Capitol Betrayal (33 page)

The president rose. “Put him on speaker.”

Swinburne stood. “No, wait just a—”

“I’m still the president. At least for the next few minutes. And so long as I am president, I will do my job. So get out of my way.”

Swinburne frowned but got out of the way.

“Colonel Zuko. Are you there?”

The deep, guttural voice Ben had come to dislike so strongly returned to the airwaves. “I am.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed, as I have, that there are only five minutes remaining on the clock.”

“Is that right? I must’ve lost track.”

“This is not a time for levity, Mr. President. Let me assure you that I mean what I say. The missiles have been targeted. They will deliver their payload to heavily populated residential areas.”

“Where? Anacostia? Georgetown? Morgan? Cleveland Park?”

“Why do you ask? So you can begin an evacuation, as you did on the National Mall? I’m afraid I cannot answer your question.”

“Because you want people to die.”

“Because I can see from your failure to act earlier today that the taking of lives is necessary to make you understand that you have no choice in this matter. You must withdraw your troops.”

Silence. The president chose not to answer.

“Have you changed your mind?” Zuko demanded.

“I have not,” the president said, looking at Swinburne out the corner of his eye. “But… it’s possible that things could change.”

“I hope for your sake that they do. Because if I cannot see in the next few minutes that you are withdrawing the troops from my sovereign territory, thousands of your civilians will die. And you will be known forevermore not as the man who brought peace to his nation but as the warmonger who allowed thousands of his own people to be butchered.”

“Colonel Zuko—”

Too late. The line was dead.

“And on that happy note,” Cartwright said, “it’s time for us to vote.”

Ben pulled out his ballpoint pen, ready to tick off the votes. Please, God, he thought, please…

What did he really want? What did he think was truly best?

Please, God, do what’s best for this nation and the people in it. He would leave it at that.

“Mr. Secretary of State?”

Ruiz answered, “Remove.”

Ben cursed silently. Why did he have to be first? He hoped Ruiz hadn’t started a trend that would be impossible to buck.

“Mr. Secretary of Defense.”

Rybicki replied, “Retain.”

Thank God. So the score was even, at least here in the bunker.

The president leaned toward Ben’s ear and whispered, “However this turns out, Ben, I want to thank you. You’ve done a great service for me, and I appreciate it.”

“I wish I had—”

The president squeezed his arm, stopping him. “You’ve done the best job anyone could possibly do with a virtually impossible case. And I will never forget it.”

Cartwright continued. “Mr. Secretary of the Treasury.”

“Retain.”

Ben’s eyes widened. They were ahead. Was it possible…?

“Ms. Attorney General.”

“Retain.”

Ben closed his eyes. Yes! Keep them coming…

“Mr. Secretary of the Interior.”

“Remove.”

Well, there were bound to be a few.

“Mr. Secretary of Agriculture.”

“Remove.”

The score was tied again. And they still had more than half of the cabinet members to poll.

“Ms. Secretary of Labor.”

She was shaking her head sadly as she answered, “Remove.”

“Mr. Secretary of Commerce.”

“Remove.”

Ben looked at the president firmly. “Don’t give up. It isn’t over yet.”

The president nodded, without much enthusiasm.

“Mr. Secretary of Housing and Urban Development.”

“Retain.”

See? Always hope…

“Mr. Secretary of Transportation.”

“Retain.”

Even odds again…

“Mr. Secretary of Energy.”

“Retain.”

Sweet God! Was it possible? They were ahead, with only a few votes outstanding. For the first time, Ben allowed himself to hope.

“Ms. Secretary of Education.”

“Remove.”

That’s okay—still several votes out there…

“Mr. Secretary of Veterans’ Affairs.”

“Remove.”

Well, it was predictable that he would side with the secretary of state.

“Mr. Secretary of Homeland Security.”

“Retain.”

Dear God, was it tied again? It could go either way at this point. On one hand, Ben was pleased to know that he had managed to persuade a few cabinet members—or perhaps they were simply loyal to the man who had appointed them. In any case, it wasn’t the rout it could have been. But why did it all have to come down to one vote?

“Someone correct me if I’m wrong,” Cartwright said, “but I believe that makes the vote of the Cabinet members exactly seven to seven. Looks like it all comes down to the last vote. Mr. Secretary of Health and Human Services, you’re making the final call.”

It was obvious he didn’t want that responsibility. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know, sir. But you’ve got it, anyway. How do you vote?”

It seemed an eternity passed before he finally spoke. “Remove.”

Ben felt as if his heart had just stopped. Damn! He knew the odds had been stacked against them, but to lose by one vote! He suddenly realized his whole body, especially his legs, were shaking. Had they been like that all along and he just didn’t know it? Did it take the crash of the adrenaline infusion before he realized what was going on with his own body?

He looked beside him at the president. Kyler was shaking his head, fighting to keep his expression even. He had to be devastated. The temptation to shout, argue, or break into tears must be profound. But he was managing to keep it together.

“It’s not your fault, Ben,” he said generously. “You did everything that could possibly be done. I’m indebted to you.”

“That’s not—” Ben began, but he was cut off by the admiral.

“The vote of the cabinet is eight for removal, seven for retention. The majority favors removal. Therefore, in my capacity as judge of this constitutional tribunal, I hereby declare that the Twenty-fifth Amendment will be implemented. Although the amendment provides for a resolution to be provided to the Congress, under the circumstances I’m sure everyone will agree that we will not delay the transition of power, but will only ask that this technicality be fulfilled as swiftly as possible. The president has been found incapable of performing his duties and is therefore relieved of said duties. The office of the president will be assumed by Vice President Swinburne.”

“The oath of office is in the football, with a Bible,” the president said helpfully. His voice sounded as if it was on the verge of breaking, but didn’t quite.

Did he mean the nuclear football? Ben wondered. The silver attaché case with all the codes for nuclear launch plus, apparently, a few other essential emergency items?

“Since I’m the judge, sort of,” Cartwright said, “I guess I can be in charge of that. Mr. Swinburne, let’s do it in the next room.”

“We can do it later,” Swinburne replied. “Have you noticed the clock?”

In fact, in the midst of all the excitement, Ben had actually forgotten about the ticking countdown. As he turned his head, the display changed to show only one minute remaining until Colonel Zuko’s grace period ran out.

In less than sixty seconds, another missile could be headed toward a nearby residential neighborhood. For the first time, Ben found himself almost grateful he had lost the trial.

“Get out of my way,” Swinburne growled, pushing away everyone who was between him and the communications station. “Let me talk to Zuko!”

Agent Zimmer glanced up at him calmly. “As you say, sir. We have a continuing connection. I’ll see if he will pick up the line again.” A few seconds later, he said, “I have the colonel for you, Mr. Vice President.”

“That’s Mr. President now,” Swinburne said, snatching the headset away from him.

“Colonel? This is Conrad Swinburne. I don’t have time to explain all the details, but I’m the commander in chief now, and I am immediately giving the order to—”

And then, without warning, all the lights in the bunker went out, including the lights on the communications station. Ben listened with horror to the slow, eerie dying whine of the electronic equipment powering down.

“What the hell just happened?” Swinburne bellowed in the darkness.

“I don’t know,” Zimmer said. Rustling noises told Ben he was trying a dozen things at once, trying to discern what was going on. “We seem to have lost power.”

“I thought the bunker had its own generator!”

“It does,” Zimmer said succinctly.

“Then what’s going on?”

“If you could just give me a minute to investigate—”

“We don’t have a minute! That madman will launch the missiles! Get him back!”

Ben heard Zimmer frantically pushing buttons, trying to raise a ghost in the machine. “I… can’t.”

“Then get me the Joint Chiefs. So I can give the order to have our troops withdraw!”

“At the moment I can’t do that, either.”

“Then let me the hell out of this bunker!”

“No.” Ben didn’t know how, but he got the distinct impression that Zimmer was restraining Swinburne.

“Get your hands off me, man. I’m the president now!”

“Which is exactly why you have to remain in the bunker. I’ll send someone else to check out the power problem.”

“Does anyone know the time?” Cartwright was asking the question.

Across the table, Ben detected a small green glow.

Secretary Rybicki had a glow-in-the-dark watch.

“The time… is up,” he said in quick, clipped tones. “It’s too late.”

Ben felt his heart pounding in his chest. Sarie reached for his hand. He took it and squeezed tightly.

He could feel Swinburne crumbling to the table. “After all that. After all that. We’re still too late.”

The bunker fell eerily quiet. When Swinburne spoke again, he spoke for them all.

“Oh, my God,” he said, and his words seemed to contain all the pain of tens of thousands of innocent civilian lives. “Oh, my dear God.”

No one moved. No one spoke. They had known that missiles were on their way for two hours now, and yet, with the knowledge that they must have actually been fired, the horror of the situation struck home with an impact they had not yet experienced.

To Ben’s surprise, the former president was the first to break the silence. “Is there any way to get confirmation about what has happened?” Kyler asked.

“Not until we get power, or a report from someone who’s gone above,” Zimmer said into the darkness. “I’ve sent agents topside to investigate. I assume they’ll come down with information about any recent developments.”

“How long will that take?”

“Hard to say, sir. My guess would be around ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes of not knowing,” Kyler said softly. “My God, how will we survive?”

“Is there any doubt about it?” Swinburne asked. “Zuko told us what he would do. He’s a violent dictator, not a poker player.”

“And how many people did he say would die?” Sarie asked, her heartbreak evident in her voice. “Thousands?”

“Tens of thousands,” Rybicki reminded them all.

The room fell silent again.

“I guess there’s nothing we can do but wait for information.”

“For the moment,” Zimmer said.

“And we can pray,” Cartwright added. “We can still pray.”

Ben felt certain that, at least for that one brief moment in time, everyone in the bunker, whatever their race, creed, or color, lowered their head and said a little prayer to anyone they believed might be listening.

(SEVEN MINUTES BEFORE)

Seamus gritted his teeth and raised his eyes to the ceiling. He was bleeding in so many places he couldn’t keep track of them. It had all merged into one gigantic hurt. He had tried to hold in the pain, but he couldn’t stop himself from bleeding, or screaming, or crying. He hated that. Not because it was a sign of weakness. Because it gave Scarface so much pleasure.

Raising his eyes upward was not simply an expression of his desperation. It was an old spy trick. You look away from whatever you don’t want your assailant to see.

He had managed to pull one of his legs free from the cords that tied him to the cot. If he could loosen the other one, he just might be able to improve his situation.

Or die trying.

“You seem not so bothered anymore,” Scarface said with unmitigated glee. “I miss the lovely sound of your screaming.” Perhaps we need to try somewhere else.” He removed Seamus’s belt and jerked down his slacks. “I think the American testicles might be a good place to try next. Do you think you will feel my pliers on your American testicles?”

Seamus didn’t withhold his contempt. It wasn’t going to make any difference anyway. “I think you’re going to do whatever pleases you. If you didn’t have a strong sadistic streak, you wouldn’t be doing this. You tell yourself you’re doing it for some noble cause, but the truth is you’re only doing it to gratify your own desire to inflict pain.”

Scarface jabbed him in the stomach with the pliers. Seamus lurched forward. He felt his gorge rising. If he had eaten anything lately, he surely would have lost it. He thought it was possible he had broken another rib, but he had so much pain radiating from that region it was impossible to know with any certainty.

Scarface thrust the pliers between his legs. “Prepare to feel the pain of your own manhood slipping away from you. And then to lose life itself.”

Seamus squinted his eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable.

Then he heard the crash.

He opened his eyes. Through the window, back in the main room with all the computer equipment—a car had just crashed through the north garage door opening. The car had been battered mightily by the crash, but it had made it through and it was still moving. It was traveling at a tremendous speed, which probably helped it get through. It—