Scimitar SL-2 (33 page)

The six White House visitors walked behind the Marine escort as far as the portico door to the lawn. One hundred yards away they could see the huge rotors of the helicopter already howling. Mrs. McBride emerged from a different door. General Clark remained to watch the U.S. Navy helicopter take off, bearing the President and his First Lady into exile from the seat of Government. The others headed directly to the office of Vice President Paul Bedford. They had agreed to ignore the intricacies of the Twenty-fifth
Amendment, which essentially dealt with the transfer of power to the Vice President if a President was incapacitated and unable to carry out his duties. (The Twenty-fifth has only been used twice—once when President Reagan was shot, and once when President Bush underwent general anaesthesia in April 1989.)

In this instance, it was decided that the VP would be immediately sworn in. There was, after all, no possibility of McBride making any kind of a comeback.

Senator Kennedy had already arrived in the VP’s office, and Judge Moore intoned the sacred words that all Presidents must recite: “I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of the President of the United States, and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

Section 2 of the Constitution made him, at that moment, Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy of the United States.

Within moments, he had signed the prepared document that appointed Adm. Arnold Morgan his Special Adviser for the forthcoming crisis with Hamas. He willingly signed the rider to the document that ensconced the Admiral in the Oval Office, as Supreme Commander of all U.S. military forces involved in Operation High Tide, “with civilian powers as far-reaching as may be necessary for safe evacuation of the citizens of the affected areas.”

General Clark, the only person in the room with a working knowledge of a digital camera, photographed the entire scene for the public record, somehow managing to wipe out four pictures taken by Mrs. Bedford the previous week at Camp David in the process. But they had to avoid the intrusion of an official photographer and the endless ramifications of this incredible private ceremony being leaked to the media.

Senator Kennedy observed the formalities and swiftly headed back to the Capitol to brief the heads of Senate Committees on the oncoming political bombshell. The remainder of the House would learn of the shift of power at more or less the same time as
the media, and indeed the nation. The Military Chiefs were confident that Teddy would combine his legendary down-home friendliness with the certain tough authority that was his trademark, to convince the elected representatives of the fifty States that the nation stood in mortal danger.

Meanwhile, back in the West Wing of the White House, it was plain that staff members had to be informed and then silenced, until the press had been given the news. Admiral Morgan, standing in the Oval Office with General Scannell, decreed that senior staff should report immediately to President Reagan’s specially built Situation Room in the basement of the West Wing. There they would be briefed by the Admiral himself, and there they would watch the television address to the nation by the new President of the United States. A guard of four Marines outside the door would ensure that no one left the room, and all mobile phones would be surrendered to the guards as each senior staffer arrived.

“It’s important that Paul tells our story just the way we want it,” emphasized Arnold Morgan. “We do not want some newsroom rewrite asshole speculating and jumping to conclusions. This White House already has a reputation for press leaks, and we don’t want
anyone
releasing information until we’re good and ready, and we have the situation under control.”

He glanced at his watch. It showed five minutes before four. He walked out through the Oval Office door and past the ex-President’s secretary to tour the building and inform all heads of departments to report to the Situation Room. Since internal communications were down, he ordered one of the Marine guards to walk down to the Press Room and inform those present that there would be a Presidential Address in twenty minutes in the White House Briefing Room.

By now, Admirals Dickson and Doran, in company with Generals Boyce and Clark, had arrived back in the Oval Office. Arnold Morgan, already seated behind the only available desk—that of the former President—was writing fast on a legal pad, on which
the former occupant had been drafting a personal speech to the Third World Initiative.

Still scribbling, he spoke without looking up. “Okay, I’ll take Frank Doran with me to the Situation Room, where I’ll stress the enormous task of the Navy to the senior White House Staff. I think everyone else should go with President Bedford and stand behind him on his port-and-starboard quarter. General Scannell and General Boyce on his four o’clock, Admiral Dickson and General Clark on his eight. That’s the Head of the Pentagon, the Head of NATO, the Head of the Navy, and the Head of the United States Marine Corps. Solid, right?”

Just then, Paul Bedford walked in, and Admiral Morgan immediately stood up, nodded, and said, “Mr. President…I’m just drafting a few notes for your address…They’re only notes…but we have no time…You’ll just have to wing the speech, but it’d be a good idea to stick to the outline here…

“Stress the nervous collapse and subsequent resignation of the President, who is currently under medical care at Camp David…Tell ’em how shocked we all are…then come clean over the Hamas threat, tell ’em the whole story, not in detail, but start with Mount St. Helens, then the demands of the terrorists…” His finger ran down the notes on the legal pad. “Then the threat that convinced us of the imminent danger of our country, when they blew Montserrat. Explain the terrible danger, the silent terrorist submarine with its nuclear-warhead guided missiles, the vulnerability of Cumbre Vieja, and the certainty of the tsunami,
if
they hit the volcano.”

Paul Bedford nodded as firmly as he was able to. Right now, in his own mind, he was not so much President of the United States as a Naval Lieutenant receiving a briefing of the most staggering importance from one of the most senior Admirals ever to serve his country.

Arnold ripped the page off the writing pad and handed it to the new Chief Executive. He had printed everything in bold capitals, including the first two sentences, then a clear synopsis of the rest.

“Is that it?” asked President Bedford.

“As best as we can do,” said Arnold agreeably. “You’re on parade in fifteen minutes, and I’m out of here with Frank, right now.”

“Okay, sir,” said Paul. “I can follow this.”

“You can call me anything you like in this room,” replied Arnold. “But for Christ’s sake don’t call me ‘sir’ in public!”

“No, sir,” said Paul Bedford, laughing, despite the gravity of the situation.

“And, Mr. President…” said Arnold, as he headed for the door. “Remember one other thing…when Sir Winston Churchill demanded an entire reorganization of the Navy fleets in the North Atlantic…he told his First Sea Lord if it wouldn’t fit on one side of one sheet of paper, it hadn’t been properly thought out.”

And with that, he was gone, the Commander in Chief of the Atlantic Fleet, with Admiral Frank Doran somewhere in his wake.

“Jesus,” President Bedford said to himself. “Is he something, or what?”

And then, to everyone’s surprise, Admiral Morgan’s head popped back around the door. “Oh, Paul, I forgot. You’d better fire Defense Secretary Schlemmer and NSA Romney right now, and then Hatchard, right after he’s released from my briefing. Handwritten notes thanking them for all they have done. One side of one sheet, right?”

“Okay, Arnie, you got it,” replied the President of the United States, slipping into the easy informality enjoyed by men under severe stress. “Is it okay if I borrow your desk?”

Still chuckling, Admiral Morgan headed for the West Wing basement, where he found a scene of extraordinary restlessness. The heads of White House Departments had mostly arrived. Protocol, Secret Service, Communications, Catering, the chief Butler, Security, Transportation, the Press Office, the State Department, Speech Writers, Bill Hatchard, and indeed the former President’s secretary were crowding into the room. All requesting information, yearning to know what was going on. The four Marine
guards had taken up positions outside the door, and two more guarded the exit from the elevator. With the correct credentials, they would let you in, but no one was leaving. Not until the Presidential Address was completed and on television. A small pile of surrendered cell phones occupied a desk behind the principal Marine detail.

Arnold Morgan and Admiral Doran made their way into the soundproof teak-paneled conference room that, aside from its central table, was filled with secretarial desks, computers, and video-conferencing telephones. None of this was currently active, though staff members were hurriedly claiming the desks, since the packed gathering could plainly not fit around the main table.

Admiral Morgan moved into the big chair once occupied by President Reagan. He dragged another seat next to him for the C in C Atlantic Fleet and called the meeting to order by banging his open palm down on the polished surface of the conference table.

“For a very few of you, this may seem a bit like old times. For the rest of you, my name is Arnold Morgan, former Admiral in the United States Navy, former Director of the National Security Agency, former National Security Adviser to the President.

“I’m not precisely sure how fast rumors move around here these days, but I would like you all to know that President Charles McBride resigned within the last hour for health reasons. According to the Constitution, the Vice President has instantly assumed the Oval Office, and he was sworn in by the man appointed to do so by the Supreme Court of the United States, Judge Moore. The ceremony took place in the Old Executive Building, and President Paul Bedford swore to uphold the Constitution of the United States.

“The witnesses present were Senator Edward Kennedy…the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Scannell…the Chief of Naval Operations, Adm. Alan Dickson…the Commander in Chief of the Atlantic Fleet, Adm. Frank Doran, who is seated here beside me…the Supreme Allied Commander of NATO, Gen.
Bart Boyce…the Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, Gen. Kenneth Clark…and myself.

“The press will learn of the change in Government inside the next ten minutes, and you will all see President Bedford’s address on the screen in this room shortly.

“There will of course be changes in staff, but none where we are able to rely on the old order. The most important thing that I must tell you, though, is that the East Coast of this country is at present under the most terrible terrorist threat in U.S. history. Worse, immeasurably, than 9/11.

“It was this threat that caused Charles McBride to suffer what his doctors consider to be a nervous breakdown. He willingly and selflessly stepped aside as the pressures on him mounted, aware that he has no military experience and that his Vice President Paul Bedford, who served as a Navigation Officer in a guided missile frigate during a five-year term in the United States Navy, might be a better leader for the U.S. in this time of crisis.

“The former President is resting under medical supervision at Camp David right now. The First Lady is with him and they will not be returning to the White House.

“As to the threat we face, in the simplest terms, there is a Russian-built nuclear submarine, loose in the North Atlantic crewed by a group of Hamas terrorists.”

The Situation Room was absolutely silent as Admiral Morgan briefly outlined the situation. He shook his head. “And we know from the events of the last few months,” he said, “that Hamas has this capability. They exploded Mount St. Helens, and last night they carried out their second threat, accurate to the minute, by exploding Montserrat down in the Caribbean. Their latest communiqué says they will hit La Palma on October 9.

“We need to find that submarine, most importantly, but we have already started the preliminary stages of an evacuation of the entire East Coast to high ground, just in case we don’t find it. By the end of the day, the U.S. Army, National Guard, and the various metropolitan police forces will unobtrusively control the
streets to prevent a panic after the President’s TV address. From the moment the Cumbre Vieja erupts, it will take nine hours for the tsunami to hit New York Harbor. And those tidal waves don’t break…They’ll just keep rolling.

“Your new President has appointed me Supreme Commander of all the United States forces engaged in this operation for the next two weeks. During this time we will begin evacuating the nation’s treasures, its museums, its historic papers, its Stock Exchange in New York, and its schools. I shall be working closely with President Bedford, from the Oval Office, and with the five senior commanders who witnessed the inauguration ceremony an hour ago.

“Right now, I will not be taking questions, and I would like someone to turn on the television sets around the walls and tune in to one of the networks to hear the Presidential Address…Admiral Doran and I will remain here to listen with you.”

The “Sit Room” remained stunned. No one spoke, but people moved quietly, finding places in front of the television screens.

Meanwhile, upstairs in the Briefing Room, the fifty or sixty members of the White House Press Corps—the journalists Marlin Fitzwater referred to as “The Lions”—were growing more restless by the minute. None of them had a clue what was taking place, and although a few photographers were plainly bored senseless by the whole procedure, dozing in the fourth row, there was an unmistakable growling at the back of the room, where the wire service reporters operated.

This was a most unusual call to a briefing, issued out of the blue at twenty minutes’ notice. The reporters were huddled together, discussing possibilities. The favorite forecast was that President McBride had recognized the state of emergency on the island of Montserrat and was sending aid. Big deal.

However, journalists of a more thoughtful nature had noticed the
eight
Marine Corps guards in position in front of the dark wooden dais. That hinted at something more than aid to Montserrat. But it did not suggest the imminent unleashing of the biggest news story of the year.