Madam President (28 page)

Dale and Marguerite stood together and watched the CBS White House correspondent deliver a live report about the small group of aides who had been tapped to draft the president’s remarks for later that evening.

“I hate that they keep reporting that I’ve been working on the speech all evening long. I haven’t even seen it,” Dale complained.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Marguerite said.

“When they find out about Warren, am I supposed to confess that I didn’t work on the speech after all?”

“I’ll ask Sam if I can get a copy for you,” Marguerite offered. She understood that it was better to make the story true than to go about setting the record straight.

Dale stood.

“Where are you going?” Marguerite asked.

“If Richard and Lucy aren’t on the air or in our office, they’re getting into trouble somewhere. I’m going to look for them.”

“Do you want me to come?”

“No. I don’t want them to think we’re more concerned than we actually are about their whereabouts.”

As she walked toward the briefing room, Dale contemplated how she’d deal with the condolences that everyone would offer about Warren. Just thinking about it made her feel like a fraud. She hadn’t deserved someone like Warren.

She shook her head from side to side to expel those thoughts from her mind. If she only managed to do one thing to contribute to the day, she would salvage the “Day in the Life” production.

“Have you seen Lucy or Richard?” Dale asked one of the deputy spokesmen.

He glanced up at the television on his desk airing the three networks and shook his head.

“I haven’t seen them since the briefing.”

“Please send them up to my office if they turn up.”

“Will do, boss.”

Dale walked quickly past the Oval Office and down the hall toward Craig’s office. His assistant, Ben, stood up when she entered.
He must know about Warren
, Dale thought.

She tried to act normal. “Is he free?” she asked, looking at Craig’s closed door.

“He’s not in there.”

“Is he with the president?”

“He’s with the vice president,” Ben replied.

“Thanks.”

He had such a pained look on his face that she felt compelled to say something else to him.

“I haven’t seen you since before they evacuated the West Wing. Were you guys all right today? Did you have to leave the building?”

“A bunch of us just hung out in the mess.”

“And the Secret Service didn’t mind?”

“They didn’t say anything.”

“At least you didn’t have to deal with getting back in. We had to escort our press back into the complex. It was a zoo.”

He nodded politely at Dale and then turned back to the TV on his desk. Dale followed his gaze. On one side of the screen, the mayor of New York City was holding a news conference with the police chief, and on the other side of the screen, they were running live footage of Times Square. It looked like a scene from a movie. Emergency vehicles were parked haphazardly in the empty streets. Crowds were gathered at the police perimeter, but the area was otherwise empty except for police and investigators.

Dale shivered and glanced at the bottom of the screen, where the news crawl was spitting out tragic data points like they were sports statistics. Dale read along for a minute and then looked away.

“Ben, I’m sorry to keep bothering you, but those reporters, Lucy and Richard from CBS, have they been hanging around here?”

He shifted in his seat and glanced nervously from the TV to Dale and then to the TV again. She wasn’t imagining his discomfort.

“Did something happen with them?” she probed.

“Not that I know of.”

“You don’t happen to know where they are?” Dale asked.

His eyes darted to the hallway that led to the vice president’s office. “Uh, no,” he said.

“It’s not your job to keep tabs on the press. That’s our job. Thanks for everything. Please ask Craig to call me when he has a free moment.”

Dale walked down the short hallway that separated the chief of staff’s office from the vice president’s office. The hallway dead-ended into two separate suites. To the left, the national security advisor and his assistant shared a large office. Dale nodded at Tim’s assistant, who was watching the small TV on her desk. Tim was probably in with the president. To the right, the vice president’s secretary had a small desk behind which the vice president’s large West Wing office was located. The remaining members of the vice president’s staff were housed in the Old Executive Office Building, where the vice president had a ceremonial office that was mostly used for photo ops and bill signings. Several members of the vice president’s security detail were gathered
around a second desk that had been squeezed into the corner of the reception area. When Dale entered the suite, the vice president’s secretary looked up. The look on her face said everything. It was as if she’d been caught committing a crime. Even the Secret Service agents looked as if they were anticipating something interesting in terms of a confrontation. Dale held her finger to her lips to silence the vice president’s secretary and stood there without speaking long enough to hear several loud voices speaking in an animated fashion inside. She was certain that the female voice she heard belonged to Lucy, and she thought she’d heard Craig shush her when the conversation grew too loud. A million red flags went off in her mind, but she forced herself to think before she acted. Why was Craig in there instead of in the Oval Office with the president? Why were Lucy and Richard in with the vice president? Why would the vice president be talking to reporters? If Dale hadn’t been so exasperated, she might have laughed at the absurdity of the rogue news anchors finagling their way into the vice president’s office on the day of a terror attack. Dale had her hand on the doorknob and was about to barge in when Marguerite appeared in the doorway and pulled her away.

“I have an emergency call for you from the SECDEF.”

“From Melanie?”

“Yes. She said to find you and get you on the phone immediately.”

Dale watched the vice president’s secretary breathe a sigh of relief as Dale turned to follow Marguerite back to her office.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Charlotte

S
houldn’t we place the teleprompter exactly where it will be later tonight?” Charlotte asked.

“They’re working on it, Madam President,” Sam said calmly.

Staffers from the White House event production office were frantically rearranging the furniture in the Oval Office to make room for the camera equipment and lights. Charlotte’s national security advisor had convened the deputy director of the FBI, the White House counterterrorism advisor, and the two presidential speechwriters Melanie had deputized to make any of Charlotte’s edits to the speech after her first formal read-through.

“Should we have some normal people in here?” Charlotte asked.

“Ma’am?”

“You know, people who can listen to the speech the way normal Americans will hear it later tonight.”

Her advisors looked at her blankly.

“Sam!” Charlotte called.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Can you ask Brooke and Mark to come down here?” Charlotte requested.

“Yes, ma’am. What about Mr. Kramer?”

Charlotte paused. “He can come, if he wants,” she concluded.

Sam reentered the Oval Office a minute later. “Madam President, I have the Miami mayor on the phone. His assistant said that he just returned from the site, and he’s heading back to the port in a few minutes, but if you’d like to speak to him now, he has time.”

“Yes, of course I’ll talk to him,” she said, and picked up the call. “Mr. Mayor, this is Charlotte Kramer. I’m sorry to take you away from more important duties, but I wanted to express my condolences and assure you that the entire federal government is at your disposal today, and in the days and weeks to come.”

“Thank you, Madam President. I’m sure we’ll be taking you up on that offer. It’s an unspeakable scene and one that I never thought I’d see in my lifetime.”

“We are standing by and ready to assist in any way you need.”

“I don’t even know what to ask for, ma’am. I’ve been watching them pull bodies out of the water since I arrived at the port a few minutes after the explosion—all ages, and I tell you, there’s nothing that prepares you to see a child in that sort of situation.”

“I am praying for all of you. I will do everything I can for the victims and for their families. Please tell your first responders that the White House is prepared to send down any additional resources they need. I understand there’s an elite dive unit assisting with the rescue operation.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid that what they’re really helping with is more recovery than rescue, but we’re grateful for the help.”

“Is there anything else you need at this moment?”

“Madam President, our police chief is having a tough time getting much information out of the FBI about the suspects that were picked up down here.”

“I’ll direct the FBI to place a call to your police chief as soon as you and I hang up.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mayor. We’ll be in touch.”

Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. To go from thinking about the details of a heavily scripted speech to the nation from deep inside the fortified presidential complex to hearing
about the grisly details of the human suffering that was taking place outside made her question every decision she’d made that day.

“Do you need a minute, Madam President?” Sam asked.

“No,” she replied brusquely.

“Would you like to rehearse the speech a couple of times in the family theater or in your private dining room while they finish setting up in there?” Sam asked quietly.

“No. I would not. The point was to simulate what I’m going to have to do tonight, which is to deliver the speech from behind my desk, and at the moment, I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing here at all. Shouldn’t I be at one of the sites? Comforting these people?”

“Do you want me to ask Tim to come in?”

“No!” she yelled.

Sam remained calm.

“Why can’t I rehearse in the Oval?” Charlotte asked after a minute had passed.

“The staff needs a couple of hours alone in the Oval Office to set it up for tonight. They are not accustomed to doing this while the president of the United States is hovering over them,” Sam explained patiently.

Charlotte peered into the Oval Office and noticed two heavy-set men in suits straining to move one of the sofas. One of them had beads of sweat pouring off his forehead. Both of their faces were bright red.

“Fine. We’ll practice in the family theater.”

Sam looked relieved when she went to deliver the news to Monty and the speechwriters. The group followed her down the hall from the Oval Office to the theater in the East Wing.

Charlotte had taken Melanie’s advice to close ranks after the leak from the PEOC, and only a small group of advisors sat in the front row of the theater a couple of feet away from her. Charlotte fidgeted with the pages in front of her and squinted at the teleprompter screens.

“Can you see the panels?” Monty asked quietly.

“Not really.”

Monty handed her three pairs of glasses. She selected one and looked at the panels again.

“The letters are smaller. Can someone adjust the font size?”

“It’s the same as always, Madam President,” one of the speechwriters replied.

“Then my eyes have deteriorated since the last time I used that thing,” she said, pointing at the teleprompter.

While Monty kneeled next to the teleprompter operator to instruct him to increase the font size, Charlotte remembered that also she hadn’t been able to see the teleprompter six months earlier, when they’d practiced the State of the Union address.

“Madam President, the press office needs a length on the speech for the nets, so when you’re ready, we’ll start timing. Feel free to stop, but before you start again, just give me a second to get the timer back on,” one of the speechwriters requested.

She scanned the familiar faces in the front row. It was maddening to be tucked away in the soundproof, windowless movie theater while cities burned.

“Ready, Madam President?”

“One second— Tim, you’ll do a final interagency-check with the CIA, FBI, and DOD?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s under way right now.”

“And you guys will coordinate with Melanie on any changes to the speech?” she asked.

The speechwriters nodded.

“We’ll wait one more minute for our ordinary Americans, and then we’ll get started.”

While they were waiting, Tim approached the president at the podium. “You spoke to the Carmichaels?”

“I did.”

“That must have been extremely difficult.”

“They were unbelievable. They asked if there was anything they could do for
me
. They asked how
I
was holding up. Can you imagine?”

Tim shook his head. “I’m sure they appreciated your call, Madam President.”

“I invited them to come to the White House tomorrow. I told them I’d like to express my condolences in person.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tim, is anyone working on a day of remembrance? We should have a memorial service somewhere in Washington or in the East Room for all the victims and their families. Maybe we should do it at the National Cathedral? And I’d like to travel to all of the sites as soon as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure someone is working on that.”

“My preference is to visit the sites before the memorial service. In fact, I’d like to go down to the Mall first thing in the morning or tonight after the address and travel to the four sites tomorrow. Is that doable?”

“We’ll work on it.”

“I’m already tired of that answer.”

Tim turned to greet Brooke and Mark. “Our ordinary people have arrived,” he said.

Brooke was wearing navy slacks and a crisp white blouse. Mark had on dark jeans, a dress shirt, and a sportcoat and was carrying a yellow legal pad and a fancy pen. They took the last two seats in the front row.

“Just listen to the speech, and let me know what you think. Be honest,” Charlotte urged.