Captive-in-Chief (26 page)

News crews had received the call as the news broke the previous night. By the time the first representatives and senators began to arrive it was a media frenzy. There was barely room for them to squeeze through the cameras and equipment to reach the front door of Federal Hall.

It was, all agreed, an auspicious remembrance of the history of the country and the Constitution that the Baldwins had called for Senate and Congress to reconvene after such a devastating tragedy at the birthplace of a great nation. And also where George Washington, the first President of the United States of America, had received his inauguration. All around stood the evidence of how great a nation they had become. Helicopters filled the sky, the overhead shots displayed the magnificence of Manhattan with none of the devastating scenes that would be so evident if they had remained in Washington. It was a message; they had been dealt a blow, the country had licked its wounds, delivered its retaliation, and was now moving on.

Despite having no idea of what was happening until they too heard the news, the Baldwins hadn’t failed to stage manage the event to perfection. Their arrival on scene after all the other senators and representatives had already arrived was intended to impress and project their importance. News crews were ushered aside as the four Suburbans that flanked the stretch limousine arrived, carrying the father and son who were about to become the second and third in line to the presidency.

If anyone wondered how they had all made it to a special session in three days, after missing a previous special session for apparently genuine reasons, some of which included illness, none of the media were asking or commenting.

Both stepped out and waved at the cameras, a somber mood behind the waves of victory. Few in the crowd paid them much notice. The Baldwins represented almost everything that was rotten with the political system. Not that either Baldwin cared what the regular voter thought. They had little time for voters, they were an inconvenience to be overcome every two years for Congressman Ed Baldwin and every six for Vic. Ed would have considered the second senator slot, had it not been for the potential of becoming speaker of the House, which his emphatic wave suggested was merely moments away.

The two walked into the Hall hand in hand, father and son who were, thanks to the situation, about to become the two most powerful men in the country. They would control the legislative branch of the country and with it, control the power of the president.

The hastily prepared hall was going to house both the Senate and House in one space. The senators would sit on the right and the representatives on the left. Both sessions would be run separately but would be witnessed by both.

Of the 535 elected members of Congress, only sixty-seven remained. After 9/11 a special session had been held on that some spot, when over three hundred members had crowded into the hall. It had been a salutary sight, the impact of the attack in stark reality. With photo shoots over and the press excluded for the rest of the session, Senator Vic Baldwin took to the temporary rostrum and welcomed his fellow senators and representatives, thanking them for attending at such short notice.

He led them all in a prayer for their fallen colleagues before laying out his plans for the sessions ahead. The most important was to get both Houses in a state to undertake the necessary functions to ensure the country had a functioning and operational government. A speaker of the House and president pro tempore of the Senate would be elected. Thereafter they would vote on a number of actions requested by the president over the previous few days.

“This isn’t a time for deep and prolonged debate, it’s a time to show our solidarity and support to protect and defend the Constitution of our country,” he concluded to applause from the hall.

The deputy clerk stood up and opened proceedings for the House of Representatives. A tear in his eye, he declared the session open and called on the representatives to vote for their speaker. One candidate stood up, Ed Baldwin. Though the Democrats hadn’t had a chance to agree on an opponent given the short notice, none voiced their disproval openly. Six abstained from the vote, which it appeared was their way of voicing their disapproval of the process. However, with seventeen of their colleagues voting for Ed, it was clear their protest was irrelevant.

With forty-one raised hands, not counting his own, which in the interests of modesty he left down, Ed Baldwin was proclaimed speaker of the House and was sworn in, instantly elevating himself to the second in line to the presidency. To emphasize the fact, as he took the oath, a small group of Secret Service agents filed into the room. Normally the Capitol Police would have assumed the speaker’s security. However, given his position and the devastating losses suffered by the Capitol Police in the tragedy, the Secret Service had taken on the duty.

Ed quickly laid out his plans to support the president in each of the initiatives he had called for over the previous few days. Although the final legislation wasn’t in place, he wanted to give the people and their president a clear message. He asked for an indicative vote on the five pieces of legislation expected and the approval to move forward on each on an immediate basis. The US forces in the drug war, the pulling back of US troops from abroad, a new federal gun license to be administered by an independent body, the erection of the wall to protect the border and the expulsion of all illegal immigrants. With an overwhelming majority, all passed, the most contested being the expulsion of illegal immigrants with a 37–11 victory.

With his business complete, Ed made way for the assistant secretary of the Senate who, much like the deputy clerk, opened the Senate session and called for a vote to elect the president pro tempore. Unlike the House of Representatives, it was unlikely that Vic Baldwin would be challenged, as tradition dictated the most senior member of the majority party would take the office of pro tempore.

Vic unashamedly raised his hand and was pronounced president pro tempore and third in line to the presidency with a 19–0 vote. Unlike his son, there was no dramatic movement by the Secret Service as he was sworn in. Two Capitol Police officers moved slightly nearer as the oath of office was concluded. Vic repeated a similar process for the Senate, ratifying the votes previously held. Again, the standout was the illegal immigrant vote, yet still passed easily at 15–4.

With business concluded and the result the Baldwins could have only dreamed of merely days earlier, the building was suddenly engulfed with the sound of police sirens.

“What the hell?” shouted Ed Baldwin as the Secret Service team moved and surrounded their new protectee.

If the Baldwins thought arriving with four Suburbans was stylish, anyone witnessing President Clay Caldwell’s arrival would have laughed in their face. Two highly modified Boeing 747-200Bs, tail designation 28000 and 29000, landed within minutes of each other at JFK airport. Emblazoned with the presidential seal and proudly depicting the country’s name ,the two massive jets taxied to a secluded area where three Sea King helicopters awaited their arrival. The three helicopters were equally emblazoned and left no doubt as to who they were transporting. As Air Force One became SAM 28000 (Special Air Mission), one of the Sea Kings became Marine One as President Caldwell walked from one aircraft to the other, his significant entourage in tow.

The helicopters lifted off as one, moving in a way that nobody would be sure which one actually carried the president.

Looking down, the vast infrastructure required to transport the president became evident. A number of C5 Galaxys used to transport the aircraft and vehicles littered the taxiway along with hundreds of personnel.

No sooner had they lifted off, the helicopters landed, again as one. Fifteen miles to Manhattan’s downtown helipad. Blue and red lights stretched as far as the eye could see as lower Manhattan had been effectively shut down. Six heavily modified and armored Cadillac limousines awaited the helicopters, along with countless heavily armored Suburbans, an electronic countermeasures vehicle, a fully armed and ready for action counterassault team, in addition to dozens of Secret Service agents, paramedics, and enough police cars and personnel to close off the lower Manhattan area.

Clay stepped down from the helicopter and into one of the Cadillacs, which then became Cadillac One, thanks to its bulk and overall presence, more affectionately known as The Beast.

If the Baldwins hadn’t been too busy, they’d have seen how arriving in style and projecting power was really done.

In reality, Clay was desperately ushering proceedings on. His cell had remained uncharacteristically quiet and he prayed it would remain so for the next few minutes.

The crowd had swollen with the realization that the president was making a surprise visit. Rumors had started shortly after the closed session had begun in Federal Hall, however, with no announcement, it wasn’t until the two 747s had been spotted landing that the rumors were confirmed. The cacophony of sirens that preceded his arrival ensured everyone knew he was on his way, long before his limo finally pulled to a stop at the steps. He exited Cadillac One, waved to the crowd, and bounded up the steps, Val by his side. The subsequent limos pulled up behind him, his entourage following, eagerly joining their president as he gatecrashed Congress.

The doors opened and a rush of dark suited men and women with wires running from their ears down into their shirts flooded into the hall, forming a protective cordon which the president stepped into.

A look of relief befell most members as the worry they were under attack dissipated with the realization the sirens were not signaling a disaster but the president arriving. To the Baldwins the realization that disaster was about to strike was still to come as the president took to the rostrum.

“Senators, Congressmen, Congresswomen. I want to thank you. What you have done today by holding this session is show the world we will not be beaten. We. Will. Not. Be. Beaten. You have shown the citizens of this country that even in our darkest hour, we will rise up and show the world the country is as strong today as it was yesterday, last week, last month, and we will be stronger again tomorrow.”

A rapturous round of applause interrupted his off-the-cuff speech.

“We have today restored a large part of our legislative branch and demonstrated its importance in the Constitution. Restoring, in part, the line of succession, so tragically broken by the cowards who attacked us…”

Ed and Vic beamed as he mentioned their position within the line of succession.

His cell buzzed in his pocket. There was no way he could check it. Cameras from around the world were picking up every word, every nuance of his actions. To extract his cell in the middle of his speech would be unthinkable. He had to continue, he had set a course and had to continue.

“Unarmed men and women serving their country…” he continued, his mind racing as to what he should do. Whoever was contacting him must see he was mid-speech.

Clay began to wrap up. “I thank you again for your efforts in holding today’s session with such speed and efficiency to ensure our smooth continuity, and offering me the support to deliver what we need to ensure every one of our citizens remains safe and free to go about their daily lives.”

The room stood up and applauded what had been a rapturous and outstanding performance.

“Well thank you, Mr. President,” Vic Baldwin rose. “I know I speak for us all when I say your presence here today has been a very welcome surprise for us all. With no further business, I think we are in a position to close the session.”

Clay stood up. “I wonder if we have time for one quick item. I really don’t think it will take more than a minute or two.”

With the world watching and the president requesting a minute or two of Congress’ time there was only one answer.

“Of course Mr. President,” replied Vic, receiving nods from the rest of the members of both Houses.

Clay smiled. “Excellent. I just need you to confirm my nominee for vice president.”

Vic and Ed Baldwin looked at each other, both shaking their heads. They weren’t going to be overtaken that easily.
They
had the power. Everybody else in the room looked to see who the nominee was, including Val and Charles Johnson, Clay’s closest and most trusted advisors.

After a pause for the murmurs and gasps to die down, Clay continued. “I give you Governor Eric Warner!”

Both Vic and Ed Baldwin’s faces fell. There wasn’t a chance they could block the hero governor’s nomination. Ed Baldwin’s Secret Service team stepped away from Ed and moved towards the governor.

Elsa and her father watched the broadcast live. Her father had sent a text warning Clay, knowing he had been too late.

“What do I do now?” asked Elsa as the governor of Alabama became vice president of the United States. “I won’t get anywhere near him.”

Her father grinned and threw her a brochure for the Summit of the Americas, to be held at the Llao Llao Hotel and Resort, San Carlos di Bariloche, Argentina.

“If he’s VP, he’ll definitely be going there.”

Elsa smiled. “I’ll get going.” The summit was due to start in four days.

The darkness was all but complete. The cloud covered the sliver of moon that would have offered some semblance of light to an otherwise empty desert. A movement to his right caught his eye, like fluttering pixels on a black screen. He hadn’t moved for hours. Every inch of his body ached yet he daren’t move. He’d been tracking the Iraqi Republican Guard Company as it neared the Saudi-Kuwait border. They had camped for the evening and posted lookouts. He had been about to call in an air strike when he spotted them, a US Marine rifle platoon, hunkered down in a valley out of sight of the Iraqis’ far larger company. Air strikes were accurate, though not so that he could risk his fellow countrymen. It was only thanks to his elevated position that he could see what the Iraqis hadn’t yet spotted.

The platoon were obviously lost. They were over a mile into Kuwait and with the air campaign having just started, they were definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was one of a number of spotters sent to assist the air campaign.

All he could do was hope the Iraqis didn’t spot the Marines. If they did, he’d raise the alarm and do everything he could, although outnumbered and outgunned, it would be a massacre.

It was clear the Marines were aware of their situation. Their camp was in total darkness. Barely a movement was made as they hid yards from their enemy’s encampment.

The movement wasn’t good. Somebody was moving out of the Marine camp. From his vantage point, it was clear the Iraqi lookouts were about to be alerted to the Marine platoon’s position, thanks to whoever was moving. He had two choices, sit back and witness his fellow Marines be slaughtered or call in an air strike and in all reality sit back and watch his countrymen be slaughtered by a combination of friendly and enemy fire. Neither option worked so he went for option three.

He sat up and flashed his torch, alerting the Iraqi Republican Guard to his position, some few hundred yards away from the Marine platoon and in an entirely different direction.

No sooner had he flashed the torch than he lost himself in the desert darkness again, looping around as the Iraqis raced towards his previous location. Lights erupted in the Iraqi camp reducing significantly the Iraqis’ ability to see into the darkness of the desert. With the Iraqis’ focus on a position in the opposite direction from the Marines, he tracked down the moving figure and grabbed him.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed, pushing the man to the ground.

“Joe, is that you?”

“Clay?”

Clay hugged his old friend like there was no tomorrow.

“Clay, what are you doing?” asked Joe pushing his friend back.

“I screwed up, I screwed up!”

Joe could just make out the designation of the uniform in the darkness, Clay was a First Lieutenant.

“What about your men?”

“They’re better off without me, look where I’ve got them, behind enemy lines and with half the Iraqi army camped next to us!”

Joe looked towards the Iraqis. As expected, a search party was scouring the area he had vacated. The only problem was not finding the culprit, their search would expand. Whatever happened, the Marines were going to be found, sooner rather than later.

“Okay here’s what we’re going to do,” ordered Master Sergeant Joe Kelly of his senior officer.

Clay listened shaking his head throughout. “I can’t, we’ll all die, I’ll be responsible for killing them all!”

“And by running away, how does that save them?” asked Joe. He hadn’t seen his friend in over ten years and it certainly wasn’t how he remembered him. This wasn’t the Clay he knew and loved.

“I can’t face them, it’s my fault we’re here…”

“Look, we don’t have time, we need to create a diversion and get your platoon out of here. Where’s your weapon?”

Clay shrugged, he had nothing, he had simply slipped out in the darkness to escape.

Joe handed Clay his M4 and spare clips, pulling out his handgun and arranging his hand grenades for ease of use.

“I can’t, my child needs me,” said Clay, frozen to the spot as Joe turned to lead him towards the Iraqis.

“You know about Clara?”

“Who’s Clara?”

“Your daughter!”

“My wife hasn’t given birth yet.”

“Your wife?”

“Forget my wife, who’s Clara?” asked Clay.

Joe looked at the Iraqis. They were extending their search. “We need to move now.”

“Who’s Clara?” Clay demanded.

“Maddy had a daughter after Atlanta,” said Joe, rushing off into the night.

Those were the last words he had spoken to Clay.

His mind raced, the next few minutes were a blur. He struggled to remember exactly what had happened. Lots of gunshots, explosions lighting up the sky until he woke up freezing cold in a cell.

His eyes opened, his head pounded, two eyes started back at him, concern deep within them. Sandy.

“Thank God, you’re awake, you were getting a bit restless there,” said Amy. She sat by his bedside. He was in a hospital. Sandy was up on the bed next to him, her service vest on.

“What happened?” he tried to say but his mouth was dry. Completely dry. Probably why he had been dreaming about the desert.

Amy reached forward and gave him a sip of water. “You fell in the bathroom and cracked your head on the toilet. It split open your wound and knocked you unconscious. You’re lucky to be alive. They reckon you’ve had quite a few bumps in the last few days.”

It all came back. He had managed to struggle through the bathroom window but had no strength to stop himself falling and had crashed to the floor, his head obviously bouncing off of the toilet bowl on the way down. That, and Amy was not the sweet, ditzy woman she pretended to be. He remembered the bitter anger in her voice as she screamed his name and the boots rushing to her aid.

“Thanks,” he managed. “How long have I been out?”

“Over a day,” replied Amy, shooing Sandy off the bed as a doctor approached.

After a thorough checkup, the doctor gave Joe the thumbs up. “We’ll keep you overnight although I think you’ll be fine. Just don’t bang your head again.”

“I start work at nine, I need to be out in time for that,” said Joe.

“I’d advise no work for a few days,” replied the doctor.

“It’s not hard work and it’s my first job in a long time,” Joe pleaded.

The doctor halfheartedly relented with a nod.

“I also need some… medication.” Joe felt awkward asking in front of Amy.

Sensing the awkwardness, the doctor asked Amy, “Would you mind?”

“Not at all,” Amy said, stepping out of the room.

“Sorry about that,” Joe said. “It’s just, I mean—”

“Look, I understand,” the doctor cut in. “Younger women expect more than our bodies can—”

“I need Librium!” Joe said.

***

“All sorted?” asked Amy, after the doctor left.

“Yeah, so did I miss much?”

“We have a new vice president.”

“I was only out for a day, right?!?”