“There is going to be a lot of drinking around here today, please don’t join in.”
From the kitchen came a belly laugh that bit into Daniel’s head like a jackhammer.
“Very funny,” Daniel said. “Just tell me the agenda for today.”
Scott explained their itinerary while Daniel managed to nibble on some toast and take his pills. He sipped the coffee and chased it with the bottled water. After half an hour or so, he began to feel better and the day rushed on.
The major event of the morning was the election. Daniel made an appearance at the voting station that had been set up in the mall. People were lined up and ready to cast their votes, which they did after verifying their name, present occupation, and former residence. There was a similar poll set up in the lobby of the Hay–Adams, and soon the results would be in. The weather outside was beautiful, and although plans had been made for parties in the White House following the elections, people began to spill out on the lawns to await the official results.
Daniel met with his interim council one last time and ensured that each had prepared a report for the incoming council members. Most of the people on the council had decided not to run, so the new council would be filled with fresh leaders. In a way, Daniel thought that appropriate. The first term of all council seats was only six months, so stepping down for a while was not too much to ask, and it kept people from assuming that the new government was already too much like the old Washington, as people had begun calling the political system before the plague. Daniel told the council how much he had enjoyed serving with them, but refrained from sharing the overwhelming, exhausting nature of leading such a diverse and devastated group of people.
After the brief meeting, several people told Daniel what a good job they thought he had done as president. He smiled and accepted their compliments, but inwardly he disagreed. He felt he had barely kept his head above water and now he was just looking forward to getting out of the pool. Shortly before lunchtime, the results were in. Using a portable P.A. system the maintenance crew had set up on the South Lawn, Scott read out the names of the winners. People cheered and applauded as each name was read, and the winners joined Scott on the South Portico. The last result to be announced was the presidential race. The crowd seemed to hold their breath, and Daniel felt as if the weight of all the work from the past two weeks was suddenly pushing down on his shoulders. Silently, he prayed that his name would not be announced, that the weight of responsibility for the future would be lifted from him.
“And finally,” said Scott into the microphone, his voice booming out over the grounds, “our newly elected president, by an overwhelming majority is…”
“Not me, not me, not me,” Daniel said silently.
“Daniel Brickman,” Scott shouted into the microphone. He was instantly joined by hundreds of voices all cheering and whistling and applauding madly.
Daniel’s vision was getting blurry, he felt as if all the oxygen in the world was being sucked away. People were crowding around him, touching, patting, and congratulating him. Suddenly, Jason was beside him, helping him through the mob toward the steps leading up to the South Portico. His legs felt numb as he climbed the steps. He tried to smile and nod at all the people, but he felt only a deep sense of obligation. And for the first time since Lana had left, he felt as if she were gone forever. He could never hope to find her now, and she would never return to him, not now, not ever.
Somehow he managed to stumble through an acceptance speech without ever considering backing out. It was as if the decision had been made without him and he was unable to stop it. Somehow he had gotten on the train and there was no getting off now, like the line from Hotel California: “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”
Then the celebrations began in earnest. There was music and food; people were constantly congratulating him, sharing how they had voted for him, wishing him good luck. The day spun on and on, it seemed never ending. Old movies were being shown in the White House Theater, where the 45 seats were overrun with nearly 75 people for every show. They sat in the fancy chairs and munched popcorn and drank fruity drinks that made them all very happy.
Sometime around mid–afternoon, a group of people arrived and were shocked by the state of affairs. Security spent half an hour reassuring them that today’s special celebration was not a daily hedonistic ritual. By early evening, people were drinking hard, the alcohol having been brought in the day before from several nearby liquor stores. Daniel was avoiding the drinks like a man on a mission. Each time a drink was pressed into his hand, he either immediately passed it on to Jason or Scott, both of whom had taken a position on either side of their friend to help control the well intentioned partiers who just wanted to meet their new president, or he pretended to take a sip before disposing of the beverage.
And drinks weren’t the only thing being pressed into Daniel. The plague had left no family intact, and over half of the surviving population were women, many of whom had lost all sense of propriety as they drank. Some whispered slurred notions into his ear, while others merely smiled and used their body language to say what they were thinking. At around 8 p.m., a woman’s clothes came off in the State Dining Room, while almost simultaneously a fight broke out in the Green Room. Dakota was seen at one point rushing to ensure the antique furnishings and artwork were unharmed.
Daniel decided it was time to call it a day. The festivities had been limited to the first floor of the White House and the lobby of the Hay-Adams. So while he could still hear music on the second floor of the residence, the noise was not overbearing. Scott and Jason were still beside him as he wearily made his way up the stairs.
“This has to be the weirdest day of my life,” Daniel said.
“I haven’t seen anything like it since Carnival in Rio,” said Jason.
“I can’t believe this was anything close to that,” Scott said as they approached the second floor landing.
“A lot less people,” Jason admitted, “but the women were just as friendly and the booze just as free.”
“I’m just glad it’s over. I’m ready for bed,” Daniel said. He started to turn to his left to head toward the Lincoln Bedroom, but Scott pulled him in the other direction. “Hey, what are you doing?”
“Taking you to your bedroom, Mr. President,” Scott said.
“No, I’m not staying in there.”
“Yes, you are, it’s all been arranged,” Jason said. “It’s time we moved forward with our lives, that’s what today was all about. So, you’re the new president, if not of the United States, at least of Washington, D.C. And the president sleeps in the master bedroom.”
“But I don’t want to move—”
“It’s too late,” Scott said. “I had a crew from the janitorial team move your things, just the clothes, nothing personal, hope you don’t mind. We also moved out a lot of the former president’s things. And the rooms upstairs have all been converted back to private rooms. We moved those folks into the Hay-Adams. Your new council will have their choice of living upstairs or in one of the apartments in the bunker.”
“You didn’t move the president, did you?” Daniel asked.
“No, that apartment is still sealed up the way you requested,” Jason said.
“Okay, I guess it’s alright.”
They walked to the master bedroom and opened the door.
“I wondered how long it would take you to worm your way into power,” said the man with a gun.
Chapter 22
The man pointed the gun at Daniel, his arm stretched out, his finger on the trigger. The gun was a big, stainless steel .357 Magnum. The barrel looked huge compared to the compact pistols that the security team now carried. Still, it looked all the more deadly for its size and shape.
There was a woman in the room, too. She was being held by the gunman, his arm curled firmly around her neck, her back pulled tightly to his chest; a human barrier between the gunman and the president. The woman was w
earing a silky gown, but there were streaks of makeup down both her cheeks and her eyes were red and puffy. The skin down her neck and across her chest, which the low cut gown exposed, was splotched an angry red. In the moment it took Daniel to assess the situation, he realized she must have been waiting to seduce him, and now she was in the hands of a madman.
Daniel also recognized the man with the gun. Actually, it was the gun that clued him in to the man’s identity. It was the short man who had come in with the group that decided to find their own quarters rather than give up their firearms. He remembered the big gun the man strapped low on his thigh, like a character from a Western, only the gun was too big, especially on the man’s squatty leg, to look anything but comical. Even now the scene before Daniel seemed like something found on a velvet painting sold from the back of a rundown van in a convenience store parking lot.
Daniel felt Jason tense, it was like standing next to the glass aquarium in which a cobra was about to strike at the rat the zoo keeper had dropped in the cage. He knew if he didn’t do something soon, the man with the gun would shoot, perhaps even worse, his friend might try to save him and get killed in the process.
“I’m sorry,” Daniel said. “You’re right, I’ve been working behind the scenes to get people to vote for me. I admit it.” Daniel felt both Jason and Scott turn and stare dumbly at him, but he kept talking. “Why don’t you take me downstairs and reveal me as the fraud you know me to be? Just let go of the girl and take me.”
“Don’t patronize me!” screamed the gunman. “I know your type, I’ve known from the moment we got here. You’re just another pompous windbag, the type that’s been ruining this country for the last half century.”
“Come on,” said Scott. “You don’t even know Dan—”
But the gunman cut him off. “Shut up! I don’t want to hear your lies. I’m here to stop you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Better make it count then, mister, cuz I guarantee you you’re gonna die,” Jason said, his voice icy. It sent a chill down Daniel’s spine.
“Shut up!” screamed the gunman.
“Nope, and you can’t make me. You can wave your big gun and stand pissing yourself behind a helpless woman, but you can’t make me be quiet. And let me tell you something else.” Jason slowly raised his right hand. He had one of the gas powered military pistols in it, not held by the grip, but laying in his palm. “You know what this is? It’s a pneumatic gas powered assault pistol. It’s more powerful than the cannon you’re holding, shoots longer, faster, and more accurately. But here’s the kicker: one bullet from this baby and even if I accidently hit the girl, it’ll go right on through the both of you.”
“Drop it or the president’s dead,” said the gunman in a shaky voice.
“Oh come on, you little, cowardly prick. You didn’t really believe you’d be able to just walk out of here, did you? I mean, I know you’re stupid but not—”
At that moment, in what was to Daniel the time it took to blink, the gunman swung his arm toward Jason. The former Navy SEAL dropped to one knee and leveled his own weapon. The two men fired simultaneously, but the report from the .357 Magnum sounded like an explosion. The small projectile from the gas powered pistol shot completely through the gunman’s forehead, spraying gray matter across the president’s bed. The large caliber bullet from the hand cannon slammed into the antique wooden doorframe, causing it to shatter and spray splinters in all directions. Most of the wood missed Jason, who was kneeling beneath the gunman’s line of fire. Daniel took the brunt of the debris in the side of his face.
The gunman stood for a moment, his left arm locked around the woman’s neck. His bowels and bladder released and the man soiled himself but never knew it, having died instantly. He then collapsed in a heap on the thick carpet. Daniel fell over with a cry onto Scott, who struggled to catch his friend.
“Daniel!” he cried. “Daniel, oh my God, Daniel!”
There was blood pouring from dozens of wounds where the wooden fragments had been blown into his face from the impact of the bullet. There were dozens of separate wounds from Daniel’s scalp to his neck and shoulder. The result was a mass of blood that covered his face and upper body. He was awake, both eyes open, but twitching and jerking as if he were having a seizure. Scott and Jason quickly lowered their friend to the ground.
“Damn, I didn’t think about the ricochet,” said Jason, as he turned Daniel’s body onto his unharmed side. “Quick, find the doctor; we’ve got to stop the bleeding.”
Scott sprinted away toward the staircase, shouting for Doctor Franks. In the master bedroom the woman was screaming, but Jason ignored her. It took less than a minute for people to begin arriving to see what had happened. Almost everyone had heard the report from the large caliber handgun, even over the music that was still being played. The people who first arrived had no medical training and could only stand and watch as Jason held onto their blood-soaked president.
“Where’s the doctor?” he shouted, but the crowd stood mute from shock and ignorance.
In another moment, as Daniel’s spasms began to subside, a new group made their way through the crowd. There were three women, Scott, and the doctor.
“Two of you see to that woman,” the doctor said, pointing to the woman beside the dead gunman, who was still screaming.
Scott stood nearby as the doctor dropped to his knees beside Daniel.
“They’re splinters from the doorframe,” Jason said.
“We’ve got to get him downstairs,” the doctor said.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Jason grabbed Daniel’s good arm and pulled the newly elected president onto his shoulder.
“Get out of the way,” he shouted, and he moved effortlessly through the crowd.
Scott led the way and cleared people back as they made their way to the clinic on the ground floor. Jason carried Daniel as quickly as possible, pulling the unwounded arm around his body and holding it with the opposite leg to minimize movement. It seemed like an impossibly long journey, but they arrived at the medical clinic in less than a minute. Daniel was laid out gently on an exam table.
“He might lose the eye,” the doctor said, “but I have to make sure no arteries were cut by the splinters. Irrigate his neck, please.”
Jason moved back as he realized that the lady who had followed the doctor down to the clinic was there to help. She grabbed what appeared to be a small rubber hose with a trigger nozzle and began spraying Daniel’s neck with water. The blood ran free but was soon largely washed away.
The doctor lowered a bright overhead light that was attached to a moveable arm from the ceiling. The light made Daniel look pale, or perhaps it was the loss of blood. With quick but steady movements, the doctor began plucking the wooden splinters with stainless steel tweezers.
Jason and Scott stood side by side, watching silently as the doctor thoroughly examined Daniel’s neck. Time seemed to stand still as the medical team worked, and it occurred to both Jason and Scott that the doctor and the woman with him moved so seamlessly it appeared they had worked together for years. They were talking now, using surgical jargon that neither of the onlookers understood. After a while, once they seemed satisfied with Daniel’s neck, the doctor ordered morphine. The woman, apparently a nurse, if not a doctor herself, quickly retrieved a syringe and a small glass vial of medicine from a metal cabinet on the wall. She poked the needle into the rubber top of the vial and turned it upside down as she drew out the medicine.
The doctor turned to the two men, who still stood watching silently from the doorway.
“It looks like the wood missed his major arteries,” said the doctor. “He’s still losing blood, but at an acceptable level. I feel like we’re out of danger, but I’m going to need some plasma from the hospital down in the bunker.”
“I’ll get it,” said Jason, who sprinted off without another word.
“I’m getting ready to work on his eye and I’ll probably need to operate. That means m
oving him, which I can do on this table, but I’ll need the other two nurses, and absolutely no one between me and the hospital.”
“Alright,” said Scott, “I’ll take care of it.”
By the time Scott had returned with the other two nurses, who were in turn leading the woman who had been held hostage, Jason returned with the plasma in plastic bags. The two men watched for a moment as a metal pole was raised on the bed and an IV line was started in Daniel’s arm. They hung a bag of plasma and connected it to the IV. The doctor was barking orders and Scott turned to Jason.
“Was there anyone downstairs?”
“Just a few, why?” asked the soldier.
“They’ve got to move Daniel down to the hospital, and they don’t want anyone between here and there.”
“I’ll go with them and clear the way.”
“I’ll take care of making sure no one bothers you from up here.”
People had begun to congregate in the hallway on the first floor. Scott began shouting for everyone to move to the Blue Room, where he would shortly give a report of what had happened and how the president was doing. The people, all shocked from the events of what had been an incredible day, shuffled back up to the first floor and the Blue Room.
A small group of security agents were waiting for Jason, who began giving orders. He sent some to the security room to monitor the grounds for other gunmen. Some were sent to gather the dead man’s friends. Others were sent to make sure no one moved anywhere near the hallway leading to the bunker’s elevator.
As Scott herded the others toward the Blue Room, he sent his own aides in search of the media team. He would need them soon.
It took another few minutes to stabilize Daniel for the trip down to the hospital, but once they started they made their way easily. Scott was still trying to get everyone into the Blue Room when one of the security officers brought him a hand radio.
“Yes,” he said, pressing the button then holding the speaker close to his ear.
“Scott, it’s Jason, we’ve got him down to the hospital and they’re still working on him, over.”
The New World Page 19
