“As senior-most Secretary, if anyone should know what’s going on, it’s me, right?” Robinson asked Marcus.
The two colleagues tried several more avenues but they all led back to Franklin, a route as unhelpful as it was disturbing. The two men suddenly gaped at each other as though lightning had just struck them. Without a further word, they charged out of the office. They passed Ed as they ran through the corridor, but were going so fast they didn’t see the smile of smug satisfaction crawl onto his face.
When they got to Isabel’s room, Marcus was puffing. He was tall, but unlike Robinson, he was not a slight man. His career outside politics was as a trial attorney and though he’d made millions out of the tobacco companies for his clients, as well as himself, he’d never kicked the habit. “Ma’am. Bert and I… well, look… we don’t buy what’s happening.”
Bert was nodding.
Marcus continued, “We can’t get access to the President and…”
“He’s fine,” Isabel said.
“He’s fine?” Bert almost exploded. “I don’t know he’s fine… Marcus doesn’t know he’s fine… No one knows he’s fine except you and that damn Franklin. There’s nothing fine about that in our book.”
Marcus rested a hand on Bert’s shoulder and looked at Isabel, “Your husband was right, wasn’t he? Bobby is dead.”
Isabel gingerly pushed herself back into her pillows, her flinch worrying the pair even more. Marcus moved to help her, but she frowned. “I’m fine.”
“Now you’re fine too?” spluttered Bert, his voice almost a screech. “Hey, Marcus! Everyone in this whole fucking world is fine. The Vice-President is dead, but that’s fine. The President’s suffered a life-threatening asthma attack, something he’s never had before, ever, and that’s fine, too. We can’t even speak to the President, but he’s fine, just trust me. The Speaker is in hospital, bandaged to the hilt and can hardly sit up in bed without wincing in pain, but she’s fine too. It’s all fucking fine. Well, Madam Speaker, it’s not… fine.”
“Bert’s right,” said Marcus, playing good cop to Bert’s crazy cop. “In a situation where we can’t even speak to the President to confirm he’s alive… well, my advice to the Cabinet will be that we’ve got no choice but to assume he’s unable to act in the Office, at a minimum, in which case it is our constitutional duty to invoke the succession…”
“And have me declared as Acting President until his inability is removed?”
“Yes. And if, Madam Speaker, you decline the role, as you might… you know, out of respect for the… ah… political situation… the next in line is Senate President pro tempore.” The current Senate President was Eric Mallord, a Democrat.
“And after him, it goes to me,” added Bert needlessly.
“Gentlemen,” said Isabel, “please believe me. President Foster is certainly not dead nor is he unable to fulfil his duties as you and my hus… others are too willing to speculate.”
“We believe you, of course, ma’am,” said the Attorney. “But until we know that as a hard fact, and not hearsay, we have no choice other than to invoke the succession. Then, once we can be sure his disability has been removed, he’ll be reinstated. But meanwhile, this country cannot be rudderless. We simply can’t permit it.”
“Actually, I’m afraid you must,” she said, pushing herself further back into her pillows, this time without letting them see her pain. “You give me no choice…”
73
MANIFOLD’S AIRSTRIP COULDN’T take the highly modified Boeing-747 yesterday, so the presidential plane had instead landed thirty miles away by road, at the South Burlington Air National Guard airfield. And that was where it was now waiting to fly its passengers to Washington DC for the State of the Union Address that evening.
Back in the hospital carpark, Isabel and a small contingent of her entourage strapped themselves into the Sea King helicopter. As it lifted its precious cargo into the air for the short airtrip to South Burlington, the rest of the party of officials and security personnel were separately being ferried there in a fairly hotchpotch cortege of two bulletproof limos flown in earlier on one of the C-5 Galaxy heavy transport aircraft, several borrowed pickup trucks, some rented SUVs, and nine of Manifold’s taxis.