Lethal Trajectories

by Michael Conley

  “The amendment provides for the vice president to succeed the president in the event of death, resignation, or inability to perform the duties of the presidency, as well as provisions for filling the vice president’s vacancy, and so forth. Unlike the presidential succession, which automatically goes to the vice president, the candidate for vice presidential succession must be approved by majority vote of both houses of Congress. The process was well-tested in 1973, when Spiro Agnew resigned as vice president and Gerald Ford was nominated to replace him. Then in 1974, President Nixon resigned and Jerry Ford automatically replaced him. Less than two weeks later, Ford nominated Nelson Rockefeller to replace him as vice president. It took four months to confirm Rockefeller. My point is that it’s a snap to move into the presidency, but it will take an effort and some politicking to get your vice-presidential nominee approved.”

  “I’ve given that some thought, Mr. President, and I have a handful of names I’d like to run by you. Not now, though—in a few days.”

  “That’d be fine, Clayton—glad to help in any way I can. Now about tomorrow night, let me run this by you. The dilemma I have,” Burkmeister said, scratching his head, “is that I want to give my cabinet and also other world leaders a courtesy call before I go public with my announcement, but logistically that could be difficult. If I talk to folks too far in advance, there’s a good chance the information will be leaked, and it’s important to me that all Americans hear the news at the same time.

  “What I’m thinking is this: I’ll convene a full cabinet meeting about one hour before my public announcement and break the news to them. I’ll ask the cabinet to remain at the White House to meet after my announcement to get all of our signals straight. I’ll also talk to Secretary Cartright before the meeting and have her call our allies prior to my speech. I’ll personally call the leaders of the Senate and House and also China and the Brits. What do you think, Clayton? Is this workable?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. I think it is. It’s probably the optimal way to make the necessary courtesy calls while minimizing leaks. Any premature news leak will be insignificant because your public announcement will occur before it can be fully disseminated. In this case, timing is everything.”

  They talked for another hour about the logistics of the succession and agreed to meet daily until the succession actually occurred.

  “Oh, by the way, Mr. President, my brother Jack received a call from Wang Peng, an old friend of ours who also happens to be Lin Cheng’s chief of staff. He’s in town this coming week for China’s meetings at the United Nations and wanted to get together with Jack for dinner. It sounded like a good idea to me, but I’m wondering if we should call it off given your announcement tomorrow night.

  What do you think?”

  “I think Jack should do everything he can to keep that appointment,” the president declared. “China has taken a reasonable position thus far on Chunxiao, and I’d do whatever possible to encourage the goodwill that seems to be developing.”

  “Good, Mr. President” Clayton said, relieved, “I was hoping you would feel that way. I’ll pass it on to Jack and keep you posted.”

  “Let’s try to meet at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon to go over the speech I plan to give tomorrow night. We can also strategize on how to handle the communications that will follow.”

  As Clayton left the Oval Office shortly before noon, he tried to visualize the pandemonium that would erupt when the story was unleashed tomorrow evening. Perhaps some things you’re better off not knowing, he mused.

  21

  New York City

  24 September 2017

  Wang Peng was busily checking messages when his black limousine, provided by the Chinese Embassy, pulled up to the Waldorf Astoria. He was greeted at the door by the senior hotel executive on duty and quickly escorted to his suite on the forty-seventh floor. The whole process took less than five minutes, and Wang mused at how efficient the Americans were when they chose to be.

  He could feel the jet lag and appreciated not having any appointments tonight. After ordering up a steak dinner and taking a piping hot shower, he sat down at the living room desk to fine-tune his schedule for the coming week He wanted to make sure nothing went wrong with his suddenly revised plans.

  He had been pleasantly surprised by Lin Cheng’s last-minute decision to join him in New York, a move that would amplify the importance China placed on the Chunxiao Incident, changing the entire tone, tempo, and direction of their visit. It was uncharacteristic of Lin to act with such haste, but the chairman never did anything without a good reason.

  “Peng,” Lin Cheng had said, “I am not as concerned with Japan or the position taken by the Western powers as I was a few days ago. Things seem to be settling down, and I am grateful to you for your good advice on how to deal with President Burkmeister.”

  Wang was touched by the compliment and appreciated that his boss gave credit honestly for good ideas—a trait he wished others on the Politburo would emulate.

  “I have always believed there are opportunities in any adversarial situation,” Lin had continued in a soft but determined voice, “and Chunxiao might provide China with such an opportunity. I plan to join you in New York, Peng.”

  Astonished, Peng had nodded and waited for his boss to explain his reasoning.

  “With Chunxiao as my justification, I wish to accomplish three major things during my visit with you to New York. The first, of course, is to make China’s grievances against Japan clear to the UN and the world and to seek recompense for Japan’s militant actions. We can assume Japan will be doing the same thing, and we need to offer a forceful counterbalance to whatever they’ll say.” Wang nodded in agreement, thinking, Nothing new in that.

  “Second, we need a permanent solution to doctrines defining the exclusive economic zones. It’s the only way to avoid future Chunxuios in the South China Sea. If my presence in New York will help make our case, then I must go.” This was absolute music to Wang Peng’s ears.

  “Last,” Lin said, choosing his words carefully, “I have become increasingly concerned with the so-called cold war between China and other industrial nations as we compete for scarce resources. It places China in a constant adversarial position with the United States and other OECD nations, and everything becomes a zero-sum game. It is becoming costlier from a military and defense point of view, and it will get worse as the world’s oil supply tightens. Perhaps there is nothing we can do about it, but I’ve often wondered if it would be possible to find a more rational way of dealing with our economic needs.” Fascinated, Wang wondered where the chairman was going with this.

  “I have not discussed this yet with our comrades on the Politburo, but I would be interested in seeing whether or not there’s any traction in some form of détente. I’m hoping to talk to as many Western leaders as I can at this meeting to see if we can’t improve the atmosphere and find ways to talk some of these issues out. A good start might be to feel out what your friend Jack McCarty might think. I know he doesn’t represent the American government in any official way, but as brother to the vice president, he might have some insights.”

  The doorbell rang, shaking Wang from his thoughts. He opened the door and made way for the impeccably dressed attendant, who wheeled in a dinner cart and put the filet mignon Wang had ordered on the table. After thanking him and offering a generous tip, he continued his ruminations over the excellent meal.

  Wang knew Lin Cheng’s visit would be a game-changer, but it would also require a major redirection of efforts to fully capitalize on Lin’s rare visit to a foreign country. The Chinese delegation would be dumbfounded to hear of Lin’s willingness to submit to well-staged media interviews. The practical logistics of beefed-up security and coordination between American and Chinese security agencies added a whole new dimension to the mission.

  Given Lin Cheng’s desire for better relations with the United States, Wang knew his meeting with Jack McCarty was suddenly a matter of greater im
portance. While Jack was more of an energy and climate guy, he kept abreast of Washington news, and his backdoor access to the White House might come in handy. The thought saddened him, however. He loved Jack like a brother, and while there was much he wanted to discuss with him regarding the energy and climate situation, he also wanted to simply enjoy the company of his friend. He resolved to do his best to be up-front and genuine with him despite the pressures of their political connections. He would call Jack later tonight to confirm their meeting; he only wished Lin Cheng had scheduled an earlier arrival so that he could have met Jack.

  Wang Peng looked down at his half-eaten steak as the effects of jet lag took hold of his body, and he dozed off with a premonition that this would be a world-changing week.

  22

  The White House

  25 September 2017

  The thousands of workers making their Monday-morning commute into the nation’s capital had no idea it was to be an historic day, talked about for generations to come. Lyman Burkmeister awoke from a pleasant night’s sleep, but his mind churned as he thought about how the day might unfold. He prayed for the strength to handle the emotional and physical roller coaster he was about to ride.

  Last night’s bout with nausea and severe abdominal pain hadn’t helped matters any. Thank goodness, Doc Toomay was there within minutes to see him. “What’s going on, Doc? Why are these things happening?” asked Burkmeister in anguish.

  “This may only be a temporary thing, Mr. President, or it may be that the next stage of the disease is kicking in sooner than we had expected. I just don’t know at this time, and there aren’t many tests that can be given now to ascertain the precise stage you are in.”

  “Doc, no one but my Maker knows when my time will come, but I’m asking you as a friend, what is your gut telling you? How much effective time do I have left? I need to make sure the transition to Clayton McCarty is done as smoothly as possible. I don’t want this to be a deathbed hand-off.”

  “We don’t know that for sure, Mr. President, and medical science is not …”

  “Doc,” the president interrupted, exasperated, “I didn’t ask you what medical science thought, and I won’t sue you if you’re wrong. I’m just asking you, man-to-man, as an outstanding medical doctor for over thirty years, what is your gut telling you about how much effective time I have left?”

  Admiral Toomay, obviously startled by Burkmeister’s stern command, pondered his response before answering.

  “Mr. President, here it is: I think your doctors at Walter Reed are overly optimistic about your prognosis. The attack you had a little while ago, your color, and general demeanor are all telling me that it may only be a matter of weeks for you. If what I think is happening is, indeed, happening, I don’t think you have an effective timeframe that will get you through the end of the next month. We can keep you comfortable, to be sure, but it will mean an increased dose of painkillers that will prevent you from having the clear head you need for your job. I’m sorry to be so blunt, Mr. President, but you asked, and that’s really how it’s looking to me right now.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” said Burkmeister, trying to maintain his composure. “That’s very important information for me to have, and I really do appreciate your candor. I’ll take the pain pill you left with me tonight, and we’ll see how things go tomorrow. Thanks so much for coming.”

  “Indeed, Mr. President, and please be sure to call me if there are any changes in your condition.”

  The pain pill had done its job, and the president had one of his best night’s sleep since arriving in the White House. He felt rested as he walked into the Oval Office and greeted his secretary, Virginia Mogenson. “Morning Ginnie, did you miss me?” he asked in a chipper voice.

  “Good morning, Mr. President, and welcome back. It’s so good to see you again,” she answered with compassion and sincerity. “I wasn’t sure exactly when you would be back, so for all intents and purposes your day is free of any appointments or meetings.”

  “Thanks, Ginnie,” said the president, appreciative of her work. “Could you give Candace Pierson a call and have her stop by my office at about nine thirty? Tell her to set aside about forty-five minutes for the meeting and to clear her calendar for the remainder of the day. I would also like you to call the cabinet for a meeting here tonight at seven o’clock that will last about two hours. Can do?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. President,” she replied. She would know that calling both the press secretary and cabinet in for a special meeting meant that something big was in the air, but he would have to leave it at that as he continued into his office to prepare for the day.

  At nine thirty in the morning, Candace Pierson was escorted in to see the president. “Good morning, Candace,” Burkmeister said, “thanks so much for coming on such short notice. Did Ginnie tell you to clear your schedule today?”

  “She did, Mr. President, and I’m almost afraid to ask why.”

  When he broke the gruesome news, she was speechless, just as Clayton had been a few nights ago. But after a few moments of personal time, she put on her press secretary hat and was all business. Her ability to discuss his condition and succession plans with near-instant professional detachment amazed him, but after all, it was her ability to give sound advice under fire that had landed her the job in the first place.

  His next appointment was with White House Counsel William Maroney, with whom he had conferred on Saturday about the legal niceties of the succession process. He told Maroney, “I just finished talking with Candace, and she said we need a brief summary of the Twenty-Fifth Amendment that can be handed out at the cabinet meeting tonight at seven o’clock. I’d like you to prepare a summary and be there, Bill.”

  As Maroney headed out, a wave of exhaustion washed away the last of his morning’s verve. Knowing he still had a big day ahead of him, the president told Ginnie he was going to take a little visit to Shangri-la and asked to be called at about half past noon.

  He closed the door to Shangri-la and immediately took off his dark gray pinstriped suit coat. Stretching out on the large couch, he pondered the date he had set for the succession to take place—the first of November. His violent attack last night, the heavy-duty pain medication required to tame it, and Doc Toomay’s ominous prognosis convinced him there was little time left. Candace Pierson had said a short while ago—quite rightly—that a delay would only confuse the situation. He would be a lame duck, and Clayton would be a premature one. A leadership crisis would be the worst of all possible worlds, he concluded, and shortly before dozing off he made a decision that he hoped Clayton would accept.

  Burkmeister wasted little time getting down to business following Clayton’s two o’clock arrival. “Clayton, I’ve had an interesting morning following an awful night, and I think we’ll need to move the succession date up by a couple of weeks. Let me explain my reasoning, and if you don’t agree, we’ll go back to the original date of November first.”

  He could see Clayton was taken aback as he continued.

  “I had an awful time last night, Clayton. It took some mighty powerful painkillers to get me stabilized, and it made me realize that my ability to function as president may be impaired in the near future. I just can’t take a chance on that happening again. I don’t want this to be a deathbed handoff, and prolonging the inevitable will only create confusion in the chain of command, or perhaps even send out false signals to the international community and encourage mischief from folks who don’t like us.”

  “I can’t argue with your logic, Mr. President,” Clayton replied after a short pause.

  Relieved, Burkmeister continued, “Candace is also helping me with tonight’s speech, and we both agree that it should be brief, firm, and to the point. I’ll announce my terminal illness and inability, before long, to perform at 100 percent. I will stress how our constitution has made provision for a smooth transfer of power; that it has been done before and will probably be done again; and that there will be continuity in
the U.S. government and commitment to our values, responsibilities, and allies. I will remind our friends and foes alike that ours is a government of laws rather than men, and that there will be no discontinuity in leadership because of the loss of one person. I’ll then assure them of my confidence in you and your leadership experiences as a Marine Corps officer, CEO of a major company, governor of California, and the work you have done as an activist vice president.”

  “In a short while, I’ll be making a few personal phone calls to the leaders of the House and Senate and maybe one or two others. I’ll meet with Secretary of State Cartright shortly to fill her in on the situation, and then I’ll have her call some of our key allies around the world right around the time of our cabinet meeting tonight.”

  “Is there anything I can do, Mr. President?” Clayton asked. The president paused, surprised, then realized that McCarty probably chafed at having nothing to do but wait as the heavy burden of the presidency loomed over him.

  “You’re going to be a busy man in the coming days, Clayton, but there’s not all that much you’ll have to do tonight other than show up and look like presidential material. Candace suggested, and I agree, that we should have a joint press conference tomorrow morning. We would both be sitting at a table, facing the audience of reporters, demonstrating physically and symbolically the continuity of our government. I would suggest we meet here at about eight o’clock tomorrow morning to get our stories straight and then meet with the press at ten. At this point in time, transparency and continuity are of crucial importance.”

  “I’d be fine with that, Mr. President. It’s a good idea.” Clayton replied, and then added, “If it’s all right with you, I’d also like to talk to Candace before the meeting.”

  “That would be fine, Clayton. By the way, I asked her to work outside her office today so as not to draw attention to the work she’ll personally be doing. I’m sure her secretary will know where she can be reached. In fact, I’ll have Ginnie give her a call and then get back to you.”