National Burden (24 page)

The White House staff was used to large events, but the last minute notice sent them scrambling. Guests arrived in spurts starting at four in the morning, most looking confused and bleary-eyed. They were ushered in different waiting areas after being told not to talk to one another. Two Secret Service agents stood in each assembly area, ready to pounce on anyone who didn’t follow the simple instructions.

President Zimmer was impressed by the showing, and the quick work of his cabinet. But possibly the biggest surprise of all came from the person who’d devised the process by which attendees would arrive, be categorized and presented. After a quick briefing late the night before, it had been Vice President Milton Southgate who volunteered to organize the effort. Zimmer marveled at the precise execution, every member with their marching orders, led by the conductor of the orchestra, Southgate himself.

“Sir, we have twenty of the forty-odd guests already here,” reported the Vice President, referring to a printout he had just received from an aide. “As discussed, myself, Mr. Haden, General McMillan and the cabinet members you selected will sort through the proposals. I’ve allotted no more than fifteen-minutes per. As long as we don’t have more than a couple stragglers, that should put us to lunchtime. We’ll break for lunch and then reconvene in the Situation Room with you included. I don’t think we’ll have more than a handful by then, so you can take as long as you’d like to question the guests.”

Zimmer was impressed again. The old senator knew what he was doing. He shouldn’t be surprised. Southgate knew how to run the show. He was glad he hadn’t asked for his resignation. “Thank you for putting this together, Milt. Travis, what do you think?”

Travis nodded his head in agreement. “I’ve gotta say, Mr. Vice President, you sure as hell know what you’re doing.”

Southgate nodded. No smile. All business. “By early evening we should have a measure of where we stand. Those with ideas still in the running will be sequestered until I give the word either for them to return home or stay and help with further planning.”

“How’s morale? Do you think they have any idea why they’re here?” asked Zimmer.

Southgate shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “All they need to know is that you requested they be here. Apart from that, I’ve given instructions to keep information to a minimum.”

“Good. Let me know how things progress.”

+++

The morning went smoothly, thanks to the constant monitoring of Vice President Southgate. If an attendee, or even a cabinet member, got off topic in even the slightest way, Southgate was there to turn the conversation back to where it needed to be. There had been the young gun from Silicon Valley, obviously full of himself and caffeine, who hadn’t taken the hint. After politely asking the man to leave two times, Southgate calmly nodded to the security standing in the recesses of the Situation Room, and the upstart was swiftly escorted away.

By nine o’clock they’d heard a wide variety of concepts. They fell broadly in three categories: military action, rhetoric and economic. Those proposing some kind of military action ranged anywhere from nuclear strikes to assassinating the Russian president. The rhetoric group rode the spectrum anywhere between calling the Russians out on their own economic woes to concocting what really would be called a multi-leveled smear campaign against the Russian government. The economic experts suggested everything from retaliatory tariffs to varying taxation schemes.

By the time they’d adjourned for lunch, Southgate, Travis and the cabinet had whittled the group of forty down to nine.

“So what do you think?” the president asked his Chief of Staff as they each enjoyed a BLT with what must have been half-inch-thick bacon and fried green tomatoes instead of your run-of-the-mill red variety.

“We definitely had some crazies in there. My favorite was the guy who wanted us to send SEALs in to capture the heads of the Russian government and hold them until they said Uncle.”

Zimmer chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll bet you would love to be on that mission.”

“Sounds good for the movies, but in real life that’s just suicide. I’m sure whoever invited that guy felt like an idiot after we grilled him. I mean, the guy didn’t even have a way for the SEALs to get out with the hostages. Stupid.”

“Well, I did say any and all ideas.”

Travis shrugged. “I know, but come on, use your brain, people!”

Zimmer shook his head, smiling. It was good to have Travis in his corner. The former SEAL didn’t bow down to him or his office. He gave it to the President from the hip, just like his cousin Cal. “How’s the Vice President doing?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Southgate has got his stuff together. I wish you could’ve seen the cowering after he gave a couple people his death stare. He really puts people in their place.”

“Politics and agenda aside, that’s why he was so good leading the Senate. My dad used to call him The Iron Fist.”

“I see why.” Travis placed his plate on the side table and stood up to stretch. “I think we’ve got a couple good ideas. They may seem out in left field, but given the time constraints and the need for secrecy, I don’t see how we could’ve done much better.”

“I can’t wait.” The President popped the last bite of the BLT in his mouth, knowing that it would probably be the last enjoyable part of his day.

+++

Cal was about to snap. They’d been over the same information time and time again. No leads. No anything.

Martindale had left the night before, but kept in touch throughout the morning.

To make matters worse, Travis called just after midnight, waking Cal with the news of the new Russian threat. They’d batted ideas back and forth, both fearing the worst. The Russians had gotten cocky ever since they’d regained a toehold on the world stage. They weren’t content with being in anything but first place. Cal had seen firsthand what Russian intelligence agencies were doing in the Middle East. Without much effort to conceal themselves, they casually interacted with countless individuals high on the U.S. target list, terrorists who were deemed too dangerous to do anything but put a bullet between their eyes or a Tomahawk down their chimney.

Cal rubbed his eyes as he gazed out over the New York City skyline. So many people in such a small area. He wondered what those people would do if they knew what the Russians were planning. If nothing changed, they’d know soon. Would the American people rally together like they had after 9/11? Cal didn’t think so. It had taken a coordinated terrorist attack to wake the country, and that only lasted for a short time. Now the United States of America was anything but united. Factions on every side of the table thought they knew how the country should be run. Cal had his own thoughts, and was glad he’d never have to run for office. Keeping his mouth shut was not one of his strong suits.

“Cal, I’ve got Neil on the phone,” said Daniel from across the luxurious room.

Cal turned as the sniper tossed the cell phone to him underhanded. He snatched it out of the air and put it to his ear. “What’s up?”

“First, I don’t have anything new for you on Martindale’s security guy.”

Cal groaned. It wasn’t like Neil not to produce. “Do you have any good news?”

“Maybe. Have you ever heard of a guy named Jonas Layton?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“I’m sure I’ve mentioned him. We were both at the Ted conference in--”

Cal rolled his eyes. “Neil, can you get to the point?”

“Sorry. Yeah, so this guy Layton is kind of a legend in the tech world. They call him The Fortuneteller.”

“Why?”

“The dude it smart.” Coming from Neil, that was a huge compliment and Cal knew it. “He’s developed a system that enables him to predict future events in a way that’s both simple and genius.”

“What does he predict?”

“Elections, stock market crashes, economic dips…”

“Wait. Is this the guy who predicted, like, every electoral vote in the last presidential election?”

“Same guy.”

“What does this have to do with us?” asked Cal.

“He reached out to me last night. Said he needed help with something.”

“And?” Cal loved Neil, the two having been friends for over ten years, but sometimes Neil’s lack of situational awareness, namely that Cal was in a very impatient mood, pushed the Marine a bit too far.

“He’s working on tracking stocks.”

Cal’s breath caught. “What did you say?”

“He’s pretty sure something’s going on with the stock market.”

Cal’s temper rose. “And why the hell didn’t you call me earlier?”

“Take it easy, Cal. Jeez. Sometimes I swear you’re gonna bust a blood vessel. Chill out.” Neil and Cal both took audible deep breaths. “His initial call was pretty vague. He said he needed help, but didn’t know who to turn to. Jonas figured I was a pretty safe bet considering the company I work for. Anyway, we went back and forth over the next few hours. He was pretty jumpy, kept calling from different phone numbers. Finally fessed up to using pay-as-you-go phones he got from a drugstore.”

“Why?”

“He says someone might be trying to kill him,” said Neil.

“Did he say who?”

“Not yet. Like I said, he’s pretty antsy right now. I’ve offered to help however I can.”

“Please tell me this has something to do with what we’ve been wracking our brains over for the last two days.”

“It does. He’s tracking the same stocks we are.”

Jasper Tollis was exhausted. He glanced around the small waiting room furtively, sipping a cup of ice water as he took in the gold framed pictures of long-dead American leaders. He caught his own scent, a day’s worth of nerves and adrenaline having done its duty. What he wouldn’t give for a shower, but he didn’t dare ask.

As his eyes passed over a delicate vase holding a billowing bunch of lilies, he thought of his wife. The last thing she’d said to him was, “Don’t screw it up, Jasper.”

She’d always been a bit of a shrew, a trait she picked up from her mother in spades. The constant nagging aside, she’d taken to wearing Jasper’s lowly councilman mantel more than he did. She spent his hard-earned dollars at local beauty parlors, telling all the ladies how she was the gem in her husband’s eye, his muse.

Nothing could be farther from the truth. He’d loved her once, when they’d met in community college, he a teacher’s assistant in both her Econ 101 and Accounting 101 courses, she a sexy little vixen who liked to spend her weekend at the beach. Much to his surprise, she’d taken to him, seeing the determination in his demeanor. She knew he was going somewhere and wanted to be along for the ride. Jasper hadn’t thought twice. They’d married and spent every penny of his savings on the small wedding and a week in Tahiti. Things changed as soon as they got home. No more sex. No more school for the new Mrs. Tollis.

After his stint in teaching, Jasper earned two Master’s degrees, one in economics and the other in accounting. Looking back he wished his degrees were in law like the majority of his peers. They looked at him like the number-cruncher he was, growing paler by the day in his sunless cubicle.

Jasper Tollis worked hard to get where he was, but an Independent without a clearly defined political party, the Dems too spendy, the Republicans too gun-happy, he was like a sailor without a vessel. He believed he had all the tools to be a successful politician, namely ideas that he thought both practical and innovative, but none of the clout to get there. No patrons paving the way.

To make matters worse, a councilman in a cheap Connecticut district didn’t make much money. He had to do his best to take on part-time consulting gigs and accounting freelance work to make ends meet and keep up with his wife’s expensive tastes. Maybe the president’s summoning could…

Someone’s voice shook him from his day-dreaming. “Mr. Tollis?”

Councilman Tollis looked up. “I’m sorry, yes?”

The large agent took pity on the small man who’d become one of the last options standing. “Would you follow me, sir. The president is waiting.”

Tollis nodded and got up on shaking legs, almost dumping his files on the floor.

The agent waited patiently. “Sir, if it helps, the President’s a pretty good guy. Just be yourself and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Tollis’s face turned from a pallid gray to a more solid pink. “Thanks. I think I’m okay now.”

He was escorted in to the Situation Room for the second time that day. Many of the same faces from the morning were there, as was President Zimmer. His chaperone pointed to the empty chair across from the President. The men and women sitting around the table went silent and waited for him to find his seat.

Setting his files carefully on the highly polished table, Jasper Tollis gratefully took a seat, his knees still knocking together as he adjusted his chair closer to the conference table.