American Dictator - The New Republic

By Rick Ainsworth

American Dictator - the New Republic is now available! In this exciting sequel to American Dictator – Changing of the Guard, the events of the previous novel proceed in unexpected ways. As many of the president's inner circle had feared, the power and influence of an enormously popular president can be benign in his hands, but such power can be easily abused by successors.

The power that Howell had enjoyed is used to set into motion plans to improve the country by silencing critics, at first subtly and then more directly. From veiled threats to questionable suicides and internment of radicals, fanatics, and other undesirables in secret compounds in remote locations, the state of the American Republic is shifting into more and more dangerous territory. Harsh tactics foil terrorist attacks on American soil, but the Howell advisors see the apprehension they'd had under Howell's administration becoming all too real.

Intrigue and secret plans, resistance and defiance culminate in a true assault on the American presidency in an effort to save the United States of America. Loyalties, alliances and old friendships are tested as each person in and out of the administration must examine themselves and their commitment to the country.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9780977037667

Book preview

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

Oval Office

Saturday, July 6

President M. Spencer Howell sat at his desk in the Oval Office, massaging his temples with his fingertips and reviewing the documents Jeremy had left for him. It had been a grueling day. The early morning wakeup call on the USS Enterprise, the demonstration of Ezekiel’s Wheel, the hurried flight back and the quick but intense meeting with his staff had all sapped his energy. On his desk was a pile of messages, four of them from Sergei Romanov, the Russian ambassador. He would deal with that tomorrow.

Spencer Howell grinned inwardly as he hurried through the documents, initialing, signing and correcting them. He couldn’t wait to spar with Romanov about Ezekiel’s Wheel. He would politely point out the many missile sites the Russians had erected over the last ten years, and accuse the Russians of trying to start a new Cold War.

The prospect made the president smile. He looked at his watch, ten-fifteen, and decided he had done all he could in one day. He turned off his desk lamp and stood, but his left leg had apparently fallen asleep and he stumbled, cursing himself. Too much time behind this damn desk, he thought, and put out his left hand to brace himself.

For some reason, his arm did not respond and he stumbled sideways to the left. His left leg went limp, as did his left arm, and a searing pain shot through his head. He slammed to the ground, his head hitting the side of his desk, and landed in a crumpled heap. Just before the darkness came and his life ebbed away, the last thought to go through President M. Spencer Howell’s mind was what the hell is happening?

White House Family Quarters

Jeannie Howell looked at her watch. Ten thirty. Where was he? She picked up the phone and called his office, but there was no answer. Believing that he had gotten immersed in another project and was ignoring the telephone, she determined to get him upstairs for dinner if she had to go down to the Oval Office and drag him out herself.

She made sure all the food was covered, and she marched resolutely down the stairs and toward the Oval Office, a determined look on her face. In the hallway on the first floor, she ran into the president’s chief of staff, Jeremy Holt, who was also headed to the Oval Office.

Mrs. Howell, Jeremy said. How are you?

I’m fine, Jeremy. I’m going to fetch my husband. He’s still in his office.

Jeremy looked at his watch. He is? I left him an hour ago and he only had a couple of things to sign. He walked with her to the Oval Office and nodded to the Secret Service man, who knocked on the office door and opened it for Jeremy and Mrs. Howell.

Oh, my God! Jeannie Howell screamed.

President Howell lay on the floor on his left side, a peaceful and tranquil look on his face as if something amazing had just been revealed to him. Jeremy dropped to his knees and checked his pulse. Nothing. He turned toward the door and shouted at the Secret Service agents.

Declare an emergency! The president is down! The president is down!

Spencer! Mrs. Howell screamed again, falling to her hands and knees, holding her husband in her arms and sobbing uncontrollably. Spencer…Spencer…Spencer.

The Secret Service agents spoke rapidly into their mouthpieces and one of them came into the Oval Office to secure the scene, while the other waited for the emergency responders to arrive.

Jeremy bent over the president giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation when the doctor and emergency people arrived. The doctor eased Jeremy away and bent over the president, checking for breathing, testing for a pulse. He put his stethoscope to the president’s chest. He looked up sadly at Mrs. Howell.

I’m sorry, ma’am, he said softly. He’s gone.

Jeannie collapsed and Jeremy caught her before she hit the ground. He carried her to the couch and lay her down on it. One of the medical techs came over and began to check her vital signs.

In no time at all the Oval Office was filled with Secret Service men and emergency medical personnel. The agent in charge of White House Security, Tom Walling, gently took Jeremy’s arm and pulled him aside.

We need to go get the vice president, he said quietly.

Jeremy didn’t reply. He stared straight ahead, unable to think. He kept waiting to awaken from a terrible dream.

Mr. Holt!

The Office of the Vice President

10:50 P.M.

Sergeant Ed Ostini, at his usual post outside the vice president’s door, knew something was amiss when he spotted Jeremy Holt and four secret service men coming down the hall toward his position at the door to Vice President Morton’s White House office. He snapped to attention, staring straight ahead.

Ed, Jeremy said softly, his eyes tearing up. We need to see the vice president.

Ostini saw the pain in Jeremy’s eyes, and looked over at the four secret service men, whose presence could only mean one thing.

Yes, sir, the sergeant said smartly, and leaned over to knock on the door and quickly swing it open.

Vice President Morton sat at his desk, watching curiously as Jeremy Holt strode into his office, followed by four secret service agents. Rebecca Samuels, the vice president’s personal secretary, who was finishing up some reports for Morton, stood and watched the procession, shaking her head slowly and mouthing the word, No.

Sir, Jeremy said through tears, President Howell is dead. Rebecca gasped and Jeremy dropped his head and let the tears go for a few moments. When he looked up again, Zachery Taylor Morton was standing at attention behind his desk. He had put on his coat and buttoned it up smartly. His face had a set and determined look to it, and his eyes reflected a rarely seen sadness. He was the very picture of a general officer going to the front lines to take command.

Mr. President, Jeremy Holt said haltingly. If you will accompany us to the Cabinet Room, the Chief Justice…

Morton nodded quickly and joined the entourage as they made their way to the Cabinet Room. When they came out of Morton’s office, Sergeant Ostini snapped to attention and saluted the new commander in chief. Morton stopped and appraised the sergeant, then nodded solemnly and followed his secret service protection detail down the hall.

Rebecca Samuels came out of Morton’s office, holding a small handkerchief to her eyes. She leaned on Sergeant Ostini’s chest and sobbed. He flinched slightly, and then put his big hands gently on her back, patting her like a baby he was trying to get to go to sleep.

President Howell is dead, Rebecca said flatly. Vice President Morton is president now. She regained her composure and took a step back gazing down the hall at the retreating entourage.

Sergeant Ostini nodded gravely and watched the new president walk resolutely and determined into American history

Rebecca looked at Sergeant Ostini’s left breast, where all the ribbons were displayed, and then looked into his eyes.

It’s going to be okay, right, Big Ed? she asked, staring up at him. I mean, thank God we have a strong system.

Thank God our new president is General Morton, Ostini replied, a brightness shining in his eyes. He will be a great leader.

Rebecca looked back down the hall. Morton and his entourage turned and disappeared from view. For some reason, she felt herself frowning doubtfully, and a cold shiver ran down her spine. Yes, thank God, she said quietly. She hesitated for a moment, her mind suddenly filled with doubt and dread, though she couldn’t imagine why. Then she repeated hesitantly, Thank God.

Part One

Transition

"When people fear their government, there is tyranny.

When the government fears the people, there is liberty."

…Thomas Jefferson

CHAPTER ONE

White House Cabinet Room

July 6

11:30 P.M.

The chief justice of the Supreme Court, having rushed to the White House upon receiving the call, resplendent in his black robes, administered the oath of office to the new president, Zachary Taylor Morton, who accepted the oath and concluded, So help me God.

Witnessing the event were Jeremy Holt, Secretary of State Margaret Sinclair, Professor Paul Trudeau, General Alexander James Longstreet, the secretary of defense, Marine General Jonathon ‘Bud’ Budreau, the chairman of the joint chiefs, and Speaker of the House Barton Braxler. National Security Advisor Grace Holt and Press Secretary T.J. Samuels had already gone home for the evening, and rushed back to the White House upon hearing the news of President Howell’s death. They joined Sergeant Ostini outside the cabinet room and waited for the ceremony to be concluded.

The chief justice shook Morton’s hand and wished him good luck before returning home to his bed. Morton closed the door after him and turned to face the people gathered in the Cabinet Room.

Barton, Morton said without preamble, I intend to nominate you for vice president, if you have no objection.

Braxler nodded solemnly. Anything I can do, Mr. President, he said softly, to serve my country.

Fine. I suggest we try to get some rest now, my friends. Tomorrow is going to be rough on everyone, and tomorrow will be here soon.

One by one, their faces revealing the shock and grief they felt, the members of the staff filed by President Morton, squeezing his hand warmly and muttering well wishes. Morton found himself alone in the Cabinet Room with Generals Budreau and Longstreet.

Today, Morton said in a strong voice, we lost one of our best friends. A man who would have been our president for eight years. He would have accomplished much in that period. His policies were just taking shape and picking up momentum. He looked into his friends’ eyes deeply, the pain clear in his expression. It now falls upon us to see that those policies are carried out. That will be the focal point of this administration.

President Morton walked over to the conference table and picked up the Bible the chief justice had laid there. Hefting it in his hand, he closed his eyes. God help me, he murmured to himself. God help us all.

The door to the cabinet room opened and the chief justice emerged, his face set in a deep frown. Margaret Sinclair came out and embraced Grace and T.J., followed quickly by Jeremy. Grace put her arms around him and lay her head on his chest.

Oh, Jeremy… she said, her voice breaking.

Jeremy patted her back gently and murmured reassurances in her ear. Why don’t you go home, honey? he said, looking down at her bulging tummy. Get some rest. There isn’t anything you can do now, but the republic is going to need its national security advisor tomorrow. He glanced over at T.J. and said, Rebecca will be out soon, and I think the two of you should also go home and get some rest.

T.J. nodded absently, looking past Jeremy at the open cabinet room door as if expecting M. Spencer Howell to emerge and announce that it was all a big mistake.

Professor Trudeau appeared in the doorway and shook his head sadly as he joined the group in the hallway. They need you back in there, Margaret, he said softly. Nodding to Jeremy he added, You too, Jere.

Jeremy kissed Grace on the cheek. I know you want to be here, but sitting out in the hallway isn’t going to do anyone any good. He patted her tummy and whispered, Especially our baby.

Reluctantly, Grace agreed to allow Paul Trudeau to drive her home, saying to Jeremy, I won’t be able to sleep. You’ll call me as soon as you’re on your way home?

Jeremy nodded and returned to the cabinet room with Margaret. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, startled somewhat at the sudden appearance of Horatio Tremane, seated at the far end of the conference table, his face a blank mask.

We have some items to discuss, President Morton announced, sitting at the head of the table. The others took seats and looked to him expectantly.

As of this moment, Morton said, there will be no changes in the cabinet or staff. That being said, some changes may take place at a later date.

We will have to make a statement to the press, Mr. President, Jeremy said. Perhaps a press conference.

So far, Morton replied, no one else in the world knows about this, but that will change soon. I’ve sent T.J. home and we’ll make a statement first thing in the morning. Turning to Rebecca, he said, Have T.J. schedule a press conference at nine A.M. our time. And then I’m going to send you home, too.

I am not tired, Mr. President, Rebecca replied.

I am going to need you to be at your best the next few days, Rebecca, Morton said firmly. There is nothing you can do during this…how shall I put it?

This vacuum? Tremane asked in a soft voice and every head in the room turned toward him.

Morton looked at Tremane for a moment and then at Budreau. Bud, let’s put our military forces on an elevated alert status. I don’t want some crackpot despot thinking this provides an opportunity to test our resolve.

Yes, sir, Budreau replied.

Rebecca stood and gathered her laptop and papers. I’ll be back in a few hours, she insisted. After I freshen up a bit.

Georgetown

Apartment of Grace and Jeremy Holt

Midnight

Jeremy sat in the back of the limousine, staring out the window at the passing scenery and trying to imagine an America without M. Spencer Howell as its commander in chief. Numbness had overtaken the chief of staff after the shock of discovering President Howell’s body on the floor of the Oval Office. Suddenly, he realized how tired he was. He felt he could lie down in the back seat of the limo and sleep for a week. Perhaps that’s what he needed. To sleep and when he woke up, to find that it had all been a terrible dream, and President Howell was alive and well. He sighed deeply, knowing all too well that it was no dream. But he was going home, and his pregnant wife, Grace, Howell’s national security advisor, would be waiting for him. At least he had comfort in that.

Mr. Holt? The driver’s voice came over the intercom.

Yes, Bennie, what is it?

There’s an ambulance in front of your building, sir.

Suddenly very awake, Jeremy sat up straight. He lowered the glass partition separating him from the driver and squinted through the front window at the flashing red lights on the ambulance which was parked diagonally at the curb in front of his apartment house.

My God! He thought, a feeling of sheer panic rising in his throat. Grace!

Let me out here! he shouted to Bennie. Leaving his laptop and his files in the back seat, Jeremy leapt from the still moving limousine and sprinted toward the apartment building. Three policemen busied themselves setting up a perimeter to keep sightseers away, but there were very few people on the street. As Jeremy approached, a young officer stepped up to challenge him. An older cop, a sergeant, took the younger cop by the arm.

That’s the president’s chief of staff, he said quietly. He lives here. The young cop backed off and let Jeremy pass.

He ran across the lobby toward the bank of elevators. One of them opened and three emergency medical workers guided a gurney out of the elevator and moved quickly through the lobby, its wheels beating a clackety-clack across the marble floor. When they saw the look on Jeremy’s face they slowed down.

Grace? Jeremy said hoarsely, reaching out for the gurney.

Grace lay comfortably on the gurney, blankets wrapped around her. Asleep or sedated, she did not know her husband was there. Her soft dark hair lay limp around her pale face and she looked frail and helpless lying there on the gurney, her face obscured by an oxygen mask.

Jeremy took her limp hand and walked along with the gurney toward the ambulance. What happened? he asked the paramedics.

She passed out on the bathroom floor, one of the medics explained. She was able to call 911 just before she went out. She’s lost a lot of blood.

Blood? Jeremy asked, his mind racing. How did she injure herself? And then it dawned on him it was related to her pregnancy. He searched the medic’s face. Is she…is she all right?

She should be fine as soon as we can get her to the hospital and stabilize her. He looked up at Jeremy with sad eyes. The doctor will be able to give you more information.

But is she all right? Jeremy insisted.

The doctor at the hospital will be able to tell you her condition, Mr. Holt, the paramedic replied. He put a gentle hand on Jeremy’s arm. Do you want to ride with us to the hospital?

Jeremy, still in a stunned state, allowed the paramedic to lead him to the ambulance. He sat next to the gurney and held Grace’s hand while the ambulance made its way slowly but resolutely through the streets of Georgetown toward the University Medical Center. Jeremy tried to clear his head, tried to grasp everything that was happening, but his brain felt like it had turned to cotton in his head, and he could not think straight. The sound of his cell phone going off confused him. One of the paramedics looked at him curiously.

Mr. Holt? I think that’s your phone.

Jeremy nodded absently and reached into his pocket, pulling out the cell phone. He looked at the caller ID and, seeing it was Education Secretary Paul Trudeau, he answered.

Jeremy? Jeremy, are you all right, we have been worried about…

I’m in an ambulance, on my way to the University Medical Center with Grace, Jeremy explained softly. She collapsed. I think from the stress of being pregnant and President Howell’s death.

The silence on the line made Jeremy thing they had been disconnected.

I am so sorry, the professor said quietly. You’re on your way to UMC?

Yes, we are just pulling in now, Jeremy replied, looking out the window. Oh, crap!

What? What’s wrong?

Someone called the press. They’re all over the damned place.

Jeremy, I will be right there. The professor hung up before Jeremy could reply.

They wheeled Grace into the emergency room and put Jeremy to work filling out a half pound of paperwork while the reporters, alerted to the fact that the national security advisor was in the ambulance, hovered around the waiting room like buzzards around a road kill.

After what seemed like an inordinate length of time, Jeremy finished the enrollment forms and presented his insurance card. A doctor came out of the treatment room and smiled wanly at him.

Mr. Holt, she said gently. I’m Doctor Helen Hazelton.

Jeremy nodded and shook her hand. How is…my wife?

I’m very sorry to tell you this, Mr. Holt, Doctor Hazelton explained. But I’m afraid your wife miscarried.

Jeremy felt his knees buckle. Oh, my God, he whispered hoarsely. Is she…will she be okay?

I’m going to admit her and keep her under observation for a day or two, but I think she’ll recover physically. It may be tougher for her emotionally. The doctor searched Jeremy’s face and added, I am so sorry about President Howell. This has been a tough day for you, hasn’t it?"

Jeremy stared at her blankly. He did not know how to respond to her, so he let the question linger in the air. The baby, he said hesitantly, was it…

A boy or a girl? The doctor asked. Well, your wife was only about fourteen weeks along, and we usually can’t tell gender until about the twentieth week.

So we don’t know?

No, sir. We don’t know.

Can I see my wife now?

Yes, but she is still sedated, so she probably will not respond to you.

He nodded and followed the doctor down the hall. She opened the door to a private room and Jeremy stepped in behind her. Grace was lying in the hospital bed, pale and exhausted. Her hair had been brushed back from her face. The oxygen mask was gone and she was breathing well on her own. Jeremy sighed deeply and stood in the doorway, watching Grace breathe softly, her chest rising and falling slightly.

You can go in, Mr. Holt, Doctor Hazelton urged him. I’ll close the door. She pulled the door shut and returned to her emergency room, just in time to intervene in an escalating argument the nurse was having with several people who were gathered around the nurse’s station.

May I be of some help? Doctor Hazelton asked, putting down her clipboard and cocking her head at the group.

Thank you, yes, Professor Trudeau replied. He swept a hand toward the others. I am Paul Trudeau, and this is T.J. Samuels. Ms. Samuels, you may recognize is…was…President Howell’s press secretary. This is her sister, Rebecca Samuels Parker and her husband, Peter. Ms. Parker is the personal assistant to now President Morton. And this is Nancy Miles and Paul Norris. Ms. Miles is chief of staff to Speaker of the House Barton Braxler, and Mr. Norris is the administration’s liaison to Congress.

Doctor Hazelton nodded, suitably impressed.

We want to see Grace Holt, Rebecca spoke up. She’s our friend.

Doctor Hazelton took quick stock of the situation. Never before had she had her emergency room filled with so many highly-placed government people. They were quite intimidating. Still, hospital policy was clear: Only two visitors at a time. It took her only a few seconds to make up her mind.

She is down the hall to the left, she pointed down the hallway. Room one thirty. Her husband is with her.

They all started down the hall in masse, and the Doctor called after them, Please be as quiet as you can. She needs her rest!

Jeremy turned around at the soft knock on the door. He glanced down at Grace and walked over, opening the door. He smiled sadly at the concerned group of people who had rushed to the hospital to give their support. At the sight of his friends his eyes teared up, and he could only nod at them as he embraced each one as they came into the room. They gathered around Grace’s bed, heads down watching her breath softly and not knowing what to say. Finally, Jeremy spoke to break the silence.

Thank you guys, thank you for coming. It means a great deal to me and I know it will mean a lot to Grace.

Rebecca stepped forward and put her hand gently on Jeremy’s arm. When the professor told us what had happened, we had to come, Jeremy.

Jeremy looked at his friends and his eyes welled up again. She lost the baby, he said in a flat tone.

They stood there, staring at him, no one knowing what to say. Then they gathered around him closely, as if trying to protect him. Nancy put her arms around him and held him close. Rebecca and T.J. followed.

How is Grace doing? T.J. asked, coming up next to her sister.

Doctor Hazelton says she’s going to be fine, eventually, Jeremy replied, his voice flat, emotionless. She wants to observe her for a day or two, just in case. He looked down at Grace, and then back to his friends. She’s probably going to sleep through the night.

You should get some sleep too, Jere, Paul Norris said.

I can’t sleep, Jeremy replied wearily. I don’t think I’ll sleep for a month. We have to plan the president’s funeral. The transition team has got to be put into place immediately. There is so much to be done at the White House. He exhaled deeply, got a little light headed and put a hand on the bed railing to steady himself. Peter brought over a chair and helped Jeremy sink into it.

You’re running on adrenaline, buddy, Peter said. Sit for a while. We’ll be outside in the hall if you need us. He motioned to the others with his head and they quietly filed out into the hall.

T.J., Nancy and Rebecca fought back tears, attempting to appear strong. The men stood off to the side in the hallway, staring at their shoes, shuffling their feet self-consciously.

Inside the room, Jeremy sat motionless in the chair Paul had provided for him and stared blankly at the floor. A thousand details came flooding into his mind and he winced at the enormity of the job ahead of him. Absently, he looked at his watch. It was Sunday morning, three A.M. He had not slept since the previous night, when he was aboard the USS Enterprise for the demonstration of Ezekiel’s Wheel. He had awakened yesterday at five A.M., which meant he had been awake for almost twenty four hours. His body felt like it. He felt old and without energy. He began to wonder what his role would be in the Morton administration, and for that matter, what Grace’s role would be. He let his head fall to his chest and he closed his eyes on the verge of falling asleep, when a soft, faraway voice spoke his name.

Jeremy?

His head shot up and he looked around the room, confused, when the faraway voice said again:

Jeremy?

Despite his weariness, Jeremy got to his feet quickly and took Grace’s hand, holding it tightly.

I’m here, honey.

Where am…

You’re at the Georgetown University Medical Center, Grace. You’re going to be fine.

Her face fell and her expression became dark and sad. Jeremy, I lost our baby. I am so sorry, I… She tried to raise her head and swing her legs over the side of the bed, but she banged into the protective railing. I am so sorry, Jeremy. I am so sorry.

No, no, Jeremy said, holding her arms gently and easing her back into the bed. You aren’t going anywhere, Grace. You’re going to stay here until you’re well enough to come home.

Their friends rushed into the room when they heard Grace wailing and gathered around her bed.

I’m well enough to go home now, Grace insisted. Her voice lacked conviction. I’ve got a job to do. At least I hope I still have a job.

Don’t think about it, honey, Jeremy said soothingly. The job can wait. He patted her hand and kissed her forehead. Our friends are here to see you. The professor bullied his way past the doctor and they are all here.

Grace chuckled but it hurt and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. Oh, God, why am I laughing? There isn’t anything to laugh about. Not today, anyway. Jeremy, bring me my hairbrush and compact, please. I don’t want our friends to see me like this.

Jeremy brought her things and leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek. You look lovely to me, Grace. You always do.

She smiled up at him, her green eyes sad. You are the sweetest man.

She brushed her hair and put on a bit of lipstick before nodding to Jeremy, who opened the door. All six came in, led by Professor Trudeau and circled Grace’s bed, offering words of sympathy and encouragement. Grace sat up straight, smiling absently and trying to chat casually with her friends, but she felt drowsy and had trouble keeping her eyes open.

Doctor Hazelton poked her head into the room. I’m sorry, people. I need for you to leave now so Grace can get some rest. I’m going to give her another sedative.

The doctor came in to the room with a small stainless steel tray with a syringe and a bottle of medication. She pushed the needle of the syringe into the bottle and withdrew the liquid sedative. Graced smiled at her as if it were quite alright with her if you stuck her in the arm with a needle.

Doctor Hazleton smiled back at her and held up the syringe to the light, tapping at the side of the needle gently. She took a cotton swab with disinfectant on it and dabbed at Grace’s vein. Then Doctor Hazelton expertly guided the needle into Grace’s arm and pushed down the plunger on the syringe, releasing the sedative into Grace’s bloodstream. She patted Grace gently on the shoulder and eased her bed back down into the reclining position. Within seconds Grace was sound asleep.

The doctor looked up at Jeremy. You might as well go home and get some sleep yourself, Mr. Holt, she said softly. Your wife will sleep for about eight hours.

The doctor left and Jeremy smiled wanly at his friends. She’s right. I need to get some rest. I guess I’d better go.

We’ll give you a lift, Jere, Paul Norris said, glancing at his fiancée, Nancy Miles, who nodded agreement.

When Nancy and Paul dropped Jeremy off at his apartment building, his driver, Bennie was still there, asleep behind the wheel of the parked limousine. The younger policeman from earlier stood guard over the limo and looked up expectantly when Jeremy got out of Paul’s car and approached the building. The cop tapped on the driver’s window gently, waking the driver who looked up, blinked his eyes several times, and got out of the limo to greet Jeremy.

Mr. Holt, he said hesitantly. I thought you might want to go somewhere, and I…

Thank you, Bennie, Jeremy replied wearily. I’m in for the night. It’s Sunday, so why don’t you go home and get some sleep. I’ll call you later in the day if I need you.

Yes, sir, Bennie replied. He hesitated, trying to think of something else to say, something that would convey the sorrow he felt, but all he finally said was, I’ll get your laptop and your paperwork, sir. He reached into the back seat and retrieved Jeremy’s things. If there is anything else I can do…

Yes, Bennie. Thank you. I appreciate it very much. Jeremy began to go into the building, but he turned and smiled at his driver. Tell you what, Bennie, he said, looking at his watch. It’s four A.M. Pick me up at noon, that’ll give us both a little time for some rest.

Yes, sir, Bennie said, saluting Jeremy smartly.

Jeremy went into the building. His pace slow, his head down, he looked like a man who had spent every last ounce of energy he possessed.

The young policeman turned to Bennie. Damn, he swore. He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world.

Bennie watched his boss slip into an elevator and the doors close on him. He is, he said solemnly, opening the driver’s door of the limo. In a very real sense, he is.

The phone was ringing when Jeremy unlocked the apartment door. He dropped his laptop and files on the couch and picked up the receiver.

Jeremy Holt, he said in a tired voice.

Good morning, Jeremy, Morton’s voice was strong, tinted with concern. How’s Grace doing?

She’s fine, sir, Jeremy replied, rubbing his hand over his face.

I’m sorry about the baby, Jeremy.

Thank you, Mr. President.

I want you to stay on as chief of staff. Will you do that?

Yes, sir.  Anything you need, Mr. President.

I would like for Grace to remain in her position as National Security Advisor.

I’m sure she would be proud, sir. Jeremy felt that at any moment the phone would slip from his hand and he would fall asleep. He sat on the couch and sighed deeply.

I am calling a cabinet meeting for two P.M. today, Morton continued. I would like you to be there. I know Grace can’t make it, but you can fill her in. The new president’s voice was confident, authoritative, with a tone indicating he recognized and appreciated the enormous responsibility he had inherited.

Yes, sir, Jeremy replied. His voice sounded like it was detached from him, far away and indistinct. I’ll be there.

Fine. I’ll let you get some rest. Good night, Jeremy.

Good night, Mr. President. Jeremy put down the phone and sat on the couch, silently staring at the floor. In a rush, all the feelings he was keeping in began to surface. The death of his mentor President Howell, and Grace’s miscarriage flooded his consciousness and he held his head in his hands as the tears began to fall. He let it go. All the emotions, all the pressure, all the pain bubbled up and burst forth and he held his hands to his eyes and wept. He sobbed, his chest heaving, tears dropping from his eyes and splattering on his shoes.

Nothing will ever be the same, he whispered, regaining his self control. Nothing. Ever.

CHAPTER TWO

Georgetown University Hospital

Sunday, July 7

12:30 P.M.

Benny pulled the limousine up the curved driveway of the medical center and stopped. Mr. Holt, he said into the intercom. We’re here, sir.

Jeremy nodded, although Bennie couldn’t see him through the dark glass partition. Picking up his briefcase, Jeremy got out and stretched as Bennie was coming around to open the door.

I’ll be an hour or so, Bennie, so if you want to grab lunch…

Bennie nodded. Thank you, Mr. Holt. I’ll see you in an hour.

Jeremy went into the medical center and nodded to the nurses at their station. He was aware of their whispering as he passed by. He got to Grace’s room and hesitated for a moment at the door. He listened for sounds from within, but it was silent. He took a deep breath, dreading what he might find behind the door, took hold of the doorknob and pushed.

Sitting up in bed, her hair brushed back and a light application of makeup softening the paleness of her face, Grace looked up as he came in and smiled sweetly. A lunch tray sat on the bed, its contents untouched.

Jeremy!

Hello, darling, he said, moving quickly to her bedside. He leaned over and gave her a tender kiss on the cheek.

How are you feeling?

Much better, she said, a little too brightly. I’m ready to go back to work.

Jeremy hesitated, studying his wife carefully. Despite her proclamation, it was clear by the expression in her eyes that she was holding her emotions tightly in check. Jeremy knew that if he pushed her just a little, she would allow them to burst forth to the surface. He knew the cathartic effect would help her work her way through the tragedy, but he did not push her. Instead, he sat on the side of her bed, took her hand and kissed it.

It’s too soon to go back to work, honey, he said soothingly.

I’ve got to. The transition from the Howell administration to… she stopped suddenly and tears formed in her eyes. Oh, Jeremy! President Howell is dead! Our baby is dead! This is dreadful. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed softly.

He stroked her hair, mumbling soothing words and hoping she could just get it all out of her system, but deep in his heart he knew the two tragedies would be a dark specter hovering over their lives for a long time to come. He was relieved when the door opened and a solemn Margaret Sinclair came into the room hesitantly, a bouquet of flowers in her hand.

Grace?

Oh, Margaret, Grace replied breathlessly.

Margaret stepped up to the bed and put her arms around Grace. I was afraid you wouldn’t be up to having visitors, the secretary of state said. But you look lovely, dear, you really do.

She wants to return to work right away, Jeremy said, looking from Margaret to Grace.

We need you, Grace, Margaret said. But you’ve been through a grueling ordeal and you need to fully recover. She smiled and patted Grace’s hand. We’ll hold down the fort until you return.

If the president wants me, Grace said doubtfully.

He already said he does, Jeremy told her. We’re meeting this afternoon. The entire staff and cabinet.

Grace nodded absently, suddenly looking very tired. Margaret gave her a peck on the cheek.

I’ve got to go, dear, she said soothingly. I’ll stop by tomorrow to see you.

Thank you, Margaret, Grace replied quietly. I’ll be fine. I really will.

Jeremy thanked Margaret and walked her to the door.

Take care of her, Jeremy, Margaret said. She’s awfully fragile right now.

Yes, Jeremy replied, looking back at his wife. She’s not as tough as she thinks she is.

Margaret smiled wanly. Who is? she asked.

Jeremy closed the door and returned to Grace’s bedside. She sat back on two pillows, the bed angled into a sitting position, staring at the far wall with a thoughtful expression.

I’m going to leave now, honey, he told her, holding her hands in his. I’m picking up some of the others for the meeting.

Who’s going with you? she asked in a tiny voice.

T.J., the professor, Rebecca, Paul and Nancy, he replied.

Almost the entire Georgetown Pizza Mind Trust, she observed. Only Peter and I will be missing.

We’ll come back after the meeting is over, Jeremy assured her, and bring you up to date on the agenda. I’ll have your deputy sit in on the meeting and put together some notes for you. Meantime, you rest, honey.

Rest. Rest. That’s all I ever hear in this place, Grace complained. I’m going stir crazy in here.

Jeremy bit his tongue to keep from laughing. Honey, he said patiently. You’ve only been here about twelve hours.

It seems like twelve days to me, she said irritably. She looked up at him and her expression softened. I’m sorry, Jere, she said, a small smile on her lips. I’m sounding like a little brat, aren’t I?

You’re impatient to get back to work, honey, he said. You’ve been through a terrible time. Just be patient. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. I’ll be back later this evening, and I’ll give you a full report on the meeting, along with my notes.

That’ll definitely make me feel better.

The nurse came in with a small tray containing a glass of water and a paper cup with a sedative in it. Please take this, Mrs. Holt, she said respectfully. It will help you sleep. She waited until Grace swallowed the pill, then picked up the lunch tray and quietly left, frowning disapprovingly at the untouched lunch.

Jeremy leaned over and kissed Grace gently on the lips. She snuggled into her blanket and sighed deeply.

I’ll see you later, darling, she said, smiling sweetly at her husband.

He blew her a kiss and left the room. Outside in the hall the nurse hurried to catch up to him.

Your wife is going to be fine, Mr. Holt, she said, putting a gentle hand on  his arm. She’s getting the best care possible, but you must encourage her to eat, to build up her strength.

Thank you, I will, he replied, smiling wearily. She’s going to ask the million dollar question sooner or later, so I’ll ask it now. He stopped and turned toward the nurse. Will she…will we be able to have children?

Well, you must talk with the doctor about that, but according to everything I’ve seen, she is definitely capable of conceiving again.

He nodded. Thank you again. He smiled and walked down the hall to the front door, his shoes tapping a steady, determined beat on the polished marble. Outside, he slid into the back seat of the limousine before Bennie could jump out and get the door.

Let’s pick up the troops, Jeremy said, settling into the comfortable leather seat.

Yes, sir.

White House

Cabinet Room

1:50 P.M.

Jeremy led his group into the Cabinet Room and looked around. The entire cabinet was present along with Majority Leader Senator Wilson, Barton Braxler, Secretary of Defense Alexander Longstreet, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Jonathon Budreau and Secretary of State Margaret Sinclair. President Morton sat at the head of the table, his face set in an expressionless mask. They all wore black armbands and mournful expressions. The cabinet room, usually a cheerful and sometimes boisterous place under President Howell, was subdued to the point of depression. Dark curtains were pulled across the arched windows so that no sunlight came into the room. As soon as everyone was seated, President Morton brought the meeting to order.

Thank you all for coming, the new president greeted them. Today I think it would be appropriate to begin our meeting with a moment of silence in honor of President Howell. He bowed his head and the others did the same. Tears flowed and handkerchiefs appeared. Jeremy clenched his teeth to keep from tearing up, and squeezed his handkerchief tight in his hand, looking around surreptitiously at the others.

Tomorrow, Morton’s booming voice broke into their reverie, will be the state funeral for President Howell. I have received messages of sympathy from many world leaders, and several of them will be attending the funeral. He turned to Rebecca. I want everyone to be comfortable, Rebecca.

I will see to it, Mr. President. Rebecca made some quick notes on her PDA.

It will be the policy of this administration, Morton announced, to continue and extend the programs outlined and begun by President Howell. These programs are sound. They are beginning to bear fruit, and therefore we must pursue them as aggressively as possible. Morton nodded toward Professor Trudeau. Paul, the education program is starting to show signs of acceptance within our school systems.

Yes, Mr. President, the professor replied. It’s amazing what can be accomplished when people are properly motivated.

Yes, Morton replied. Especially when they have no choice. He looked around the room and continued. There is a lesson in that for all of us. There is no choice. When it comes to immigration, there is no choice. Education, there is no choice. Foreign policy, there is no choice. The economy, there is no choice. These programs and policies WILL be implemented, period. Are we all clear on that?

Heads bobbed up and down. Jeremy and Professor Trudeau shared a look.

As far as the Muslim mosques are concerned, Morton went on, the Militia will remain where they are. I want it to be clear to the members of the mosques that we will require proof of legal status in this country from everyone in those mosques, and everyone belonging to those mosques. After the funeral tomorrow we will begin sorting out these people, and those who are here illegally, or on expired visas, or suspected of crimes, will be deported immediately. We need to send a message to those factions inside and outside this country who mean us harm.

The cabinet room grew silent as the attendees pondered the president’s words.

So, President Morton said, breaking the silence. Every project you are working on must be fast-tracked at once. Bear down on these programs and make them work. Do not accept excuses or dissent. We will begin one-on-one meetings tomorrow evening at four P.M. Margaret, I know he’s busy at the U.N., but please bring John Wesley Cavanaugh here at that time tomorrow. We will begin with the State Department and the United Nations. At five P.M. I will see Generals Longstreet and Budreau and we will discuss ways in which we can further bolster our military forces.

Including the Militia, Mr. President? Budreau asked.

Absolutely, Morton replied.

The professor and Jeremy shared another look. Jeremy wondered absently where Tremane was.

Rebecca will distribute a schedule for all remaining meetings, Morton went on. One by one, I will meet with all of you and together we will build the kind of country President Howell imagined, dreamed of, worked so hard toward developing.

Heads nodded up and down.

Jeremy? the president asked. You will be able to attend all the meetings as my chief of staff, won’t you?

Jeremy stared at the president for an uncomfortable ten seconds before replying, Certainly, Mr. President.

Morton nodded his satisfaction. T.J., he said, turning to his press secretary. I will address the nation and a joint session of Congress on Tuesday evening. Please set it up.

Yes, Mr. President.

Barton, Morton said to Braxler. Find a replacement for Speaker of the House as soon as possible. Your nomination as vice president will go to the Senate tomorrow. He looked at majority leader Senator Wilson. I expect no delays in the confirmation process, Emile.

There will be none, Mr. President, Wilson replied resolutely.

Good. I want a thirty day period of mourning for the country. That means flags will be flown at half staff at all government facilities for thirty days. Encourage individual states and cities to hold memorial ceremonies for our fallen president and if they do not have the funds to hold these memorials, make sure they get them.

I think that’s a fine idea, Mr. President, Margaret said.

President Morton nodded and looked around the room, his eyes stopping on and seemingly appraising each person there. Please be prepared for these individual meetings, he said seriously. I want to know how you are going to speed up the implementation of President Howell’s policies, and what help you will need from the executive branch in order to do so. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This is the manner in which we will honor President Howell’s vision for America. By assuring that his vision is carried out quickly and efficiently. Keep in mind the kind of country we want our children to grow up in. We have, for the past six months, made tremendous strides toward achieving that America, and only by our labor and our diligence will we make it a reality. He smiled wanly and added, Please take the evening to rest and charge up the batteries. Tomorrow will be a busy and stressful day. Just remember: It is the first day of our mission. God bless you and God bless America.

Slowly the attendees filed out of the Cabinet Room, many lingering in the hall, talking in subdued voices.

As Jeremy started to leave, President Morton called him back.

Jeremy, wait a second, please.

Closing the door behind him, Jeremy turned to the president. They were the only two people in the Cabinet Room. Yes, sir?

President Morton came up to the chief of staff and put a hand gently on his shoulder. How is Grace? he asked, a look of deep concern on his face.

She’s better, sir, Jeremy replied. She will probably come home in a couple of days. But I don’t think she’ll be released to attend the funeral tomorrow. He frowned at the thought of his wife stuck in the hospital when the services were conducted for President Howell. They want to keep her under observation for a few more days.

President Morton nodded solemnly. Let her know our prayers are with her.

Yes, sir, Jeremy replied. Thank you, sir.

University Medical Center

Georgetown

7:30 P.M.

Doctor Hazelton sat at the nurse’s station, pecking away at a computer keyboard and frowning at the screen. Her dark hair, piled on top of her head, dropped errant strands down over her face, which she impatiently pushed back up, only to have them fall again.

She sensed the commotion before she heard it. Glancing up curiously, her attention was drawn to the front door where there seemed to be a traffic jam of some sort. She pulled off her glasses and let them drop to her chest on a gold-braided cord. The doors to the hospital burst open and several people came toward her.

Oh, my God! she whispered, nudging the nurse who sat next to her. Look who’s here.

The nurse gasped, stood quickly and patted her hair in place with her hand. Doctor Hazelton did the same, brushing back strands of hair and smoothing out her lab coat. They stood at attention, gawking at the figure approaching the nurse’s station, surrounded by an entourage consisting of Rebecca Samuels and four Secret Service agents.

Good evening, ladies, President Morton’s voice boomed down the quiet hall.

Good evening, Mr. President, Doctor Hazelton replied, looking askance at the people surrounding the president. How can I help you, sir?

Grace Cummings Holt, the president replied, smiling pleasantly. I would like to see her.

Doctor Hazelton was about to say something about the number of people with the president when Rebecca stepped forward.

Just the two of us, she explained. The president and I will visit Grace. The others will stay here.

Very well, Doctor Hazelton said, relieved that she didn’t have to deny access to all those people. Please follow me.

As they walked down the hall toward Grace’s room, the president asked the doctor, How is she doing?

She’s doing well, sir, the doctor replied. We’re going to keep her for observation for a few days.

When can I have her back? the president asked. She’s my national security advisor.

Yes, sir, I know, Doctor Hazelton replied, nodding her head. I’ll probably send her home on Wednesday, but she will have to take it easy for a few days. She stopped at Grace’s room and knocked softly, then swung the door open wide.

Gathered around Grace’s bed were Jeremy, T.J. and the professor, Paul Norris and Nancy Miles. All looked up, surprised to see the president there.

Mr. President! Grace exclaimed. She fussed with her hair nervously.

I wanted to come personally, Grace, President Morton explained. When one of my cabinet is in the hospital, I want to be there. He nodded to the others who parted so he could step up close to the bed. He did so and took Grace’s hand. The doctor tells me she’s going to send you home on Wednesday. Do you feel up to it?

I feel fine, Mr. President, Grace replied firmly. I just want to get back to work as soon as possible.

Morton looked at Jeremy who nodded. Well, you’ll be home for a week or so. Perhaps I can find something for you to do while you are convalescing.

Grace smiled broadly. That’s just what I need, she said brightly.

Jeremy nodded agreement. It would be the best thing for her at this point, he assured the president. Otherwise she’ll be driving everyone nuts.

Grace smiled sweetly at her husband while her friends all chuckled, fully aware that Grace would, indeed drive everyone nuts if she didn’t have work to do.

The president smiled and patted her hand gently. You get better, he ordered. We’ll find something to keep you busy.

Thank you, sir, Grace said. I’m feeling better already.

I will see you soon, President Morton said, patting her hand again. He turned toward the door. Busy day tomorrow, people. Jeremy, I’ll see you at the morning briefing. He opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

Yes, sir, Jeremy said.

The president closed the door behind him and rejoined his Secret Service escort and other well wishers in the waiting room.

Rebecca kissed Grace on the cheek. I have to run, too, honey, she said. Some last minute items the president wants to take care of tonight. I will see you tomorrow.

Thank you, Beck, Grace said, squeezing her friend’s hand. Thank you for coming, and give my love to Peter.

I will. Poor guy, he’s slaving over that dissertation. She glanced at Professor Trudeau. He says he has a real slave driver as head of his supervisory committee.

Hmm, the professor pondered. Anyone we know?

They all laughed lightheartedly and began filing out of Grace’s room.

You’re a celebrity in this hospital now, Grace, T.J. said jokingly.

Yes, that’s true, Paul Norris agreed. So milk it for all you can.

Grace smiled. Maybe I can get one of these nurses to buy me a hamburger.

We’ll have pizza as soon as you’re better, Nancy said.

You’ve got a deal! Grace exclaimed.

After letting Jeremy know they would wait for him in the car, everyone left. Jeremy sat on the side of Grace’s bed, taking her hands in his. You look good, baby, he observed. But how are you feeling? I mean up here? He pointed to his head.

I’m so disappointed, Jere, she said softly. I wanted that baby so badly.

Everything is going to be fine, honey, was all he could think of to say.

Doctor Hazelton told me I could still conceive. She looked up at him with concern on her face. How would you feel about that?

Jeremy smiled and kissed her forehead. Anytime you’re ready, Grace, he said. Anytime you’re ready.

Outside the others were mingling around the limousine when Jeremy came out. I gave her my notes on the meeting, he said, that’ll keep her mind occupied.

She looks much better that she did last night, T.J. observed, accompanied by the nods of agreement from the others. I was so scared that… she stopped and looked at Jeremy. But you must have been terrified, Jeremy.

He nodded. That’s a good word for it, T.J. He looked at his watch. Better get going. Tomorrow is going to be a very sad day.

They all climbed into the limousine and Bennie drove away, his passengers riding in silence as they made their way through the streets of Georgetown, the funeral for President Howell heavy on everyone’s mind.

After Jeremy’s limo dropped off Professor Trudeau and T.J., Bennie steered the car back into traffic and asked over his shoulder, Home, sir?

Jeremy looked up, staring at Bennie as if he had not heard him. Just as Bennie was about to repeat the question, Jeremy shook his head and replied, No, Bennie. Take me to the White House.

Bennie pulled up to the White House’s private entrance and Jeremy got out of the car, looking up at the stately building.

Please wait, Bennie, Jeremy said as he entered the White House. He made his way to the East Room where President Howell lay in repose and stepped into the room quietly. Mrs. Howell was knelt down in front of the casket, a small hanky held to her nose. She did not see Jeremy come in.

He knelt down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. She looked up at him, gave him a brave smile, her bottom lip trembling, and leaned gently against his shoulder. He nodded, tears in his eyes, and they both lowered their heads in prayer.

Islamic Society for Central Illinois

Chicago

10:00 P.M.

General Raeder sat in the command trailer, sipping coffee and mulling over the sealed orders which had been delivered to him by special messenger. The orders were clear:

General Raeder read the orders over again and set them down on the small desk. During the time the Militia was formed and trained he knew instinctively they would have something to do with the Muslim problem, and knew the measures taken would be harsh.  Until now, with the written orders lying on the desk in front of him, he hadn’t really believed that this day would actually arrive, but it had.

John Pettigrew, the colonel in charge of the Chicago area Militia, poked his head in the trailer and looked around curiously.

Any coffee left, sir? he inquired.

Raeder nodded. Just made a fresh pot.

Great, Pettigrew said, climbing into the trailer and pouring himself a cup of coffee. He looked down at the message on the desk. Anything important? he asked.

You might say so, General Raeder replied, handing Pettigrew the message. It appears that we have talked the talk, and now we are about to walk the walk.

Pettigrew read the orders while sipping his coffee. Well! he exclaimed. It’s about friggin’ time!

Moscow

Monday, July 8

7:00 A.M. Local time

An early riser, President Zubenkov sat at his desk, sipping a glass of hot tea and reading his morning briefing papers. General Kobokov, who was not an early riser, sat in a chair, sleepily drinking coffee in an attempt to remain alert. His president’s penchant for early morning meetings always grated on him, but he kept his displeasure to himself. At times when he thought about it, he realized bitterly he kept much to himself.

Romanov will represent us at President Howell’s funeral, the president said without looking up from his reports. I have sent a sympathetic letter to President Morton, expressing the deep regrets of the Russian people in this time of American grief. He waved his hand dismissively. Blah, blah, blah.

Kobokov nodded even though the president was studying his briefing reports and not looking at him.

The president closed the folder and handed it to the general. I have made notes where I want changes to these reports, he said. He leaned back in his chair and fiddled with his gold fountain pen. I think now is the time to approach the Americans and establish a climate of détente. He smiled and added, The NEW détente. It has a distinct ring to it, don’t you think, General?

Yes, Mr. President, but…

But what? Something is on your mind?

The new president is Zachary Taylor Morton, the general observed unnecessarily.

And?

He is not nearly the diplomat that President Howell was.

That’s saying a lot, Nicolai, the president replied, a small smile on his face. Considering that President Howell was a disastrous diplomat himself.

Shall I ask the prime minister to make overtures, Mr. President?

Zubenkov nodded without answering, his mind elsewhere. I wonder why we haven’t heard from Boris.

Perhaps he is dead, Mr. President.

And Luksa Baranauskas, has he been spotted?

No, he has not.

So, perhaps Boris did the job and is hiding under the radar, so to speak?

I believe he would find a way to contact us, Mr. President.

You believe him to be alive, don’t you?

The general fidgeted in his chair. I do not know. I have put out the feelers, but no one has reported yet.

Well, the president said, standing and setting his fountain pen down on the desk, a sign that the meeting was over, if Baranauskas is nowhere to be found, and we cannot contact Boris, is it possible he killed Luksa and has been arrested?

Yes, it is possible, but I’m sure we would have heard.

Boris has never failed us, General. Never. I have to believe he liquidated Baranauskas and is either in custody or gone underground.

Or perhaps dead?

President Zubenkov mulled that over. Perhaps, but I prefer to think of the positive, not the negative. He came around the desk and put an affectionate hand on the general’s shoulder, easing him toward the door. Until we know otherwise, we shall assume Boris was successful.

If Baranauskas is alive… the general began.

Then we know Boris is not, the president finished for him.

Washington, D.C.

Monday, July 8

11:00 A.M.

A bright sun and cloudless sky framed the solemn events taking place in the nation’s capitol. The funeral procession began at the White House, snaking its way down 17th Street to Constitution Ave, then slanting down Henry Bacon Drive, around the Lincoln Memorial and over Memorial Drive to Arlington National Cemetery where President M. Spencer Howell would be interred.

As with most presidents, Spencer Howell had the luxury of planning his own funeral. Being the strict traditionalist that he was, he turned the task over to his wife, who took