William Tyree - Line of Succession

“Get the Secretary of State on the phone,” Dex growled at Corporal Hammond. No sooner had the corporal picked up the wall-mounted phone than Speers took it from him and placed it back on the receiver.

“The Secretary of State was born in Australia,” Speers said from the back of the room. “She’s not eligible to assume the Presidency.”

Jackson stopped pacing and cast his full eyes onto Speers. “With all due respect, Chief, I’m of the opinion that your job died with the POTUS. You shouldn’t even be here.”

Speers wasn’t having it. “Not so fast,” he said. “In the event of Presidential assassination, the President’s personal staff, including the Chief of Staff, remains intact until the succeeding Commander-in-Chief relieves them of duty.”

“Well I don’t mean to be presumptuous, Chief. But if the Secretary of State is ineligible, I’d say you’re looking at the new President.”

“I’d like to challenge that,” Speers said. He stood and went to the whiteboard on the far side of the room. He grabbed a blue marker and wrote POTUS, with a flow chart arrow to the word VEEP. “The line of Presidential Succession is as follows…” he began as he illustrated an org chart several layers deep. “If the President is deceased, the Vice President ascends. If the Vice President is deceased, power falls to the House Speaker. Next in line, the President pro tempore — the late Senator Thomas.”

Dex had no patience for this. “As we’ve heard, those four leaders are deceased. That means leadership falls to the Cabinet Secretaries.”

“Right. But the order of ascension for Cabinet posts is State first, then Treasury…and then Defense.”

General Wainwright looked like he had just taken a gut punch. Dex’s eyes turned a deeper shade of red. “Eva Hudson outranks me?”

Speers drew a red circle around Eva’s place on the flow chart. “Yes sir,” he replied. “Looking at this in a historical context, you can see why. Until 2003, the Treasury Department was a fixture of National Security, directing both the Secret Service and NSA.”

General Wainewright cleared his throat. “But that was before Homeland Security was created. The old line of succession doesn’t make a lick of sense now.”

Dex wanted back into the debate. “Show me where in the constitution it says that Treasury trumps Defense,” he demanded.

“It’s not in the constitution,” Speers replied. “The line of succession comes from an act of Congress, specifically President Truman’s Succession Act of 1947.”

The room phone rang. Corporal Hammond put the receiver to his ear and answered in a low murmur. “Put me through to the President,” the shrill voice demanded. Hammond turned to the room. “Excuse me, gentlemen. As luck would have it, Treasury Secretary Hudson is on the line. Shall I put her on speaker?”

“Negative,” General Wainewright said.

Circling overhead, Eva Hudson was a passenger in a small Air National Guard helicopter whose pilot was searching desperately for the landing pad. “I’m tired, I’ve been shot at, I’m starving and generally annoyed that nobody bothered to tell the Security Council about the new Site R,” she complained to Corporal Hammond. “Transmit landing coordinates right now, Corporal!”

Hammond turned again to the room and said, “Secretary Hudson is requesting permission to land, sirs.”

“Tell her to hold,” Jackson said, feeling the dark joy that came with keeping the late POTUS’ girlfriend at bay.

“Are you there?” Eva demanded.

“Yes ma’am, I’m here,” Hammond replied into the phone.

“Someone tried to kill me today, Corporal. I’m not in a patient mood.”

“I’m doing everything I can,” Hammond said as the Joint Chiefs’ conversation swirled behind him.

“Corporal,” Eva said, “I am a sitting member of the National Security Council! My secret service escort was recalled to Washington, and I practically had to hijack this aircraft to get here! I demand to know why I wasn’t informed of the new bunker location!”

Hammond put the phone on mute and watched the debate around the eight-sided table. “With all due respect,” General Farrell said to the group, “during a time of war, I’m not inclined to take orders from a glorified banker.”

“If it’s not in the constitution,” Dex interrupted, “then there’s wiggle room.”

Speers wasn’t about to give in. “That would be for the Supreme Court to decide,” he argued.

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Wainewright said.

Hammond pointed at the ceiling. “Sirs,” he cut in. “Permission to light up the landing pad so that Secretary Hudson can land?”

“Negative.” Wainewright snapped. “Divert her to Fort Campbell. We’ll be in touch.”

FORT CAMPBELL

10:25 p.m.

Eva’s chopper landed amongst an expanse of identical battleship grey buildings. Like all U.S. military bases tonight, Fort Campbell was on alert. Even at this hour, armed troops walked the fenced perimeter in the distance.

There was no welcome party. A lone officer wearing a short sleeve khaki utility uniform stood in the wet-hot Kentucky night. His hair was gray and his lips were pursed, and he was surprisingly pear-shaped for a former Green Berets. Had it not been for the brass birds on his lapels, Eva would have taken him for a career enlisted man.

He held his hand out to shake hers. “Colonel William Madsen,” he said. “Garrison Commander. That means I run this place.”

“Eva Hudson,” she said. “Treasury Secretary.”

“You need no introductions,” Colonel Madsen drawled as he led her across the heliport to a modest single-story command post. “I’ve never met a celebrity,” he added, eyeing her in wonder. Eva had heard that one before, but she still hadn’t devised a polite reply. She just held her tongue.

As they walked, Eva tried all the speed dials on her phone. The President wasn’t answering. Speers wasn’t answering. The Vice President wasn’t answering. Even her little sister wasn’t answering. She had only been able to raise her rather useless deputy secretary, who along with every other federal agency employee, had been told to stay away from the federal offices until the threat level slid back down to orange.

They entered the command post and began down a hallway lined with framed photographs of past Garrison Commanders. “First time on a military base, Miss Hudson?” Colonel Madsen said.

“Hardly.” As a child, Eva’s Air Force father had dragged her all over the world, but it wasn’t worth getting into with the Colonel. “And please address me as Madam Secretary.”

“Fine, Madam Secretary,” he said. “Will you be needing an office?”

“I’ll be needing much more than you have.”

“I know you think you’ve been exiled to the boonies, but we think we’ve got some of the finest Intel resources in the armed forces.”

Eva stopped. “Intel? I thought this was a combat training base.”

“That’s what we’re known for. But last year we inherited some Army Intel brain trust from Fort Huachuca and now we’ve got the Feds working a joint op too.”

“No offense, but why here?”

“This is a bureaucrat-free zone. We focus one hundred percent on disrupting the enemy. Our people go out and execute. We’re players, not planners.”

“Can I have a look?”

Madsen pointed down the hall to the briefing room, where Agent Carver’s linguists were filing out into the hallway. “Couple feds are working on that Allied Jihad suicide tape.” Eva looked through the glass and recognized Agent Carver. Though she didn’t know him by name, she had seen him leaving the Oval Office with Julian Speers on at least two occasions.