Executive Actions (51 page)

Lamden stopped in his tracks when he saw that no one was getting off, but he was required to go on.

“Sir,” the Secret Service agent ordered.

“Hold on a second. I’m not boarded that thing until somebody tells me exactly what’s happening.” Most of Lamden’s tirade was covered by the slow whomping of the rotor blades. The massive copter was ready to lift off.

“Governor, please get on board,” the agent said above the din.

“No fucking way. In two hours I’m supposed to be sworn in as vice president. And right now it looks like I’m being kidnapped.”

“Governor, we have our instructions. You are to get on board.” He added another word for emphasis. “Now.”

Another two agents came forward to move him along. But the governor stood his ground.

“No, not until I know where you’re taking me.”

“Governor,” the agent commanded, “This is a presidential order. Now board!”

Lamden nodded his head. “Okay. Okay.”

The governor climbed in and consoled himself with that thought that Morgan Taylor did call him the night before. Obviously he wasn’t in the White House and ground transportation wouldn’t do.

“Edwards? We’re going to Edwards!” he yelled just before sitting down.
The president wasn’t here after all. He hasn’t been here in weeks!

“Sir, sit down. We need to take-off.”

Lamden consented. Seconds later they were rising above the lawn and heading East.
Edwards it is,
the governor told himself.
That old sonofabitch is coming into Edwards
.

Geoff Newman looked over Teddy Lodge’s shoulder and into the mirror. As always, the congressman was torn over which tie to wear.

“Go with the red. It’s distinctive.”

“I don’t know. The blue looks more stately,” Lodge responded.

“The red will stand out in the history books.”

That was that. Like most things in Teddy Lodge’s career, it was decided by Newman.

Lodge fastened the knot and turned to Newman. “Christine’s written one helluva speech. The finest thing I’ve seen since Kennedy’s
‘Ask not what your country can do for you.
’”

“The country’s going to be behind you. You’ll have the strongest approval rating of any new president. They’re all yours.”

“I’m not so sure about these Middle East pronouncements,” he said referring to the inaugural speech. “Maybe we should wait a month.”

“No. It’ll be completely unexpected. And bold. Besides, the country is ready for a leader to finally lead. It’s all in the text.
The time is now
.”

“The time is now.”
That was the theme of Christine Slocum’s speech. Lodge realized how her writing style was so similar to Jenny’s. Newman had picked a good substitute. Just for a moment he wondered if he really had loved his wife. Christine more than aptly replaced the sex, but did he love her?

He searched for the feelings. They weren’t there. So Theodore Wilson Lodge, President-elect of the United States, puffed out his chest and reached for his new black pin-stripped Armani wool jacket that Newman held. “The time
IS
now,” Lodge said aloud. “Let’s get going.”

No one would freeze waiting for the parade. Unseasonably warm weather had rolled into the District the day before. Forecasts called for 47-degree temperatures at the appointed hour. With the exception of some light gusts, it was turning out to be a perfect April day in late January.

Among the happiest people were the members of the Secret Service who wouldn’t have to stand around shivering. They rarely wore overcoats when they were protecting the president and vice president. Today, they also had the president-elect, the vice president-elect, the chief justice among many others. Their favored Sig Sauer P229, 357 caliber pistols, Uzi submachine guns or MP5 automatics were easily accessible and their fingers weren’t cold.

It was less of an issue for the U.S. Capitol Police who were on guard inside and throughout the grounds. They wore their Glock 22 .40 S&W’s in the open.

The reputation and the duties of Capitol Police, described in the 1860s as a force of “thirty-three bored, yawning, inexpressibly idle men about the Capitol,” have changed considerably. Now they number some 2,000 and are quite literally charged with protecting the lives of America’s 535 lawmakers and 200 very important square blocks of Washington, D.C. real estate.

Today’s Inauguration called for increased security. Everyone available clocked in. So many officers covered the grounds that not everyone knew everyone else.

Officer Leon Chandler patrolled the hallways and the Rotunda. He acknowledged his colleagues, but never stopped to chat. This was not just any day at the U.S. Capitol.

The thirty-five-year-old officer, in his newly pressed uniform, looked like a tough cop, intent on his job. He had an expression that didn’t invite conversation. Not today. His fingers, never more than an inch from his service revolver, signaled that he was very much on duty. Chandler looked like the kind of man you hoped would be around if there was trouble.

As he made his rounds he opened every unlocked door, checked the bathrooms stalls, and demanded from anyone with or without visible ID to state their purpose for being in the Capitol. When he was through with one pass, he reversed his route. By 9:40 he knew everyone in sight. The procedure took him through the Rotunda every twenty minutes where other officers stood, seemingly bored like the thirty-three idle men of the 1860’s.
They should take their jobs more seriously,
Chandler thought.
After all, the Capitol isn’t impregnable
.

“Your honor. A candidate who seeks the office of president must be a citizen of the United States.”

“Yes Ms. Kessler. That is a fundamental basic.”

“And if he is not?”

“Then fundamentally he cannot be President of the United States,” the chief justice declared sarcastically.

“But what if he was elected?”

“Irrelevant. He wouldn’t qualify. Therefore, he could not be elected.”

“But what if it
appeared
that he met the qualifications, that he did run, and
he did get elected?
”

“Get to your point, Ms. Kessler.”

The chief justice exhaled a loud, purposeful breath. She could feel it across the desk. It was filled with aggravation. She also smelled the coffee. Katie could use a cup herself. She’d passed up breakfast and wished he had offered her some. But this wasn’t a social call. And Browning wasn’t a social man. She could see that he was thinking.
Just keep talking
, she told herself.

“I’ve examined the law for any precedent by which you could delay administering the Oath.”

“Precedent?”

Determined, she continued. “Something that you could consider. There were contingencies inacted by the founding fathers—the 1792 Act,” she said referring to her notes. “It expressly allowed the President pro tempore of the Senate, and then if necessary, the Speaker of the House to
act
as president while retaining their congressional offices pending a special presidential election.”

“Ms. Kessler!”

“But the 1792 Act was revoked by passage of the Presidential Succession Act of 1947, Section 19, Title 3 of the United States Code. It remains the applicable law of land today, imposed by the passage of the 25
th
Amendment in 1967. So, you can neither delay the Oath nor invoke Constitutional powers for a special Presidential election. And…”

“Ms. Kessler, stop. The essence? Just the essence or your argument. Now!”

Katie Kessler looked directly into the eyes that no longer frightened her and said, “Chief Justice, what if you did swear in a foreign national as president?”

“Is this a hypothetical question, Ms. Kessler?”

“No sir, it is not. It will happen today if you administer the Oath to Congressman Lodge.”

The crowds were already lining up along Constitution Avenue. It was like parade day in Hudson, New York seven month earlier, only on a far grander scale. Bands comprised of excited students from Montpelier, Bennington, and Burlington, Vermont high schools tuned up for the state’s hero. In a few hours, they’d be marching with other bands from across the country in the nation’s most celebrated pageant.

The side streets were filled with baton twirlers, cheerleaders, horses, cars and floats decked out with red, white and blue bunting. Spectators crowded behind concrete barriers. Small white tents, strategically located along the route, housed temporary security checkpoints with armed officers manning metal detectors. Every bag and backpack was checked.

Inside buildings lining the avenue, residents of law firms and other non-government businesses were holding parties for clients, friends and families.

According to the schedule put out by the Senate Radio-TV Gallery, the Pre-Inaugural Music would begin in less than an hour at 10:30
A.M.
Sixty minutes later, cameras would focus on a large platform constructed on the west steps of the U.S. Capitol. There, at precisely 11:50
A.M.
, the vice president would be sworn in first, followed at noon by the president.

The U.S. Marine Band was assembling and key Lodge supporters holding tickets for the coveted assigned seats had settled in early. The Blue Angels flew in formation overhead. Television news anchors from all of the broadcast networks and cable news channels were on the air describing the scene and recounting the career of the President-elect and the history of the transition process.

The day was laid out by President-Elect Lodge’s Inaugural Committee. According to tradition, they worked with the Joint Congressional Committee on Inaugural Ceremonies and the Armed Forces Inaugural Committee. America’s version of a royal coronation was underway right down to the Marine guards who carried replicas of the Mameluke sword presented to an American lieutenant in 1805 by a prince of…Tripoli.

Lodge placed a courtesy “Good morning” call to Henry Lamden, only to discover that he wasn’t in his room. Newman, buttoning his own handmade Saville Row suit jacket in front of a full-length mirror, asked him what happened. He had overheard Lodge’s side of the conversation. “His wife just said some Secret Service agents took him out and he’d meet her at the Capitol.”

“Oh?” Newman frowned. “Why?”

“Who knows. The man’s a cowboy. As far as I’m concerned, after today he can spend as much time as he’d like back in Montana.” Lodge whispered.

Newman continued to wonder
why?
while Lodge dismissed the point as meaningless.

“Come on. History’s waiting,” Lodge said at the door of his suite. Newman joined him, still troubled by Lamden’s absence.

They walked briskly with their entourage out of the Jefferson Hotel, on 16
th
Street, NW, just four blocks from the White House. Their caravan of limos, Secret Service agents and military escorts waited in front of the historic hotel.

Newman dropped back to talk to their Secret Service agent in charge. “The president-elect wants to know if Governor Lamden has arrived at the Capitol yet.”

The man cued his microphone. “Unity wants to check on transit of Big Sky, over.” The code words were the Secret Service designations for the president-elect and the vice president-elect, based on their respective states. “Freedom and Unity” is the state motto of Vermont and Big Sky is Montana’s.

He listened to his earpiece for a reply and nodded. “Roger. Big Sky in transit,” he repeated to Lodge’s annoying man.

“Where?” Newman demanded.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the Secret Service agent answered. “But we don’t communicate that kind of information over open lines.”

“Then he’s on the way to the Capitol now?”

“He’s in transit, sir. That’s all I can tell you.”

The information was true. Governor Lamden had left his hotel, but on a government arranged detour.

“State your evidence,” demanded Chief Justice Leopold Browning. “Your time and my patience is quickly running out.”

“I don’t have any. I
suppose
it’s on the way,” Katie stated.

“Suppose? That’s from an attorney?”

“I haven’t exactly been told, sir.”

“Then young lady,
who
do you
suppose
does have this defining evidence?”

“The president…”

“The president?” he offered incredulously. “The president who will only remain president for another two hours and,” he checked his watch, “fourteen minutes. That president?”

“Yes. President Morgan Taylor.”

“So President Taylor will provide proof?”

“I believe he will.”

The chief justice shook his head, ready to end the dialogue once and for all. Katie read his growing anger.

“Please, let me continue. I’m certain that you will be presented with credible, verifiable evidence.” Katie prayed that she was right. She paused to read him.
He didn’t disagree.
“That’s why he put us together,” she said more confidently.

“You bring up another point that I’ve been curious about. Why you, Ms. Kessler? Why not the president’s own highly trained legal staff. Why isn’t the attorney general here? Intending no disrespect, the country does have experienced legal minds. Particularly in this city.”

“I became involved after I met one of the president’s own Secret Service agents.” She decided not to go into personal detail. “He began investigating Congressman Lodge’s background following the death of Mrs. Lodge. His investigation led him to the law firm where I work. The law firm that represented the Lodge family estate.”

“Have you violated any lawyer-client privilege?”

“No sir. I properly limited the material I shared to the public record. But that record, under close scrutiny, begins to beg many questions. Questions with answers I cannot provide.”

“Return to
my
question, Ms. Kessler. Why you?”