Transfer of Power

VICE PRESIDENT BAXTER sat with his mouth agape, watching for the second time Aziz’s nationally televised address. The heavy armor-plated presidential limousine rocked ever so slightly as it raced across the Chain Bridge on its way from Langley back to the Naval Observatory. A stream of motorcycles, police cruisers, sedans, vans. Suburbans, and two other limousines both preceded and followed the black Cadillac. Dallas King sat next to Baxter on the spacious backseat, his digital phone held firmly to the left side of his face.

King was already on his second call in as many minutes. He was in classic political-crisis mode and happy to be doing something other than obsessing over the imminent demise of his short-lived career. Before Aziz’s original address had concluded, King had been punching numbers into his tiny phone and barking out orders.

With one eye on the small color TV in the back of the limo, he nodded his head and then said, “No Don’t waste your time asking any of the regular questions. I couldn’t care less who they voted for last time or if they plan on voting this time.

I don’t want to have to say it again. This is an issue that transcends party lines. I want the nuts and bolts, and I want them within the hour.

We can go back and get specifics later.” King stopped talking for a second and listened to the Democratic pollster on the other end. He started shaking his head in frustration.

“You’re not listening to me. I don’t want you to skew the results… at least not yet. I want to get an honest feel.” King listened and nodded.

“That’s right. After we take a stance, we can go back and push for the numbers that will back us up, but for now I want to know what they think of this guy.” King paused again and looked at the small TV. It had not been lost on King thataziz came off very well on TV, a hell of a lot better than most of the politicians in this town. He was very well spoken, looked sincere, and was movie star handsome to boot.

“Don’t forget to get me the splits on the women versus the men. The soccer moms are going to eat this guy up.” King paused once again and then said, “Yep, put together a dozen questions and call me back in five minutes.”

Pulling the phone away from his face. King pushed the end button and looked to see his boss’s reaction to the speech. Baxter’s expression had turned from one of surprise to a mysterious frown. King asked, “What do you think?”

“We’re fucked,” mumbled Baxter without taking his eyes off the TV

“The press is going to go berserk over this failed raid.”

Looking at his boss. King thought. You think they’re mad about this?just wait until they find out I gave one of them a tour of the building last month. King gathered himself.

“The press will be fine. This story is so big and it’s moving so fast this little speech will be old news by tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t think so,” said Baxter, not yet prepared to look at any upside.

“This little incident has ‘congressional investigation’ written all over it.”

King looked at his boss, who was still staring at the TV with a look of defeat on his face.

“This whole thing, from start to finish, has ‘congressional investigation’ written all over it, and this one incident will be a footnote… Besides, we insulated ourselves from it. General Flood has already taken the blame, and he did it right in front of Director Roach… the man who will eventually investigate the whole thing.”

“I don’t know… It still stinks.”

“The whole thing stinks. You just have to remember, when this is all over, it’s gonna be the guy who stinks the least who comes out smelling like a rose.” King pointed at his boss.

“And I’m going to make sure that guy is you.”

“Dallas”-Baxter grimaced-“I don’t think you’re being realistic about this. All of this stuff is not just going to be swept under the rug. The press is going to want answers, and they are going to want to know if I authorized sending those men in last night.”

King shifted sideways in his seat. He wanted to choke his boss and scream, “If only you had my problems!” Instead in a calming voice, he said for the last time, don’t worry about the press. I can handle them.

You need to get your spirits back up and start acting like the president. We’re going to have to react to this new development, and if the polls come back the way I think they will, we really might have a chance to squeeze our way out of this mess.”

Baxter turned his head toward his aide and asked, “How?”

“I haven’t figured it out yet, but I will.”

Baxter looked away from King and checked his watch.

Then with a sigh, he said, “I suppose I’d better call a meeting with the National Security Council.”

King nodded.

“That would seem to be the next logical step.”

Baxter waved his right hand as if shooing away a fly.

“Take care of it.”

“When and where?”

Twisting his lips, Baxter gazed out the window and said, “Ten o’clock at the Pentagon.”