Sam Bourne - The Chosen One

The dial tone was still in her ear. She pressed nine and immediately a computerized voice cut in:

We’re sorry, but you have no credit for calls on this line. To get credit, please contact your operator. You can pay by MasterCard, American Express…

Shit. Her wallet had been stolen, with everything inside it: cards, driver’s licence, everything. No phone, no computer, no money. And of course she couldn’t remember her credit card number. In modern America, she was as helpless as a toddler.

With great effort, she pressed zero on the phone’s keypad.

‘Operator, how may I direct your call?’

‘I need to make a collect call, please.’

‘Excuse me?’

She was still slurring. She tried again, this time giving the number: 1-202-456-1414.

The White House operator must have been expecting her call. ‘Miss Costello, is that you? I have instructions to put you straight through to the President.’

There was a delay, the perkiness of the hold music more absurd than ever. Finally a decisive click on the line.

‘Maggie? Where are you?’

‘It’s a long story. Are you sure I’m not interrupting you?’

‘Just a meeting with the Joint Chiefs. There’s trouble on the Pakistan border. You sound terrible. Has something happened?’

‘I think you were right, Mr President. About Stuart. Someone sabotaged my brakes last night. I think they were trying to kill me.’

‘Good God. Where are you now?’

‘Grays Harbor Hospital. Your home state.’

‘We’ve got to get you out of there. I’ll call the Governor. We can get you flown back to Washington, then-’

‘No, sir. With respect-’ wiv reshpect, ‘-I don’t think that’s a good idea. That will tie you to me, confirm that what I’m doing is for you.’

‘To hell with that, Maggie. It’s too late for-’

‘Besides, sir. I came here for a reason. There’s a lead I need to follow.’

‘In Aberdeen? What the hell has Aberdeen got to do with any of this?’

‘Robert Jackson, sir. You were at school with him.’

Maggie listened hard to the moment of silence that followed. Had Baker known that all along, the moment she had called him from the cemetery in New Orleans? If he had, why had he not said anything then? What was he hiding?

Finally he spoke. ‘Robert Jackson? Robert Andrew Jackson? From James Madison High: that was him?’

‘You didn’t recognize him when you saw him on TV?’

‘They barely looked like the same person. You sure?’

‘I’m sure, sir.’ Shure, shir.

‘I used to call him Andrew at school. That’s how I came to think of him. Andrew Jackson, like the president. I just didn’t make the connection. What on earth’s this all about, Maggie?’

‘I wish I knew, Mr President. But I intend to find out.’

‘They’re calling me back in, Maggie. What do you need?’

‘They stole my wallet and my phone.’

‘OK, Sanchez will send you everything.’

‘Thank you, sir. But make sure he leaves no trail. Stuart wouldn’t want you accused of running a slush fund, paying someone like me to poke around into Jackson’s past. Tell him to be careful.’

‘Maggie, it’s you who has to be careful. I can’t afford to lose another person I trust. There are too few of you left.’

‘Thank you, Mr President.’

She must have dozed off straight after the phone call, worn out by the effort of it, because nearly an hour had passed when she woke up. A handwritten telephone message had been left by her bedside from a Mr Doug of Dupont Circle. She smiled at Sanchez’s attempt at discretion.

The door creaked open. Maggie looked up, struggling to focus. She could see that a woman had entered, middle-aged but in the dark it was hard to make out her features.

‘What an unexpected surprise to see you again,’ she said. ‘There you are, dear.’

Dear.

Maggie created a fist, a futile gesture for a woman with two broken ribs and a tube in her arm, but it was a reflex, the result of the bolt of fear and rage that had just coursed through her.

Now the woman was coming nearer, approaching the bed. She had a syringe in her hand. Maggie recoiled.

‘No need to be scared, Maggie dear. No need to be scared at all. I have something that will make all the pain go away.’

Diplomatic cable:

From the Head of the Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution, Tehran

To the Interests Section of the Islamic Republic of Iran, housed within the Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, Washington DC

TOP SECRET. ENCRYPTION SETTING: MAXIMUM.

You are to be congratulated. SB dangles by a silken thread. But the Supreme Leader is concerned about the matter of credit. Whatever is written in the West, it is imperative that believers understand the Islamic Republic to have played the critical role. Please advise what action you will take to ensure the wider Muslim world understands that, when the moment comes, the head of the snake did not simply fall off: it was severed! Ends.

Editorial from The Guardian newspaper, London, Saturday March 25:

For the past week, the world has watched events in Washington with something like incredulity. Sixty-four days have passed since Stephen Baker swore the oath of office as President of the United States. When he did so, it was not just Americans who hoped they were about to make a fresh start. The world dared to hope too.

Yet a series of allegations, apparently timed to go off in sequence like a set of terrorist bombs, has left Mr Baker more vulnerable than would have seemed imaginable on that icy January morning of his inauguration. Extraordinarily, impeachment proceedings have begun against a president who has barely got his feet under the Oval Office table.

This newspaper deplores that effort. Republicans determined to topple Mr Baker should pause, reflecting that they will not simply be removing the head of their own government. Bombastic though this may sound, they will be depriving the world of its de facto leader. For that is what the role of US president in the twenty-first century entails.

Now is not the time. Not when the world faces so many grave problems, from bitter wars to a changing climate. And Mr Baker – who seems to understand those problems better than most – is not the right target. We are heartened by the news that one conservative Democrat on the House of Representatives judiciary committee has signalled that he will stay loyal to his president. We call on the remaining two waverers – those whose votes, were they to switch to the Republicans, would formally advance impeachment proceedings against Mr Baker – to do the right thing. It is not just America that needs them to act wisely. The entire world is watching.

Aberdeen, Washington, Saturday March 25, 11.25 PST

‘There really is nothing to be frightened of at all, dear.’

Maggie reached for the cup of coffee, still hot, that had been left at her bedside. The woman was looming over her. If only Maggie could grab hold of it, she could throw the steaming liquid in her face. She stretched…

And at that moment she saw the woman’s face clearly. Grey-haired, yes, but not, after all, the apparently kindly lady who had sabotaged her car at the school.

‘I’m sorry,’ Maggie panted. ‘I thought you were someone else.’

‘It’s easy to get confused, dear. I was in the ambulance bay when they brought you in. You’d had quite a scrape. Now what about these painkillers?’

‘Painkillers?’

‘Yes, dear. The doctor says you should take them.’ She checked her watch. ‘Around now. I can either do it intravenously,’ she held up the needle, ‘or with tablets. What would you prefer?’