William Bernhardt: Capitol Betrayal

“Winning in the Supreme Court.”

“No. Winning everywhere. Because we don’t want a lower-court loss. Even if we can later get it reversed, the press will be all over it, the Speaker of the House will declare it a victory, and your energy plan will suffer.”

“You’re exactly right.”

“So we need to win, not just in the last court, but in every court.”

“That would be a miracle.”

Ben shrugged slightly. “Miracles are kind of my specialty.”

President Kyler extended his hand. “Kincaid, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I like you. And I’m glad to have you on my staff.”

“The feeling is mutual, sir.”

“I hate to break up this lovefest,” Cartwright barked, “but when the Middle East is on the brink of disaster, don’t we have more important things to discuss than some damn lawsuit?”

Kyler sighed. “Stay calm, Admiral. It’s not as if the United States has never intervened in Middle Eastern affairs before.”

“Don’t I know it! There’s been too much of it. Never comes to anything good.”

“That’s not-”

“We have no jurisdiction there,” Cartwright said adamantly. It seemed he was willing to address the newly elected president in the same officious manner he used to address Ben.

To Kyler’s credit, he took it all in stride-though this close up, Ben did notice a tiny twitch in his eye. “Will, there’s no point in being the leader of the free world if you’re not willing to lead.”

“All you’re doing is asking for more trouble in the Middle East, as if we hadn’t had enough already. And for what? A bunch of overfed, overpaid sheiks who blow their money on fancy hotel rooms instead of building a nation?”

“That’s only a small percentage of-”

“It doesn’t matter. America ’s first concern should be America.”

“And it is. But when we wield so much power, it would be immoral to stand idly by and-”

“If you send in those troops, you’ll leave a gaping hole in our national defense.”

“A hole? A hole?” Kyler smiled and, to Ben’s amazement, began to sing. “There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza. There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, a hole.”

The room fell silent. Ben saw Dr. Albertson and Sarie exchange a meaningful glance.

Kyler continued grinning. While the others watched silently, he rose from his chair and walked to his desk.

Ben knew he had been under a good deal of stress during his first few months in office. Was the strain already starting to get to him? His eyes seemed unfocused and distant.

“I love this desk,” Kyler said, rubbing his hand lightly over the inset leather blotter. “It’s called the Resolute desk. Do you know why? It was made from the timbers of the British frigate HMS Resolute , which was discovered by American whalers after it was stranded in the ice and abandoned by all hands. The ship was repaired by the U.S. Navy and returned to England. This desk was a reciprocal gift from Queen Victoria to President Rutherford B. Hayes. Can you imagine the great minds that have sat at this desk? Great minds. Great minds.”

“Mr. President,” Cartwright said, his bushy eyebrows tightly knitted together. “Can we talk about Kuraq? I assume-”

Kyler flung himself across the desk. “Ha! But you should never assume. Because when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me. A-s-s, u , and m-e . Get it?”

Dr. Albertson quietly rose to his feet. Somehow a sphygmomanometer had materialized in his hands. He approached the president. “Sir, I’d like to take your blood pressure and conduct a small examination, just to make sure-”

“Oh, leave me alone.” Kyler turned and faced the large window behind the desk. “So much history has occurred in this room. So much history. Did you know that the White House-which they used to call the Executive Mansion -originally didn’t even have a West Wing? True. You can thank Teddy Roosevelt for this. Before him, this whole wing was covered by gardens and greenhouses. Teddy was the one who decided he needed a retreat from his wife and children and pets and nieces and nephews. He had the West Wing constructed to give himself a private retreat where he could actually get some work done. Taft enlarged it, and every president since has worked right here, in this office, gazing out at this magnificent view.”

Albertson tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir, I really must insist-”

“On what? A round of croquet?”

“On invoking my authority as White House physician to do a spot examination to make sure you’re of sound mind and body.”

“Of course I am. Go away, Henry.”

Ben noticed Cartwright was watching this exchange carefully.

“Give me two minutes and I can confirm that you have not suffered a cardiac arrest or a brain hemorrhage. That will do for now. Later we can-”

Without warning, the northwest door flew open and four men streamed through the opening. From their dress, Ben assumed that they were Secret Service agents. In fact, Ben recognized one of them-Max Zimmer. He had met Zimmer during the second tragedy in Oklahoma City.

“Mr. President, please come with us.”

President Kyler seemed even more befuddled. “Come with you? You come with me!”

“No, sir.” Without further comment, Agent Zimmer placed his hands under the president’s arms and hoisted him into the air.

“Up, up, and away, in my beautiful, my beautiful balloooooon!” the president sang. “Where are we going?”

“To the PEOC, sir. Immediately.”

The PEOC? Ben wondered. Had he heard right? What-or where-was that?

The Secret Service men took no notice of the president’s behavior. Ben wondered if that was because they were so professional and focused-or because they were used to it.

Another agent grabbed Ben’s arm. “You’ll have to come, too, sir.”

“Me? I’m just a lawyer.”

“Our instructions are to relocate everyone in the Oval Office immediately.”

“Can I call my wife first?” Ben asked, taking out his cell phone.

“No, sir,” the agent said, snatching it away from him. “You may not.” He gave Ben a push and herded him toward the doorway. Ben saw the other agents doing the same for everyone else in the room.

Just as they almost had him through the door, President Kyler put his foot down-literally. He pivoted in the doorway and faced them.

“Just one damn minute,” he said forcefully. He seemed like his previous self once again. “I’m the president of the United States. I demand to be informed why I am being relocated.”

Agent Zimmer shook his head. “There isn’t time, sir.”

“Then make it quick.”

Zimmer paused. “We have reason to believe that short-range theater ballistic missiles may be headed toward the White House.”

The president’s eyes widened-just like everyone else’s. “Ballistic missiles! How could they get this close to Washington without being detected earlier?”

Zimmer pressed his lips tightly together. “They’re ours.”

C hristina made her way through the front door of the offices of Kincaid & McCall on C Street. They were not as plush as the old digs at Warren Place in Tulsa, but arguably the location was better. Particularly when your husband was jumping from one political appointment to the next. And that was the key to real estate, wasn’t it? Location, location, location.

Jones was sitting in the front office, taking phone messages, answering email, and watching CNN out the corner of his eye.

“What’s happening?” Christina asked, flinging her briefcase up on the counter. “What’s new in our world?”