The President

by Parker Hudson

  “How?” Hugh asked, suddenly awake.

  They talked for fifteen minutes. When Teri finished and he added a few suggestions of his own, he splashed water on his face, dried off with a towel, and said, “Come on.”

  “Where to?” she asked.

  “The captain needs to hear this.”

  The measured breathing told Rebecca that Eunice was asleep, propped next to her in the corner of the room, her baby in her arms, resting on her lap. Rebecca had been listening and thinking for over an hour. Now she rose to her knees, crawled to the middle of the room, and bowed her head.

  Dear God I imagine you don’t like it when someone only prays to you when she’s in trouble. I know it seems like that now. And I guess it is. But I mean for it to be more than that. I really do. I’ve done nothing but mess up for years now— mainly I just haven’t thought about you at all. I’ve tried to do everything myself, ignoring your rules and...you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I see now—William has really helped me see—what a self-centered person I’ve been. I’ve looked at his life, and Carrie’s, and seen their happiness. O God, I want that kind of life. I want your Son in my life. Please, God, take me in the mess I’m in and change me. Forgive me for what I’ve done and make me over. Rebirth me, as new as this little boy here. Help me to learn your ways. Help me to keep your rules. Please, God, bless us and help us here. And bless William and the nation today.

  Forty minutes later the captain and executive officer had heard enough to authorize Teri to begin the modifications that would have to be made, since time would be running short if her plan was approved.

  “I’ll go down on the pier myself and talk to the Pentagon,” Captain Robertson said, taking a long sip from his coffee. “Hugh, what do you think?”

  “I have no idea what they’re considering in Washington, sir, but I really think this has a decent chance.”

  “I do, too. That’s why I want you to try to get to your brother and tell him about it. I think it’ll carry more weight coming face to face from you.”

  “Do you want me to go now? The Park Empire Hotel isn’t that far. I should be able to jog it in less than thirty minutes.”

  “No, wait until it starts to get light, then take four or five men in civilian clothes armed with .45s with you. Get back here as fast as you can— after you call Jennifer from the hotel.” He smiled. “But be careful what you say to her!”

  “Yes, sir.” Despite the early hour and complete lack of sleep, Hugh suddenly felt much better.

  “And Hugh, ask her to call Trudy.”

  Rebecca looked out and could notice the first traces of gray in the early morning sky. She was very tired, but she prayed again, then shook Eunice. It had been quiet in the clinic for almost three hours. At least one of the men had come to their floor and apparently gone to bed just down the hall.

  “It’s time to go,” she whispered.

  Both women had slept in their coats. Eunice sat up, then stood while Rebecca held the baby in one arm and helped her with the other. She took a few steps toward the door and then sat in the wheelchair, and Rebecca placed the baby, wrapped in towels, in her arms.

  Rebecca opened the door as quietly as she could and slowly pushed Eunice down the hall. The baby started to squirm, and Eunice reached to nurse him.

  From the elevator they could look into the open door of the bedroom, and there a huge man, face up on the bed, was snoring. Rebecca said her third prayer in as many minutes and pressed the down button. Luckily the cab was there at the landing, but just the sound of the doors opening was deafening in the silence of the early morning.

  Without looking back she rolled Eunice on, pushed the button for G, and turned around before the doors closed to see the man starting to roll over.

  In the elevator itself, which was as noisy as an amplified train crash, the baby started to cry, and he wasn’t interested in nursing. Rebecca and Eunice had no idea what would be waiting at the bottom. They held their breath.

  When the doors opened and the baby’s cries moved out into the larger area, Rebecca looked in the near darkness and saw one man sprawled in the hall toward the rear and another lying in the hall between them and the front door, with perhaps just enough room for the wheelchair to pass.

  Rebecca maneuvered the wheelchair out of the elevator and started down the hall toward the front. The baby continued to cry. As they passed the man in the hall, he appeared to wake up. He propped himself on one elbow, and Rebecca said, “Excuse me.”

  He grunted a reply from his daze, but let them pass.

  Rebecca, her heart in her throat, quickly unbolted the front door, and as it opened the burglar alarm siren went off again. “Eunice, you’ll have to walk down the steps. I’ll push the wheelchair. Hurry!” Rebecca bounced the wheelchair down the stairs then ran back up for the baby. Eunice followed, holding onto the railing with both hands. At the bottom, with shouts of “Hey!” coming loudly from inside, Eunice sat down in the chair again, holding her baby tightly, and Rebecca started pushing them down the sidewalk as fast as she could go.

  At about the same moment Hugh and five men dressed in civilian warm-ups left the head of the pier and jogged north and east in the graying dawn.

  Twenty-five minutes later he showed his ID and a letter from Captain Robertson at the police line, and shortly thereafter Hugh was in the elevator on the way up to the president’s floor.

  The two brothers embraced in the living room, which had become the New York version of the Situation Room. “Thanks for coming to see us in New York, little brother,” William chuckled. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”

  “Just glad to be of service to the family,” Hugh replied.

  After a few minutes of catching up on the twenty-one hours since Wafik’s message had come over fax machines across the nation, they sat down at a table with a map of the harbor.

  “Vince Harley told me you’d probably be coming. Your captain briefed him on the plan, and they’re studying it. He said you’d give me the details.”

  “Teri Slocum—you’ve heard me speak of her—came up with this idea a few hours ago. She reasoned that whether by automatic control or by manual override, the terrorists would only detonate the bomb if they felt they were actually under attack. They might fire defensive weapons at a perceived threat—they’ve already done that twice—but the bomb would go off only if the end seemed upon them. So she figures the key is to get close enough in a situation that leaves doubt in their minds—or in their computer’s mind—and then attack in a way that doesn’t forewarn them—doesn’t alert them with electronic lock-ons or laser targeting. And what started her thinking all this was seeing the missile they fired in front of that freighter yesterday. It was an AirFox.”

  “What’s so special about that.”

  “An AirFox would be no good against a slow-moving ship, especially one up close. It’s programmed for air defense only, and the warhead probably only becomes active after more than a mile of flight. If they only have Air-Fox missiles, they probably had no choice but to fire at nothing specific, in front of that freighter, to make it look like a warning. Teri doubts they could have hit it if they’d wanted to. And now that I’ve thought about it, I agree.

  “They’ve got those deadly point-defense Gatling guns, but they’re programmed primarily for incoming missiles. In short, they seem to be ready for anything and everything high-tech, but if Teri is right, John Paul Jones could slowly come alongside in an old man-of-war and blast ‘em!”

  “Have we got any old man-of-wars handy in New York?” the president asked.

  “We just might,” his younger brother replied.

  Rebecca pushed Eunice and her baby a full five blocks without stopping before she paused to catch her breath at the upper end of Central Park, which they could see in the approaching dawn was filled with people, some lying, some standing. They were both exhausted but ecstatic.

  “I guess I know why I’ve been training at that gym all these years!” Rebecca
gasped, holding her hands over her head. She was sweating from the exertion, and she unbuttoned her jacket. “I think we could place in the Olympic mother-and-child-in-a-wheelchair sprint, don’t you?”

  “Definitely. You did great, especially considering that you’re wearing a dress and flats!” Eunice said from the chair.

  “Well, after what you did yesterday, I couldn’t let you down today. We’re quite a team!”

  As Rebecca grasped the handles again, four young men came diagonally across Fifth Avenue toward them.

  “Uh-oh,” Eunice whispered, “looks like more trouble.”

  The unshaven toughs surrounded them in the increasing light, and one of them pulled a revolver out of his jacket.

  “Let’s have your money. Now.”

  Rebecca looked at them and then down at her passengers. Many people walked past, but no one stopped or seemed to be interested, as if this were now a common occurrence. “We don’t have any money. I guess we left our purses at the place we were staying.”

  “No money, huh? You, get up.”

  Eunice slowly rose, clutching her son to her. The leader had expected to find a purse wedged behind her. Seeing none, he grew angry. “No money! We ought to kill you, but you’ll probably die today anyway. Here, give me that chair!”

  Speechless, Rebecca and Eunice watched as the leader took the wheelchair under his command, and the four of them sauntered back across the street, laughing. Halfway across he sat in the chair and had one of his friends push him to the sidewalk.

  When they had disappeared around the corner, Eunice looked at Rebecca in despair. Rebecca smiled. “Here, give him to me. We’ve only got about fifty blocks to go. If we can’t find a ride and have to walk all the way, we should make it by Friday!”

  WASHINGTON—It was now seven-thirty, and Ryan Denning had been able to catch a few hours sleep before taking his chair again in the election set which also doubled as their nation-in-crisis set. He was midway through his recap of the few developments during the night and the first election poll openings in New Hampshire, when the director spoke in his earpiece and announced that they had a special guest appearance coming up after the next commercial.

  Two minutes later Trent Patterson joined Ryan on the set, and an impromptu interview began. Patterson was immaculately dressed in a blue suit and red tie, clean shaven, and gave no indication that he hadn’t slept at all.

  “Congressman Patterson, welcome to this special election day edition of This Morning. We’re always glad to see you, and we wish you well in today’s election.”

  Trent smiled. “Thank you, Ryan, but frankly I hope I’m only elected long enough to resign.”

  “What?”

  “Ryan, for the last day—no, really the last year—I’ve been living a lie. A lie to my constituents and a lie to the American people. I accepted a huge bribe from certain Mideast militants—I believe the same ones who now have the ship threatening us in New York harbor—and I’ve voted how they wanted me to vote on Mideast questions. I suspect I know some other congressmen on the same payroll.”

  As Ryan listened in disbelief and they skipped two commercial breaks, Trent Patterson outlined in specific detail how and why he had changed his vote on the Mideast. He described the meetings with Wafik in Paris on the taxpayers’ tab. And he finished with a description of Wafik’s call the day before, his demand that Patterson change his support for the president, and Patterson’s reluctant agreement to do so.

  “I did that because I was scared. But I’m not scared any more. I’m ashamed, but not scared. My speech yesterday at the Jefferson Memorial was nothing but lies motivated by cash and fear. If William Harrison can face our enemies in New York, trusting in God, the least I can do is support him and his program here in Washington.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of my district, vote for me today to keep my opponent out, and I’ll resign in January. I’m a disgrace to your trust. But William Harrison and his Twenty Points are what this nation needs. As I depart public life and face whatever punishment awaits me, please make my ordeal of the last year count for something, and elect the president’s slate today at the polls. What he said last night is correct. None of us knows what today holds. But he’s right in saying that God holds today. Thank you, Ryan, and good-bye.”

  Without saying another word, Patterson rose and left the studio.

  NEW YORK Hugh called Jennifer after talking with William—it was the most difficult call of his life. He knew he very well might never see her again on earth. And he had to hurry as well, because they needed him on the ship. They shared their love for each other, and he said he’d see her in a few days. “Kiss the kids for me,” he concluded, his heart almost breaking, and hung up.

  Then he told William good-bye with the same sense of finality.

  “Keep working on the details of your plan, and if the Pentagon approves it, they’ll let you know on the open line,” William said. “Thanks for everything, Hugh. I’m sorry you’re here, but I’m also real glad you’re here. Please pray as often as you have time.”

  And with a final embrace, the two brothers parted.

  William had made arrangements the night before for five Secret Service agents to accompany Mary as she tried to find Rebecca. They decided to walk the length of Central Park—about fifty blocks—to 110th Street. After a quick breakfast Mary kissed William good-bye and promised to be back, or to check in by radio, no later than noon. Because the clinic was located on the east side, they first walked over to Lexington Avenue before turning north. They had no way of knowing that Rebecca and Eunice were walking south at a terribly slow pace, against the flow of everyone else that morning, on Fifth Avenue.

  ACROSS THE NATION—It was an election day like no other in memory. Many workplaces didn’t even bother to open, and most people on the job spent their time in front of televisions or radios. The live picture of the Bright Star taken from a high-rise building continued to dominate the coverage on every channel, though for at least the morning Congressman Patterson’s confession drew a lot of coverage and comment.

  And all across America people voted. Election officials reported from every city and town that the turnout was much heavier than usual. Reporters who stopped people on the street to get their opinions found that the voters were maddeningly balanced. No one could predict the outcome. As the morning went on, tension mounted across the nation. There were calls for William Harrison to resign immediately. Churches held prayer vigils and services for national repentance. The voting continued and continued to be heavy. Whatever else President Harrison had done with his challenge, he had drawn a line in the sand and encouraged Americans to choose—to serve the Lord or to serve man. And apparently motivated as well by the terrorists in New York, Americans were responding. But no one knew how they were voting.

  NEW YORK—Late in the morning, after a long and moving phone conversation with Trent Patterson, William again took to the street with Jerry Richardson and the Secret Service. This time they walked directly to the edge of the police perimeter and noticed far fewer people on the street, though it was still moderately crowded with people and a few cars heading north away from the Battery. No one could know whether the majority of people had actually left Manhattan or had resigned themselves to stay or were trapped. The mayor had set a five o’clock deadline for emergency personnel and vehicles to attempt to evacuate the elderly and the injured. After that time all city personnel were to assemble inside the police perimeter just south of Central Park. They would then be assigned to designated spaces in the interiors of buildings that faced north, and emergency vehicles would be parked in underground car parks.

  At that same hour all subways would be stopped, and any citizens still left in Manhattan would be encouraged to seek shelter for the night in the subway stations and along the tunnels.

  “The maddening thing,” William said to Jerry as they walked, with Leslie’s crew following and taping—but with her agreement that nothing would be broadcast without the pre
sident’s permission—“is that we don’t know exactly when they might do something.

  “I mean, on the chance that the vice president might win and the terrorists’ demands be met, should we risk attacking them and perhaps destroying New York in what will in hindsight seem like a tragically desperate move on our part?

  “But if we win, when will they blow up the city? Immediately? While they’re still on board? After they’ve escaped? At three tomorrow morning? And what constitutes us winning, in their minds? A network prediction? A certified ballot? This is really going to be difficult, Jerry, particularly if the Pentagon approves one of the attack plans. When should we initiate it?”

  His chief advisor and friend walked on in silence, then spoke. “I don’t know, William. I don’t think we can give too much weight to what might happen. For all we know, they might blow us up at 12:01 today because the first two demands aren’t met on time. Or they might blow us up no matter what else happens. I think we’ve got to wait until one of the attack plans is as ready as its going to be, then move. Hindsight can prove anything. We’ve got to deal with what’s here, now. And that means take them out when and if we can.”

  William reflected for a moment. “That makes sense, Jerry. Thanks. I guess we’ll wait to hear from the Pentagon.”

  Hugh arrived back at the ship and reported to the captain on his meeting with the president. Then he found Teri in the missile fire control area of the combat information center.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Slow but okay. It’s the first time any of us have done this. Want to hear something ironic?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Well, first, our Harpoon anti-ship missile won’t work because it’s fixed at a forty-five degree angle—it would fire right over the freighter. So our only hope is a standard anti-aircraft missile in surface mode, fired from the swivel launcher; we’re one of the last two or three ships in the navy to even have it. And then the missile modification we’re doing has only been possible for about a year. It was one of the last changes MisWepsCom developed before your brother de-funded them out of existence after he took office.”