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by Richard Stephenson

  “I’m waiting for an answer.” The president was becoming clearly agitated.

  “Mr. President, I think the best thing for us to do right now…”

  “The best thing for you to do right now is not to coddle me like a child and answer my question. Or do I have to find out for myself?”

  “Yes, Mr. President, of course. My apologies. Computer, show us the Gulf of Mexico.”

  A map of the Gulf of Mexico and the Texas coastline spilled across the wall. The path of Hurricane Maxine was indicated by a series of lines cutting across Galveston Island and ending north of Houston. An overlay of the power grid indicated that the majority of the state was in the dark.

  “Computer, display the I-45 corridor from Galveston to Houston.”

  The people in the room could only hope that the image was incorrect, because the only thing they saw on the screen was water.

  “This is a nightmare,” Charles Decker lamented. “We have no idea how many people drowned in that, do we?

  “I’m afraid not. It’s been over a month, and the death toll in Florida is continuing to rise. It will be some time before we know the final figures in both states,” answered President Powers.

  “Computer, zoom in on downtown Houston.” The president braced himself.

  Houston had been decimated. The city was underwater and many skyscrapers had either fallen or were leaning over, resting on their neighbors. The flood covering Houston was filled with debris. Cars, houses, trees, traffic lights, and raw sewage sloughed around. Admiral Mack took the initiative and walked over to the screen. He raised his hands to interact with the computer and with a series of gestures, zoomed and panned around the destruction. People could be seen floating on billboards and standing on rooftops. Admiral Mack chose a section and zoomed in even closer to see a large collection of corpses that had floated into what appeared to be a large parking lot and rested against the side of a building. After a few seconds passed and recognition kicked in, he quickly zoomed out of the image and left it as it had been before.

  The president had prepared for this; he knew the destruction in Texas would be as it had been in Florida. He struggled every minute of every day with the decision he had made. Malcolm stubbed out his cigarette and spoke. “I have sacrificed a great many American lives to stop The Great Empire of Iran. When this is all over, I will have to figure out a way to live with the decisions I have made. I will certainly have to answer to God for bringing so many innocent people to His gates. If we are successful in stopping the Empire, we will have saved the world from complete destruction.” The president stopped, and a look of complete shame and remorse erased every shred of proof that he had any confidence in what he had done. “Even if we do manage to save the world, I will never be able to reconcile the horrible things for which I am solely responsible. I am presiding over the destruction of our nation; that much is painfully clear. My only hope is that my successors will be able to pick up the pieces and repair the damage left in my wake.”

  President Malcolm Powers turned his chair away from his guests and faced the window. No one in the room spoke a word. They simply sat in the painful silence, astonished over the sequence of events that brought such anguish to their friend and beloved president.

  “I’d like to be alone.”

  Everyone quietly exited the room. Chief of Staff Reid lingered by the door, waiting for her boss to tell her to remain behind. He did not. She walked down the hall toward the living room and saw her colleagues gathered in a group, clearly talking about the president. As she attempted to join the group, Director Jimenez promptly turned his wheelchair away from her and sped off.

  “What was that about?” Stacy questioned Secretary Decker and Admiral Mack.

  The two men looked at each other deciding who should speak. “Go ahead and tell her, Chuck.”

  “Tell me what?” Stacy looked at Secretary Decker.

  “Well, let’s just say that Roberto is very displeased with the president.”

  “That’s not really a secret. Roberto has never been one to hide the fact that he hates the president with a passion.”

  “Well, yes, that much is obvious to everyone, the president included.”

  “It’s more than just that. He’s been saying some pretty crazy things since we left the White House.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, he thinks the president is a coward for leaving Washington. He said the president showed the entire world that when the going gets tough, he runs like a frightened child.”

  “Oh, come on. That’s ridiculous. D.C. is in the middle of a war zone. If he didn’t leave on his own, the Secret Service would have bound and gagged him and drug him up here to the ranch.”

  “That’s just the beginning, Stacy,” Admiral Mack looked back to Secretary Decker, “tell her the best part.”

  “Hold on, we’ll get to that. Our crippled spy is of the opinion that we should launch a nuclear strike on the Empire and bring our military home to the shores of Florida and Texas.”

  “So, that crazy asshole is in favor of a nuclear holocaust that would most likely destroy mankind? He really thinks we could just turn the Middle East into a parking lot and our problems would just go away? Who’s to say that our own allies wouldn’t turn on us thinking we were trying to take over the world? You think China would let that go unanswered?”

  “Well, the director doesn’t see it that way. He thinks the United States should be in control of world affairs. He’s confident that the European Army would back our play.”

  “Is he senile? He can’t possibly believe that!”

  “He does, I promise you.”

  “Wait, there’s something even better than that nonsense? You haven’t gotten to the best part yet, have you?”

  The Admiral decided that Charles Decker had done enough talking and wanted to be the one to relay the rest to the Chief of Staff. “Director Jimenez feels Malcolm Powers is unfit for office. He thinks the panic attack we just saw is grounds enough to invoke the Twenty-Fifth Amendment. Says his mental state is impairing his judgment. Even tried to bring the First Lady into it.”

  Stacy Reid was beside herself with shock. Her eyes were huge orbs in her pallid face and her jaw gaped wide. “The Twenty-Fifth? The panic attack means he isn’t fit to… Wait! Is he actually stupid enough to imply that the First Lady is contagious or something? Her mental health means somehow he’s going to… That son of a bitch! The nerve of him! Jesus!”

  “It was all I could do not to tip him out of his wheelchair and kick his ass,” Admiral Mack said, looking down the hall to see if anyone was listening.

  Stacy continued to shake her head in disbelief. “Is that asshole up to something? What’s he planning?”

  Secretary Decker replied, “I don’t know. He’s been slowly confiding in us to see where we stand. We’ve been playing along, not really agreeing or disagreeing, just listening. He watches the president like a hawk. If either one of us approaches Malcolm, he makes sure to be in the room. He won’t dare say a word around you.”

  “I’m one of the few people who speaks one-on-one with the president.”

  “Correct.”

  “I can’t believe this. Does Malcolm know about any of this?”

  “Absolutely not, and we need to keep it that way,” Admiral Mack had a grim look on his face. “The last thing the president needs is to entertain any of this nonsense.”

  “He has to know something’s going on. I’ve been wondering this whole time why Roberto hasn’t left. I’m sure Malcolm has been wondering the same thing.”

  “You’re probably right. Malcolm knows better than to think Roberto is here to support him.”

  “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “Of course.”

  Stacy walked outside to the back porch overlooking the ranch and sat down on the porch swing. She slowly rocked back and forth, trying to make sense of the CIA director. Was he just a crazy old man or was a larger conspirac
y going on? Who on earth would trust the top spy to do anything? Her train of thought was derailed by her smartphone vibrating in her pocket. She pulled it out to find a message from Malcolm.

  “Come to my office please”

  Stacy replied that she was on her way. She quickly walked down the hall to his office, hoping he wasn’t having another panic attack. She knocked on the door and entered when the president replied. Thankfully, Malcolm was not panicked or upset. To the contrary, he was smiling.

  “It’s time I let you in on a little secret.”

  “What on earth are you doing, Malcolm?”

  “What do you think of Jimenez being here?”

  “I know we’re thinking the same thing.”

  “He’s up to something. He would have left as soon as humanly possible otherwise.”

  “Well, since you brought it up, I just found out something that might shed some light on the subject.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “Roberto has been vocal in his disapproval in you.”

  “That doesn’t shed light on anything. The man hates me. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Well, I’m not sure where to begin.”

  “Take your time.”

  “I guess I’ll just cut to the chase. He wants you out of office.”

  “He’s always wanted me out of office. Pretty sure he’s felt the same about the other two presidents he’s served under. Again, tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Will you stop interrupting me, please?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “As I was saying, he really and truly wants you out of office. He spoke with Bill and Chuck about invoking the Twenty-Fifth.”

  Malcolm laughed, “On what grounds?”

  “Your mental state. Something about the overwhelming stress causing a nervous breakdown.”

  “Well, being the first president in over two hundred years to not only lose the White House but also the nation’s capital can be a little hard to cope with.”

  “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “Well, if I don’t at least try I’m going to lose my mind.”

  “Probably shouldn’t repeat that.”

  “Good idea.”

  “What happened to the other president that lost the White House? How’d that turn out for him?”

  “You should be ashamed of your appallingly bad education. Did you even go to college?”

  “Very funny. Just answer the question, professor.”

  “War of 1812? President Madison? Ring a bell?”

  “Not really.”

  “Dolly Madison saving the painting of Washington while British troops were only blocks away?”

  “No. Didn’t really pay attention in history class. Thought it was boring.”

  “Such a shame. And not that you care in the slightest, but Dolly Madison didn’t actually save the painting. It was President Madison’s gardener.”

  “What happened to the White House?”

  “Burned to the ground.”

  “Well, at least you have that much going for you.”

  “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “I am, yes.”

  “Okay, back to the matter at hand. We need to figure out a way to beat Jimenez at his own game.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, at the next meeting I think I will become unglued and start acting irrational. You will express your concern, only making me angrier. Then I want you to insist that I get some rest for a few days and let the vice-president take over. That’s when I’m going to fire you and have the Secret Service haul you out of here kicking and screaming.”

  “And then wait for Roberto to come to me.”

  “Exactly.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Sir, are you all right?” asked Hal.

  Howard Beck was sitting aboard his escape pod with his eyes closed, muttering to himself.

  “Sir, your blood pressure and pulse rate concern me.”

  Howard kept his eyes shut and continued to mutter to himself. He had climbed into the escape pod and harnessed himself as tightly as he could. The launching of the craft was carried out flawlessly, and it was operating perfectly, thanks to Hal. The vehicle was roughly the size of an SUV. Howard was terrified of flying.

  “Sir, I know you are frightened, your vital signs are alarming me. Please try to remain calm. I’m worried that you might suffer cardiac arrest.”

  With his heart pounding like a drum, Howard couldn’t hear a thing Hal was saying.

  “Sir, it is imperative that you try to remain calm. I am going to give you something to help you relax.” Hal mixed a gaseous sedative into the air supply. “Take deep breaths, sir. Everything is going to be fine. Try and relax.”

  Howard immediately felt the effects of the gas. “Thank you, Old Man. I feel much better.”

  “You are welcome, sir. I was beginning to worry.”

  “Hal, I need to speak to the president, right now.”

  “Sir, the president and his staff have evacuated the White House. I have been unable to contact anyone.”

  “What? I thought he was in the presidential bunker waiting out a terrorist attack?”

  “He was, sir, however, the National Guard has lost control of Washington. The capital has fallen. The logical assumption is that the president was moved to Serenity Hills.”

  “What do you mean ‘you assume’? How can you not know where the president is at this very moment?”

  “I believe the Secret Service has initiated a communications blackout. The president could very well be aboard Air Force One or at any number of secure locations. Serenity Hills would be the logical assumption being that it is the most secure location away from Washington.”

  “Something very wrong is going on, and I intend to find out what it is. I don’t believe for one second that Malcolm Powers had anything to do with the attack on Beck Estates. Someone is working against the president; there’s a plot that involves more than just taking my house.”

  “What do you want to do, sir?”

  “How far can this escape pod take us?”

  “This craft was designed to deliver you safely to Beck Castle.”

  “Yes, Hal, I know that. Can we make it to the Chicago office?”

  “No, sir. We do not have enough fuel to travel that far.”

  “What if we refueled at the Castle? Could we make it then?”

  “Yes, sir, we could. If we took off from the ground we could make the trip in less than two hours.”

  “Make the preparations. I don’t want to waste a single minute. Have a jet standing by in Chicago when we land. We have to get to Malcolm. I have to tell him what’s going on.”

  “I will make the arrangements, sir.”

  The escape pod could be launched like a rocket as it had been from Beck Estates, or it could take off from a runway like a jet. Launching it as a rocket expended a great deal of fuel and greatly limited its range. Once they were at the Castle, they could fill the tanks and take off from the ground like a jet. It would be risky, given that they didn’t have a runway to use. Howard was not concerned with the risk. It was imperative that he get to Malcolm and warn him that something very bad was transpiring. The nation was falling apart. If things were so bad that they had to evacuate the White House, it was far worse than Howard had imagined. Every major city was descending into chaos with riots, fires, and lawlessness. Howard hoped that it was just a rogue group of renegade soldiers that decided to take his house from him. Maybe they knew how bad things were getting and saw his estate as the perfect stronghold to wait things out. Howard wanted to believe this but couldn’t shake the fact that they had fired a missile at his house. A splinter group from the Unified National Guard would not have a fighter jet at their disposal, and they certainly couldn’t fire a missile on American soil without attracting attention. The plot had to be much bigger.

  As they arrived at Beck Castle, the desert floor opened up to reveal th
e landing pad. The escape pod landed, and several robots were dispatched to prepare the craft for take off.

  “How long before we can take off again?”

  “Just under five minutes, sir.”

  “Good! I’m going down below to change clothes and take a piss.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Howard rode the elevator down to the main floor and rushed down the hallway to his quarters. Catching sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, Howard was shocked at how dirty and shabby he looked. His long, white hair was stringy and sticking out in disarray. He hadn’t shaved in days and had the beginnings of a scraggly beard. Howard had been wearing the same bathrobe for days and hadn’t showered since he put on the robe. He looked like a crazy, homeless person rather than the richest man in the world. In the few minutes he had, he splashed water on his face, ran a comb through his ratty hair as best he could, and brushed his teeth. He grabbed his electric razor and shaved his face and put on clean clothes. Howard knew Malcolm trusted him and valued his opinion; however, he was not going to present himself to the president of the United States looking like a bum. He wanted the president and his staff to take him seriously.

  Howard finished dressing and put on the nicest shoes he could find. He hated wearing shoes, preferring to wear his slippers. He exited his quarters and started down the hall to the elevator.

  “Sir, we are ready for departure.”

  “Great, I’m on my way, Hal.”

  Howard rode the elevator to the landing pad and climbed aboard the escape pod, trying to remain calm. Thankfully the sedative that Hal gave him was still lingering in his system.

  “We gonna have a problem with takeoff?”

  “No, sir, I dispatched the maintenance robots to clear a path from the landing pad. We have an adequate amount of level ground free from obstruction. We are ready to depart on your word.”

  Howard closed his eyes and gripped the armrests. “Let’s get going.”

  The escape pod lurched from the landing pad and raced across the desert floor. Howard was so completely terrified that if he hadn’t emptied his bladder, he would have done so in the cockpit. As the craft picked up speed, Howard was pushed back against his seat with tremendous force. He felt his cheeks ripple back and could not move his head. As the craft ascended and leveled off, Howard opened his eyes.