Jeffrey Archer

by Shall We Tell The President (lit)

  'Toast and coffee,' said the President resonantly.

  'Thank you, Madam. That's fine. Ready to roll.'

  All the cameras were focused on the President, who sat behind her desk, sombre and serious.

  'When you're ready, Madam President.'

  The President looked into the lens of Camera One.

  'My fellow Americans, I speak to you tonight from the Oval Office in the wake of the bloody assassination of Senator Harrison on the steps of the Capitol. Robert Everard Harrison was my friend and colleague, and I know we will all feel his loss greatly. Our sympathy goes out to his family in their distress. This evil deed only strengthens my determination to press for legislation early in the new session strictly limiting the sale and the unauthorised ownership of guns. I will do this in memory of Senator Robert Harrison, so that we may feel he did not die in vain.'

  The Director looked at Mark; neither of them spoke. The President continued, repeating her belief in the importance of gun control and why the measure deserved the full support of the American people.

  'And so I leave you, my fellow citizens, thanking God that America can still produce men who are willing to risk their own lives for public service. Thank you and good night.'

  The camera panned to the Presidential Seal. Then the Outside Broadcast units took over and switched to a picture of the White House with the flag at half- mast.

  'It's a wrap, Harry,' said the female floor producer.

  'Let's do a re-run and see what it looks like.'

  The President in the Oval Office, and the Director and Mark in Janet Brown's room watched the re-run. It was good. The Gun Control bill will sail through, thought Mark.

  The chief usher arrived at Janet Brown's door. He addressed the Director.

  'The President wonders if you and Mr Andrews would be kind enough to join her in the Oval Office.'

  Both men rose from their chairs and followed in silence down the long marble corridor of the West Wing, passing pictures of former presidents, intermingled with oil paintings commemorating famous incidents in American history. They passed the bronze bust of Lincoln. When they reached the East Wing, they stopped at the massive white semi-circular doors of the Oval Office, dominated by the great Presidential Seal. A Secret Service man was sitting behind a desk in the hallway. He looked up at the chief usher, neither spoke. Mark watched the Secret Service agent's hand go under the desk, and he heard a click. The Seal split as the doors opened. The usher remained in the entrance.

  Someone was unclipping a tiny microphone from under the President's collar, and the remnants of make-up were being removed by an attentive young woman. The television cameras had already gone. The usher announced, 'The Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Mr H. A. L. Tyson, and. Special Agent Mark Andrews, Madam President.'

  The President rose from her seat at the far end of the room and waited to greet them. They walked towards her slowly.

  'Sir,' said Mark under his breath.

  'Yes, Mark?'

  'Shall we tell the President?'

  THE END