Interface (101 page)

In his right hand he was carrying a thick black book with the
words HOLY BIBLE printed on the cover in gold letters. A single sheet of typing paper was clasped in the front cover.

"Excuse me," said the man in the black robe, standing up on
tiptoes trying to see over the shoulders of the bodyguards, "but I
could not help but notice that the Chief Justice has been
incapacitated. Can I be of some assistance here?"

"Who are you?" Mary Catherine said, peering at him between a
couple of Posse members.

"Stanley Kotlarski, Fifth Circuit Court Judge, Cook County,
Illinois," the man said. "Mel asked me to hang around in case
something happened to the Chief Justice. Are you ready to do the honours, or are we going to stand around here all day?"

The circle of bodyguards opened up to admit Judge Kotlarski
and the camera crew. Judge Kotlarski pulled the sheet of paper out
of the Bible and then handed the Bible to Mary Catherine. "You
know the drill," he said.

She did know it. She had just done it about fifteen minutes
before. Now, tear-streaked, blood-stained, barefoot, and
dishevelled, she did it again: held the Bible out in front of the
President-to-be. Eleanor Richmond didn't hesitate. She put one
hand on the Bible and held up the other one.
Judge Kotlarski looked at the cameraman. "You ready?"

"We're live to planet Earth," the cameraman said.
Judge Kotlarski began to read from the sheet of paper. "Repeat
after me.
In the middle of the oath of office, Eleanor and the Judge had to
raise their voices; they were nearly drowned out by the sound of a
medevac chopper setting down out front, then, within a few
seconds, lifting off again.

Mary Catherine didn't pay much attention to the oath. She was
looking out the windows, watching the chopper carry her father
away. The first thing she really heard was the voice of the President
issuing her first order: "Evacuate and seal the Rotunda."

Then President Richmond bent down, pulled a thick black
envelope out of her bag, and ripped it open.

William A. Cozzano arrived at the Lady Wilburdon Gunshot
Wound Institute via helicopter, roughly fifteen minutes after the bullet had entered his body. By that point, he had lost roughly half of his blood supply. He was trucked straight into a trauma room,
where his chest was split open by Dr. Cornelius Gary. The
President was in good hands: between his service in the Gulf War
and the trauma centers of D.C., Dr. Gary had personally treated
more gunshot wounds than any other physician in the United
States.

Before going under anaesthesia, Cozzano's last words to his son,
James, were: "You're free now, son. Go out and be a good man."

Dr. Gary worked to mend Cozzano's shattered organs for thirty
minutes. William A. Cozzano died on the operating table at
12:58
p.m.,
having been President for just under one hour.

62

The first document in the black envelope was a one-sentence
executive order that continued in force all of the orders made by
Cozzano from the inaugural platform.

President Richmond moved her temporary headquarters to the
Senate Press Room, which was easier to secure than the Rotunda,
and well equipped with communications gear. She ordered a
confirmation from all elements affected by Cozzano's orders that
they had received, understood, and would obey. She faxed a message to the ops center on the seventh floor of the State
Department and told them to send a copy to every other country
in the world. The message stated that today's violence was strictly
a domestic affair, things were in order, and full disclosure would be
made soon.

She called in the Senate and House leadership. Each was
examined by a physician. The Speaker of the House, who had
suffered a stroke in November and been rehabilitated at the
Radhakrishnan Institute in California, was declared to be medically
incapacitated - the document stating so was already drawn up
inside the black envelope; the senior whip of the majority party
took over as acting House Speaker.

She sent out messages to all four network anchors requesting
their presence in the Rotunda. They and their crew members were
all carefully frisked and then ushered up to the Senate Press Room,
where they interviewed President Richmond, who was flanked by
the Senate majority leader and the acting Speaker. The most junior
Justice on the Supreme Court had by now been rustled up and
brought into the room.

The broadcast went live to all the networks at 2:08
p.m.
Eleanor led off by making the first official announcement of President
Cozzano's death.

Then she said, "You see before you the three branches of the
United States government. Our purpose in being here is to reassure
you of the continuity of the basic institutions of this government
and to respond to the questions of these journalists, which will
hopefully reflect the concerns of the nation."

A network anchorwoman raised her hand. Eleanor nodded to
her.

The anchorwoman said, "Madame President. How do you
feel
at
this moment?"

Cyrus Rutherford Ogle, handcuffed in the back of the GODS
truck, had no idea what was going on until about 2:30, at which point the doors were suddenly thrown open and he was blinded by a rectangle of pure white light.

Framed in the white rectangle was a man in a black suit. Behind
him were several men wearing dark FBI windbreakers. "Ogle,"
said the man in the black suit, "I've been looking for you."

"Howdy. Who are you?" Ogle asked.

"I'm the new Attorney General of the United States," the man
said.

"I've
 
been
 
out
 
of touch
 
the
 
last little
 
while,"
  
Ogle
 
said
apologetically.

"Oh. I'm sorry. My name is Mel Meyer."

Ogle was deeply mortified. Not to mention confused. "I
thought that President Cozzano was going to appoint-

"Change of plans. When you weren't there to keep things in
hand at the crucial moment, we had to do a little improvising. I had to step in and fill the vacuum. You know all about filling vacuums,
don't you, Mr. Ogle?"

"Well, I've done my share."

"But I think you'll be happy with the results," Mel Meyer said.
He waved his hand at the FBI men. "I've directed the FBI to arrest
you. I'm sure you understand."

Ogle didn't understand at all. "On what charge?"
"Turning the Attorney General's best friend into a degraded
slave," Mel said. "And a number of other charges which I have
written out at great length, and which we can discuss in the fullness
of time. President Richmond has ordered you held for a few days
until we can sort things out."
"President
Richmond?"

The FBI agents grabbed Ogle's arms and hauled him up out of
the chair where he'd been sitting for the last two hours. His feet almost slipped out from under him on the blood-slickened floor;
they gripped his arms tightly and ushered him out the door and
down the steps. An FBI chopper was idling on the ground in Taft
Park.

"I hope you're not going to use the power of your office to
pursue some kind of personal vendetta," Ogle said, shouting back over his shoulder as the agents took him across Louisana Avenue.

"Oh, on the contrary," Meyer said. "I've gone to great trouble
to arrange a cell for you that I think will be to your liking." "You're not putting me in with crack dealers, are you?"
"Absolutely not," Meyer said. "You'll be with people much like
yourself."

"I thank you for that courtesy," Ogle said. They loaded him on to the chopper, strapped him into the seat,
and lifted off, cutting forward across Constitution at a low angle. Ogle had a spectacular view of the Capitol dome out his window.
He had gotten damn close. And now, in some way that no one
had bothered to explain to him yet, he had lost.

It was okay. He was tied into the Network now. The Network
needed him. As long as that was the case, he'd never have to worry
about anything.

The chopper headed due south, crossing over the Southeast
Freeway and then over Fort McNair, on the point of land where the
Potomac and the Anacostia rivers came together. They cut down the
center of the Potomac until they were south of National Airport,
then banked into a gentle right turn and headed south-southeast,
passing near the spire of the Masonic Memorial in Alexandria.

"Where are we going?" he asked twice. But the FBI agents
either couldn't hear him or pretended they couldn't.

They flew for several miles across the suburban sprawl of
northern Virginia, roughly paralleling I-395. The broad grassy
lawns of Fort Belvoir were visible on the left. Perhaps they were
using Fort Belvoir as a temporary camp for political prisoners. That
wouldn't be so bad; folks in the Army called Belvoir the Country
Club.

Instead, they came down in a yard amid enormous, drab
buildings, surrounded by tall fences topped with swirls of razor
ribbon.

Lorton. They were putting him in Lorton Reformatory. The
District of Columbia was so small and so full of criminals that there
wasn't room to build a big enough prison; they had built one out
in Virginia instead. And now Ogle was going to be an inmate.

He reckoned they would put him in a minimum-security wing
somewhere, maybe out in a nice wooded area. But they took him straight into one of the big prison buildings. Straight to a
maximum-security wing, where all of the prisoners were locked in
their cells all day long.

The prisoners hung on their bars and watched Ogle hungrily as
he was led down the corridor in his nice suit and his polished shoes.
They shouted things to him. Disgusting things.

Ogle was almost paralyzed with fear. Meyer had lied to him.

Finally they reached a cell that was empty. Maybe he'd be put there.

But they passed right on by it and continued to the next cell. This
cell had one man in it, curled up on the upper bunk, not moving.
Ogle just got a quick glimpse of him before he was shoved in through
the door: his new roommate was small, stoop-shouldered, late
middle-aged, wearing a dress shirt and slacks just like Ogle.

The massive iron door thudded shut behind him.

Ogle turned to greet his new cellmate. The man had risen up to his hands and knees and was now looking down at Ogle from the
upper bunk like a jaguar perched in a tree. He was breathing rapidly
and raggedly.

A huge bubble of mucous grew from Jeremiah Freel's left nostril
and popped.

Freel launched himself from the bunk headfirst, trying to sink his
teeth into Ogle's cheek. Ogle instinctively turned his head away
and snapped his head back. The impact slammed him back against
the bars. Freel tumbled to the floor.

Freel reached for Ogle's groin. Ogle bent over and shoved his
finger into one of Freel's eyes. Freel moved his head at the last
moment and sank his teeth into Ogle's finger. Ogle stomped on
one of Freel's hands.

And then they started fighting. In cells all around them, the
convicts from D.C. flocked to the bars shouting, laughing, and
pumping their fists in exultation.

Several hundred feet beneath Cacher, Oklahoma, Otis Simpson
was sitting in a swivel chair in the Communications Center, staring at a wall of dead screens. He had been staring at them ever since
roughly 19:08 Greenwich Mean Time. At that moment, President
Richmond had gone live to the world, flanked by the leaders of the
legislative and judicial branches. Then all the screens had gone
black. The faxes had gone silent. The computer links had been cut off. He had tried sending messages to the Network, but all the
encryption keys had been changed.