Executive Actions (52 page)

“This agent very recently asked me to review constitutional law as it applied to succession.” She exaggerated the instructions. “He couldn’t tell me why.”

She caught her breath. Was she actually lying to the chief justice?

He immediately read her hestitation. “Ms. Kessler. Am I to believe you’ve gone off on your own whim to defend the Constitution of the United States?”

Katie realized she had to trust the chief justice. She answered the question again…properly.

“He took me into his confidence.”

“Thereby violating the nation’s secrecy laws?” Browning thundered.

“Chief Justice, please. There’s no time to interrogate me. I don’t know how much the president has told you. I know very little.”

He looked at his watch. “Go on.”

“As I said before, I was asked to research case law in anticipation of…” She stopped.

“In anticipation of what, counselor?”

“First, a definitive question answered by the Chief Justice.”

“Now you dare to question me?”

“To obtain your legal knowledge, sir. Does recognize the Court have any constitutional authority that prevents the Chief Justice from administering the Oath of Office…”

"None" Browning shot back.

Katie had come to the same realization as well.

“In your learned opinion, is there any way to forestall ‘the process’?”

Katie saw that her second question actually shook his composure. Without a word he went to his bookcase and pulled a well-worn edition of the U.S. Consititution off the shelf. She prayed that the Chief Justice could come up with what she couldn’t.

After three silent minutes, Katie had her answer.

“No.”

“Then, sir, we need to discuss the basis for the House to take the appropriate steps toward the removal of the new president.”

“And when do you propose that?” he added sarcastically.

“Immediately after he is inaugurated, in a special session of Congress.”

“Indulge me once more. You have no proof for your allegation. Now you propose House Impeachment hearings? What would the charges be? Besides lying, I suppose.”

Katie turned her research which she’d added to online at the Pentagon.

“I have a shopping cart full,” she said smiling. She read from her notes. “14th Amendment, Section 3. ‘No person shall be a Senator or Representative in Congress or elector of President or Vice President,’ skipping sir, ‘shall have engaged in insurrection or rebellion…’”

“Proof to come?” he added.

“Proof to come,” she reiterated, “And now U.S. Code Title 18, Sections 2381 and 2384. High crimes, sir. Treason and Sedition.”

The chief justice sat back down in his leather chair taking in everything he’d just heard.

He’s not yelling,
she told herself.

“Ms. Kessler, for the sake of argument,” his voice was amazingly calm, “detail the sections for me.”

“Section 2381, US. Code. Title 18. Treason. I quote, ‘
Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elseswhere, is guilty of treason,’
and skipping ahead again,
‘shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.’
And Section 2384, Seditious conspiracy,
‘If two or more persons in any State or Territory, or in any place subject to the jurisdiction of the United States, conspire to overthrow, put down, or destroy by force the Government of the United States…’”

“Two persons?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. I can go on.”

“Ms. Kessler, are you prepared to explain how.”

“To the best of my ability.”

“And you believe your recital will be supported by this still unseen, all encompassing evidence?”

She closed her eyes and nodded hopefully and affirmatively, “Yes I do.” But he was right.
I’m arguing theory with no fact.

The chief justice let out another huge, coffee flavored breath. “Any other surprises for me?”

She thought for a moment, then bravely continued. “Well, yes, one more. And well within the definition of High Crimes. A heinous act, Chief Justice.”

He didn’t challenge her this time.

“Conspiracy to commit murder. Teddy Lodge was directly involved in the murder of his wife.”

The nation’s chief justice fully settled into his chair. His body, tense throughout most of the conversation, now gave way to the weight of her extraordinary allegations. He stretched his neck in a circle and pulled down the collars of his shirt. Then he looked at each of the portraits and posters in the room. Katie recognized it was device he used to think. Thirty seconds of her valuable time slipped away before he finally asked, “You are serious, young woman?”

“Completely. I’ve never argued anything more seriously.”

“And refresh my memory. The courts you’ve argued before, Ms. Kessler?”

“Actually,” she said shyly, “You would be my first.”

Chief Justice Leopold Browning finally smiled. “Nothing like starting at the top.”

Governor Lamden watched the hills across Maryland rise and fall below him. The Sikorsky VH-3d Sky King flew about 1500 feet above the houses and bare maples and oaks, banking occasionally, but keeping a steady course toward Andrews.

What’s old Top Gun got in mind?
Whatever it was, Lamden figured, it was going to be good.

“L
et’s have the law one more time, Ms. Kessler,” Chief Justice Browning said.

“There is nothing that can prevent Congressman Lodge from being sworn in as scheduled.”

“Quite right.”

“Even a motion before the full court.”

“Not even a motion. The lawful process of removing a president is reserved for Congress through Impeachment
after
the Inauguration. The House did consider an alternative to the current Succession Laws established by the 25
th
Amendment. But that is not applicable.”

Katie amplified the point. “Yes, I know. H.J. 67, introduced after 9/11; proposing a constitutional amendment that would have authorized governors to appoint interim House members whenever 25 percent of the seats in the House became vacant due to death or incapacity. But it didn’t stipulate presidential succession.”

“Very astute, counselor. As you implied, even if the bill had been ratified as an Amendment, it wouldn’t controvert the swearing in of the president-elect.”

“Your honor, you are familiar with the work in the
Stanford Law Review
, November, 1995, “Is the Presidential Succession Law Constitutional?”

“I am,” he answered.

“And the argument put forth on the usage of the word “Officers” in the Constitution?”

“You will find no sympathy to your cause by engaging in polemics over the definition of ‘Officer’ and who in government qualifies for that title. Quite simply, the 25
th
Amendment provides, among many other things, the only constitutional means of filling a presidential vacancy. But the vacancy must exist first. We have a man who has won the vote of the Electoral College, let alone the popular vote. He must take the Oath of Office. Should it subsequently be proved he was not a qualified candidate, and therefore not legally eligible to serve as a president, then, as you rightly stated, the constitution provides for his removal and for the order of succession. All of which brings us back to the evidence.”

Just then the private telephone line rang in the chief justice’s study. He ignored it, not being able to disengage himself from the severity of Katie’s argument. On the fourth ring he finally answered it.

“Browning,” he stated sharply. “What?” He listened for a few moments. “Yes, yes. She has.” The chief justice turned his back to Katie and continued in hushed tones.

She stood and pulled herself together. Katie still didn’t know if she had convinced the chief justice.

“Ms. Kessler,” Judge Browning said.

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s someone who wants to speak with you.”

“Me?”

“And it appears as if you’ve won your first round in the Supreme Court.”

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Kessler.” The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t completely place it.

“Who is this?”

“This is Eve Goldman. I understand that you’ve been honing your debate skills.”

“Ah,” she stammered. “Yes, Ma’am.” She looked directly at the chief justice who had pulled a heavy text from his bookcase. “I’ve been trying to do my best,” she admitted to the attorney general.

“Indeed. I can’t expect you’ve been having an easy time. He’s a tough old bugger. But I just gave him a hint of the material he’ll have for review. As much as I was prepared to reveal on the telephone. Constititutionally we’re, how shall I put this delicately? Screwed, unless you’ve found anything substantive. I certainly haven’t.”

“No. Only if we could turn back the clock. Section 19a of the 1947 Presidential Succession Act undid the 1792 law,” Katie added. “But now…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.”

“I know. Just ask Browning if there’s anything he can think of. Anything. After what little I just told him I guarantee he’ll listen.”

Katie saw that the chief justice was engrossed in a law book. “You’ve got that right.”

Lieutenant Chandler could hear the Marine Band outside. They were well into their patriotic medley, playing to a crowd that already swelled to 220,000 people on the Capitol steps and down the Mall. More were still on their way.

Chandler hadn’t voted for the man, but that didn’t matter. Like everyone else there in uniform, he had his job today.

Teddy Lodge would arrive soon. Chandler retraced his steps again. Diligence counted. That would make him sharper than the rest of the Capitol Police if he needed to act.

Two things happened simultaneously.

The wheels of Air Force One hit the ground a fifth of the way down the primary Andrews AFB runway and a Sikorsky Sea King helicopter swooped in from the west, landing exactly inside a large red circle at the other end of the base. The only passengers aboard the Sikorsky were Governor Lamden and four Secret Service agents.

Three minutes later, the president’s plane taxied directly to a portable ramp next to the helicopter. When Morgan Taylor stepped out, Lamden was already at the bottom of the stairs.

“Mr. President!” Lamden called up.

“Henry.” The president bounded down the stairs. “Thank you for coming.”

The two old friends shook hands on the tarmack, then the governor asked, “Now what’s this all about?”

“We’ll talk on the way.” He led Lamden and a number of other men, only some whom Lamden recognized, back to the Sikorsky. The helicapter now had the designation of Marine One, the official call sign whenever the commander in chief is aboard. “There should be just about enough time to fill you in. It has a great deal to do with your immediate future.”

The Marine One pilot shaved every possible second off the normal flight time to the Hill. He played catch up to another Sikorsky which had taken off a few moments earlier, the one ferrying Secret Service Agent Scott Roarke.

Roarke watched as the commanding presence of the Capitol dome finally came into view. He tightened his stomach muscles and exhaled slowly. Everything had to be handled properly. No mistakes. Of course, this was made particularly difficult since the Capitol Police had not been briefed. Even the Secret Service wireless communication remained discreet. The only heads up would be a two-word alert from the FBI at 1130 hours. “Red Light.” With that signal, agents would secure the exits to the Capitol.

Roarke realized that President Morgan’s idea to allow Michael O’Connell full access had been wise. He’d have the story of a lifetime, but the writer would also help settle down the country. They’d need that very soon.

Roarke had one immediate responsibility: Isolate his targets until the president arrived.

All of this played out in Roarke’s mind as his helicopter approached the parking lot on the East Side of the Capitol, away from the Mall.

“Sir,” crackled a voice over Roarke’s headset. “We have a problem.”

“Satellite TV trucks all over the lawn,” the pilot said. “I don’t have enough room to set down safely. Too many, sir. Marine One is going to have the same problem. Stand by while I radio them.”

The uplinks from the various global news networks encroached on the landing space. Roarke looked at his watch. 1134.

“Can’t they move them out of the way quickly?” Roarke demanded. He had to repeat the question. The pilot of the Sikorsky was on with Marine One.

“Sorry, sir. What was that?”

“Can’t they get those fucking TV trucks out of there?”

“Not quickly,” the pilot answered. “Hold on, sir.”

The helicopter hovered 500 feet above the Capitol as the pilot continued to get instructions on his radio. Roarke peered around for a landing zone. Besides the satellite trucks he saw hundreds of thousands of people.

He felt the sudden surge of the two General Electric T-58-Ge-402 turboshaft engines, each capable of delivering fifteen-hundred horsepower. The helicopter broke left sharply and climbed. “We’re going to the top of the FBI Building. The elevator will be up and waiting. You’ll have an escort from there back to the Capitol.”

The combination of the turn, the acceleration and the steep climb brought on a wave of nausea. Roarke fought to contain it. He reminded himself that it didn’t take a Super Hornet catapult launch off a carrier to experience serious g-forces.

The pilot knew the effects of the maneuver. “Sorry, sir,” he offered. “But I was told you’re in a bit of a hurry. Another forty seconds and we’ll be down.”

Forty seconds was about right. Forty bone crushing and stomach churning seconds. Roarke never wanted to relive any of them.

The Sikorsky landed hard on the roof. A Marine swung open the door and extended the stairs. Roarke used his two hands to slide down and sucked in the fresh air. He felt renewed and strong enough to dash to the waiting elevator.

“Haven’t we been busy,” an FBI agent said. Roarke had to laugh. Shannon Harris was on the roof to meet him.

“Busy doesn’t begin to explain it.” They hugged, but only for an instant. Roarke was mindful of the time. 1137.

They ran toward the rooftop elevator, covering the distance in fifteen seconds. The agent gave a key in the lock a quarter turn. “Express to the first floor.” The doors closed and a little more than a minute later Roarke tore through the lobby, vaulting the security station and out the door, ignoring the alarms.

An agent flung open a Navigator door for Roarke and Davis. The SUV started moving before they were even seated. The siren blared.

“We’ll be there in about three minutes.” The voice belonged to the driver, Roy Bessolo.

“Look who the cat dragged in,” Roarke said.

Bessolo laughed. “Yeah, and we’ve got one helluva rat to catch.” Then he added, “I owe you an apology.”

“Can it. It’s just good to have your help.”

Roarke blocked out the wailing and concentrated on checking his Sig Sauer P229. His double action/single action semi-automatic housed twelve rounds in the magazine, one in the chamber. He examined the three control levers, all on the left side, all in order. Roarke was ready.

Marine One altered its route and increased speed. Taylor noted the time on his watch as they headed for the FBI headquarters. 1141.