Michael Palmer: A Heartbeat Away

Ursula Ellis knew she was on the brink of history. She stood at the rostrum of the House Chamber and gazed out at three hundred frightened and bewildered faces. But she was their leader now—their shepherd. She had lost the battle of the election, but now, thanks to her destiny and to Genesis, she was going to win the war.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the feelings of the moment, and the events just ahead. The Committee on Rules, facing what she had called “our lives or this bill,” had granted privileged status to her legislation.

She motioned Leland Gladstone to her side. He was carrying the communication device Genesis had given her.

“Have they responded to us yet?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Gladstone said. “Do they know the vote is now?”

“I told them. They’ll come through. I’m sure of it.”

“Maybe we should hold off until they’ve delivered the treatment.”

“We’ve come way too far,” the speaker whispered, sensing a nugget of concern form in her gut. “Just keep trying to reach them.”

It had been two days since Gladstone distributed copies of the bill to each voting member of Congress capable of casting a ballot. Over the time since then, Ellis had heard disgust from every corner of the chamber. One congressman tore the twenty-page piece of legislation in half. Another had tried to set it on fire before the Capitol Police intervened.

But from what she could see before her now, not a single congressman looked interested in protesting the bill—not after she had showed them the videorecording she had made inside the Senate Chamber; not when everyone understood James Allaire’s perfidy, and the nightmare that lay ahead for them; not when they knew that without her—without this bill—they were going to die, and die horribly.

A heavy silence followed her re-showing the grisly Senate Chamber video, but clamor erupted seconds later. The noise level rose. Hands were raised high—politicians begging Ellis for a chance to be heard.

They want to vote for my bill . They want to live.

Ellis let the commotion continue unhindered for several minutes. Thanks to Lamar, the eyes of the world were upon her. The television cameras that Allaire had ordered shut down were broadcasting once again. The American people were strong. Ellis put more faith in them than Allaire ever did. They needed to witness history as it unfolded.

Rumor had reached her that the president was failing rapidly. By the time the bill was passed and Genesis delivered the antiviral treatment, it would likely be too late for him. Ellis adjusted the microphone and turned up the speaker volume. Then she snapped her gavel down on the rostrum three times, and the room fell silent.

“I would like to begin this House vote on my special legislative measure by addressing the citizens of the United States of America, and those around the world watching tonight’s broadcast. I have requested that these proceedings be shown worldwide because the government of the United States of America is about the people, and for the people, and we will not abandon the most sacred and essential tenet upon which our country was founded, even if the truths we reveal this day are as horrible as the tragedy we now face.”

Ellis paused and reminded herself to stick to the way she had rehearsed the speech she and Gladstone had written.

“This will be the unfinished State of the Union Address,” she had told her aide, “only this time it will be me who will be delivering it.”

Destiny.

“To my friends and colleagues in Congress,” she went on, “I realize the bill before you has come as a shock. Many, if not all of you, know that some of the points enumerated in it deviate from my well-documented views. But I have been offered an awesome opportunity—the opportunity to save the lives of many of the most important leaders in our nation.

“Genesis, the vile and traitorous organization responsible for the acts of terrorism that have plagued our country, have released a deadly virus upon us, claiming that their position must be heard. It is not a trade I condone, but it is one I reluctantly endorse. Genesis has offered us a treatment that will deliver us from the horror befalling the unfortunates you have just witnessed again inside the Senate Chamber. The price is high—your passage of this legislation. But I, for one, choose life!”

Comment erupted throughout the chamber. Ellis silently polled the Supreme Court justices seated before her, searching their eyes for judgment. That she saw no disparagement bolstered her resolve. It helped her that one of their court was prominently featured in the video from the Senate Chamber.

“I have brokered an agreement with terrorists,” Ellis said. “That is true. But we are a democracy and—”

At that instant, the doors leading across the Capitol to the Senate wing burst open, and President James Allaire strode in.

Wide-eyed, Ellis fixed on the president as he ascended to the rostrum and moved forward until he was only a few feet from her.

“You’re finished, Madam Speaker,” he said loudly enough to be easily heard through the PA system. “You have done as much damage and created as much chaos as the terrorists. And it ends now!”

The president signaled to Sean O’Neil, who was still beside the door that Allaire had come through. One by one, a small procession of sick and hobbled men and women began shuffling into the House Chamber. Their complexions were ashen. Many of them were smeared with blood. Some of them were clearly disoriented, bewildered, and agitated. They coughed as they marched. Some had to stop to breathe. Those who were too weak to walk unaided were assisted into the chamber by Secret Service agents and the Capitol Police.

At virtually the same moment, a second, larger procession entered the chamber from Statuary Hall. This group, headed by a muscular African-American man with a military bearing, wearing only surgical scrubs, was in less frightening shape than the other, but they were still obviously failing.

The final two people to enter the chamber came from the Senate. They walked shoulder to shoulder, although one of them moved with great difficulty and needed to be supported by the other. Vice President Henry Tilden, the weaker by far of the two, was a phantom—battered, stoop-shouldered, and gaunt. His face was badly clawed and smeared with dried and drying blood. Supporting Tilden was a tall man in a blue biocontainment suit. Glare off the faceplate of his helmet made it impossible for Ellis to identify him. He held a blue plastic cooler in his gloved left hand.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ellis shouted into the microphone. “Those are the sickest of all of us. You are bringing death into this room. People around the world are witnesses.”

Allaire’s expression was one of disgust.

“No, Ursula. What they are witnesses to is your madness. Vice President Tilden and others are prepared to swear that it was you who locked him in the Senate Chamber to die or be killed.”

The crowd erupted into a chorus of angry and confused shouts. Allaire banged Ellis’s gavel to settle them down. He then continued, still extremely shaky, but managing to address the assembly with the mannerisms of a president.

“These people have been brought out from the Senate Chamber, and those from Statuary Hall, because we now have the means to treat them—and all the rest of us as well.”

“Lies!” Ellis screamed. “He’s telling all of us lies. The madness is in this man! He is badly infected with the virus and is about to be relieved of his duties as president. Ask Dr. Townsend, his physician. She knows that the virus has attacked his mind.”