Arc Light (38 page)

Chandler stepped back into the shadows to let the soldiers pass.

The elevator down to the Senate chambers was crowded despite its considerable size. In it were the President, the Joint Chiefs, Lambert, two staffers from the NSC, and the ubiquitous Secret Service agents, whose security detail was nearly triple its prewar size.

The doors opened, revealing a large group of people gathered to meet them, complete with minicams and press photographers. The President led the group out into the open semicircle formed by the crowd as flashes erupted on a dozen cameras. The Secret Service agents quickly moved to the front, forming a cordon between the still uncertain situation and their charge. As Lambert sorted out the scene he began to pick faces out of the crowd through the camera lights. Network news anchormen, House and Senate leadership, rank and file members, and in the center stood Vice President Costanzo.

“What's the meaning of this?” President Livingston asked.

One of the men whom Lambert had not noticed before suddenly stepped out in front of the group. As the camera lights turned to illuminate the man, Lambert's eyes were relieved of the glare and he instantly recognized the sergeant at arms. Behind him were four men who wore the uniform of the Capitol Hill police.

“By order of the House of Representatives,” the sergeant at arms shouted as he read from the note card in the palm of his hand, “voting in Special Session on this day, Gregory Philip Lambert is hereby called to give testimony before said body and any committees thereof duly constituted under the rules of said house! There being due cause to expect said witness to resist this call, be it resolved that the sergeant at arms is hereby authorized and directed to take said Gregory Lambert, Special Assistant to the President for National Security, into protective custody on penalty of criminal contempt in the event of resistance!”

The sergeant at arms lowered his card and leveled his eyes on Lambert. “There he is,” he said to the police officer next to him, pointing at Lambert, “the tall blond man in the gray pinstripe suit.” The bright lights from the television cameras bathed Lambert in their warm glow.

The police moved toward Lambert, but the Secret Service agents closed ranks, blocking their path. The senior agent turned to look at the President.

“Now, just wait a minute!” the President said, and the cameras and lights turned now to him. “Mr. Lambert came here voluntarily to brief the Armed Services Committee on national security matters. This is an outrage!”

“Stand aside,” the sergeant at arms said to the Secret Service agents, and Lambert could see the agents, shoulder-to-shoulder, stagger backward slightly against a push by the Capital Hill policemen. An agent in the second rank pulled an Uzi from the holster against the flat of his back and pointed it straight into the air with his elbow cocked.

There was a gasp from the crowd and the senior agent turned again and said, “Mr. President!” in an almost pleading voice.

Lambert edged forward and around the Joint Chiefs until he was in the open. The television lights were blinding, and the tussle between agents and police ceased. The sergeant at arms walked over to Lambert. “Will you come with me voluntarily, sir?”

Lambert nodded.

“Just one minute!” White House counsel said, pushing through the crowd. “This man has not been properly served with a subpoena, and we have a Supreme Court decision holding unconstitutional the earlier subpoena of the Committee to Investigate the Nuclear War. This action is both unlawful and unconstitutional. The Committee to Investigate the Nuclear War is not properly constituted!”

“We're not calling him to testify before that committee,” the Speaker of the House said from the front edge of the crowd. “I'm sorry, Walter. Mr. Lambert is being called to testify before the Judiciary Committee.”

“The Judiciary Committee?” the President asked, confusion spreading across his face.

The Speaker nodded his head. “There has been a resolution on the floor, Walter, a resolution calling for your impeachment. I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do. Would you come with us, Mr. Lambert.”

The White House counsel stepped up beside Lambert and said in a low voice, “Don't say a word. I'm coming with you. We'll file another petition with the district court. Just sit tight.” As Lambert, accompanied by the sergeant at arms, and the White House counsel followed the Speaker, Lambert glanced back once to see the President, staring into the crowd. He followed his eyes to the Vice President, who turned to disappear into the growing sea of boisterous Congressmen and staffers who had jammed the underground facility's lobby to witness the spectacle.

“Mr. Lambert cannot answer that question,” White House counsel said, “as it is privileged for reasons of national security.”

“Did the President instruct Secretary Moore,” the chairman of the Judiciary Committee asked, “to contact the Chinese prior to his evacuation from the White House?”

“Mr. Lambert cannot answer that question,” Lambert's counsel
said, “as it is privileged for reasons of national security.”

“Is there any person other than yourself, the President, the late Secretary Moore, and the operators on the White House switchboard, also deceased, who might have any information pertinent to the question of whether President Livingston spoke with Secretary Moore after the evacuation was begun?”

“Mr. Lambert cannot answer that question, as it is privileged for reasons of national security.”

The senior Congressman sighed deeply and drew back to gather the Congressmen on either side of him for a discussion. They in turn talked to the Congressmen to their side, and the word spread down the table to either side as the chairman cleared his throat and said, “We are not, Mr. Lambert, going to hold you in contempt and arrest you. We understand that your refusal is on advice of counsel and at the direction of the White House, and we further understand that your job is vitally important during these dangerous times. We will await a resolution of this by the courts, but make no mistake about it, sir, you will testify before this Congress. Let the record show that this closed session of the Judiciary Committee of the House of Representatives is now adjourned. There will be a fifteen-minute recess. Mr. Lambert, you are free to go.”

Lambert entered the conference room not knowing what he would find. The television droned on at low volume in the background, and in the room sat the Joint Chiefs of Staff, their aides, and Lambert's own aides. All looked at him with keen interest as he entered.

“Did you spill yer guts?” General Fuller asked as Lambert took one of the empty seats at the table among the generals and admiral. “Hot pokers up yer butt, bamboo under yer nails, that sorta thing?”

Lambert shook his head. “White House counsel is petitioning the federal district court again, and it'll probably go all the way back up to the Supreme Court, maybe even by tomorrow. The chairman of the Judiciary Committee said he'd wait until they rule.”

“Fuckin' lawyers,” Fuller said, and then, “Oh, 'scuse me,” to Lambert.

The group's attention gravitated back toward the television on which was now shown Lambert's just-completed departure from the hearing room through a throng of reporters and photographers hurling questions at him, which he ignored.

“ . . . clearly upset at the loss of his wife, whose body, Congressional sources say, Mr. Lambert found during a resupply mission into contaminated Washington. One can only imagine what effect that might have had on Mr. Lambert's decision not to testify at this
hearing.” The video shifted to a picture of the Vice President and his Secret Service detail and staff making their way down one of the facility's underground corridors. “We go now to live pictures of Vice President Costanzo, who is emerging from his historic meeting with President Livingston.” One of the reporters met the oncoming Vice President with a microphone in his hand. “Mr. Vice President, what were you just discussing with President Livingston?”

The picture shook as the entire crew—CBS according to the logo that had just appeared on the lower corner of the screen—followed the Vice President. The reporter was shoved away by a Secret Service agent. “We covered certain political issues that I'm not at liberty to discuss.”

The reporter was losing ground to the fast-walking Vice President, but the camera stayed alongside. “Where are you going now, sir?”

“To a military briefing with the National Security Council,” the Vice President said over his shoulder as he turned the corner just down the hall from the conference room in which Lambert and the others sat, and Capitol Hill police stopped the press at a cordon.

“Shit,” General Fuller said. “Why don't we just invite the press on in. Or better yet, why don't we just fax Razov our plans?”

“The President is, I'm hearing,” the reporter said, now standing in the light of the camera and pressing his earphone to his ear, “departing the Congressional Facility, presumably to head back to his own supersecret facility at Mount Weather, eight miles from Berryville, Virginia.”

“Jeezus Christ!” Fuller said. “Can I go shoot that fucker for treason?” There was laughter from most around the table, but Lambert could feel the depression swirling round and round in his brain as the words of the reporter about Jane's death broke the levee he had erected in his mind. He felt as if he were swimming in the depression, and it was warm and inviting.

The door burst open and the Vice President walked briskly in. “Gentlemen,” he said as everyone rose. He walked quickly to the head of the table and placed his briefcase on top as he sat. Taking several reports and a notepad from the briefcase he said, “Turn that thing off,” nodding his head at the television. “Now”—he closed the briefcase and put it on the floor—“I want you to tell me where it is that the Russians have weak spots, and what we've got that can hurt them.”

Lambert knew what the prepared text of the briefing said, and the military men looked at one another in a quandary. Lambert spoke up first. “Mr. Vice President, the President's orders are to begin deployment of our principal combat formations while, at the
same time, disengaging from contact with the Russians. Much of these men's efforts, much of what they came prepared to say today, revolve around those two directives.”

The Vice President nodded. He then stood and began to pace behind his chair at the head of the table. “I have just met with the President. We are at a political impasse. This nation appears at this moment to be heading toward the greatest constitutional crisis since the Civil War.” The Vice President was not looking at his audience as he spoke, too busy composing his speech, constructing his arguments. He looked instead at his hands, which he clasped in front of him. “I have been informed by the leadership of both houses, both minority
and
majority, that Congress will vote upon and approve a resolution declaring war on the Russian Republic within twenty-four hours.”

Lambert could almost feel his heart thumping in his chest, which felt as if it was wrapped too tight around it. He had to remind himself to breathe as he looked at the Joint Chiefs, each of whom displayed varying degrees of dismay. “The President has given notice that he intends to exercise his discretion as commander in chief to refuse to prosecute that war.”

“Now,” Costanzo said, pivoting crisply at one side of the room and pacing in the opposite direction, “I'm sensitive to your extreme disinclination to involve yourself in any way in political matters, and certainly in constitutional matters of this magnitude. But I'm sorry to say that this is one from which you cannot be insulated. This is a national crisis in the making, and as Americans, you are, each and every one of you, involved in its resolution. Depending upon how this situation resolves itself, we either will be at war with Russia within the next few days or weeks or we will not be. If we
are
at war, I need not tell you gentlemen how much needs to be done to achieve victory on the battlefield. If we
are
at war, gentlemen, you have a lot to do, and I am recommending to you that, from this moment forward, you prepare yourselves and your commands by whatever means necessary to prosecute that war.”

The Vice President stood now with his hands on the back of his chair, which formed a podium of sorts for the speech to come. “Have any of you seen the Harris Poll done by telephone yesterday? Ninety-four percent—
ninety-four
percent—of the American population supports a continuation of hostilities against the Russians until the threat of their nuclear weapons has been removed.
Ninety-four percent!”

Lambert wanted to interrupt—to ask, “Removed how?”—but he kept silent.

“There are demonstrations taking place all across the country
demanding that action be taken. The faxes and telegrams are running over twelve hundred to one in favor of war. As the elected representatives of the people, gentlemen, the Congress is going to declare that war. As the Vice President of the United States, also elected directly by the people, I am going to support that declaration.”

“We have no choice,” General Thomas interrupted, the frustration, the anguish, over what was happening evident in his voice, “no choice whatsoever,” he continued, looking at the other Chiefs, “but to follow the lawful orders of the commander in chief.”

The Vice President held up his finger, his eyebrows arched. “The
lawful
orders. The lawful orders.”

“We
cannot
be asked to involve ourselves in legal hairsplitting!” Thomas said, the show of anger uncharacteristic in the normally staid general. “I am greatly troubled, Mr. Vice President, by the way even this meeting might appear were the substance of our discussion to become public. That appearance, it seems to me, sir, comes dangerously close to what might be construed to be discussions of an extra-constitutional coup, and if it continues on along these lines much further I am afraid that I will have to absent myself
and
promptly inform the President of what has taken place.”