Michael Palmer - Oath of Office

Darlene sat at the center of one of a pair of peppermint-striped sofas, and was not totally surprised when he took the seat across from her.

“Thanks for making time to see me,” she said.

“Nonsense. Honey, what’s wrong? You look upset.”

She inhaled deeply and let her breath out slowly.

“It’s about Russ Evans,” she said.

She could see Martin tense. His back became rigid, and the beginnings of a glare materialized in his killer blue eyes.

“I thought we had decided that subject would be taboo,” he said, still maintaining control.

Darlene had hoped to keep Victor Ochoa out of this discussion, but now she could see that unless Martin simply threw her out of his office, it wasn’t going to be possible. She pressed on, ignoring his tight-lipped reminder of “their” agreement, and extracted an unmarked envelope from her purse.

“The girl who framed Russ is dead,” Darlene said, handing Martin Angela’s photos.

Martin began flipping through the articles, notes, and snapshots. Darlene watched him for any reaction. She had expected more.

“Okay, what’s this all about?”

Darlene told him about Double M, from his first contact with Kim to the horrible recording of threats made to a young prostitute to their meeting at the movie theater and, finally, to the arrangement for Darlene to meet with Dr. Lou Welcome. She also recounted Double M’s warnings about a dangerous shipment of corn, Lou’s concerns over William Chester’s fields, experimental work with DNA taken from mutated termites, and finally, Lou’s suspicion that the John Meacham mass slayings and other tragedies and near tragedies were somehow connected to Chester Enterprises’ GMO corn.

What she left out was her trip to Philadelphia with Lou. At the moment, there was no predicting how Martin would react. Now, he craned his neck back and stared up at the ceiling, processing what was clearly a lot of information. The creases across his forehead deepened. His lower lip bulged as he ran his tongue across his bottom teeth-a nervous tic predating the days when the two of them first started going out together.

Does he believe me?

Abruptly, Martin rose from the couch and walked to a window overlooking the Rose Garden. Several tense minutes passed. When he turned back to her, his expression appeared to have softened.

He’s seeing me, she thought. I feel him finally seeing me.

He returned to the sitting area, but this time took a seat next to her. After twenty-five years, there wasn’t a posture or body position she couldn’t read. This one, his face tight and his weight pulled back from her, she did not like at all.

“Okay … okay … let’s talk,” he said.

He leaned back more, his leg crossed, his elbow on his knee, one hand nearly concealing his mouth. For the briefest moment, Darlene felt guilt for having burdened her already overtaxed husband. But like Martin, she, too, possessed a love of country and a responsibility to protect Americans from harm.

“Go on, Martin,” she said.

“I want to help you out, here, honey. I really do. But I’m flat out of ideas. So why don’t you tell me exactly what I can do?”

She hated his tone and blank look. It was as if she had become an intrusion on his day. “Ignore me if you wish, Martin, but please don’t patronize me. You know exactly what I’m talking about and what I want you to do about it.”

Martin then nodded. “It seems you’re asking me to issue some sort of presidential edict I really have no authority to do, and stop a shipment of corn.”

“Precisely.”

“And even if I could, even if I had that sort of legal clout, why should I?”

“Because there is strong evidence to suggest the corn on that train isn’t safe,” Darlene answered.

“Strong evidence? Oh, please, give me a break, Dar. You’re being naive. This is all about someone’s petty attempt at inconveniencing a competitor. I happen to know about this corn-a good deal about it, for that matter. I know that it has been thoroughly tested, and found to be perfectly safe. For crying out loud, Dar, your friend Russell Evans is the one who signed off on it!”

Darlene felt as if she had been punched in the gut. It was half a minute before she could speak. Why hadn’t Double M told her?

“What is it you know about this corn, Martin,” she managed, forcing a modicum of calm back into her voice, “that makes it so easy for you to discount what I’m saying?”

Martin stood and turned his back to her, hands resting on his hips. For those few prolonged seconds, it felt like he was her president, and not her husband. Eventually, he turned back with new resolve on his face-the look of a man about to compromise. “What I’m about to tell you, Darlene,” Martin said in a stern voice, “cannot ever be repeated. It cannot leave this room. Is that agreed?”

Darlene felt her chest tighten as her pulse began hammering. “I’m your wife, Martin. You can tell me anything you wish in confidence.”

“That corn is going to save my presidency, and I’d feed it to our family for Thanksgiving dinner. It’s that safe.”

Darlene sat silent and breathless.

“The economy is killing us,” Martin continued. “Americans need jobs, and as things stand, I have no way to come up with them. It’s as simple as that. Forget about Democrats or Republicans. When it comes to employment, we’re all independents. If I can’t get Americans back to work, my presidency-and everything I stand for and was elected for-is over. One term and I’m through. If I’m lucky, history will paint me as a failure. More likely, I won’t be painted at all. And I am no failure, Darlene! I’m not about to let the American people down.”

Darlene felt herself beginning to shake. “Martin, what have you done?” she asked.

His gaze at her was level. His jaw set. “I cut a deal with the Chinese,” he said matter-of-factly. “They’re on the precipice of a major food crisis, and they know it. The wealthier Chinese are demanding more meat in their diets, which requires more corn to feed the livestock. The new Chinese wealth is spiking food demands all over the country. Corn has become the key commodity feeding the world. It’s in all our processed foods. Feeding corn to livestock that was built by evolution to eat grass is what allows us to eat meat any moment of the day that we want it. Forget the foreign oil debate. We’re more dependent on corn for our survival than on any single commodity. The Chinese government realized they simply cannot meet the growing demand using traditional agriculture practices.”

“But why this corn? Why not just increase exports?”

“Because we can’t grow enough of the stuff,” Martin replied, as though the answer were obvious. “Genetic engineering is the only way to make truly high-yield corn. To meet future global food demand, farmers need to grow corn at a rate of three hundred bushels an acre. That’s almost a two hundred percent increase from current yields. The Chinese see the long-term value in what we’re proposing to trade. This revolutionary corn-the corn on your train-will virtually guarantee China’s food security through the next millennium. Ours, too. The Chinese government understands that the fastest way to lose control over their citizens is to allow them to starve. And it will happen, unless the food demand is curbed … or met.”

Darlene felt ill. Her husband was not only in bed with the Chinese government, but he was in bed with Chester Enterprises as well. She opened a bottle of water and drank without using a glass. “What are you trading?” she asked, her voice breaking nevertheless.

“The technology to make this corn,” answered Martin. “The corn shipment you’re so concerned about is the first of many planned exchanges with the Chinese. We’re giving them enough corn to meet the food demands of a city the size of Beijing, along with the technology to produce high-yield corn on their own.”