Tom Daschle commented, "You've given this some thought."
I shook my head in the negative. "Senator, I am making this up as I go along. John Ashcroft was telling us earlier that the idea behind Section Four of the amendment was to handle what would happen if the President had a stroke, like Wilson did. It was never designed to handle the President... disappearing!"
I wanted to tell them to send one Senator and one Representative, and make one a Republican and the other a Democrat, but resisted the temptation to meddle and influence them. After ten minutes of wrangling they decided to send Harry Reid, a Democratic Senator, and John Boehner, a Republican Congressman. I turned to Josh and told him to get the 89th warmed up for a morning flight, and also to track down Dick Gephardt and get him here, as well, and he stepped out of the room to make a call.
Denny Hastert then asked the question on everybody's mind. "Carl, who did this!? Who was behind it?"
I sighed. "All we know for sure is Islamic terrorists. We have some pretty strong theories, but we won't know for absolutely sure for a few days."
"You're going to need to do better than that, son.", commented Senator Byrd.
"No, sir, I don't. Even if I knew the names and addresses of the people involved – which I don't – I wouldn't divulge the information until we had disposed of them. When the time is right, I will inform you and the American public, but not until then."
Several of them recoiled at that, with angry looks on their faces. How dare I imply they couldn't keep a secret?! The reality was that they couldn't keep anything secret. In Washington information is currency to be traded for power. Any number of Congressmen and Senators could be guaranteed to tell somebody, probably a reporter, in order to demonstrate how much they were trusted by the President and to show how much power they had! Afterwards, if it came out, they would have plenty of well intentioned reasons to say why they had to divulge the information. There were several murmurs and whispers around the circle facing me.
"What happens, then, Mister President?", asked Tom DeLay. He was the first not to call me by my name, and a couple of eyebrows went up at that. "What do you plan to do when you have that information?"
I smiled and got off the desk. "Well, that part is simple. We're going to kill them."
"What about taking them prisoner and bringing them back here to trial?", asked Daschle.
I gave him a big grin. "Tom, you remember what Bill Clinton claimed I do to prisoners, don't you? Nah, I don't think we'll have too much of a problem with prisoners." Nobody knew what to say to that. I decided to wrap it up. "Fellows, it has been a long day. I am going home and getting some sleep. John, Harry, you should go home and pack for your trip. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Good night."
We drove over to the Naval Observatory, and then I sent the car with Josh and Ari back to the White House. Technically speaking, the Vice Presidential Residence is not part of the Naval Observatory, which is still functioning, but on the grounds of the Observatory, at Number One Observatory Circle. It's a fairly large Queen Anne style place, and while it has dining rooms and parlors large enough to entertain a large group, it almost never makes the news. Marilyn and I were still living semi-apart, with my going home every other night or so, to Hereford. Still, we had managed to have a few dinner parties earlier in the year, but as word of my impending doom became obvious, a lot of people managed to have something else to do when we had a party. Wouldn't they be surprised now!
Marilyn was in a sitting room on the first floor, wrapped in an Afghan in front of the television. The boob tube was on, but Marilyn wasn't; she was laying on the couch but asleep, while the images of the towers collapsing played over and over, and the talking heads tried to come up with new shit to tell people. Her face was a mess, with the marks of tears and a runny nose. She stirred as she heard me walk across the floor. "Come on, honey, let's get you upstairs.", I told her.
"What time is it?"
"About ten.", I said, glancing at my watch. "Come on, you should go to bed. How are the girls?"
"Okay. Scared.", she admitted. "Me, too, I guess."
"We'll be fine." I held out my hand and she took it, leaving the Afghan on the couch. I led the way upstairs to our bedroom, but did a double-take when I went into our bedroom. Ever since we got Stormy, who was now at a monstrously large 130-plus pounds, we had taken to sleeping in a king size bed. Stormy liked sleeping with us, and she was now bigger than my wife! Now, I stared. My twin girls were both in my bed, along with my dog, all asleep as the television flickered.
"Uh, oh.", commented Marilyn.
"Now what? Do we sleep in their room?" I shook my head in amusement. I pushed her towards the bed. "Here, you lie down and get some sleep. I want to sit up and think for awhile."
Marilyn was a little groggy and crawled under the covers, still dressed, next to Molly, who was separated from her sister by the mutt. I just shook my head in disbelief and headed into my den, and cranked back the La-Z-Boy. I was tempted to get a bottle of whiskey out, but I figured if I started drinking, I wouldn't stop. All that was on television was a rehash of what had happened that morning, and the latest news, which was the same as they had reported half an hour earlier. I flipped through some channels, and then fell asleep in my lounger.
Chapter 139: Picking Up The Pieces
Wednesday, September 12, 2001
I woke Wednesday morning when Stormy whined to go outside. It was cool, but I wandered out in my bare feet with her, with a Secret Service agent hovering nearby. After she did her thing, I took her back inside and unhooked her leash, and she thundered back up the stairs. I followed. The girls were back in their room and Marilyn was stirring awake. I went on into the bathroom and stripped yesterday's clothes off, and took a quick shower.
"Good morning.", I heard from the bathroom. It was Marilyn sitting on the toilet. Just as I reached to turn off the water there was a loud WHOOSH followed by, "Sorry!"
I climbed out and attempted to look superior to her. It didn't last, since she looked worried. "Good morning. Get a decent night's rest?"
"I'm sorry about last night. Where did you sleep?"
I did a head nod towards the bedroom and beyond. "In the den. I'm fine. I need to get to the office."
"You're the President now, aren't you?"
I nodded again, as I toweled dry. "Pretty much. The title is Acting President, but I'll probably be sworn in by the end of the week. Are you okay with this?"
That got me a wry look. "Well, it's not like we never knew it couldn't happen. Still, it's different than if you actually ran for it, you know?" She pulled on a bathrobe and asked, "How is this going to change things? Do we move into the White House?"
I shrugged. "Not until after Laura and the girls move out. I think that would be more than a little tacky, don't you?"
Her eyes opened wide. "Oh my God! I never even thought of that! Laura ... Oh, God! I need to call her..."
"Please, do that today. Don't say anything about them moving out or us moving in. Just call and offer some support." Marilyn got along well with Laura Bush, much better than George and I had been getting along. Marilyn had teaching degrees, even if she hadn't been a teacher, and Laura was a librarian. They had done several joint projects together, usually something related to education and reading, mostly in the general D.C. area.