Capitol Betrayal

by William Bernhardt

  14

  9:55 A.M.

  (F IVE MINUTES BEFORE)

  “All right, all right.” Secretary Rybicki jumped out of his chair and came between the president and his VP. “Let’s all cool down. We only have a few minutes left to make a very important decision. And we aren’t going to accomplish that with an alpha-male smackdown. Remember what Lincoln said: cool heads prevail in torrid times.”

  “We need a show of strength,” Vice President Swinburne said. “The strength to make a tough call.”

  “I don’t think most of the people I know would consider retreat a sign of strength,” Rybicki countered. “We can’t let this maniac go unchecked. I wonder if the president is doing enough. I think it’s time for scorched-earth tactics.”

  “That’s crazy talk.”

  “Forgive me, Mr. Vice President, but I don’t recall seeing you at the military academy. You went to Yale and studied geology, right? I’m sure that’s useful in some arenas. But I have studied military tactics, and I say we should go in with everything we’ve got, leave nothing intact. Scorched earth worked for the ancient Scythians. They put Persia in its place, back in their day. Maybe we should try the same thing. What do you think, Mr. President?”

  “You’re right. You’re right.” The president fell back into his chair and pinched his nose. “I just wish… I wish…” His eyes seemed to detach, to lose their focus. His gaze drifted off to the side, somewhere vaguely in the direction of the presidential seal on the wall. “Here’s the story…”

  Ben couldn’t quite hear what he was saying. Without making a show of it, he leaned in closer.

  “… of a lovely lady…”

  Ben glanced at Sarie. Sarie looked back at him, dumbfounded.

  He wasn’t mistaken. The POTUS was singing the theme song from The Brady Bunch. In a time of crisis, with only a few minutes left till disaster, with the entire eastern seaboard facing possible destruction, he was singing the theme from a cheesy seventies sitcom.

  Ben quickly scanned the room. Everyone else seemed just as incredulous as they were. He particularly scrutinized the vice president’s expression but found it very difficult to read.

  To Ben’s amazement, the president played air guitar and made the sound of an electric fuzz during the song. “That’s the way we became the Brady Bunch.” He extended one arm across the table. “Yeah!”

  Not a person in the room spoke. All eyes were focused on the leader of the free world-and then on the countdown on the wall.

  “What’s the matter?” the president said, grinning. “No one has a sense of humor?”

  Swinburne cleared his throat. “Um, Mr. President…”

  “I don’t like that tone in your voice, mister. I don’t like it at all.” Abruptly the president looked at Ben. “You know what I wish, Ben?”

  “Um, no…”

  “I wish I could be a butterfly. Don’t you wish you could be a butterfly?”

  Ben swallowed. “Well, I think you have to be a caterpillar first. I don’t think I’d care for all that slithering. And don’t they have short life spans?”

  “But you could fly, Ben. Fly!” He shot to his feet and stretched out his arms. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

  Off to the side, Ben saw the vice president make a motion toward the doctor. A moment later, Dr. Albertson crossed the room to his patient.

  “Sorry, Roland. Need to take a few readings.”

  “Why?” he said petulantly. “There’s nothing wrong with me!”

  “Just want to do a spot check.” He removed his stethoscope. “Check your heartbeat, make sure there’s no cardiac arrest. Check your blood pressure. Make sure there’s no aneurysm. I’d like to take some blood, too, but I couldn’t analyze it without going topside…”

  He looked across to Zimmer. Zimmer gave him a firm no.

  “Well, just let me see what I can do with what I have available.” He took out the inhaler. “Why don’t you take a hit from this? Might help. Maybe your airways are constricted. That can make a person… lightheaded.”

  “I am not light-headed!” Kyler replied. “Leave me alone!”

  “Sorry, but when it comes to your health, I’m the boss.” He took the better part of a minute-one of the few they had left-to complete his examination. “My friends,” he said when he was done, “I detect nothing overtly the matter with the president’s health.”

  Ruiz sputtered, “Well, there’s obviously something wrong!”

  Swinburne’s brow was creased. “Doctor, I don’t want to seem opportunistic. But we don’t have time for any nonsense. We are in a crisis situation. This nation needs to be led by someone who is in full control of his faculties.”

  “The law is the law,” Dr. Albertson said firmly. “And Roland Kyler is the president, whether you like it or not.”

  “I know you’ve read the Twenty-fifth Amendment, Doctor. If the president becomes incapacitated-”

  “I see no evidence of that.”

  “Open your eyes, man!”

  “I won’t declare any man incapable based on a little odd behavior.”

  “Be reasonable. This could cost thousands of American lives.”

  “I’m aware of the possible consequences.”

  “Then do something!”

  Dr. Albertson shook his head. “Physiologically, so far as I can tell from the instruments available to me down here, the president is in perfect health. So he remains in charge.”

  “Not if-”

  The vice president never got to finish his sentence. Agent Zimmer cut in. “Sir, Colonel Zuko is back on the line.”

  “Put him on.”

  Ben looked up and, to his astonishment, saw that the president had snapped back to his normal state. He looked as strong and sturdy as ever.

  What the hell was going on here?

  Ben didn’t have much time to ponder. The colonel’s eerie, disembodied voice was soon back on the speakerphone.

  “I greet you again, Mr. President. And your loyal second, Mr. Swinburne. I hope you are all comfortable down there.”

  “Get to the damn point,” Kyler barked.

  “As you wish. I’m sure you have noticed that you have one minute left on the clock. One minute to save countless lives. May I ask your decision?”

  “There’s no decision to make, Colonel.”

  “Roland!” Swinburne said, but the president shushed him.

  “There will be blood on your hands, Mr. President. I have given you every possible opportunity to stop it, but you have chosen to take another path. The path of death and violence.”

  “You’re the one threatening to kill people.”

  “And you’re the one threatening my people.”

  “You can stop it!”

  The vice president whispered softly, “You can, too, Roland. Please do. Please!”

  “The United States will not negotiate with terrorists, Zuko,” the president said firmly. “Not now. Not ever.”

  Even over the phone line, Ben thought he heard Zuko sigh. “Then you have made your decision. I am sorry.” He paused a moment. “I will call you again. After you have had time to count the dead.”

  The room was silent. Everyone stared straight ahead.

  “He doesn’t mean it,” Rybicki said, breaking the silence. “It’s a threat. That’s all. We called his bluff.”

  “You think so?” Admiral Cartwright asked.

  “Of course. Even a crazy bastard like that must know that-”

  He was interrupted by a loud beeping sound coming from the communications station.

  They were all too afraid to ask.

  “My God, no!”

  Zimmer turned, suddenly aware that everyone present had heard what he just said.

  “Are you sure?” Zimmer said into his mouthpiece. “Are you absolutely sure?”

  A pause. Zimmer’s eyes closed.

  “Continue all evacuation efforts. Shut down the subway system. Get people out of there as fast as you can. Everyone. Law e
nforcement, emergency rescue. Everyone! As fast as possible!”

  “What’s going on?” the president asked in a quiet voice.

  Zimmer rose slowly to his feet. His face was ashen. “I’m-I’m-” He choked. He swallowed, then tried again. “I’m afraid I have confirmation, sir.”

  “And?”

  Zimmer paused only a few seconds before answering, but it seemed an eternity. “A missile has been launched.”

  “Do you know where it’s going?”

  Zimmer was still listening to his intel source in one ear. “I’m afraid I do, sir. It has almost arrived.”

  “And?”

  “And… it couldn’t possibly be any worse.”

  The president pressed his fingers against his temples. “Just spit it out, man.”

  And then Zimmer told them.

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my dear God. Not that. Anything but that!”

  15

  10:01 A.M.

  Seamus pulled his car over to the side of the street and stared at the vast destruction before him. Even at this distance it was impossible to miss the devastation that lay before him.

  He had seen the missile strike. He had spotted it when it was on its way, quickly found a good vantage point, and parked the car. Arlo stayed inside. Just as well. He might want to tuck his head under his hands, for that matter. Seamus wouldn’t blame him. No one needed to see this. He had seen missiles strike before, but this was different. This was not out in the barren, mostly unpopulated desert.

  This missile struck at home.

  The targeting was perfect. He had to give the terrorists-or perhaps their computer guru-credit for that. It struck dead on the roof of the Jefferson Memorial and instantaneously exploded it into billions of pieces. In less than the blink of an eye it was transformed from a marble masterpiece of neoclassical architecture to a field of rubble.

  Chunks of marble and metal flew through the air in a grotesque pyrotechnic display. Seamus saw large chunks splash into the Tidal Basin Memorial. He saw another large piece crash down on the rooftop of the George Mason Memorial. No telling what damage that might have done, not to mention what treasures might have been destroyed.

  Fortunately, as far as he could tell, all the tourists had been evacuated in time. Maybe Zira was right and they really could clear the area in seven minutes. He hoped so. He didn’t see how anyone in the immediate vicinity could have survived. If the explosion hadn’t killed them, the flying rubble surely would.

  Seamus pulled a pair of binoculars out of the trunk of his car, but it was almost impossible to see anything. The billowing smoke and ash and fire rendered Seamus unable to get a clear view. All he really got was a portrait of devastation. A bleak landscape. A barren wasteland.

  He had seen this before, possibly even seen it worse. But that had always been somewhere else. This was the first, the only time he had seen it on U.S. soil.

  He heard the shuffling of Arlo’s feet behind him. “You should stay in the car,” Seamus told him.

  Arlo didn’t listen. “Jesus. Is that-the Mall?”

  Seamus compressed his lips. “What’s left of it.”

  “They did it. They really did it.”

  “They really did.”

  “Is it over?”

  Seamus shook his head. His upper lip began to curl. “No. If they were willing to do this, they won’t stop now. Zuko knows he’s going to be the pariah of the world community. He doesn’t care.”

  “What does he want?”

  “I don’t know. What does it matter? Every terrorist wants something. The important question is, how do we stop him?”

  “What are you-” Arlo lurched into a coughing jag. The smoke had made it into his lungs. It was becoming difficult to breathe.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Seamus said. They crawled back into the car. He started it up and headed in the opposite direction.

  Behind them, the sky looked as if an enormous hand had reached down and ripped a swath out of the heavens. It was devoid of birds, of clouds, of any signs of life or beauty. Now it was only fire and ash. One of the key symbols of democracy, of the great truism that all people are created equal, was no more.

  When Arlo spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “What are you going to do next?”

  “Isn’t it obvious, kid?” Seamus gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I’m going to stop the bastards who just blew up my favorite memorial.”

  Part Two. The Twenty-fifth Amendment

  *

  16

  10:01 A.M.

  The president slowly lowered himself into his seat. The formerly bickering room became silent, motionless. The giddy, infantile exuberance of only a few minutes earlier seemed completely replaced by the grave despondency of a leader who realizes a tragedy has just befallen his nation.

  And, Ben imagined, who realizes that he might have prevented it.

  Ben kept his eyes focused on Zimmer. At this moment, the Secret Service agent knew more about what was going on out in the world than anyone else in the room.

  “I want updates in real time,” President Kyler said to Zimmer. “I want to know what you know, when you know it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Zimmer covered the mouthpiece. “The reports are coming in slowly. Our people got out of there in time, but I’m getting intel from two agents in helicopters.”

  “And?”

  “It isn’t good, sir.”

  “Just tell me, damn it, and stow the commentary.”

  “Yes, sir.” As always, even in the face of presidential wrath, Zimmer remained totally implacable. “The Jefferson Memorial has been obliterated. It’s gone. Chunks of white marble are scattered across the Mall. We don’t know of anyone who was still in the building-but we can’t rule out the possibility.”

  “Understood. The target was destroyed. Collateral damage?”

  “I would imagine quite a bit, sir, given that the Jefferson Memorial was just struck by a ballistic missile. We can assume damage all across the area, all the buildings, monuments, statues, everything. There’s still a lot of smoke and dust, hampering visibility, but I think we can assume that our men will find considerably more damage with time.”

  “Tell me about people,” the president said softly.

  “I’ve also got a report that the Metro is down,” Zimmer continued, and Ben wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be an answer to the question, the one on everyone’s mind. “Apparently the station closest to the detonation has collapsed. There was no train in the station, but no trains can get through there, either, so the line is effectively disabled. It probably shouldn’t be run until we’ve had a chance to get structural engineers out to check over the entire system. There’s no telling where the foundations might have been weakened.”

  “People,” the president said, with a little more force than before. “Tell me about people.”

  Zimmer took a deep breath, then continued. “We had begun the evacuation of the National Mall before the missile struck. Theoretically, there should have been enough time to complete it. We don’t know of any casualties there or anywhere else in the vicinity.” He paused.

  “But?” the president said. “I sense we are coming to a but.”

  Zimmer sighed heavily. “But there is no way I can guarantee no one was in that building or any other structure in the area. I can’t guarantee no one was in the Metro station. There’s no way of knowing what the shock waves from the explosion might have done in the surrounding area.”

  “Numbers, Zimmer. I need numbers.”

  “I don’t have them, Mr. President. But I would be astonished if there were not a casualty somewhere. Probably… several.”

  “Damn,” the president said. His fist tightened. “Damn. On my watch.”

  “This might not be a welcome comment, sir…”

  “No, go ahead. You’ve earned the right.”

  “I know you think Colonel Zuko is a madman. But the truth is, he chose a target that was largely symbolic-not all
that lethal. He probably knew we were evacuating the Mall. If he’d wanted to take lives, he could have sent the missile elsewhere.”

  President Kyler stared at him with astonished eyes. “Are you saying… Zuko did us a favor?”

  “Of course not. I’m saying it could have been much worse. If he had moved the target a mile in any direction, it would have been.”

  “Thank you, Zimmer. For whatever that’s worth.” Kyler rose. “If you’ll excuse me, my friends, I’m going to step into the other room for a moment. Please let me know if-”

  “Mr. President!” Zimmer said suddenly.

  “Yes?”

  “I have Colonel Zuko back on the line.”

  Kyler’s eyes closed wearily. “What does that malicious bastard want now? To gloat? To rub my face in it?”

  “I don’t know, sir. He’s just asking to talk to you.”

  Kyler pressed his head against the wall. “Put him on.”

  “President Kyler.” There was no levity in the colonel’s voice this time, no urgency, and, to Ben’s surprise, no malice. “I’m sure you are not anxious to talk to me. I am calling to express my regret for what I was forced to do.”

  “Regret?” Kyler exploded. “If you regret it, why’d you do it in the first place?”

  “You left me no choice.”

  “We always have a choice, Colonel Zuko. From the day we’re born. The choice to do good. Or the choice to do evil.”

  “If my experiences in the world have taught me anything, it is that in real life, conflicts can rarely be reduced to anything so simple as good and evil.”

  “Is that why you called, Colonel? So we can debate philosophy?”

  “No.” There was a pause. Ben thought he might be projecting, but he sensed a certain degree of reluctance in the colonel’s voice. “I have called to again request that you remove the invaders from Kuraq’s borders.”

  “You’re asking me to bargain with a terrorist.”