My King The President (23 page)

Before either of us could say anything else, a discreet knock came at the door, followed by Agent Franklin’s announcement, “The other parties have arrived, sir, and supper’s ready over at Birch. If you’ll please follow me…”

It was a strange, uncomfortable mixture gathered around the table. I made a quick mental list:

And one very anxious former journalist whose throbbing jaw was keeping him from enjoying the decent meal, and reminding him of Cal’s advice not to trust anyone!

Yet, I knew I had to start trusting somebody; otherwise I wasn’t going to get any further than this warm room! Also, I was going to have no chance to rescue my father, let alone try to unravel Thurmond Frye’s wooly ball of inconceivable conspiracy twine, which was harder to digest than the baked chicken I was painfully chewing. With every bite, Frye’s bombshell went off again in my head.
Overthrow the United States Government?

After dinner, I at least had a few private moments to tell Abby about the note her husband had written to me, that I intended to attempt what he had asked me to do, something of the risks involved, and begged her to assist me with writing the diary.

Surprisingly, she agreed to. “For two reasons, Jeb. Robby and Bobby. They’re my life, now, and for their sakes, I can’t afford to fold up. I’ll help you all I can.”

I watched Franklin and his nameless partner escort her and the kids back to her cabin, then turned back to the others, addressing my first remarks to Betty Kucinski. “Betty, not to be sexist, but I’d like to ask you to keep the coffee pot going if you don’t mind.”

She hoisted herself out of her chair with a good-natured grunt and headed for the kitchen. I looked at Frye and Mackenzie, heaved one big sigh, and said, “Gentlemen, we have to sit down and hold ourselves a war council. Big time role-playing.”

For the first time, the burly ex sergeant spoke, reaching into his shirt pocket. “Can we smoke ’em if we’ve got ’em, sir?”

I took my place again at the table. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable, Sarge.” My eyes traveled from his smiling face to Frye’s unsmiling one and back again. “Okay, guys. Sarge, you’re General Tyndall. Thurmond, you’re the Judge. We want to take over the government. How do we do it? What’s our first step?”

“Organization, Frye said without hesitation. “Meticulous military planning. I have a feeling the Judge had his organization man picked out long before Tyndall’s election.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Cornelius Ferris. What do you think, Sarge?”

“Makes a lotta sense. Ferris was also a four-star Marine General, Chief of Staff during the last administration, and the man who kept the military together through all the downsizing and cutbacks that had been done for twenty years. Everybody knows he was one of Tyndall’s best and oldest buddies.”

“Right on,” Frye said. “Not the charismatic, hell-for-leather leader Tyndall was, but the best brain, the best strategic planner the military has ever had. And now, he’s the Secretary of Defense.”

“And,” I pointed out, “The only one of the dwarfs who is still alive. Has to be a good reason for that. Okay. So, Koontz knows the only way he can get it done is by using the military. How does Ferris manage it?”

Sergeant Mackenzie leaned back in his chair. “Wouldn’t have been hard for him to do. Most of our troops are back in the States now. Scattered all over the country. Wouldn’t have been all that tough for Ferris to plant secret units in every command, which could be mobilized in hours. Tactical stations in every single state, every major city and airport. Maximum mobility, plus placing trusted commanders in every key position; Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines. Even the Guard.”

“Must have taken him years to set it up,” I said.

“Probably as many as five or six,” Mackenzie added, shaking his head. “Some of us old time lifers suspected something big was in the works, but nobody knew nothin’ for sure, and none of the career guys I knew was about to ask too many questions. When I had that little stroke, it was really a blessing. I had drove Tyndall to see Ferris privately lots of times, but I never saw him meet with Koontz so much as once.”

Frye commented, “Their communications schematic had to be just as sophisticated as all the rest. Besides, my guess is the Judge never let the right hand know what the left hand was doing, until maybe the last moment.”

“All right then,” I said, “We’ve got all the pieces in place. All systems ready to go. What’s the trigger? What starts it?”

All three of us sat there several minutes, brains working overtime. Finally, Frye said, “It would have to be some big calamity. Some gigantic crisis. Big enough for Tyndall to clamp down hard. Declare national emergency and invoke military law.”

“Phony terrorist attack?” Assassinations?” I ventured.

“Possibly,” Frye nodded, but it would have to be one—or more—done on an unimaginable scale.”

I shuddered, thinking of any number of grim possibilities.
Impossible
possibilities. I hated to ask, but did anyway. “So, what’s the absolute worst scenario you can think of? What would be big enough to make Tyndall give the ‘go’ word?”

Nobody spoke right away. I was certain they were, like I was, having a hard time conjuring up a mental image of an induced disaster large enough to declare martial law. Finally, I pushed a little. “Thurmond, what’s the worst thing you can think of?”

Frye’s gray eyes got harder. “H-bomb explosion. Sabotage at Los Alamos. Maybe also at Oak Ridge, simultaneously. Or two or three nuclear plant meltdowns.”

“Terrorist attacks in several major cities,” Mackenzie offered. “Bombings, with fires and rioting, maybe including Washington. The White House, maybe at a time when Tyndall was somewhere else.”

And with his wife still in there
. It was a bone chilling thought. “What about a germ warfare agent?” I whispered. “Poisoned water supply, maybe in New York, or Los Angeles. Millions would die.”

We spent another two hours mock-planning doomsday events, and when we ended the session and went to our separate quarters, I wondered if the others had as much trouble as I did getting to sleep…

And so, I set about writing my first piece of fiction. For the next two days and nights, I worked feverishly at constructing a series of diary entries, incorporating occasional ghoulish hints of national catastrophe into mundane events of the McCarty family’s everyday life. Those were tearfully supplied by Abby, whose job of reminiscing personal anecdotal information (which only she and Mac could have known about) was certainly rougher than mine. Ignoring my writer’s cramp, I filled one notebook completely, and was three quarters through the second one when Franklin barged in to tell me we had one hour to pack up and leave.

Franklin shook his head. “I don’t know, sir, unless you’re going on a trip with the Boss. Edwards is where she keeps Air Force One.”

Chapter 22

Besides the spastic scurrying I’d been forced to do from place to place and state to state since Mac’s funeral, my past air travel experiences had been considerable. I had flown in all types of aircraft, from little Pipers to the redesigned Concorde; occasionally (when somebody else was picking up the tab) in first class. I was also familiar with Boeing’s magnificent double-decker 747 models, but the 747-200B monster (given the official military designation as VC 25A—Air Force One) was a whole ’nother ball game. Talk about your home-away-from-home! Nothing I’d ever seen could come close to it. I was in total awe from the moment Franklin drove into the gargantuan maintenance complex at Andrews which serves as the big bird’s nest, until the moment President Fordham summoned Mackenzie and me, shortly after take-off, to her “flying Oval Office.” On the way, trying my best to ignore the mildly curious glances of the other passengers, including the scowling Secretary of Defense, his aide, a few of the Presidential staff, and several select members of the press corps, I had the distinct feeling that the same people who had designed the interior of Cancelossi’s plush yacht had also done the job here.

I knocked gently.

“Come in, please… Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen.” The President’s tone was warm. Cordial, although her face showed she hadn’t had much sleep. Making ourselves “comfortable” wasn’t hard to do. Mackenzie and I both took chairs that practically swallowed us whole. “This is some treat, ma’am,” I said.

With a wry smile, she replied, “The plane? Yes, it’s quite a step up from what I’d been used to, but I remember it well from—before. I wish there was time to tell you about her modifications, but we’d better get down to business. I suppose you noticed the other people on board, including Secretary Ferris.”

“I saw him,” I answered. “He didn’t look too happy, either.”

“He isn’t. You should have heard the howl he put up when I called him at five o’clock this morning and told him I wanted to spring a surprise visit to several military installations. Keeping in mind that our primary mission is to get to Fort Bragg, I told him I wanted to briefly drop in on a few random bases on the east coast, namely, the Naval base at Norfolk, the Marine base at Camp Lejeune, and Seymour Johnson Air Force base at Goldsboro in your home State. I also told him that if we have enough time, I want to continue on down to Fort Benning. He doesn’t know it, but I’m going to change my mind about Benning soon after we leave Goldsboro. I’ll bet he called Koontz right after I hung up.”

“And his next calls would be fast ones to the commanders of those bases,” Mackenzie added.

Eyes twinkling, she smiled at the former sergeant, acknowledging his intelligence, then said, “Sergeant Mackenzie, I’d also be willing to bet you have some idea of how we can get Jeb’s father out of that Fort Bragg lockup.”

“I’ll make sure you’ll have them. I don’t intend to ask you what you have up your sleeve, but I’m guessing it isn’t strictly by the regs.”

Mackenzie shifted in his chair. “Not exactly, no, ma’am, but I’m gonna need to talk to the senior NCO on base there, whoever he is.”

I said, “I think it’s best if we stayed aboard while you’re taking care of business at Norfolk. No sense in muddying up the water there. I’m sure the people flying with you are curious as the devil about us already.”

“I’ve thought of that. If anybody asks you anything, simply say you’re on a private mission of mercy for me. Listen up…”

My appreciation for Helene Fordham’s smarts and imagination ratcheted up yet another notch while we listened to her plausible white lie; the “reason” for her bringing along a priest and an older relative (grandfather) of a fictitious, very sick child in a Goldsboro hospital. “Do you think any of the press people aboard recognized you, Jeb?”

“No, ma’am. I don’t think so. It’s been a long time since I was at the press club. I didn’t see more than one or two I remembered either!”

“Good.” She handed me a regular sized envelope. Its weight told me I didn’t have to ask what was inside it. “You two make yourselves at home up forward. I’ll have Bert Franklin stay aboard with you while we’re at Norfolk. I shouldn’t be more than two hours on the base. This first visit’s going to be a quick in and out, mainly to give Connie Ferris the impression that I’m simply doing a selfish PR stunt. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

So, I thought, closing the door behind us, Agent Franklin does have a first name after all, and wondered if he had known Mac McCarty…

He hadn’t. Or if he had, he wasn’t about to tell us. What he did know, like his partner had about Camp David, was a great deal about Air Force One. While everyone was gone, having de-planed at Norfolk after the President like a pack of hounds, noses up and anxious for a hunt, Bert Franklin casually showed us around the giant aircraft. Mackenzie and I were both properly impressed with our leisurely tour of both decks, which included more than ample space. Four thousand square feet of it! In addition to special quarters for the Chief Executive, we saw a conference/dining room, an office area for senior staff members, another office that could be converted into a medical facility, plus work and rest areas for other staff. The crew and media had separate quarters, and the big bird boasted two galleys that could handle meals for up to fifty passengers! There were innumerable telephones, radios, and, out of sight, banks of the most up to date satellite communications and electronic technology mankind has yet conceived, all harnessed, according to Franklin, into a network of more than two hundred miles of wiring. About the only thing he didn’t show us was the famous escape bubble.