Executive Treason

by Grossman, Gary H.

“Henry is in ICU. We might want to send him our prayers now.”

  Morgan Taylor closed his eyes for a half-minute. When he opened them, the ten men and one woman were all looking at him.

  “Eve,” he said to the attorney general, “I have a copy of the Constitution for you.” He slid the bound volume across the table. “I would appreciate it if you would read the 25th Amendment aloud, and outline the process we are to follow.”

  In all of Eve Goldman’s 54 years, this was by far the hardest thing she ever had to do. The former senator from Delaware and mother of three raised her reading glasses, which were attached to a beaded chain that hung around her neck. “Begging your pardon, sir, I think I should begin with Article II, Section 1.”

  Morgan Taylor nodded. “Quite right, Madam Attorney General.”

  She thumbed through the pages, finding what she needed.

  “In case of the removal of the President from office, or of his death, or inability to discharge the powers and duties of the said office, the same shall devolve on the Vice President and the Congress may by law provide for the case of removal, death, resignation, or inability, both of the President and Vice President, declaring what officer shall then act as President, and such officer shall act accordingly, until the disability be removed, or a President shall be elected.”

  Goldman removed her glasses and addressed the room. “The exact order of succession has changed over the years. Now, according to the terms of the 25th Amendment, the Speaker of the house will be next in line after the vice president. Has the Speaker been notified, Mr. Vice President?”

  “Yes.” Taylor looked at his watch. “He should be arriving within a few minutes. He’ll be briefed then.”

  “Then I’ll continue.” She turned to the 25th Amendment, near the end of the volume. “I’ll paraphrase first, then read verbatim. Section 3 stipulates that during a period when the president believes he will not be able to serve as president, however temporarily, he may declare himself unable to discharge the powers and duties of the office, at which point the vice president must assume the office as acting president.”

  She addressed Morgan Taylor. “Mr. Vice President, President Lamden is unable to make this decision for himself?”

  “Affirmative. He cannot.”

  “On your word?” she asked sharply.

  “On the diagnosis of his supervising physician.” Taylor didn’t mean his comment to sound curt. “I’m sorry. Before we do what we must do, you will hear from him on the phone. We will also get confirmation from FBI Chief Robert Mulligan at the hospital. You may discuss the prognosis with the lead physician.”

  “Thank you. You understand we must have that confirmation.”

  “Absolutely. I expect nothing less.”

  “Then I’ll move on to Section 4 of the 25th Amendment. This permits the vice president, together with a majority of the members of the cabinet to…” She paused, choking on her own words. “Excuse me. This is quite difficult.” She reached for the water in front of her. “This permits the vice president, together with a majority of the president’s cabinet, to declare the president incapacitated and thus incapable of discharging the duties.”

  “Is that is our purpose here?” asked Secretary of State Norman Poole.

  “Exactly,” Morgan Taylor answered. “You’ll need to take a vote.”

  The position is termed “acting president,” so decreed by the 25th Amendment to the United States Constitution because it is a temporary office.

  Morgan Taylor made it very clear that’s how he saw it. They were not ousting Henry Lamden. Taylor was replacing him, with full presidential authority, until which time President Lamden could resume his duties. The actual amendment allowed the president to declare himself unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office. Under such circumstances he could and must voluntarily relinquish the office. Unfortunately, as Taylor explained, this was not the case.

  Lamden was very ill. History was being made, and history would be the judge of the vote in the cabinet room.

  After consulting with the president’s physicians, Eve Goldman, also a former Harvard law professor, provided a primer on presidential transference of power.

  “There’s actually not much precedent. Before the passage of the 25th Amendment, Dwight Eisenhower suffered a heart attack in 1955. But he failed to relinquish control to his vice president, Richard Nixon. We could spend a fair amount of time talking about their relationship, but let’s leave that for another day.

  “There was, of course, LBJ’s succession upon the death of President Kennedy. Then all was quiet until 1981, when Ronald Reagan was shot in an assassination attempt. Vice President George Bush decided not to invoke the 25th Amendment. However, in 1985, Ronald Reagan underwent colon surgery to remove cancerous polyps. He voluntarily declared his temporary incapacity to the Speaker of the House and president pro tempore of the Senate, the first time an element of the 25th was invoked. Vice President George H. W. Bush acted as president for nearly eight hours. Presidential authority was transferred back to Reagan upon receipt of a second letter transmitted by the president.

  “In June 2002, President George Bush similarly declared himself unable to discharge the duties of the office prior to his colonoscopy. Vice President Dick Cheney assumed control for just under two-and-a-half hours while the president was sedated.

  “I don’t think anyone in this room would argue the fact that this is clearly different.”

  Morgan Taylor thought to himself that he really did miss the job. He missed the authority and the responsibility. But he didn’t want to serve as president this way.

  “Mr. Vice President, is there anything you want to say before we take the vote?” Secretary of State Norman Poole asked.

  “The press will want to know how you voted and what you thought. Some will even question whether this is a coup of some sort by a defeated president. You can tell them that we are doing what the Constitution requires. You are not electing or appointing me president today. We—together—are deciding by majority whether or not President Lamden is incapacitated. Even though the powers and duties will be transmitted to me, it must be clear that—and that alone—is what we are doing. Am I correct, Eve?”

  “Yes,” the attorney general replied.

  “What do we call you, sir?” the Secretary of Interior asked, not really knowing.

  Once again, Taylor deferred to the attorney general.

  “According to the Amendment, the acting president is to be accorded the protocol consistent with the office,” she answered. Eve Goldman stood up. She straightened out her black silk suit and tugged at the starched cuffs. She gave Morgan Taylor a respectful nod. “He will be—Mr. President.”

  Morgan Taylor worried about two men as the Cabinet offered their support: the one he replaced, who was deathly sick, and the one who stood to replace him. Speaker of the House Duke Patrick.

  Part II

  Chapter 26

  Washington, D.C.

  The White House Press Room

  Saturday, 23 June

  8:00 A.M. EDT

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” press secretary Bagley began, “I have an announcement of utmost importance. When I’m finished with the statement I will take questions. There will be another press conference at 10 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time.”

  Bagley was a former radio announcer and newsman himself. Many of the reporters had been colleagues. But no one could be considered a friend anymore. He realized that as he looked into their hungry eyes.

  “At oh-three-one-five hours, 3:15 A.M., President Henry Lamden fell ill. Mrs. Lamden notified the Secret Service that her husband had difficulty breathing. A medical team was at his side within four minutes. Doctors at Walter Reed Hospital have since determined that he has suffered a serious heart attack.”

  Camera flashes popped. The pool video camera fed the television routers that linked to each of the major broadcast and cable news operations
. Radio news operations were similarly hooked up. The pounding sound of laptop keys was audible all the way up to the podium where Bagley nervously stood.

  Two dozen reporters called out simultaneously, but the press secretary thrust his hand up.

  “President Lamden is in guarded condition. You will hear from his doctors shortly.”

  Hands shot up in the air. More shouts. But Bagley continued.

  “At 4:55 A.M., the terms of the 25th Amendment were invoked and the Oath of Office was administered to Vice President Taylor by Chief Justice Leopold Browning. Mr. Taylor is now serving as President of the United States. He will address the nation later today.”

  By the time Bagley was onto the questions, NBC interrupted the Today Show, and ABC cut into Good Morning America. The same was true at CBS and the news channels, which went live from the White House. Morning shock jocks across the country were handed bulletins. They immediately changed their tone. Text messages fired across cell phones.

  Within twelve minutes, the loudest voices on the air launched into their opinions. The echoes followed. People looking for real news on the transition would have to wait as the airwaves filled with uninformed wall-to-wall talk.

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Katie began to slip out of bed as quietly as she could. She thought Roarke deserved extra sleep after last night. She slid her legs to the left, then slowly rolled to her side, letting the sheet fall back to the bed. Katie propped herself up on her arm, rising to a sitting position. She turned back to look at her lover. No, she thought. She’d had lovers before, the first at 18. Scott is so much more than a lover.

  She watched him breathe, quite proud that she had actually gotten this far without waking Roarke. He slept so peacefully. Roarke’s head was turned to the side. He lay on his back. His left arm was still extended forward, where Katie had snuggled for so many hours. His legs were spread apart.

  He’s the first real man I’ve known. Scott’s the only man I want to know.

  She decided to stay in bed. Katie rolled back around, snuggled into his arm again, and reached under the sheets to find him. He stirred. Simultaneously, she nestled into his neck and kissed him. Leaving Roarke was not what she wanted to do. Not for a short time. Not forever.

  Neither was sleeping.

  The White House

  The Oval Office

  the same time

  “Good morning.” Morgan Taylor wore one of his Brooks Brothers black pinstripe suits. He opted for a subdued maroon tie over a white shirt. His voice was calm and reassuring as he sat at the desk in the Oval Office. Pictures of President Lamden and his family were visible behind him. He intentionally kept them in view. “This has been a difficult day: a day of transition. My good friend, and our president, Henry Lamden, suffered a serious heart attack late last night. He remains in intensive care, and with our prayers and God’s help, he will be back where he belongs—in this seat, with years of good work ahead of him.” Soon was noticeably absent from the sentence. “However, for now, our forefathers have provided us with the means to continue the normal process of governing our great nation.

  “As you have probably heard on news broadcasts throughout the day, I have been sworn in as president, until such time that President Lamden is well enough to return. His doctors tell me they are hopeful, but it will take time.

  “Commentators are wondering, as you must be, whether my service will precipitate a change in policy. Circumstances make that an obvious question. While it is true President Lamden and I are from different political parties, we represent the American people. He asked me to join his administration in the spirit of unity. I now sit in his seat, promising you that unity, not politics, will be the mark of my leadership.”

  Taylor had struggled over the words in his speech. He wanted to convey the feeling that there would not be a fundamental change in the direction of the executive branch, while also stating that he planned on governing.

  “We have much to accomplish. And yes, I will consult with President Lamden and turn to him for advice and counsel when his doctors allow. When he has recovered, I will step aside and welcome our president back to the Oval Office.”

  Minutes before his speech, specialists at Walter Reed told Taylor that might never happen.

  Boston, Massachusetts

  an hour later

  “I insist. You go. I’ll make some calls. Check my e-mail. Slip into one of your dresses.”

  “Oh, stop that,” Katie said.

  “Okay, okay. I just want to know where all the zippers and buttons are,” Roarke answered.

  “I’ll be happy to point out each and every one, but I think I can honestly say that’s not a problem for you, Mr. Roarke. I’ve seen what you can do in the dark.” They both laughed. “Come on,” she continued. “You won’t have to do a thing except duck under the jib. I’ll be gentle.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m a landlubber.”

  “Please.”

  Roarke laughed. “You’re pouting.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  She was.

  “You are.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are, and it’s okay. I haven’t seen that before. It’s a good look for you.”

  Katie frowned. “It is?”

  “Yes. And I know why.” He reached across the breakfast table, pushing aside the coffee cups and maneuvering around the spinach omelet Katie prepared. “You came back to bed this morning because you don’t want us to be apart.”

  “I didn’t do any such…”

  “Shhush.”

  She stopped. No one has ever known me like you do, she acknowledged by squeezing his hand.

  “You did, and I’m very glad. But if you think I’m pushing you away now, I’m not.” Roarke gently squeezed her hand, communicating the same love. “So, go sail. If I finish quickly, I’ll come down to watch.”

  “Promise?” she said softly.

  “I promise.” Roarke rose. “Come here, you.”

  She stepped forward, and Roarke pulled Katie into her arms.

  She loved the feeling of his arms around her body. He could hold her so tightly, yet his touch always seemed tender. He was certainly more fit than anyone she’d ever known, but he had a softness that made sleeping in his arms absolutely wonderful. And while she had no doubt he had killed, his eyes were warm and inviting. Scott Roarke was full of these kinds of contradictions. Katie believed no one else had ever gotten so close to him. As far as she was concerned, no one else ever would.

  They locked in a long, engulfing kiss until Katie reluctantly pulled back.

  “You win,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I’m outta here. Besides, I think I could use the fresh air.”

  “Good. Now go.”

  Katie pulled the few things she needed together, tucked a Red Sox T-shirt into her tan shorts, tied her sneakers, and straightened up.

  Roarke thought she looked just great. It was getting harder to be without her.

  “Later,” Katie said. She went to the only door of her Beacon Hill apartment and unbolted the lock. The sound only served to remind Roarke that he wished there was a back door. He always wanted to know there was another way out of every place. The thought blocked her goodbye from sinking in, but as she closed the door, Roarke did hear Katie add, “And leave my dresses alone!”

  The wind was perfect. It blew across the Charles River at 11 knots, filling the 55 square feet of Katie’s Vanguard Laser sail. The Community Boating program had a fleet of some seventy boats, any of which where available to Katie for only $175 a season. Her rented 130-pound craft reached 0′1″ into the midday sky. She preferred the speedy single-skipper Laser rather then one of the family-sized Rhodes 19s, Cape Cod Mercury sloops, or 14-footer 420s. Anyone, no matter the age, had access to the same craft throughout the season, providing they passed the appropriate tests.

  She took to the Charles from the first of April through the end of Oc
tober. Katie’s friends knew that this was her time. That’s why Roarke insisted that she go sailing. Colleagues at the office also recognized that even if she was swamped with work on Saturdays, only bitter cold or stormy weather would keep her from getting out on the water.

  Katie was a good sailor, with no greater aspirations than just to have fun. She wished that Scott would share this passion with her. While the boat skipped over the Charles, banking before the Longfellow Bridge near Boston’s Museum of Science, she imagined how incredible he’d look in his T-shirt, with the wind blowing through his hair. The very thought aroused her. But she’d have to live with the fantasy. Roarke was adamant. She could have the water.

  The Charles was relatively clean these days, thanks to the successful efforts of the Charles River Watershed Association. No longer was it the river described in the old rock song, “Dirty Water.” Beginning in 1965, the year before the Standells’ song reached Number 11 on the charts, the organization began to monitor pollution and push for improvements. Swimming was still prohibited by the Metropolitan District Commission.

  Accordingly, it would be unusual to see anyone take a plunge into the Charles River basin between Boston and Cambridge. However, a man in a wet suit and scuba tank with an MDC lanyard strung around his neck was another thing. The diver looked official. Nobody took any notice as he slipped below the surface.

  Roarke left Katie’s apartment. He wanted to use his own phone—definitely not hers. He placed the call to Army Captain Penny Walker’s direct line. Come on, Penny, he said to himself. She’d left an encouraging, though cryptic message on his cell phone: “Scott, got some things to go over with you about your boy. Get back to me.”

  He’d missed her call when he was in the shower with Katie. Although they couldn’t get into specifics now, Roarke was eager to hear the headlines.

  “Walker,” she said, picking up on the third ring.

  “Captain, you rang my chimes?”

  She recognized his voice. “That was years ago,” she responded in a far sweeter voice.