The Inner Circle (39 page)

But not anymore.

The patient began to bawl uncontrollably as the orderlies got a good grip on his arms and started to drag him away. Dr. Jones approached Earl in an attempt to calm him down, but he just kept yelling in the direction of the tree.

"Killing Wilson was a message to me," Earl told the doctor between sobs. "I opened my mouth so they killed him to shut me up."

"Who's Wilson?" the doctor asked. "Who killed him?"

Earl was done talking, though. All he could do was continue to cry and stare at the tree. Doctor Jones instructed the orderlies to bring the patient back to his room and keep a close watch on him.

When the crying man disappeared into the building, Doctor Jones retrieved his newspaper from next to the tree stump. Although Jones had worked around plenty of mentally ill people who threw similar tantrums, he always felt bad when he could not understand why a person was driven to act in such a crazed way. He turned to the front page and saw that ‘Wilson’ was Henry Wilson, the Secretary of Defense who had died the previous day. 

He went back over to the bench and opened the folder on Earl Ackerman to jot down a few notes on the situation that just occurred. The doctor reread what Earl had told nurses and orderlies two nights before, when they found him out of his room.

"Patient spoke about the launch of tomorrow's space probe and was convinced that a man was going to be on board. Spoke of a secret mission to stop a comet headed for Earth."

Jones had read this report several times, but it was not until this moment that he remembered why the destruction of the space probe was headline news. The news said that NASA labeled the probe as a prototype for a potential deep-space mission. Jones found it oddly coincidental that Earl Ackerman had said the night before the launch – before it was revealed the probe was a prototype for a manned mission – that a man would be on board. Sure, the story was not exactly how Ackerman had said it would happen, but it was close enough that Jones had to stop and think twice about whether this man could have really known something that nobody else apparently did.

Nah, I'm sure it's just a fluke
, the doctor thought, closing the folder and walking inside, where he was sure his next patient would already be waiting for him.

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Rain drizzled from above onto Arlington National Cemetery on the day of Henry Wilson's burial service. A private mass had been held for the family earlier in the morning, but burying her husband in such a famous cemetery forced Molly to accept that part of this sad day would be suffered in the eye of the public. She was not looking forward to having to hold herself together in front of so many strangers, and the thought of the media covering such a private moment in her life sickened her. But Henry was going to have a hero's send-off and Molly thought that she could cut him some slack this one final time, so he could be remembered in the most honorable possible manner.

Henry's blanket-draped casket was carried to his gravesite by various pallbearers, including a few of his wealthy nephews, an old Army buddy and the Attorney General. President Marshall – who was in attendance – had wanted to volunteer but was talked out of doing so by both his Chief of Staff and the head of his Secret Service. Instead, Marshall stood on the graveside opposite the family, along with scores of Congressmen, Cabinet members and other politicians who thought it would look good to see themselves in the papers attending Wilson's funeral.

When the rain began to come down even heavier, Mansfield had wanted to hold an umbrella for both himself and the president, but Marshall did not think it was appropriate that the two of them should stay dry when everyone else was getting wet.

"I really think you should use the umbrella, Mr. President," Mansfield whispered, as a priest spoke the final prayers. "Your hair is getting drenched and disheveled. The press might get a bad picture of you."

James Armour was among the large group of people around the President, but he was far away enough so they would not be photographed together. It was highly unlikely that anyone would suspect or even recognize if the members of the 'Inner Circle' were standing together at the funeral of one of their members, but that was not a risk worth taking. Armour must have sensed Marshall's stare and when he turned to see the president looking at him, the two men nodded at each other.

"I think the public will understand if they don't see me looking my best," Marshall told Mansfield, who was surprised at the response from the always image-conscious President.

The casket's flag was removed, folded and given to Molly moments before Henry's body was lowered into the ground. After a 15-gun salute, the funeral was over and the crowd of people slowly began to break up, as many of the politicians hurried to get out of the nasty weather. But President Marshall, much to the chagrin of Mansfield, was in no such rush to leave, waiting in line for nearly twenty minutes to offer his condolences to the new widow.

Marshall had known plenty of people throughout his life that had died, and he always considered himself strong in dealing with such a difficult issue. He had cried during his mother's funeral, but not at his father's or any other person whose funeral he ever attended. As cliché as it sounded, Marshall knew that death was a part of life, and that nobody could escape it.

And if the comet isn't stopped, a lot of people will not be able to escape it.

Contrary to what he’d said in his speech a few nights earlier, the president had not even known Henry Wilson on a personal basis, yet he still found it difficult to hold back the tears that were welling up inside him. After giving his condolences to Molly – who gave him a look as if doubting whether his tears and words were really genuine – Marshall had the Secret Service rush him past the media, away from the cameras. Once inside his limo, Mansfield gave him a disapproving look.

"I'm sorry, sir. But I don't think crying or looking like a wet dog will do anything to help the country's perception of you," Peter lectured. "There have already been enough questions by the media about what we've done the past few days. I don't think the public would have much confidence in a man who can't even keep his cool during the funeral of a glorified public servant."

Marshall had gotten his emotions under control by this point and no matter how much he detested Peter's lack of empathy at this moment, he knew his Chief of Staff was right.

"I think we both know how important Henry has been the past few years," Marshall said, discounting the theory that the ex-Defense Secretary was merely a public servant.

"Yes, we do," Mansfield replied, his voice finally softening. "But the public doesn't know. And now, their opinion of you and this administration will have more impact on our efforts to stop the comet than Henry Wilson will."

As far as Mansfield was concerned, Wilson's death could not have come at a better time. The man had not been trustworthy in his opinion and while Peter certainly did not wish death on anyway – at least nobody that he knew personally – he couldn’t force himself to be upset by Wilson's departure. Since Earl Ackerman was currently in a mental hospital, Henry Wilson had been the last question mark when it came to keeping the secrecy of the 'Inner Circle' and Comet Clement. Now that he was out of the way, Mansfield would be able to breathe much easier.

Besides, Wilson had not even been that important to the group in the first place. Mansfield thought of him as a bumbling idiot more likely to get himself in trouble than make a significant contribution to what they were doing. Sure, he had been responsible for procuring the nuclear weapon for the probe mission, but surely the president or even Armour could have handled that. Even Ackerman, at least before he went crazy, was able to contribute scientific and technical advice when it came to dealing with the comet. Wilson was useless though, and Mansfield knew that with one fewer person in the comet group, his opinion would become that much stronger.

Marshall, on the other hand, did not appear to be viewing Wilson's death in the same light, so Mansfield was sure to keep his opinion to himself.

"I can't help but feel somewhat responsible for all of this," Marshall said after a few minutes of silence between the two.

"Mr. President, too much smoking and a lack of exercise was responsible for this, not you."

President Marshall's hand subconsciously moved to his own stomach, which he felt growing bigger at an alarming rate. He had always found time to exercise throughout his rise in the political ranks, but ever since becoming the president – especially since the rediscovery of the comet – finding time to workout or even go jogging was nearly impossible. He had definitely become soft in his older age, something he hoped to one day rectify. At least he didn’t smoke cigarettes, which must have been a major factor for poor Henry's heart attack.

"I know, but I can't help but feel like keeping Phase Two a secret might have contributed to what happened."

"How could that have been?"

"His wife, Molly, said that he got a phone call and ran all the way from the beach to their house. When she followed him, he was smoking a cigarette and watching the news about the probe being destroyed."

It dawned on Mansfield where the president was going.

"You think
shock
killed him?" Mansfield asked.

"I'm sure it couldn't have helped," Marshall responded.

Marshall made a good point, something that Mansfield had not even considered. The Chief of Staff realized that if he was in Wilson's position and did not know about Phase Two, he might have died from shock too after hearing that the probe had been destroyed. Either way, whether Mansfield actually thought this could have been a factor in Wilson's death or not, he didn’t want to damage the president's psyche any more than it already had. The last thing Mansfield needed was the president's mental state to be in question, too.

"Look, sir. I'm sure hearing that the probe’s was destruction was a shock to Wilson, but there's no way it could have induced a heart attack. The truth is, the stress about the entire comet situation helped lead to this, not just one single event."

"I know, you're right," Marshall said, glad to hear from someone else that Wilson's death hadn’t been his fault. "But I suppose the comet has claimed its first victim."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The silence was eerie, especially when Armour remembered how noisy this place had once been.

The new Chief of NASSA walked down the empty corridors of the old NASA building, only a few days removed from the president's eradication of the former space agency. Marshall’s space station speech to the American public had quickly changed the face of the previous agency, especially when he announced that the government would be fielding offers for the construction of the huge space station project. Dozens of business men heard cash registers ringing in the back of their minds and quite a few 'space station design and construction companies' popped up in the last few days. There would be a ton of money to be made by whichever company won this bid and there was no time to waste in putting together proposals.

Since these new companies would be competing with each other, the first thing they had to do was hire the best and brightest minds to come work for them. And because NASA had just been forced to shut down their dozen or so major locations throughout the country, there were hundreds of newly unemployed space experts eager for new work. These start-up companies did not seem to even care exactly what expertise each of the NASA workers specialized in. As long as a worker had recently been employed by NASA, he or she would be almost guaranteed to have at least three or four different job opportunities from which to choose. In the span of only a few days, James Armour watched as almost every important person he had worked with relocated to different parts of the country.

Armour had free roam of the entire building now. He could not help feeling paranoid about being here all by himself, but he realized that complete solitude was crucial for what he was about to do. It was absolutely crucial that Phase Two not be compromised in any way.

Carrying only his briefcase and a large quantity of keys – which could unlock any door in the entire compound – Armour stopped in front of a pair of doors that used to be closely guarded. He unlocked the door, turned on a light and saw just how strange mission control appeared completely empty.

Because of the way the room was left by the NASA employees, it felt even more ghostly than the empty hallways. All of the computer systems were shut off and all the monitors were blank. Notebooks and pencils and manuals were strewn about in various levels of disarray throughout the different workstations, as if the mission control team would be arriving at any moment. Because the workers had left the large room hours before President Marshall's speech to the nation, they had all assumed they’d be back to work the next day. 

At the very back of the room was one major computer system that linked to all the others. Armour turned on the power, and in doing so, booted up every system in the room until the familiar humming of dozens of computers broke the silence. The computers displayed blank readings from the 'destroyed' probe. Armour opened up his briefcase and took out the laptop, hooking the cable from the portable machine into the main computer system. With a few strokes on the keyboard, he initiated the final function of the worm that he’d installed in the network.