most likely, he thought, was that the Defense Secretary would resign under protest and continue his campaign for tougher military action against the ETs, using his formidable backing in the media and Congress. He did not foresee this ultimatum, which was akin to a coup.

He leaned forward and pushed the document back at Fitzgerald. “In that case, Mr. Fitzgerald, I am relieving you of your duties in the Cabinet as of now.”

Fitzgerald looked grimly at the document for a few moments and then gave a quick look around the Oval Office. Speaking rapidly, in a voice that quavered ever so slightly, he said, “Mr. President, I assure you, the best path for America and for you is to put this executive order giving our military a free hand to deal with this grave threat into effect, and then accept my resignation. I have determined this is the least disruptive way, and will assure the safety of our citizens.”

Fitzgerald didn’t mention it, but if Douthart refused to implement the executive order, the conspirators planned to remove him from the White House and place him under arrest. The new leader of the “interim” government had not been settled on. Fitzgerald could fill that role, or a like-minded, more widely trusted and charismatic congressional or military figure might agree to take over after the coup succeeded. The big prize for the plotters, the most charismatic leader, would be the deeply respected chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Peoples.

Stunned, Douthart stared at Fitzgerald for a moment before his secretary came on the intercom. “Mr. President, there’s a…” she said in a shaky voice before the message was cut off.

“Fitzgerald, what are you trying to do?” the President demanded angrily, standing up. Outrage and survival instinct swept away any lingering indecision. “I warn you, penalties for treason are extreme for you, and consequences for the nation are disastrous.”

Wordlessly, and to Douthart’s further amazement, Fitzgerald left the document on the desk, stood up, turned around, and walked to the Oval Office door. He opened the door and said, “Lieutenant General Clark, please come in.”

The head of Strategic Air Command—a tall, stout man in a crisp full dress uniform—strode resolutely into the Oval Office, never taking his eyes off the President. A lower-ranking officer in combat fatigues walked in behind him. Through the open door, Douthart saw at least two others in combat fatigues in the reception area, and heard his secretary’s plaintive voice.

“I’m sorry Mr. President.”

“Out of my office, General Clark and former Defense Secretary Fitzgerald, and take this gentleman with you.”

“Mr. President,” said Clark in an incongruously mellow baritone, “this is your last chance to face this ET threat and maintain your position.” Glancing quickly at the papers on the President’s desk, he said, “I insist you sign this order.”

“You do, do you?” shot back Douthart. “I don’t care how many stars you’ve got on your shoulders or how fancy your title is, no one voted for you to make defense policy for this nation, not one single citizen.”

The President felt his anger mounting with every word. His passion surprised him, but it felt good.

“I went through months of withering public and media scrutiny in the nomination process and in a general election. The majority of American voters, more than 65 million of them, according to our revered Constitution, freely chose me to be Commander in Chief and make defense policies. And now one of my strongest policies is for you to get the hell out of my office!”

Douthart leaned down, grabbed the papers brought in by Fitzgerald, and ripped them in half. With his anger, and fear, still rising by the second, he stood, half of the document in one hand and half in the other, glaring at General Clark.

The General was shocked at Douthart’s fury, but maintained his composure. He turned to the officer in fatigues and said, “Code Tumbler.”

Minutes before the President’s meeting with Fitzgerald, Secretary of State Whiteton was walking down a crowded corridor in the Pentagon. Brief discussions with several of his contacts had given him no details about plots to undermine the President. But then he heard an oddly subdued voice behind him.

“Secretary Whiteton, Secretary Whiteton.” He turned to see a short, balding Air Force colonel approaching him, apparently trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. The nervous officer guided Whiteton out of the flow of bustling officers and civilian staffers.

Checking the officer’s name tag, Whiteton said, “Yes, Colonel Buzzert, what is it?’

“Secretary Whiteton, I think you should know that General Clark of SAC and a couple of his aides went with Defense Secretary Fitzgerald for his meeting with the President.”

“What!” exclaimed Whiteton.

More anxious than ever, the Colonel looked around and saw a small, empty conference room. He motioned for Whiteton to follow him inside. The Secretary told his three Secret Service guards to wait outside, and then went in and shut the door.

“They have a plan,” the officer said as the Secretary of State looked at him with shock and confusion. “I don’t know the details, but they want to force the President to be more aggressive in preparing for D9.”

“Force him?” Whiteton’s mind was clearing and his fear was rising.

“Yes. Again, I don’t know the details, but they’re very determined. They have a plan.”

“Son of bitch!” Overwhelmed at first by news of an apparent coup, Whiteton now made an uncharacteristically crude response. Swiftly, he grabbed his cell phone and speed-dialed the President’s office. The phone rang and rang with no answer and no recorded message—a clear indication something was wrong.

Unknown to Whiteton, General Clark had already entered the Oval Office, and one of his co-conspirators was in the reception area, placing his hand on his holstered handgun, ordering the President’s secretary to answer the phone and say she would relay any message to the President. She refused.

Whiteton put his phone back in its case and called his Secret Service detail into the room. Fleetingly, he wondered if they were part of the “plan,” but quickly dismissed the idea. Besides, he had to trust someone. He told them to contact their office at Homeland Security and urgently report that the President was in danger from a possible coup, led by Secretary Fitzgerald and General Clark—and possibly others. The shock and dismay on his guards’ faces proved they were not part of the plot.

Before he finished his instructions, his phone rang. It was General Peoples. “Secretary Whiteton, I understand you are in the Pentagon now. It is extremely important that you come to see me in my office immediately. As you know, it’s on the second floor near the MacArthur Auditorium. I can’t overstate how important it is.”

Whiteton’s mind raced. General Peoples seemed like a man who could be trusted to do his duty according to the Constitution, but he was a strong proponent of more vigorous military action to face the ETs, and clearly this traitorous plan reached into the highest ranks of the military. The plot must include removing, one way or another, other top Douthart administration officials. Would he walk into a trap by going to Peoples’ office?

“I … I understand there is some problem at the President’s office,” Whiteton said, his voice uncharacteristically weak. “Can you give me your message now, on the phone?”

“No. We must discuss this matter face-to-face.”

“OK, my Secret Service people and I will be in your office in a few minutes.” Struggling to cut through the confusion, the Secretary of State hoped that mentioning his Secret Service guards might somehow make him safer.

While finishing his call with General Peoples, Whiteton saw he had an incoming call from the Vice President. After hanging up, he answered the call to hear the panic-stricken voice of one of the Vice President’s aides, speaking just above a whisper.

“Secretary Whiteton, Secretary Whiteton… Someone … a Secret Service woman … someone is holding a gun on the Vice President.”

The aide’s voice trailed off as she gasped for air. “Where are you?” asked Whiteton.

“She’s … at the Capitol … I don’t know … to see the Whip,” the aide said, referring to the leader in each party who was responsible for marshaling votes.

“The majority or minority Whip?” Whiteton asked, trying to sound calm.

“The- the Republican … Duckworth.”

“Hold on,” said Whiteton. He turned to hand the phone to the head of his Secret Service detail. “A Secret Service woman is holding a gun on Vice President Duggard near the office of Representative Duckworth. Stay on my phone with the aide and use your phone to get some protection for the President and Vice President, and for Congressional leaders.”

“What about you?” the Secret Service officer asked.

“We’re going to General Peoples’ office,” Whiteton said as he motioned to the other two Secret Service officers to follow him.

At almost the same time, Vice President Duggard was trying to reason with the Secret Service guard pointing a gun at her.

“Agent Spenser … Gloria … think about what you’re doing,” Duggard said. She resolutely looked the agent in the eye and tried to sound confident, but her voice was shaky. “You took an oath, you took an oath, you swore to God to protect the Constitution—”

“Shut up!” commanded the agent, staring back at the Vice President. Her hands held the 9mm handgun steady in a pose she had practiced thousands of times. “I’m protecting the nation and my family. We’re sick of your liberal crap. Now just shut up.”

Duggard wanted to say more to persuade the agent to desist, but was too frightened for the words to come out. Her heart pounded violently and her legs trembled. Having a loaded gun pointed at her was terrifying, and the thought of the danger that the President and other leaders must be going through, and the danger facing the nation, was almost unbearable.

Behind Agent Spenser, Representative Duckworth’s office door was shut and locked, and the Congressman and his aides cowered inside. In the hallway near the Vice President and Agent Spenser, two other agents and several congressional staffers lay on the floor, as ordered by the rebel agent. Some of the staffers whimpered and pleaded for their lives. Duggard could hear people farther away running and shouting, “Gun! Gun! Get out! Someone’s got a gun on the Vice President!” Over that cacophony, a siren or alarm began to blare.

Suddenly something obliterated the entire scene for Duggard, as if the mounting fear and chaos reached a point that overwhelmed her senses. The whimpering, shouting, and alarms abruptly disappeared into one deafening noise, and Duggard’s vision failed for a few moments. It took several seconds for her to realize that the cause of the sudden shock was a gunshot.

Slowly she made sense of her surroundings. Two Capitol Police officers crept past her with their guns drawn and pointed at Agent Spenser, who lay motionless on the ground with her blouse and jacket soaked in dark red blood. Her handgun lay a about a foot away from her right knee. An officer moved the gun away with his foot while the other one checked Spenser’s neck for a pulse.

Looking up at the other officer, he said, “She’s dead.”

More police arrived to secure the scene and look for any of the rogue agent’s accomplices. The agents she had ordered to lay on the floor stood up and began to apologize profusely to the Vice President. Terrified staffers got up and shakily tried to leave the hallway, but were stopped and searched and questioned by police. The door to Representative Duckworth’s office opened slowly, and a police officer entered, gun drawn, to check for accomplices.

“Can you get me a chair, dear?” Duggard asked one of the remaining agents. He quickly brought out a chair, and the Vice President plopped down on it, saying, “This is a lot of excitement for an old lady.” An EMT soon came to her side and began checking her vital signs and asking about her health.