As they deployed around the federal buildings, they quickly cleared everyone out of the Capitol chambers, the House and Senate offices. Then they took up their positions and sealed off all entrances.
At first the bewildered lawmakers and their aides thought it was a building evacuation due to a terrorist bomb threat. The only other explanation was an unannounced military exercise. When they learned the entire seat of American government was shut down by order of the President, they stood shocked and outraged, conferring in heated indignation in small groups on the grounds east of the Capitol building. Lyndon Johnson had once threatened to lock out Congress, but no one could believe it was actually happening.
Arguments and demands went unheard by the purposeful-looking men dressed in field camouflage and holding M-20 automatic rifles and riot guns. One senator, nationally recognized for his liberal stands, tried to break through the cordon and was dragged back to the street by two grim-faced Marines.
The troops did not surround or close the executive departments or independent agencies. For most of the federal offices it was business as usual. The streets were kept open and traffic directed in an efficient manner local citizens found downright enjoyable.
The press and television media poured onto the Capitol grounds. The grass was nearly buried under a blanket of cables and electronic equipment. Interviews before cameras became so hectic and crowded the senators and congressmen had to stand in line to voice their objections to the President’s unprecedented action.
Surprisingly, reaction from most Americans across the country was one of amusement rather than distaste. They sat in front of their television screens and viewed the event as if it were a circus. The consensus was that the President was throwing a temporary scare into Congress and would order the troops removed in a day or two.
At the State Department, Oates huddled with Emmett, Brogan and Mercier. The atmosphere was heavy with a sense of indecision and suspense.
“The President’s a damned fool if he thinks he’s more important than the constitutional government,” said Oates.
Emmett stared steadily at Mercier. “I can’t see why you didn’t suspect what was going on.”
“He shut me out completely,” said Mercier, his expression sheepish. “He never offered the slightest clue of what was on his mind.”
“Surely Jesse Simmons and General Metcalf weren’t a party to it,” Oates wondered aloud.
Brogan shook his head. “My Pentagon sources say Jesse Simmons flatly refused.”
“Why didn’t he warn us?” asked Emmett.
“After Simmons told the President in no uncertain terms that he was off base, the roof fell in. A military security guard detail escorted him home, where he was placed under house arrest.”
“Jesus,” muttered Oates in exasperation. “It gets worse by the minute.”
“What about General Metcalf?” asked Mercier.
“I’m sure he voiced his objections,” Brogan answered. “But Clayton Metcalf is a spit-and-polish soldier who’s duty-bound to carry out the orders of his commander in chief. He and the President are old, close friends. Metcalf undoubtedly feels his loyalty is to the man who appointed him to be Chief of Staff, and not Congress.”
Oates’s fingers swept an imaginary dust speck off the desktop. “The President disappears for ten days and after his return falls off the deep end.”
“Huckleberry Finn,” Brogan said slowly.
“Judging from the President’s behavioral patterns over the past twenty-four hours,” Mercier said thoughtfully, “the evidence looks pretty conclusive.”
“Has Dr. Lugovoy surfaced yet?” Oates asked.
Emmett shook his head. “He’s still missing.”
“We’ve obtained reports from our people inside Russia on the doctor,” Brogan elucidated. “His specialty for the last fifteen years has been mind transfer. Soviet intelligence ministries have provided enormous funding for the research. Hundreds of Jews and other dissidents who vanished inside KGB-operated mental institutions were his guinea pigs. And he claims to have made a breakthrough in thought interpretation and control.”
“Do we have such a project in progress?” Oates inquired.
Brogan nodded. “Ours is code-named ‘Fathom,’ which is working along the same lines.”
Oates held his head in his hands for a moment, then turned to Emmett. “You still haven’t a lead on Vince Margolin, Larimer and Moran?”
Emmett looked embarrassed. “I regret to say their whereabouts are still unknown.”
“Do you think Lugovoy has performed the mind-transfer experiment on them too?”
“I don’t believe so,” Emmett answered. “If I were in the Russians’ shoes, I’d keep them in reserve in the event the President doesn’t respond to instructions as programmed.”
“His mind could slip out of their grasp and react unpredictably,” Brogan added. “Fooling around with the brain is not an exact science. There’s no way of telling what he’ll do next.”
“Congress isn’t waiting to find out,” said Mercier. “They’re out hustling for a place to convene so they can start impeachment proceedings.”
“The President knows that, and he isn’t stupid,” Oates responded. “Every time the House and Senate members gather for a session, he’ll send in troops to break it up. With the armed forces behind him, it’s a no-win situation.”
“Considering the President is literally being told what to do by an unfriendly foreign power, Metcalf and the other Joint Chiefs can’t continue giving him their support,” said Mercier.
“Metcalf refuses to act until we produce absolute proof of mind control,” Emmett added. “But I suspect he’s only waiting for a ripe excuse to throw his lot in with Congress.”
Brogan looked concerned. “Let’s hope he doesn’t make his move too late.”
“So the situation boils down to the four of us devising a way to neutralize the President,” Oates mused.
“Have you driven past the White House today?” Mercier asked.
Oates shook his head. “No. Why?”
“Looks like an armed camp. The military is crawling over every inch of the grounds. Word has it the President can’t be reached by anybody. I doubt even you, Mr. Secretary, could walk past the front door.”
Brogan thought a moment. “Dan Fawcett is still on the inside.”
“I talked to him over the phone,” Mercier said. “He presented his opposition to the President’s actions a bit too strongly. I gather he’s now persona non grata in the Oval Office.”
“We need someone who has the President’s trust.”
“Oscar Lucas,” Emmett said.
“Good thinking,” Oates snapped, looking up. “As head of the Secret Service, he’s got the run of the place.”
“Someone will have to brief Dan and Oscar face-to-face,” Emmett advised.
“I’ll handle it,” Brogan volunteered.
“You have a plan?” asked Oates.
“Not off the top of my head, but my people will come up with something.”
“Better be good,” said Emmett seriously, “if we’re to avoid the worst fear of our Founding Fathers.”
“And what was that?” asked Oates.
“The unthinkable,” replied Emmett. “A dictator in the White House.”
55
Loren was sweating. She had never sweated so much in her life. Her evening gown was damp and plastered against her body like a second skin. The little windowless cell felt like a sauna and it was an effort just to breathe. A toilet and a bunk were her only creature comforts, and a dim bulb attached to the ceiling in a small cage glowed continuously. The ventilators, she was certain, were turned off to increase her discomfort.
When she was brought to the ship’s brig, she had seen no sign of the man she thought might be Alan Moran. No food or water had been given to her since the crew locked her up, and hunger pangs were gnawing at her stomach. No one had even visited her, and she began to wonder if Captain Pokofsky meant to keep her in solitary confinement until she wasted away.