Secret. KGB. FSB. Kremlin. Russia. Enemy. Conspiracy.
Virus.
Nothing triggered a sensible response, or even supported a reliable hunch.
Years ago, research of this nature would have required Katie Kessler to visit a solid law library, meticulously search through periodicals and papers, call up volumes of law books and scholarly texts, handwrite her notes, then distill the information either in free hand or on a typewriter.
Now Katie pointed and clicked. She had access to Lexis/Nexis, and the findlaw.com and westlaw.com databases through her Internet connection at home. The ease of it made her decide this is where she’d do most of her work.
Considering she wasn’t assigned to a current case at work, and given the complicity, though unwitting, of her law firm in a near coup of the Executive Branch, the senior partners wished Katie well. They hoped that her departure for the White House might even help restore their firm’s corporate image.
Kessler’s web browsing sent her to recent speeches by members of Congress and testimony at open hearings. She downloaded a 2002 article from The Hill, a key Beltway publication, written by California Congressman Brad Sherman, an analysis by Texas Senator John Corayn, opinion papers written by the Congressional Research Service of The Library of Congress, and newspaper articles from The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, and The New York Times.
Some of her research brought Katie back to the work she’d done on the eve of the inauguration. She re-read Article II, Section 1 of the Constitution, the Presidential Succession Act of 1792, The First Presidential Succession Act of 1886, the Presidential Succession Act of 1947, and the 25th Amendment. After her first pass, she went back and highlighted key words in the passages. Next, she copied them to a master file. She found particular merit in the 1886 Act. Unlike the present law, the succession line went from the president to the vice president, then on to the Secretary of State, followed by the Secretary of the Treasury, the Secretary of War, and the rest of the cabinet. She added an exclamation point in the margin. Interesting, she said to herself. While it was too early to come to any conclusion, she intuitively felt that 1886, dismantled 61 years later, had merit.
Soon, Kessler would be calling on Chief Justice Leopold Browning. She knew by experience that if she wasn’t prepared to argue her position on firm legal ground, the esteemed Supreme Court jurist would curtly dismiss her…or worse: he’d lecture her to death.
Kessler vowed to be ready. She looked away from her screen to a calendar on her desk. She traced the dates with her pencil. Not this week. Not next. Maybe the week after. She added a few days for good measure. August 18. She decided Saturday, August 18 would be the date. Three weeks. That’s enough time, she thought. She picked up the phone and dialed the United States Supreme Court. Three weeks. I’d better be ready!
Commander Umar Komari reviewed the inventory. He now had the weapons he needed — more than he ever imagined, including his prized SAMs, the deadly surface-to-air missiles. He looked to the heavens with tears in his eyes. Muhammad surely approves.
Komari’s reverie was interrupted by the voice of his lieutenant.
“Yes, yes. What is it, Atef?” Komari gave permission for only one man to proceed beyond the guards he posted.
“You wanted a report on the training, sir,” Musah Atef said.
“Enter.”
Atef moved the canvas door to the side and walked into the largest tent he’d ever seen. It was decorated with the bed and furniture his men had stolen from a Christian fisherman’s home in a nearby town. Neither the man nor his wife needed it any longer.
“So spacious. Truly fit for a commander.”
“Or a president,” Komari corrected him.
“Yes, but after we take the capitol, you shall have a palace.”
“Quite so. And do we have the army that will take us there? Are they ready?”
“Soon. In a matter of weeks.”
“Not sooner?” Komari asked with annoyance.
“Please, just a little more time. It would prove disastrous to move too early. The men need more training with the new weapons.”
Komari turned away from Atef. He recently saw what happened to an army when it wasn’t prepared. An encampment in the Solomons was attacked by Australians or Americans. He didn’t know for sure. Though they had weapons to defend themselves, the men were not ready. A survivor reported that 200 Muslim warriors died trying to figure out how to load their grenade launchers and fire a surface-to-air missile. Their leader, Komari’s older brother Omar, was killed in the assault.
Komari spoke to Atef with his back to his aide. “One month, Atef. I want to strike on my brother’s birthday.”
“On my word, we will be ready by then.”
“Then we will honor Omar’s name with our victory over the infidels, and drive the Christians into the ocean.”
“Mr. President, just a reminder. Dr. Kaplan will be along in ten minutes.”
“Thank you, Louise,” Taylor said over the intercom. “I can always count on you to let me know when someone’s going to poke and prod me.”
The president didn’t want to see the doctor, but Presley Friedman, chief of the Secret Service, reminded him that he had to get tuned up.
Morgan Taylor hated the invasive procedure. It made him feel like a dog on a leash. But this was one of those things even the President of the United States couldn’t say no to.
It was over in seven minutes.
“You may pull up your pants, Mr. President,” the doctor said.
Morgan Taylor rubbed his butt. Dr. James Kaplan quickly packed his bag and was ready to leave, but Presley Friedman held him up. He was on the phone. “Let’s just see if everything’s all right.”
“Of course it’s not all right. I’ve just been stabbed.”
Kaplan laughed. “For the record, sir, you’re such a baby.”
“For the record, Doctor, try being president and see how much you like this.”
Kaplan let out a louder laugh.
Friedman missed the exchange. He was talking to the Secret Service communications office. “Done,” he said. “See you in February, Doc.”
“Every six months, like a good teeth cleaning,” Kaplan added at the door.
“Teeth, my ass,” the president said to his director of the Secret Service. It was good for another laugh.
Chapter 56
Roarke bolted through the door with a quick, urgent hello. Captain Walker recognized his voice and swiveled around, away from her computer screen, to face him.
“Well, you’ve certainly been busy,” she began.
“And?” Roarke said before he was all the way to her desk.
“Impatient, are we?”
“Anxious.”
“Anxious? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Did you get my message?”
“Of course. But I’m stuck on anxious,” Walker said mockingly. “You know you’re wrong.”
“Wrong? About what?”
“The word. You’re looking for eager. You get anxious over fear or frustration, failure or disappointment. You’re anxious if you’re full of worry, dread. Anxiety. See, it’s even part of the same word. Eager is all about enthusiasm, interest. Oh, and desire.”
“Penny,” he said with a scowl.
She smiled, but continued. “When you use eager, you’ll often follow it with to, then the infinitive. Anxious gets a preposition. Anxious about. So you’re not anxious about what I’ve found. You’re eager to hear it.”