W. E. B. Griffin - Presidential Agent 07 (9 page)

Schiff gave him a smile that would have frozen hot chocolate.

Roscoe looked around the auditorium and saw mostly what he expected to see:

 

 

There was a narrow stage holding a podium bearing the presidential seal. Against the curtain at the rear of the stage was a sea of American flags, plus the CIA flag, those of the Vice President of the United States, the secretary of State, the director of National Intelligence, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, and two red flags, one with four silver stars on it and one with three.

To the left and right of the stage and in the rear of the auditorium, still and video cameramen—plus half a dozen guys, whatever they were called, manipulating microphone booms—were crowded together, preparing to send the images and sounds of the conference around the world.

And there was something Roscoe was surprised to see: A detachment of the 3rd Infantry—“the Old Guard”—drum and bugle corps wearing Revolutionary War uniforms. The detachment was lined up, without much room to spare, to the left of the stage, between the stage and the cameramen.

Roscoe had just enough time to wonder about them—they had never been involved in a presidential press conference that he could remember—when the lights dimmed twice as a signal that something was about to begin. The lights went up—really up, to provide lighting for the cameras—and a line of people filed onto the stage.

Vice President Charles W. Montvale came first, followed by Secretary of State Natalie Cohen. Montvale took up a position immediately behind the podium, where he would be on the right of the President when he appeared, and Cohen took up a position to the left of the podium. Next came Truman Ellsworth, the director of National Intelligence, and then A. Franklin Lammelle, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, and finally Generals Naylor and McNab. They took up positions to the left and right of the podium.

Presidential press secretary John David “Porky” Parker stepped to the podium and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.”

Everybody stood.

There came a roll of drums, and the sound of fifes playing “Hail to the Chief.”

President Clendennen marched purposefully onto the stage. He was a short, pudgy, pale-skinned fifty-two-year-old Alabaman who kept his tiny ears hidden under a full head of silver hair. As he marched past the dignitaries, just how short he was momentarily was made clear; he was shorter than even Natalie Cohen. Then he reached the podium and stepped onto a hidden platform that made him appear taller than everybody.

“Good morning,” the President said. “Thank you for coming.”

Danton grunted softly.
Good morning, Shorty. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

The President’s voice was deep and resonant.

I’ll give him that
.
He sounds like what people want a President to sound like. And when he’s standing on his little stool, he looks presidential.

“Most of you,” the President began, “thanks to the zealous— perhaps too zealous—reporting of a distinguished journalist writing for one of our more distinguished newspapers, are aware of a tragic incident that took place yesterday in Mexico. Three of our fellow Americans were found shot to death. A fourth American is missing.”

“Let me begin by stating that I have no more sacred duty as President and Commander in Chief than the protection of the lives of my fellow citizens, wherever they might be.”

“And let me confess, as Zeke Clendennen, private citizen, that I am as outraged as anyone in our great nation about what happened outside Acapulco yesterday. I really understand, and sympathize with, those who think—as did one of Andy McClarren’s guests last night on
The Straight Scoop
—that we should send in the Marines as we did to Veracruz in 1914 and ‘teach them a lesson they won’t soon forget.’”

“But I am no longer Zeke Clendennen, private citizen. And as President and Commander in Chief, I have a responsibility to our great nation as a whole.

“There are parallels—as I’m sure you all know—between what happened yesterday near Acapulco and what happened in Tampico in 1914.”

“And there are considerable differences.”

“The nine American sailors arrested in Mexico in 1914 were not arrested by a legitimate Mexican government, but by a Mexican dictator, a self-appointed general, Victoriano Huerta. President Woodrow Wilson publicly referred to Huerta as ‘false, sly, full of bravado, seldom sober, always irresponsible, and a scoundrel.’

“It should go without saying that the United States did not recognize dictator Huerta or his so-called government.”

“The exact opposite situation exists in Mexico today. The president of the United Mexican States, my close personal friend, Ramón Martinez . . .”

“. . . is a statesman recognized around the world for his lifelong dedication to the principles of freedom and honesty in government.

“When this terrible incident of yesterday came to President Martinez’s attention, the first thing he did was send a senior officer from the Mexican foreign ministry to our embassy in Mexico City to inform our ambassador. Then he called his good friend in the White House—he calls me ‘Zeke’—to tell me what had happened, and to apologize to the American people for what had happened. He gave me his word, officially and as a friend, that he and every branch of the government of Mexico will do everything possible not only to apprehend and quickly bring to justice those responsible for the deaths of our fellow citizens, but to locate and safely return the missing officer to his family.”

I wonder what happened to the Black Hawk after we flew it back to the USS
Bataan
? Charley said that when the
Bataan
got back to Norfolk, they should say nothing; just unload the helo onto the wharf, then let the Mexican ambassador explain how it got there after the Mexican government had told us it had been totally destroyed fighting the drug cartels.

“We came very close in 1914 to going to war with Mexico . . .”

“. . . And we came close, as you all know, to war recently. Our late and beloved President, faced with a very difficult choice, decided it was his duty as Commander in Chief of our nation to launch a preemptive strike on what he believed was a factory in the Congo manufacturing a dangerous substance that could have been used against us.”

“What he
believed
was a factory in the Congo manufacturing a dangerous substance that
could
have been used against us”?

“Like every other patriotic American, I fully supported—perhaps even cheered—his courageous decision.”

“And then, when God in His infinite wisdom took our Commander in Chief from us, and I found myself in that role, I came to understand how difficult the decision he had taken was for him.”

“The President was a wise and knowledgeable man. More than anyone else, he knew how close his decision would bring us to a nuclear war, and he knew full well that could have meant the end of the world.

“I came out of my study, my appreciation, of what the President had done with two things: First, an even deeper admiration of his wisdom and character than I had had. And, second, an awareness that I was ill equipped to step into his empty shoes, and that without God’s help, I simply could not do so.”

“So I ask you, my fellow Americans, to pray for me. Pray to God to give me the wisdom and the courage that He gave to our late Commander in Chief. Pray to God that when another problem challenges our country, He will give me the strength to not act impulsively but rather with tempered wisdom.”

“I was informed just before I came up here that there are matters requiring my immediate attention at the White House. So I will not be able to take questions.

“The Vice President and others here with me today will answer any questions you may have.

“Thank you. God bless you. God bless the United States of America.”

The President then stepped from behind the podium and walked quickly to the edge of the stage and down a shallow flight of stairs.

The cameras followed the President and recorded Porky Parker as he fended off the White House Press Corps as they shouted questions and tried to get close to the President.

Roscoe looked at the stage and saw on the faces of the assembled dignitaries that they were as surprised by President Clendennen’s sudden departure as he was.

Secret Service agents and the CIA police kept the press corps from chasing the President and Porky into the corridor. The chasing press and those who hadn’t chased the President now turned their attention to the podium.

And the podium was empty.

The dignitaries looked at one another in visible confusion, until finally both DCI A. Franklin Lammelle and Vice President Charles W. Montvale at once began heading for the podium.

Lammelle deferred to the Vice President, and stepped back into line.

Montvale stepped to the podium and was under immediate assault by shouts of “Mr. Vice President!” from the press corps.

Danton shook his head at the sight of the melee, and thought,
This has turned into a Chinese clusterfuck!

“When everybody has calmed down . . .” Vice President Montvale began, and then stopped when he realized his microphones were not working and his voice could not be heard over the shouts asking for his attention.

He first looked at the microphones in front of him for a switch, and then, finding none, bent to look behind the podium to see if he could find a switch there.

Lammelle broke ranks again and went to the podium to help.

Unbelievable!
Danton thought.
Un-fucking-believable!

CIA functionaries, uniformed and in suits, came to the stage and the podium to help.

A moment later there came a piercing electronic scream, quickly followed by a full volume broadcast of the Vice President’s voice saying, “Oh, shit!”

This served to almost quiet the room.

“As the President has left the building,” the Vice President’s voice came over the loudspeakers, “this press conference is over.”

That’s “
Elvis
has left the building,” Montvale!

The Vice President then stepped away from the podium and walked briskly off the stage. The other dignitaries quickly followed him. CIA functionaries kept the press away from them.

 

 

The glistening Sikorsky VH-60 White Hawk helicopter, known as Marine One when carrying the President, was waiting for the President beside the CIA headquarters building.

Supervisory Secret Service agent Robert J. Mulligan, a tall and stocky forty-five-year-old, came out of the building and quickly checked to see that everything—other Secret Service agents, a fire engine, and an ambulance—was as it should be, and then signaled to the President that he was free to board Marine One.

Mulligan had been on Vice President Clendennen’s security detail, but as one of the agents, not as the supervisory special agent in charge. When Clendennen had suddenly become the President, he announced he wanted Mulligan to head his security detail. When it had been—very tactfully—pointed out to President Clendennen that there already was a supervisory agent in charge of the Presidential Security detail, the President had replied, “I don’t want to argue about this. Mulligan will do it. Got it?”

President Clendennen, trailed by Porky Parker, walked quickly to the White Hawk and climbed aboard, failing to acknowledge the salute of the Marine in dress blues standing by the stair door.