Max Collins - Executive Order

“So,” Reeder said, “the Camp David trip has been planned for some time, and the Russian invasion just happened to fall the week before. Forcing the President’s hand. Making the already-scheduled Camp David meeting something suddenly of great import. You think that’s a coincidence?”

“I would say no,” Rogers said dryly.

Reeder, the wall screen at his back, paced. “For some reason, Amanda not being at Camp David is key.”

“But she was already not going to be there,” Rogers said. “If the Alliance plan has something to do with Camp David, why kill someone who isn’t even going to be there?”

Reeder stopped pacing and swung toward his audience. “Let’s go back to why she wasn’t going to be there. She was the cabinet member selected to stay home. To protect the line of succession.”

“Okay,” Hardesy said, “I get that part. But why swap one stay-at-home cabinet member for another?”

“Lawrence says the Alliance has people all through government, including at the highest levels — what if one of them is the cabinet member charged with staying away and protecting the line of succession?”

“Getting them what?” Rogers asked.

Wade said, “The presidency, if everything shakes down right.”

“ How? ” Rogers asked. “You would have to take out a certain number, ahead of that person! Who can guess how many cabinet members would have to die, picked off one by one or maybe in one fell swoop...”

Rogers was staring into nothing now, having trailed off.

Reeder said, “Exactly right, Patti. And this weekend, everybody’s at the party, from the President on down.”

The loft fell silent.

“Crazy,” Hardesy said finally. “Impossible. No way to pull it off.”

“Mass killings have become a way of life in this country,” Rogers said hollowly. “And you know what they say — if you’re willing to trade your life, you can kill anyone.”

“At Camp fucking David?” Hardesy exploded. “Get serious — it’s a goddamn fortress.”

Sitting forward, Wade said, “Joe, Lucas is right — it’s a fortress with the most sophisticated electronic surveillance equipment in the world set up in those surrounding woods, not to mention a small army of Secret Service agents, and a whole mess of Marines. Nobody could get in there. If anybody even tried , they’d see ’em coming from a mile away, easy. Two miles.”

“There’s more than one way to do this,” Reeder said, and everyone’s eyes were on him. “President Harrison will be in a chopper when he’s coming and going. Same for Vice President Mitchell. Possible there might be a small window where both copters are in the air at the same time. If you’re the Alliance, and you’ve truly infiltrated everywhere, you might know the itinerary and simply blow them both out of the sky with rocket launchers.”

Reeder’s ominous suggestion hung in the air like stubborn smoke.

Finally Rogers asked, “But how could anybody get away with that? Or with any kind of assault on Camp David? It’s not like a fame-seeking nutcase walks up and shoots the President and dies on the spot — these people want power, not to be apprehended.”

Reeder’s small smile was large with dread. “Azbekistan has the country on edge, everybody from the man in the street to talk-radio demagogues to United States Senators calling for war over the deaths of those CIA agents. How hard would it be to—”

“Blame the Russians,” Rogers said, answering her own question.

“It might well be stage-managed to make that happen,” Reeder said with a shrug. “Russian missiles, Russian arms to take out any motorcade leaving Camp David? Not beyond the realm of possibility.”

No one spoke for a long time.

Then Rogers said, “Just to recap, we think a secret society has already killed eight government employees, may be angling to manipulate the line of presidential succession, and is risking starting World War III in the bargain. And there doesn’t appear to be anything we can do about it. That a pretty fair assessment?”

“I’d say so,” Reeder said. “Of course, you did leave out the part where we have a prisoner who can at least semi-legitimately claim we kidnapped him, and an Assistant Director of the FBI who thinks we’ve gone rogue, and wants to arrest us, which will almost inevitably lead to assassination or prison. So I’d say doing nothing is not an option.”

“We could call Fisk,” Rogers said.

Reeder gave her a sharp look. “Do you trust her?”

“We have to trust somebody .”

Hardesy said, “Down the rabbit hole, and you want to cozy up to the Queen of Hearts.”

“Let’s say, sake of argument, that Patti’s right to trust Fisk,” Reeder said to everyone. “What do we tell her? That we’ve kidnapped a GAO accountant who says there’s an alliance of would-be patriots manipulating the government from within? Better add the booby hatch to the assassination-and-prison list.”

She nodded toward their duct-taped guest. “We have proof.”

Reeder asked, “But if Lawrence is right, and protecting his life is a virtual impossibility, then what do we have? We need more before we go to Fisk or anybody else.”

“I don’t disagree,” Rogers said glumly. “So what do we do?”

Reeder’s head tilted almost imperceptibly. “We put our friend Lawrence on ice somewhere till we can use him. Nichols took a hell of a blow to the head, so we need to get her off the front line—”

“Do I get a vote?” came Nichols’ voice from across the loft.

Barefoot, a square bandage on her head wound, she had slipped into a pair of DeMarcus’s jeans that came mid-calf, belt cinched tight, and a Georgetown T-shirt knotted under her breasts.

“Anne,” Reeder said, “it’s not a democracy. But come join us.”

She did, finding room on the couch. “Joe, you may be in charge, but you really don’t have much choice. I’ve heard most of this discussion, and it’s clear this is the big game and you can’t afford to keep me on the bench.”

He raised a hand in a “patience” gesture.

Then he said, “Patti, you’ll recall the cabin where we met up with my daughter Amy and her boyfriend, at the windup of the Supreme Court investigation?”

“Of course,” Rogers said.

Reeder’s late friend Gabriel Sloan — Rogers’ onetime FBI partner — had left the family cabin in the Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains to his goddaughter.

“Miggie, Patti will help you pull that location up on a map. You and Anne take Lawrence there. You three should be safe... but take plenty of firepower.”

“So I’m on guard duty?” Nichols asked, frowning.

“Come on, Joe,” Miggie said, almost whining, “I’m more than just the fastest computer in the East, you know.”

“Anne, our prisoner is the only proof we have right now of this conspiracy. Mig, I need you on call for whatever we might need on the information side. Not that you both won’t still be in the line of fire. We have no way of knowing how on top of us these people might be... Everybody cool?”

Both agents nodded. They didn’t look cool, but they nodded.

Reeder wandered over to the prisoner. He said, “Lawrence, buddy, you need to give us something. We’re going to make every effort to keep you alive, but if something goes wrong... in which case we’ll have lost these two fine agents in addition to your sorry-ass self... we need a way to verify without you. Give us something we can use.”

“If I’m dead,” he said, with a ghastly smile, “I no longer have any skin in the game. Good luck to you, though.”

“Sometimes you’re a hard man to like, Lawrence.”