T Minus 22 Hours 03 Minutes and Counting: (10:27 a.m. EDT)
The quarters of Secretary Desmond were outrageously unkempt, but he didn’t notice. There were piles of new cellophane-enclosed shirts, underwear, and socks on the floor. There were scattered papers lying near them, and there were cardboard boxes on chairs, some of them sealed and some of them tipped and open with nothing in them. On the coffee table were three slices of pizza that looked like they were there for an extended period of time. Secretary Desmond was sitting on the edge of his unmade bed in pajamas and a bathrobe. A visitor was sitting on one of his rocking chairs. The rocking chairs had been sent to him by Dr. Rubins at the Sebotus Hospital. “Don’t you think I should be going to a cabinet meeting? Why doesn’t Jared call a cabinet meeting?”
Secretary Desmond’s visitor was Angus Glass who seemed to be the only one who cared about such questions of Secretary Desmond. “Yes, I do think the cabinet should be involved in everything that’s going on, Mister President. But there’s been no cabinet meeting because I don’t think anything is going on. Jared isn’t doing anything. Like you, I’m on the cabinet, and no one knows what’s going on. There is no leadership. That’s what’s going on.”
“Don’t call me Mister President, my friend. I’m not president.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Mister President.”
“I am not president because I was born in Bermuda of all places.” Secretary Desmond, at least for this moment, was softer and more measured than he was when he entered Sebotus Headquarters three nights ago.
“How do you know?”
“How do I know what?”
“How do you know you were born in Bermuda?”
“I was there.”
“You mean you remember your birth?”
“Of course not. No one remembers their birth. Where were you born? What’s your name?”
“I was born in Petaluma, California, Mister President, and I am Acting Secretary of Housing and Urban Development, Angus Glass.”
“So you’re Angus Glass then. You don’t remember being born in wherever you said you were born, do you?”
“Petaluma. No, I don’t. But I know I was. I remember being brought up there. Mister President, you told me you don’t know one thing about Bermuda.”
“Why do you keep calling me Mister President? Whether I remember Bermuda or not, I was born there. Hamilton. Hamilton, Bermuda. That’s what my birth certificate says. That’s on my passport. That’s on everything. My parents and I came to the States when I was an infant.”
“Who told you that? Eli Jared?”
“Admiral Kaylin.”
“Where’s your birth certificate? Where’s your passport?”
“I don’t know where my birth certificate is.”
“And your passport?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mister President, you don’t know where anything is. You have amnesia. I think they induced your amnesia. I think they doped you up and you’re still doped up.”
“I remember a lot of things.”
“I think they doped you up to have selective amnesia. Is that what it’s called? I don’t understand such things. I don’t take any medication. But I know that you, Mister President, can remember some things, but you don’t seem to remember things that have real relevance to you. Who’s your wife?”
He was stumped.
“Who’s your wife, Mister President?”
Secretary Desmond stared at Angus Glass.
“What’s your address—your home address?”
He shook his head. “I don’t remember the number, but it’s in Gettysburg.”
“In Gettysburg!?”
“Yes.”
“The Gettysburg Address?”
“No, no, no. I don’t live there now. I was born in Gettysburg. Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.”
It was Angus Glass’s turn to stare. “I see.”
“I remember playing—we used to play in the battlefield. My friends were Tommy Luft and Roger—Roger Cassidy. See how I remember?”
“Mister President, were you born in Gettysburg before or after you were born in Bermuda?”
“After. After. I grew up in Gettysburg but I was born in Hamilton, Bermuda.”
“What hospital?”
“I don’t know. Admiral Kaylin didn’t tell me.”
“I see. Admiral Kaylin didn’t tell you?”
“That’s right.”
“Has he become your biographer and your doctor?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Mister President, let me tell you something. As you might know, the Internet is inoperative—stopped by the revolutionary government. No search engines or anything except what some Imam is saying. Revolutionary material. But in our library here—which doesn’t have much—just a few books—there is a World Almanac. It’s an old one. I found a very short biography of you when you were CEO of Madison Mutual.”
“I was?”
“Yes. You were—just before you were appointed as Secretary of Commerce by President Wadsworth. You know what it says?”
“What?”
“What if I were to tell you that it says you were born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin?”
“Is that what it says?”
“No. Not exactly. It says that your first job was when you were 12 years old at WISN Radio station in Milwaukee hosting a show called ‘Just Kids.’”
“Huh! I think I remember that!”
“Mister President, you were not born in Bermuda. At that meeting in the Lucite Room you said you were born in Bermuda—and that your parents were British. You said that because I’m sure that’s what you were told—and then you added that you were brought up in Milwaukee, Pennsylvania. I think you meant Milwaukee, Wisconsin and Wisconsin is a state of the United States.”
“And then maybe you moved to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. I don’t think you get it, sir. You are the President of the United States, sir. And you were stripped of your presidency by Kaylin who I am sure was part of a conspiracy. And I’ll bet it was all to get Eli Jared into that office so he could be President, or appear to be. But you are the President.”
“Huh!”
“And you should claim your office.”
“Good gracious!”
“Jared is not in the constitutional line for the presidency.”
“Good gracious alive!”
“And I think you ought to make it known that you know. I can’t tell them I know because if I tell them, they’ll kill me.”
“Good gracious alive. What’s your name again?”
“Acting Secretary of Housing and Urban Development Angus Glass.”
“That’s right.”
“I think you should tell them you know.”
“But then—won’t they kill me? If they’d kill you, won’t they kill me?”
Angus Glass hesitated. Then he gave a slow nod. “Yeah. I think so. That’s a valid point.”
“Then what do we do?”
“I don’t know who’s in on it. I don’t know who to trust and who not to trust.”
“What do we do?”
“I’ll think of something, sir. That’s my job. I’m going to give you back your constitutional role. That’s what my job is. I can feel it.”
“You think you can do that while saving my life at the same time? I would like my life to be saved.”
“I’ll do that.”
“If you do that, you can be my Vice President—can’t you?”
There was a look of amazement on Angus Glass’s face. “Well, yes. Of course it is totally up to you, Mister President. I’m sure I can handle that for you, sir. I would serve at the pleasure of the president.”
It seemed to Angus Glass that fate was playing a large hand in his future career. There was, of course, some difficulty in his analysis of the birthplace of Secretary Desmond, as well as the authority of Secretary Desmond to appoint a Vice President.
T Minus 19 Hours 17 Minutes and Counting: (1:13 p.m. EDT)
The Recreation Room had dozens of misplaced chairs and a television set that was turned on but showed nothing more than a backlit gray screen. There were magazine racks filled with old magazines printed before the success of the revolutionaries, and there were seven women sitting in a circle. People who work in places of hundreds or thousands always find a way to form smaller groups, and times of tension call for them to be formed quickly. These women had formed their smaller group shortly after the crisis began and they had all been selected from the staff to be the “utility players” of Sebotus members. Their rank as staff members had suddenly elevated them into an exclusive circle of camaraderie.
Traci Howe was there and so was Helen Peterson, and there was Anna, Susan, Jennifer, Elsie, and Kate.
Susan, the Assistant to Acting Attorney General Jonathan Hynd asked, “Is there something going on that we don’t know?”
As if there wasn’t enough to worry about, this question struck Traci hard. Was it known what she did last night? How could anyone have found out that she had been in the Solarium with Admiral Kaylin? She almost said, “I just brought him some dinner” when she caught herself after she heard the first two words come out of her mouth. “I just—don’t know. What do you just mean?” Too many “justs” but it was better than what she was going to say.
The strangeness of her response wasn’t noticed or, at least, it didn’t bother Susan. “I think something is going on that we’re not being told. I think there’s some move that’s going to be made and I don’t know what it is.”
“Really?” Traci asked with pretended interest and unattempted relief. Traci controlled her innate instinct to tell them all about her new relationship with Admiral Kaylin since, as a woman talking to other women, she was tempted to reveal a personal problem to selected others, not seeking a solution but wanting to make her dilemma the center of their discussion. In this case, however, her strength and good sense overrode that distinctive feminine characteristic.
Helen shook her head. “We’re not being paid to know anything. What makes you think some big move is going to be made, honey?”
“It’s just a feeling,” Susan answered as best she could. “Attorney General Hynd came back from a meeting this morning like he was in a trance. It was different. Margot’s voice came over the speaker earlier this morning and announced there would be a meeting of something I never heard of before. So I didn’t pay any attention to it. The speaker announcements play in his office so if he had any interest he would tell me. Normally he would tell me, anyway. He left the office and didn’t tell me why or where he was going, and when he came back he was in a trance. Now, I’m exaggerating. It wasn’t a real trance but he was different. I think he looked excited—he looked excited; even happy. I haven’t seen him look excited or happy since he came here. Something is going on. I just feel it. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes,” Anna said. “I know what you mean. Where’s the Solarium?”
Traci gave a slight jolt in her chair. When she realized her body had made a motion she asked, “The Solarium? What’s that?”
Anna nodded, “I heard Margot on the speaker this morning too, and she told some group to meet at the Solarium at eight o’clock. I never heard of it before. That’s probably what you heard, Susan.”
Susan asked, “Did Secretary Bayler leave for the meeting?”
“He did leave, yes. I don’t know if he went to that meeting.”
Anna wouldn’t leave it alone. “Didn’t he tell you anything?”
“No. He didn’t say a word before he left or after he came back. But that’s not unusual for him. He doesn’t talk much.”
“Maybe that’s enough,” Kate said. “We shouldn’t be asking questions. That’s not our business. Whatever it is—we’ll find out.”
“Did Secretary Wilson go to that meeting? Did he leave the office at eight o’clock?” Anna asked.
Kate pursed her lips and answered, “I don’t know. I wasn’t even in the office at that time. I went to the cafeteria. I wanted some breakfast, so I don’t know.” And then as if to prove she wasn’t lying she added, “Corn flakes.” No one had asked her for evidence.
Anna went back to the subject she had addressed with persistence. “So what’s the Solarium?”
“A meeting room, I guess,” Susan answered. “I don’t think it’s a hot tub!”
There was some giggling and a curious look by Traci who then started laughing to join the crowd.
T Minus 16 Hours 40 Minutes and Counting: (3:50 p.m. EDT)
It was not the same in Admiral Kaylin’s office nor could it be since the event of the night before in the Solarium. Traci sat in her outer office intoxicated with passion, excitement, sickness, and conscience all in one unexpected package. Now when her intercom buzzed from his contact, she hesitated before answering him, her mind racing, and then saying what she had to say, “Yes, Admiral?” Those two words that had nothing but a robotic meaning a day ago now created a giant wave in her stomach.
There was an equal mix of feelings on the other end although Admiral Kaylin hid it with faked composure almost as well as she did. They were two bad actors who could have fooled no one but each other. ‘Is she sorry?’ he thought.
‘Was it nothing more than a one-night stand for him?’ she thought. ‘The circumstances made me look prettier to him last night than I am to him now, and now he wants it stopped.’
“Traci, could I see you for a moment?”
Now her stomach took a dip below all laws of anatomical possibility. “You want me to come in, Admiral?”
“Yes. Please.”
She made a quick decision not to even look in a mirror. After all, she had never done that before when called into her boss’s office. But she did it, anyway. Decisions quickly made were inconsequential.
She went into his adjoining office and she was even conscious of her walk. So was he. And then he pretended to take a quick scan of some paper on his desk. He looked up from it and said in his most formal voice, “Sit down, Traci.”
She sat on the chair across from his desk. That’s when he noticed she had taken a notebook and pen with her and she put the notebook on her crossed legs as though she was ready to write down whatever he was going to say.
“No dictation; no notes, Traci.”
She looked piercingly at him.
“Traci—” and he couldn’t think of what to say even though he had decided what to say.
“You want to say you’re sorry for last night? Go ahead. I understand. I’m sorry, too. Just forget it, Admiral. I can.”
Admiral Kaylin shook his head. “No, you can’t and neither can I. That isn’t what I was going to say. Traci, I am—I am so taken with you that I can’t think straight.”
It was as though the giant wave that she thought was going to drown her had suddenly gone out to sea, leaving her unhurt. “You are?”
He nodded. “I am. Traci, I—” Any plan of being articulate was as gone as Traci’s wave.
She got up from her chair and walked to his side of the desk. It was brave, but she had always been brave. “Admiral Kaylin, in the midst of this world nightmare, it was the most wonderful evening of my life.”
He nodded. “I feel that way, Traci. And since then it gives me another reason to hope that we all live.”
That statement made her fight back tears. “I’ve never been so frightened, I’ve never been so happy, I’ve never felt so terrible, I’ve never felt so guilty, and I’ve never felt so right. Do you know what I mean? Do you—Admiral?”
“Traci, do you think you could call me Keith? Calling me Admiral is much too formal now,” and he smiled.
She shook her head. “I must call you Admiral. Otherwise I’ll make a slip and say your first name and then everyone will know.”
“Why should we care?”
“Because we should care. I work for you.”
“Why, Traci? What difference will it make to anyone?”
“You’re my boss. I think it will make a difference.”
“To who?”
“To the President.” And she quickly felt she made a mistake in saying that.
“Jared? Why would he care?”
She shook her head. “I’m just thinking of what he has on his mind every moment with his responsibility, and I think this would bother him—and that’s not good. His mind has to be free.”
Admiral Kaylin put a hand to his forehead and started rubbing it casually. “I still don’t get it, Traci. Does he have—affection for you? Is that what you mean?”
“No, I don’t mean that! He’s an old man—Admiral. And he’s such a wonderful old man. Even if he felt a touch of what you said—affection—he would never let me know.”
He stared at her a while without saying a word. Then he asked, “Then how would you know if he did?”
“Because a woman always knows. A woman knows even if it comes from a boy that’s too young or a man that’s too old. A woman always knows. But he isn’t thinking that way. But I think it could hurt him to think there was anything between you and me, that’s all. So that’s all. He has enough on his mind.”
Admiral Kaylin nodded. “I wouldn’t want to hurt him any more than you would. I wouldn’t take the chance.”
“Then I’ll continue to call you Admiral. Besides, I like saying Admiral. Don’t you like it?”
He nodded. “Somehow, I think I do. I think it’s the way you say it.”
“You think?”
T Minus 12 Hours 02 Minutes and Counting: (8:28 p.m. EDT)
Wayne Stuart sat on the other side of the coffee table from Eli Jared in Eli Jared’s apartment. The table was filled with papers, pads, coffee cups and there was a small clock. “This is important, Wayne. This is terribly important. How much can you trust all these contacts of yours throughout the world?”
“I don’t know them. I don’t know any of them. Mort McClure, who I suspect is dead, is the one who lined them up. It took him a year and a half to line up these people. As for Mr. McClure—he was as trustworthy as any a man I ever knew. And politically—he would have given his life in a moment for this country. That’s why I think he’s dead. He was threatened by Islamist revolutionaries back in the 1980s. They had a price on his head then.”
“Well then, this will be a tribute to Mort. But what I’m going to ask has a great deal of risk to it. You told me that those people—your underground—were told by you to contact our chiefs of U.S. military in their local area about the plan when you gave them the stand-by, right?”
“I did.”
“And if there were no U.S. armed forces in their area?”
“Then they couldn’t tell anyone.”
“How many of them have U.S. forces in the area?”
“Out of the eighty contacts, forty-two of them are right here in the United States. Out of the other thirty-eight, I would say somewhere between twenty and twenty-five should have U.S. forces there. I’m not certain of the exact number.”
“I want you to do this: Take notes on this, Wayne. Here—” and he slid a yellow legal pad across the table to Wayne Stuart. “You have a pencil?”
Wayne Stuart reached for the pad and took a ball-point pen from his shirt pocket. “Yes, sir. A pen.”
“Take notes, Wayne. I’ll talk slow. I want you to do this: tell only those underground contacts who have U.S. armed forces in their areas to notify the Chief of our armed forces—the U.S. forces in their area—to plan as massive an offensive as they can put together for the precise moment after the digital mask, as you call it, is launched by the underground. And when I say a massive offense, I mean massive. For overseas sites, our armed forces can and should use every means available to them to make the offensive successful. I don’t care what kind of weaponry they use. I don’t care how few armed forces are still there; your program will make them seem endless—we hope. In the other countries that don’t have U.S. forces, don’t tell them a thing about this unless Vice President Mapes tells you he knows for sure that the particular country’s military and Chief of State are totally with us. No moderates; no maybes. I’ll tell Mapes to visit with you. But if he says to do it, then do it, even though their foreigners. Mapes is a knowledgeable fellow; used to be with the National Security Council. He’s so knowledgeable on foreign policy that Wadsworth made him both Acting National Security Advisor and Acting Vice President. Got that so far, Wayne?”
Wayne Stuart finished writing a sentence and then looked up from his pad. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Can I go on?”
“Yes, sir. Please.”
“Now then, in the cases where your underground contact is dealing with our own armed forces either here or overseas, tell your contact to tell our Chief of the armed forces in the local area that the offensive is an order from the Commander in Chief—from the Acting President of the United States. If it’s an allied force approved by Mapes, tell whoever it is that it’s a request from the Acting President of the United States. Got it? And I want your underground to tell the U.S. or allied armed forces about this personally. No emails, no telephones, no electronics. As for the other countries with neither U.S. nor friendly forces, don’t tell your contact anything beyond what he has to know about the digital mask. There is risk. Some may not believe my authority. Some may not believe yours. I don’t know who they can contact to verify anything at this point. All of this is going to rely on those who have the weaponry and troops and understand the peril of our times—and have the guts to do what must be done. And they’ll know it if they use their heads—and if they use their hearts. It will be a gamble for them. It’s a gamble for all of us. We’re all working in the blind.
“Admiral Kaylin knows about all this and that’s important to let our forces know about his involvement as Acting Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, if they know who that is. That’s it: there’s you, Mapes, Kaylin, and me. Everything understood, Wayne?”
Wayne Stuart finished writing the item about Mapes, and stopped writing to look squarely at Eli Jared. “Mister President, when you say those overseas should use any weaponry to make their offensive successful, are you including or excluding nuclear weapons?”
“Everything is included. It depends on what’s necessary. As you know, your digital mask serves as the forward troops—even the forward earth. The live who coordinate with your digital mask have to be willing to use everything they have to bring white flags waving from poles held by the enemy. To bring this about, nuclear weapons are included. The only exclusion is defeat.”
T Minus 10 Hours and Counting: (10:30 p.m. EDT)
With the volume turned low, the television monitor in Eli Jared’s apartment was on and Eli Jared faced it as he sat on his bed.
“Allahu Akhbar! God is Great! This is IFRA’s Nightly News of the Islamic Fundamentalist Republic of America. God, hasten the arrival of Imam al-Mahdi and grant him good health and victory, and make us his followers who attest to his rightfulness.” Young and pretty starlets were shown, each with lips purple-red from dried blood after razorblades were used to remove their lipstick by the authorities. In a videotape from earlier in the evening, Hollywood Boulevard was closed to traffic between Orange and Highland for what was described as a celebration for the motion picture industry at the Kodak Theater. Only men from the industry were invited to the black-tie event with none expecting the speech that was given by an Imam who chastised them for their on-screen and off-screen depravity. He went on to inform them that all screenplays must be submitted to the Revolutionary Law and Order Council for approval before production of any future film could begin. As the guests from the motion picture industry were dismissed from the theater, the most well known of them were herded to a separate room off the lobby area. Their limousine drivers who had parked their vehicles on Yucca Street were waiting for the cue to pick up their passengers but instead were instructed by the authorities to leave without them. The former celebrities were herded together and led somewhere else by truck while a loudspeaker told them “Allahu Akhbar! God is Great!”
The telecast did not end but went to New Delhi, India. The screen showed the huge circular shopping center of Connaught Circus while the Imam narrator spoke about justice being done to Hindus and also to Moslems who rejected and had fought against the revolution. One after another, men in their ethnic attire of dhotis and kurtas with their hands tied behind their backs and blindfolds over their eyes, were thrown from the precipice of the Odeon Theater onto the inner circle street, and from the precipice of the Kashmir Government Art Emporium. Then the scene changed to the National Stadium where young women were brought into the stadium by the truckload. Each woman was separately buried up to her neck and stoned to death as the narrator spoke about the crime of adultery.
“Allahu Akhbar!” The off-screen narrator said.