Michael Palmer: A Heartbeat Away

She had been guided in her decision to keep her seat by a persistent inner voice telling her the time was not right to pull back. That gentle voice, which had led her so unerringly in the past, made it clear that God had plans for her—plans to lead the country. She simply had to stay in the limelight.

Allaire surveyed the chosen ones. He looked as if he were about to faint.

This is it, Ellis thought. Whatever was happening, the president was not equipped to handle it. Sooner or later, he was going to slip—to make a profound error in judgment. And when he did, she would be ready to step forward. In truth, she felt certain her rival was misreading the situation altogether.

First, though, before she could stand in opposition to the actions he intended to take, she needed information.

Allaire was the consummate conniver. What was he up to this time? Was this some sort of demonstration—a test, like the civil defense interruptions on the radio?

Did he really believe that seven hundred of the most powerful and influential Americans were being affected by some virus?

If there was any truth at all to what he was claiming, then people needed medical evaluation and attention—food and water, not threats and isolation. But odds favored that the whole thing was some sort of scam. Allaire’s leadership skills were fraying. Hers were sharper than ever. If there really was a virus, she had the intelligence and charisma to bring the people together.

It was God’s will that she was in this spot at this moment.

Ellis observed that none of the president’s trusted advisors now gathered at the lectern showed any physical effects from whatever had been released by Genesis. None, that was, except for the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Admiral Archie Jakes, who was trying unsuccessfully to suppress his near-constant coughing. Where had Jakes been sitting when the vapor released? It would be interesting to find out—possibly very interesting.

Her body tingled with what she playfully described to her staff as her “Spidey Sense,” a little surge of neuroelectricity that helped her distinguish information which had value from that which did not.

Her aide, Leland Gladstone, was a badger on any task. He needed to search out other coughers in the chamber and figure out where they had been sitting during the little explosions. Child’s play for the man who would have been her chief of staff in the White House, and who still might have a shot at the position if things went her way.

Ellis then turned her attention to the more pressing matter at hand. Something tremendous had just occurred inside the House Chamber— her chamber, she might remind Allaire. Election opponents or not, the speaker of the house should have been a part of any closed-door briefing.

She rose and smoothed out the creases of her form-fitting black skirt. She was a trim, attractive brunette, who had once been the homecoming queen at Mississippi State. Careful not to call excess attention to herself, she approached the president, who had his back turned to her.

“Mr. President, excuse me?”

Allaire continued his exchange with Gary Salitas.

“Mr. President, can you give me some idea what’s going on?”

Allaire either ignored the question or simply did not hear it over the swirling commotion. Ellis felt a rush of anger, which she quickly parried. She was not accustomed to being ignored by anyone, the president included. Allaire continued on, as if unaware of her presence, now speaking in a hushed voice to his chief Secret Service agent, Sean O’Neil. Ellis strained to pick up some words, but could not.

“Mr. President, would you like me to join the team for the briefing?” she said, louder than before.

This time, Allaire turned.

“Ursula. I’m glad to see you. Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Thank you. But I’d like to participate in the briefing, Mr. President.… That is if you need me.”

“No. I need your leadership here in the chamber. I’ll keep you informed as things develop.”

Which means you won’t tell me jack shit, Ellis thought.

Allaire had turned and resumed his dialogue with O’Neil.

Ellis stood behind the president, burning with hatred.

“You okay?”

Gladstone had materialized beside her. Thin and dark haired, with ice blue eyes that at times gave Ellis the shivers, the man embodied what every congressional leader sought in an aide—charm, good looks, and a wobbly moral compass.

Ellis led him away from Allaire and the others.

“I’m POed,” she said finally. “How should I be?”

Gladstone patted his jacket pocket.

“Well, I assumed you would want the location of the explosions. So far I’ve pinpointed seven of what looks like a total of fifteen or sixteen broken glass containers. I should have the rest of them in a little while. Then, assuming you want me to, I’ll start filling in the seats around them.”

“Absolutely. As usual, you are well ahead of the game.”

“From what I can tell so far, there’s no pattern.”

“There’s always a pattern, dear Leland. Sometimes not so obvious, but there’s always a pattern to everything. Finish filling in that seating chart, but keep your two-way radio handy. Until this situation is resolved and we are all outside waltzing down Pennsylvania Avenue, we’re going to be mighty busy.”

The speaker’s aide headed toward the gallery while Ellis maintained her position not far from where Jim Allaire was about to retreat for the meeting with his group of sycophants. The discomfort on the man’s face was a tonic. She started imagining herself sparring with him, boxing gloves on, bobbing and weaving, searching for an opening. What she needed most now, to inflict some real damage, was information. And as the president turned to go, she realized where she could find it.

Quickly moving to the right side of the group, she slid her hand around Sean O’Neil’s arm and pulled him back toward her.

“I don’t have time to talk, Madam Speaker,” he said. “The president needs me.”

“If I need you, Sean, and I do, you will make time for me.”

O’Neil hesitated, and then allowed himself to be led to a spot where they would not be overheard.

“What do you want?” he asked in a pressured whisper.

“Simple. I want to know what the president says in that briefing you’re going to.”

“It’s classified. If you’re not there, you can’t know.”

Ellis smiled again and her thin lips disappeared inside her mouth.

“We both know that’s a bad strategy, Sean. I am the speaker of the house. The American people will expect me to know what’s going on. Allaire is playing politics at a time of national crisis.”

“You should take that up with the president, then.”

Sean turned to leave, but Ellis caught him by the arm.

“Suppose I also take up what you and that darling young White House intern were doing in the Lincoln Bedroom while the first couple was away on vacation. I’m sure the Allaires would love to see the security videos—especially the part where you so skillfully and lovingly snorted some sort of white power from between the sweet thing’s breasts.”

O’Neil went pale.

“How…? How did you…?”

“Eyes and ears, my love. I use my eyes and ears—and some well-placed friends. In fact, over the years we’ve been working for the American people, I’ve collected other useful tidbits about you, as well. The nasty custody battle with your ex over baby Duncan, for instance. How do you think this sort of revelation will help your chances, dear Sean, let alone your career?”

O’Neil looked away.

“I’ll get you what I can,” he muttered.

“You’ll get me what I want, Sean. Is that understood?”