by Robert Gandt
Looking more solemn is the group standing in a row to Libby’s left. The petite, dark-haired widow of Gen. Jack Cassidy is clutching the Air Force Cross that Libby has presented. Cassidy’s two daughters stand on either side of their mother, unable to hold back their tears. The families of the four Secret Service agents gunned down in the doorway of Air Force One are gathered in a small cluster, holding their medals. The large extended family of Col. Joe Morganti—children, siblings, half a dozen nieces and nephews—stand in a protective huddle around Morganti’s widow.
Libby turns back to the reporters. A man in the third row, Merle Simmons from NBC News, is waving his hand. “Your turn, Mr. Simmons,” Libby says.
“Madame President,” says Simmons, “there has been no mention of the former Presidential Pilot, Colonel Peter Brand. Can you comment on that?”
Libby doesn’t answer right away. She clasps her hand tighter around the hard object in her right hand. The cross has a smooth satin finish. Against her palm she can feel the center of the cross, a gold eagle encircled by a laurel wreath. Libby believes that she is drawing strength from the medal.
She looks at Simmons. “As you know, the death of Colonel Brand has saddened all of us. He will be missed. . .” Libby pauses.
Don’t let them see you cry. Brand told her that once. And she hasn’t. Not since the service three days ago at Arlington where, beneath a glorious blue sky, standing beside the flag-draped casket while the bugler sounded Taps, Libby whispered her goodbye to Pete Brand. And her tears had flowed for all to see.
Libby clears her throat and continues. “He will be missed by all of us who knew him. Colonel Brand was one of the honorees at the private ceremony we conducted earlier in the East Room. Because he left no immediate relatives to receive his Air Force Cross, it was appropriate that I, as President, accept the medal on his behalf.” Libby squeezes the medal tighter in her fist.
The reporter isn’t finished. “Madame President, as you know, there has been speculation in some quarters that you and Colonel Brand may have been . . . particularly close. Would you care to address that subject?”
Simmons is a cobra, Libby thinks. But she has learned about cobras. She no longer fears them. She looks directly at the reporter. “I’m aware of the speculation, Mr. Simmons. For the record, I would not be standing here if it were not for the bravery and skill of Colonel Brand. Nor would several other people with me today, including the new National Security Advisor.” Libby glances to her right. Jill Maitlin gives her a nod and look of understanding.
Libby continues. “On more than one occasion I trusted Colonel Brand with my life, and that trust was not misplaced. So, yes, Mr. Simmons, in that context it is correct to say that Colonel Brand and I had a special bond.”
The reporter is nodding his head. Libby sees several others scribbling notes. She has no doubt that her remarks will fuel more speculation. The gossip columnists and tabloid writers will run with it. Let them. The personal lives of Presidents are fair game, and there is no reason Libby Paulsen should be excepted. It goes with the job. When you speak from the heart, it’s not an act. Well, she had spoken from the heart. And it wasn’t an act.
Libby knows her grieving isn’t over. In her rare moments of aloneness, she will find herself dwelling on what might have been. On the future they might have had. She spoke the truth to Simmons. She and Pete Brand had a special bond. They always will.
Libby will take one more question. She nods to Bernard Weaver, columnist for the Boston Globe. Weaver stands and says, “Madame President, as you know, certain members of Congress as well as media spokespersons are urging you to exercise leniency for the conspirators as a way of mending the nation’s wounds. How do you feel about that?”
Libby fixes her gaze on Weaver. Like every other reporter here, he knows exactly how she feels. “As I have already made clear,” Libby says, “the conspiracy known as Capella has committed heinous and treasonable crimes against this nation. As commander-in-chief I would be derelict in my duty if I did not insure that these perpetrators are prosecuted to the fullest extent of military and civil law.”
Libby knows that her voice has taken a hard, almost combative tone. It reflects her feeling about those who plotted against the government. Her combativeness has been noticed by columnists, including Bernard Weaver, who have lately been referring to her as the “Iron Lady.” She wonders whether they notice the irony. They are the same columnists who, a few weeks ago, were describing Libby Paulsen as weak-willed and vacillating.
Today Weaver sounds respectful. “Madame President, will there be any consideration of clemency for those in the chain of command who claim they were only following the orders of their senior officers?”
Libby nods. “We will never condone or pardon high crimes on the premise that the criminals were acting in the line of duty. Or in the name of patriotism. Or that they were simply following orders. As Americans we must hold ourselves to a higher standard. And yes, Mr. Weaver, I am aware that some members of the military and government agencies may have executed orders without knowledge of the intended consequences. As each of these cases is adjudicated, I will consider clemency where it is appropriate.”
Which is all she intends to say on the subject. Clemency comes too close to forgiveness, something she will extend sparingly. Just as she has forgiven Jill Maitlin, she may in time forgive others. Some she will never forgive.
For several seconds there is no response from the audience. Then comes a ripple of applause, swelling in volume. One after another the members of the audience are rising to their feet. The sprawling lawn of the Rose Garden is filled with standing, applauding reporters. Libby looks at them in astonishment. Who would have imagined? Who would have thought the hard-bitten Washington press corps would give anyone, especially Libby Paulsen, a standing ovation?
The applause continues for a full minute. When the audience is again seated, Libby turns to speak directly to the television cameras. “My fellow Americans, a year and a half has passed since I was sworn in as your President. Today I reaffirm for you the oath I took when I entered office. You have my solemn promise that I will, to the best of my ability, continue to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. So help me God.”
For a long moment she stands with her chin tilted up. She gazes out at her audience. This time there is no applause, no cheering, just respectful silence. Clasping Brand’s medal tightly in her hand, President Libby Paulsen turns from the podium and strides back into the White House.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For this book I am indebted to the equestrian and literary team of Thomas and Sharon Block. Friend, novelist, fellow aviator, and master story engineer Tom Block has my thanks for his invaluable technical and editorial assistance with this tale. Separate thanks and a big hug to Sharon Block for her eagle-eyed proof reading and forthright critique of the work in progress.
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ROBERT GANDT is a former naval officer, international airline captain, and an award-winning military and aviation writer. He is the author of more than a dozen books, including the novels The Killing Sky and Black Star Rising and the definitive work on modern naval aviation, Bogeys and Bandits. His screen credits include the television series Pensacola: Wings of Gold. His acclaimed account of the Battle for Okinawa, The Twilight Warriors (Broadway Books, 2010) was the winner of the Samuel Eliot Morison Award for Naval Literature. He and his wife, Anne, live in the Spruce Creek Fly-In, an aviation community in Daytona Beach, Florida. Visit his website at www.gandt.com
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