At seven thirty on Monday morning, February 8, three days after the assassinations and almost twenty-four hours since we’d lost our chance at the president’s killer, I sipped coffee and poked at the plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast Nana Mama had set before me.
I’d had less than ten hours of sleep in the past seventy-two, and we were no closer to the killers still at large. I was feeling grumpy, if not downright cranky, as I ate and gazed dully at the morning news on the television screen.
Anderson Cooper was up early, standing on the White House lawn and struggling to explain, first, the violent events that had seen President Hobbs and several successors assassinated and, second, the constitutional mechanics that had resulted in Attorney General Larkin assuming leadership. Then he began discussing the chief justice’s ruling that the Oval Office rightfully belonged to Senator Talbot.
“Will there be a power struggle?” the CNN anchor said. “Will we see yet another constitutional crisis if Larkin refuses to step down?”
The former attorney general, Cooper noted, had not been seen since the ruling had come down the evening before. He was rumored to have been flying in his airborne command post out west for the past two days, landing only to refuel at various air force bases across the country. But that was unconfirmed.
For his part, Senator Talbot had been holed up in his office on Capitol Hill all night while a steady stream of advisers had come and gone.
Cooper touched his earbud, then bobbed his head vigorously and stared into the camera with the peeved look of a man in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Evidently, Senator Talbot has a statement to make live outside his office on Capitol Hill.”
The screen jumped to an image of the Nevada senator fighting not to look like a deer in the headlights as he went to the microphones.
“My fellow Americans,” Talbot said, sounding like someone’s nice old uncle. “I am as surprised as you are by these strange turns of events. But the chief justice has ruled, and I am not one to question the Founders of our nation, men like Jefferson and Adams and Franklin, who anticipated these kinds of difficult days. The Founders believed in an order of succession. They crafted that order into our Constitution, the precious document that is the basis of our unique form of governance. And I, as a mayor, a congressman, and a senator, have long sworn allegiance to God, country, and our remarkable system of laws.”
Talbot paused and stood taller. “So, forthwith, I will assume the office of the president of the United States, and I want to assure every American that while I might be an old dog, I can certainly learn new tricks. I feel deeply humbled and honored to lead you in this time of crisis. My first act is to lift martial law. I want people to resume their lives. We must go on.”
I set my fork down.
Nana Mama said, “Did he say no more martial law?”
“He did.”
My grandmother threw her arms overhead. “I’ve got serious shopping to do.”
I laughed. “You sound like we’ve been imprisoned for months.”
“Feels like it to me.” She sniffed. “You know I like ingredients fresh.”
“I know you do,” I said, taking my plate to the sink and pecking her on the cheek as I passed.
“He doesn’t sound too bad,” Nana said. “That Talbot. Means well.”
“I get that sense too,” I said. “But then again, I thought Larkin was a natural leader until he taunted the Russians and the Chinese like that.”
“Any chance Larkin fights it?”
“What’s there to fight?” I asked. “The chief justice ruled.”
“But not the entire court,” she said. “I think it could be appealed on that basis.”
“I’m sure someone in Washington’s looking at the idea,” I said.
I didn’t want to go upstairs to shower yet. Everyone else was still sleeping. Even Bree, who’d been working just as hard as I had, if not harder. It was too cold to sit outside, so I went into the television room and sat with my coffee. I shut my eyes and let my thoughts roam.
Once again, I asked myself, Who benefits from the murders? What about in light of recent events? Talbot, of course. He benefits. But he’d struck me as a reluctant leader, someone who had never seen himself as presidential timber. And yet, now that he was called, he was willing to do his duty.
But what about Larkin? Why hadn’t he come forward to give the country his reaction to the ruling? For that matter, where was he? The last we’d heard he was at an air force base in Kansas. Doing what? Trying to figure out his next move?
If Larkin was involved in the assassination plot, I decided, he would emerge to fight tooth and nail to stay president. He would do as Nana Mama had suggested, at the very least: appeal to the full Supreme Court.
But until then, what was my best course of action? For several minutes, I couldn’t come up with a clear way forward. But then, as I opened my eyes to drink more coffee, I remembered something Viktor Kasimov said.
Follow the money.