Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09 (3 page)
Read Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09 Online
Authors: Warrior Class (v1.1)
PROLOGUE:
Blair House,
Washington
,
D.C.
20 January 2001
“Well,
what the hell are they
doing
in there?” the chief clerk of the United
States Supreme Court whispered excitedly. He knocked again on the door of the
Truman Quarters, the master guest suite of Blair House. Behind him waited the
chief justice of the Supreme Court, along with several aides. Secret Service
agents, and Blair House staff. Who the hell would keep the chief justice and
most of the rest of the world waiting like this?
A
few moments later, the President-elect himself opened the door. “Come in,
please, gentlemen,” he said, his everpresent half-smile on his face. “Welcome.
Hope we didn’t keep you too long.”
“Of
course not, Governor Thom,” the chief justice responded, with a faint smile.
“Don’t be silly—I’m the one disturbing
you.
This is your time. Probably
the last real peace and quiet you’ll have for a very long time.”
The
president-elect shook his head and smiled as if he was completely oblivious to
what was going to happen soon. “Nonsense, Your Honor. Peace is a state of mind,
not a function of time, place, or sound.”
“Of
course.” The chief justice and the clerk looked at each other and exchanged a
single silent comment as they entered: Yep, he’s a strange one, all right.
The
clerk looked at his watch, then at the chief justice with not a little concern
as they were admitted inside. The president and vice president-elect were
supposed to be at the west portico of the Capitol in twenty minutes for the
start of the inauguration-day ceremonies. The festivities had in fact already
started: a military pass-in-review in honor of the outgoing president and vice
president, a concert by the Marine Band, the invocation, and various poetry
readings celebrating the first peaceful transition of power in the
United States
of the new millennium.
The
vice president-elect would be sworn in first at ten minutes before noon,
followed by a song or march of the vice president-elect’s choice while the
players on the dais repositioned themselves. The vice president-elect, who
happened to be one- half Seminole Indian, had chosen the “John Dunbar theme” by
John Barry, from
Dances with Wolves,
with Michael Tilson Thomas
conducting the New World Symphony. The presidentelect’s swearing-in was
supposed to start at thirty seconds before
noon
, timed so that at precisely one second
after noon, the president-elect should be uttering the words “So help me God.”
The swearing-in would be followed by the first playing of “Hail to the Chief”
by the Marine Band, then the President’s inaugural address to the nation,
followed by a reception with the congressional leadership. Supreme Court members,
and other dignitaries and guests in the Presidential Room of the Capitol.
Then
there would be the parade down
Pennsylvania Avenue
to the White House—the newly sworn
President and Vice President and their wives were expected to continue the
Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter tradition and walk a good portion of the twelve-block
parade route. Later tonight, there were inaugural balls scheduled all across
Washington—about fifteen in all— and the new President, Vice President, and
their wives were expected at least to put in an appearance and take one turn
around the dance floor at all of them. Everything was being coordinated down to
the second, and there was intense pressure by organizers on everyone—even
Supreme Court justices—to keep on schedule.
Thorn
extended his hand to the chief justice of the Supreme Court as the latter
entered the room. “Chief Justice Thompson, good to see you again,” he said.
“Here to do the preliminaries, I presume?”
“Yes, Governor,” the chief justice
said, a bit impatiently. “We’re a little pressed for time, so we’d better—”
“Yes,
I know, I know. The precious schedule,” the president-elect said, his smile
disarming. The room was packed, but everyone was on their absolute best
behavior, sitting quietly without fussing or any sign of nervousness. The
president-elect had five children, all less than eight years of age, but there
was not a peep out of any one of them except for polite whispers—everyone
thought they were the most well behaved children on the planet. “We’re ready
for you now.”
The
dark horse had a name, and it was Thomas Nathaniel Thom, the former
boy-governor of
Vermont
. Tall, boyishly handsome, his wavy hair thinning but still blond—Thom
was only in his mid-forties—with dancing blue eyes and an easy smile, he looked
like anything but the fastest-rising star on the American political scene. As
the founder and leader of the Jeffersonian Party, Thom was the first
alternative-party candidate since Abraham Lincoln and his fledgling Republican
Party to be elected to the presidency.
The
vice president-elect, Lester Rawlins Busick, the former six-term senator from
Florida, and his wife, Martha, were inside as well, with their two grown
children. Busick, a former southern “Reagan” Democrat—fiscally conservative but
socially liberal—was an old political pro and very well respected inside the
Beltway. But he had parted ways with his party on several issues, and had soon
come to realize that his message could better be heard from the forum of the
hot new Jeffersonian Party rather than if he were just another veteran senator
shouting against the political hurricane. Despite Busick’s strong reputation
and sheer physical presence, however, he was practically invisible in the
crowded hotel room.
The
door was secured, and the onlookers gathered around, with an aide discreetly
snapping pictures. The chief justice shook hands with everyone, then said in a
rather rushed tone of voice, “As you know. Governor Thom, the Twentieth
Amendment to the Constitution of the
United States
prescribes the actual moment at which you
take office, which is one second after twelve o’clock
noon
today. Article Two, Section One of the
Constitution also mandates that you take the oath of office before assuming
your responsibilities as president of the
United States
.
“Therefore,
since there is a big ceremony with a lot of people and a lot of things that can
conceivably go wrong between here and the official swearing-in ...” he paused
slightly—they were very late already, so this was certainly a case of one of
“those things that can conceivably go wrong”—“... it is customary to administer
the oath of office before the public ceremony, so that at the moment your term
of office does officially commence, you will have already been sworn in and we
avoid any constitutional questions. I'm confident you will have no objection to
taking the oath twice.” Thorn just smiled that peaceful, confident half-smile,
the one that helped power him past an incumbent Republican, President Kevin
Martindale, and a nationally recognized Democratic front-runner and all the way
into the White House. “Very good. You have the Bible, I see. Mrs. Thorn. Let's
proceed,”
Amelia
Thom held out an antique Bible, one that could be traced back to President
Thomas Jefferson's family, in the direction of the chief justice's voice.
Amelia Thorn had been blind since an early age, the result of childhood
diabetes, but hers was a true story of perseverance and strength: she was an
experienced jurist, a mother of five, and had held a seat on the New Hampshire
State Supreme Court before resigning to help in her husband's presidential
campaign. “Please place your left hand on the Bible, Governor Thom, raise your
right hand, and repeat after me: ‘I, Thomas Nathaniel Thorn, do solemnly swear
. . .” Thom recited the oath of office flawlessly, passionately, with his
eyes on his wife, and hers on him, lifted toward the sound of his voice. The
task was repeated with Lester Busick, with his wife Martha holding the antique
Bible open to a passage in the Book of Isaiah,
“Thank
you. Governor Thom, Senator Busick.” The chief justice could still not legally
call them “Mr. President” or “Mr. Vice President” yet, but he shook their hands
and congratulated them nonetheless. “I wish you the best of luck and the
prayers of a nation. Now, I think we should be on our way, or else the producers
and directors choreographing the show today will all be very angry at us.”
“We’re not ready yet,” Thom said.
Hie
chief justice looked aghast. “Excuse me, Governor?”
“We’re
not ready.” Thorn motioned to the seats arranged in front of the huge fireplace
in the hotel suite, and quickly but quietly, Busick and his family and Thom’s
family sat down and joined hands. “We have one task to perform before we leave.
You are welcome to join us, or you can observe, or you can make your way to the
Capitol.” He led his wife to the love seat facing the fireplace, the White
House visible across the street through the windows flanking it, then sat down
and nodded to those around him. “Close the eyes, please.”
To
Chief Justice Thompson’s great surprise, they all closed their eyes and fell
silent, hands joined, heads bowed. He looked at his cleric, then at his watch,
then at the amazing spectacle before him. “What... what are they doing?” he
whispered to a Secret Service agent assigned to the family. “Are they praying?”
“I
don’t think so, sir,” the agent replied quietly. “I think they’re meditating.”
“Meditating?
Now?
The man’s going to be sworn in as president of the
United States
in less than a half hour! How can he think
about
meditating
at a time like this?”
“They
do this twice a day, Your Honor, every day,” the agent said matter-of-factly.
“Twenty minutes.
Exactly
twenty minutes. All of them.”
It
was then that the chief justice realized that all the stories he had heard
about Thomas Nathaniel Thom were probably true. This was impossible ...
unacceptable! “Governor Thom, please, we should be going.” No response.
Thompson raised his voice in his most commanding courtroom tone:
“Governor
Thom!
”
One
of the children opened her eyes, looked at the chief justice, then looked at
her mother quizzically, but closed her eyes again when Amelia didn’t react.
“You may join us, you can observe, or you may leave,” Thom said in a very quiet
but perturbed voice, keeping his eyes closed, “but you may not disturb us.
Thank you.”
Chief Justice Thompson knew his
presence was demanded at the Capitol, knew he had to be there—but he couldn't
make himself leave. He stood, transfixed, and watched in amazement as the minutes
ticked by and the hour of transition approached. There were several urgent
radio and phone calls, all answered by the Secret Service, but the Thoms and
the Busicks could not be disturbed.
Thompson
considered saying something, perhaps even ordering them to get their asses in
gear and get going because the
nation
was waiting for them, for God's
sake, but some unexplained force kept him from saying another word. He couldn’t
believe the children—even the infant seemed to be resting, and the toddlers
didn’t move a muscle. He had never before in his life seen toddlers sit still
for so long—his own grandchildren, although very well behaved, seemed to have
nanosecond attention spans.
Precisely
twenty minutes later, the Thoms opened their eyes—it was as if a silent command
had passed between them, because they all did it together. The Busicks opened
their eyes when they detected the Thoms stirring. None of them looked Sleepy in
the least—in fact, they looked energized, refreshed, ready to power ahead. The
older children quickly leapt into action without being told to do so, checking
the younger children’s diapers and helping Amelia Thom pack up. Within moments,
they were ready to leave.
