Max Collins - Executive Order

Then the phone said: “I’m waiting for the helicopter to Camp David now, Joe. How soon can I expect an answer on the identity of the traitor or traitors?”

“Well, it’s definitely traitors, sir, but the opposition here seems well aware of what I’m up to. Another of our agents was kidnapped, although we were able to free her.”

“Lord.”

“Sir, I’ve encountered compromised agents from both the Secret Service and Homeland. I hate to say this, but... right now nobody’s watching your back.”

“Except you, Joe.”

“Not me, because I’m not there with you. And you will surely hear some things designed to destroy your confidence in me, and of those I’ve recruited.”

“My confidence in you will not be shaken, Joe. But if you’re asking for more time, there isn’t any. War with Russia, as unthinkable as it may sound, could be just a few days away. Think Cuban Missile Crisis.”

“I’ll do everything I can, Mr. President. And I’m surrounded by real American patriots.”

“That’s all I can ask. All I could hope for. Joe, I have to go — the chopper is waiting.” The famous voice turned unexpectedly wry. “I could say something dramatic, I suppose... like you’re the thin red-white-and-blue line separating us from all-out war. But you don’t really need that kind of praise, or pressure.”

Reeder smiled. “No, Mr. President.”

They clicked off and Reeder went back up to the loft. Rogers had joined Hardesy, Wade, and Miggie in the massive wall screen’s viewing area of black-leather overstuffed seating.

Rogers was in a chair and Reeder perched himself on its plump arm. “How’s Nichols doing?” he asked.

“I dressed her head wound,” Rogers said. “She’s really been through it. Exhausted, in shock. I gave her something to help her sleep. That’s what she’s doing now.”

Reeder touched Rogers’ sleeve. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Earlier this week,” she said. “You?”

“Not in recent memory, and I’m afraid it won’t be soon. But let’s take an hour. Everybody pick a chair. Reggie, you take the couch.”

There was mild objection, but it was easily overruled by Reeder. They each found a place to rest, and Rogers — who’d stayed in that chair — said, “I don’t see any place for you?”

“I have something to do,” he said.

Reeder went over to the kitchenette area, where Morris appeared awake; anyway, he was no longer snoring. Reeder removed the accountant’s blindfold, pulled up a chair and sat.

Very quietly, he said, “Let’s talk about you, Lawrence. And keep your voice down. My friends are trying to catch a few Zs, like you did.”

The captive wore a hurt expression. “You said you would let me go if I helped you. Did you get your agent back?”

“We did. Thank you for that. But I promised you nothing, just that we’d revisit your situation. That’s what we’re doing now, Lawrence. And I’m afraid, for now, the answer is no.”

Morris tugged at his restraints. “You bastard! You lying bastard!”

Reeder raised a lecturing finger. “If you wake my friends up, I’ll let you go, all right — and spread the word you talked.”

All the energy seeped out of Morris. “Maybe... maybe you should do that, and I’ll... take my chances...”

“You did help us, and that was a good start. But you’re a tool of a treasonous conspiracy, complicit in half a dozen murders or more. If you’d really rather not die, whether by lethal injection at the government’s hands or by some imaginative means courtesy of your patriotic pals, you could cooperate further.”

Morris said nothing. He was looking at Reeder but not really.

“Give me something that matters,” Reeder said. “Want your freedom? Give up those board-member names. Outline their plans in this current scheme. Then testify against them. Be a hero, not a traitor.”

The prisoner’s voice went whisper-quiet, and Reeder doubted it had anything to do with not disturbing the napping agents on the other side of the room.

“You have to know,” Morris said, “that I would never live to testify. They’ll kill me. They’ll kill you. All of us. How do you think they’ve been around for seventy-five years without becoming anything but a rumor or another crazy conspiracy theory?”

“You need to give me those names.”

“No. If I give you those names, and you act against them, I’m dead. You’re dead. These are not men you can move against. Perhaps you could disrupt what you described as their latest ‘scheme,’ but—”

“Okay. Let’s table the names. What do you know about what the Alliance is up to right the hell now?”

Eyes widened, narrowed. “Frankly, not much. Like the Middle Eastern terrorists, the Alliance only provides its cells with that cell’s part of a plan. That way no one can give away the bigger picture upon capture.”

“Then you have no idea why four CIA agents were sent to Azbekistan to die?”

“I only know they were supposed to be the spark for a new conflagration with Russia, after years of this tepid President’s inaction.”

The hair on the back of Reeder’s neck bristled. “Why in God’s name? We’ve been at peace with them for decades.”

“Complacency and peace are not the same thing, Reeder. Nor is appeasement valid diplomacy. While we’ve been ‘peaceful,’ Boris Krakenin has been rebuilding the Soviet war machine, preparing the Russians for world domination. Harrison has done nothing to protest Russian incursions, or to prepare America for this obvious coming war. We’re soft, lazy, and this is a president who needed to be prodded into doing the right thing.”

Well, at least Reeder knew what flavor of Kool-Aid their guest preferred.

“Why kill Amanda Yellich?”

Morris shrugged. “Above my pay grade. I was told nothing about it before or after. Was she assassinated? If so, it must have been something to do with this weekend.”

Reeder stiffened. “What about this weekend?”

“Again, no idea. I just know that everything needed to carry out this current objective — from the Azbekistan sacrifice to today — had to be taken care of by this weekend. Apparently, for some reason, Yellich’s death must’ve been part of that.”

Reeder recalled Bohannon’s text: *AY not CD*

Camp David.

He went back over to the TV area and said, good and loud, “ Everybody up! ”

They roused, mostly from deep sleeps, with Wade’s lengthy torso stretching as he said, “What was that, fifteen minutes? Thanks for the sack time, bossman.”

“It was twenty, and we need to talk. Five minutes for bathroom breaks and rounding up coffee.”

Everybody did that.

Reeder stood near Rogers in her comfy chair. Everyone had coffee but Hardesy, who had Diet Coke. All eyes were on Reeder. Every butt was on the edge of its seat.

Reeder said, “One cabinet member always is held back when the full cabinet is otherwise at one location... like it will be at Camp David this weekend.”

“To protect the line of succession,” Rogers said, matter-of-fact.

Reeder sent his eyes around touching everybody else’s. “What if Amanda Yellich was that cabinet member?”

Miggie’s eyes popped. He rose, held up a “wait” forefinger, and went back to his tablet. Within a minute he returned.

“This you’re going to find interesting,” Miggie said, his eyebrows up. “It was indeed supposed to be Yellich.”

Everyone exchanged glances.

Reeder asked, “Replaced by whom?”

Mig shook his head. “A very tight lid on that, my friend.”

“So Yellich was the designated survivor,” Hardesy said, frowning. “So what?”