Lethal Trajectories (34 page)

“Al Jazeera again: You are a powerful member of the royal Saudi government. Did you have inside information that led you to flee the country with your family?”

“No, I had no inkling whatsoever of the coup. If I had, I would have taken my three brothers and four sisters with me. Now I believe them all to be dead, just as I would have been had I stayed in Riyadh a few hours longer. I left to attend a scheduled OPEC meeting, a fact you may confirm with the organization, and, as I often do, I brought my family and a few advisors with me. That’s the truth of the matter.”

“BBC, Your Highness: Given your position, you must have had occasion to come into contact with or know King Mustafa. Could you comment on what kind of person he is?”

“I have known Mustafa since childhood. We played together as children, and I have seen him many times in our adulthood at meetings and family activities. We have also served on a few of the same commissions. He is a brilliant and talented man, but has a ruthless streak barely hidden beneath a veneer of good manners. He has a dark side few people know, and I can personally tell you he is a vile and dangerous man.”

“SNS here, Your Highness: Do you think King Mustafa would detonate the dirty bombs he has planted, if threatened, and consign the Saudi people to economic ruin?”

“There is absolutely no doubt he would do this. Dictators like Mustafa believe the world revolves around them. If they are no longer around, what good is the land or people to them? Why not explode the dirty bombs? He is already killing my countrymen by the thousands in his so-called cleansing operations; murder by economic disaster certainly would not bother him.”

“BBC, Your Highness: Can you comment on King Mustafa’s nuclear arsenal and his willingness to use atomic weapons against others?”

“Like you, I was shocked to learn he had nuclear weapons. I wouldn’t have believed it had he not detonated the demonstration bomb. A nuclear program was never seriously considered in our government, and it is unlikely that a secret nuclear program could have been developed without my knowledge. Therefore, I can only conclude Mustafa purchased nuclear weapons on the black market, along with the services of trained specialists to operate them. Mustafa would most certainly have the contacts and resources to purchase such weapons. I can’t imagine he has a large nuclear arsenal, but then it doesn’t take many atomic bombs to destroy a major city, does it?”

“Al Jazeera: What are your intentions, Prince Khalid, and what do you hope to accomplish from this press conference?”

“I’ll answer your second question first, Al Jazeera. Mustafa’s treachery has put Saudi Arabia, our Arab brothers and sisters, and the global community at grave risk. He has blamed the coup on outside forces and positioned himself as the reluctant leader, picking up the mantle from the fallen king—the king that he assassinated. This is all a blatant lie. He is now cleansing the country of ‘apostates and infidels'—a euphemism for executing all political opponents. He’s threatened our OPEC partners and our neighbors with force and is using the ultimate weapon of mass destruction—oil—to shut down the global economy. He must be stopped. The world must know the truth about this vile man. I am willing to risk my life to denounce Mustafa for the murderous fraud he is.”

“And what are your intentions?” prompted the Al Jazeera reporter.

“I hope to serve as a counterforce to Mustafa’s illegitimate regime. I hope to attract a force of like-minded thinkers and international allies to join in my crusade against this evil tyrant. I also want to say to Mustafa: Your days are numbered.”

The press conference continued for another thirty minutes, but Khalid’s request for willing partners had been picked up and acted upon by the CIA well before the broadcast ended. His determination to become a ray of hope had been recognized, but he knew as well as anyone that it also made him a target.

C
layton McCarty did what he could to gird himself for his bedside visit with President Burkmeister. Doctor Toomay’s late-night notification that the president had taken a serious turn for the worse had shortened his already sparse hours of rest. That the president was requesting a seven o’clock meeting this morning was still more alarming. While hoping for the best, Clayton prepared for the worst as the president’s butler, Randall Whitehead, arrived to escort him to the president’s bedroom.

“How is he doing, Randall?” Clayton asked, not really expecting an answer from the usually reserved butler.

“Not very well, I’m afraid, Mr. Vice President,” answered Randall with genuine concern in his voice. “He had a difficult night, and he’s been bedridden since. Doctor Toomay has been with him all night.”

Clayton, surprised that the taciturn Randall would say this much, replied, “Thanks, Randall, that’s helpful to know.”

Even with Randall’s forewarning, he was unprepared for the scene that awaited him. The president, looking frail and spent, sat in his bed with an IV bottle dripping an unknown substance into his body.

“Come in, Clayton,” Burkmeister called out weakly.

“Thank you, Mr. President. How are you feeling?”

“Not so good, as I’m sure you can guess from these confounded IV bottles. Doc Toomay’s magic formula is supposed to make me better.” Toomay winced.

“In fact, while you’re here, Randall, could you give me a hand? I need to use the john before Clayton and I talk.” Randall crossed the room in a flash to escort the president to the bathroom only a few feet away. Clayton took the opportunity to question Dr. Toomay.

“Doc, what happened? I simply can’t believe how quickly he’s gone downhill since the diagnosis. Is it normal to decline this fast?”

“The word ‘normal’ is hard to define in situations like this, Mr. Vice President. Every patient seems to take a different pathway, but the short answer is yes, the president’s rate of decline is quite remarkable.”

“It just doesn’t make sense, Doc. He looked just fine up to a few weeks ago, though he was troubled by stomach pains. This doesn’t make sense.”

“Hindsight is always perfect, Mr. Vice President, but we can tell now, after many medical tests, that he was a very sick man for quite some time before his diagnosis. He had two things going for him that helped hide his true condition: First, he was in relatively good health at the onset of his illness and had a lot of natural resistance to the more unpleasant early stage effects of the disease. Second, he has a high pain threshold that disguised the severity of his condition. Weight loss, lack of appetite, stomach pain or indigestion … none of those symptoms seem unusual in someone in an immensely stressful position. It wasn’t until he himself reported severe abdominal pain and I noticed signs of jaundice that we even thought to look deeper.”

Doc Toomay’s explanation sounded plausible, but Clayton wondered if the good doctor might not be covering his fanny a little. Still, he doubted anything could have been done even if the symptoms had been caught earlier.

Just then, the president returned, and after being helped back into bed he dismissed Doc Toomay and Randall.

“Clayton,” he said, “I had an attack last night that made me realize I might not pull through the next one. I’m not even sure I will be alive for the succession ceremony, let alone functional as president, considering the heavy dosages of painkillers I’m taking.”

Shocked, Clayton managed to reply, “I fully understand, Mr. President. I will work through this with you in any manner you want.”

“Thanks, Clayton,” he replied with a weak smile, “I’m so sorry to do this to you, but I have little choice. I’d like to send out an announcement this morning saying the succession will take place in the Oval Office tomorrow. Come hell or high water, though, I plan to be the first person there to shake your hand as our new president.”

Burkmeister seemed relieved to have issued his final directive as president—or maybe it was just the effects of the IV drip pain medication—and his energy level seemed to improve.

“Now, what’s been going on these last few days, Clayton? I’m afraid I’ve been in a bit of a fog with these drugs I’m taking.”

“I guess the biggest piece of news is that Chairman Lin Cheng called yesterday to confirm that China is willing to partner with us in a collaborative alliance to deal with the Mustafa regime. He had called earlier last week with progress reports, as you know, but he was finally able to close the deal on his end.”

“Fantastic, Clayton, that’s simply wonderful. What else did he have to say?'

“He shared with me the battle he had with his Politburo, but he said they came around to his thinking after realizing the true danger of the Saudi threat. There were a lot of hard feelings toward the Japanese, he said, but China is willing to put the Chunxiao matter on hold until the Saudi mess is resolved. He said your willingness to call for a moratorium on Chunxiao helped turn the tide. He even invited me to visit China, speak to the Chinese people, and meet privately with the Politburo as soon as possible, and said he would reciprocate if it would be helpful.”

“That’s astonishing Clayton. Where do we go from here?”

“Wang Peng and Jack are working out a framework for the joint planning and preparation that others will follow. Jack will leave sometime tomorrow for a hush-hush meeting with Wang. Oh, and the locale of their meeting was decided based on the next piece of news I have for you.”

“What news is that?” the president asked curiously.

“You probably heard the taped interview that Prince Khalid gave on Friday?”

“Yes I did, and I must admit I was really surprised by what he said.”

“That’s only part of it, Mr. President. Shortly after the tapes were broadcast, CIA operatives contacted Prince Khalid. The CIA advised me that Khalid is respected in Saudi Arabia and would be a good man to cultivate as a leader in exile. Our intermediary said that Khalid agreed to meet with a representative of the American government, provided that person had the direct ear of the president. I immediately thought of Jack, and we instructed the CIA to tell them this could be arranged. We didn’t tell them who the representative would be. I apologize—this all just happened, and I haven’t had a chance to run it by you.”

Unconcerned, Burkmeister asked, “So your thinking is to tie Jack’s conference with Wang to a meeting with Khalid?”

“That’s the idea, Mr. President. We’re thinking now that if at all possible, Jack will arrange a clandestine meeting with Wang Peng in Geneva and hopefully schedule a private meeting with Prince Khalid beforehand. Jack will advise Wang of his contact with Khalid, but Wang will of course not attend.”

“That sounds promising, Clayton. If we could unite with China and organize a world coalition against the Saudis, complete with a credible Saudi leader to undermine King Mustafa’s legitimacy, it … well, it changes the whole dynamic.” Burkmeister pondered that scenario for a few moments before asking, “On a domestic note, are you still planning to address a joint session of Congress?”

“My plan is still to address Congress next Monday night. I’ll make a brief statement to the press following the swearing-in ceremony advising them of the congressional address on Monday night and that the White House will remain silent until then. The press won’t like it, but until we can get everything sorted out and packaged, there are so many moving parts that I wouldn’t know for sure what to say.”

“What’s the latest on Elizabeth Cartright? Has she accepted your offer yet of the vice presidency?”

“We had a long talk on Friday, and she called last night to tell me she’d be honored to be my vice president. I’ll also make that announcement right after my swearing in.”

“That’s wonderful news; Elizabeth’s top-shelf in every respect. I assume she’ll be in the Oval Office during your swearing-in ceremony?”

“Yes she will, Mr. President.”

“Good. I’ll have George Gleason and Candace Pierson draft an announcement, and we’ll release it at nine this morning. I’ll have them call you first to make sure you’re okay with it. George will coordinate the succession logistics, and I’ll also make sure the White House is ready to welcome the new First Family following the ceremony—that is, if you’re ready to move in. As for me, I’ll be shoving off for Walter Reed, and I won’t mind that a bit based on the way I feel now. Doc Toomay said they could do a lot more for me there, and I’m ready to go.”

The president had a faraway look in his eyes, as though trying to remember something from his distant past. He yawned and then said, “Excuse me. You know, I’ve had a number of friends who fought cancer, and they all told me that they felt a fatigue like they had never known before. I now know what they meant.”

Clayton sensed that it was time to leave. “I’ll be on my way, Mr. President, and I hope you have a restful day. We’ll just take tomorrow as it comes.”

“Thanks for coming, Clayton, and please know you’re in my thoughts and prayers.”

Clayton nodded his good-bye and turned before the president could see the tears in his eyes.
Just like Burkmeister: lying there in bed dying of cancer, and he’s worrying about me.
It would mean a lot to have the president there with him tomorrow, but it didn’t look promising.

After returning to his office, Clayton checked his messages and called Maggie. She wasn’t answering, so he left a message.

“Hi, Mags. I’m on the run and won’t be home for dinner tonight. I met with the president and he’s in poor shape—far worse than I had imagined. Oh, by the way, I hope you’re not busy tomorrow because he wants to move up the swearing-in ceremony from Saturday to tomorrow. We should also be prepared to move into the White House on Wednesday. Can you handle the arrangements on our end? I’ve got to go, Mags, there’s a call I need to take. Bye, hon, I love you.”

About ten minutes later, Maggie McCarty picked up Clayton’s message. She listened and gently hung up the phone. Staring at the wall, she thought,
So like Clayton to treat something like this with such nonchalance.
She honestly didn’t know if she should give him a hug or just strangle him … but she was leaning toward the latter at that precise moment.