Authors: Murray McDonald
Clay replaced the handset. It was the twentieth call he had taken that morning. The twentieth world leader voicing their disappointment, disapproval, or outrage at the mosque attacks in Saudi Arabia. The attacks had coincided with evening prayer, an error, he was assured. He couldn’t help think his captors had planned it for exactly that time. Even their staunchest allies were struggling to offer even the slightest hint of support for the US reaction to the attack on the US Capitol. Thousands of Muslims had been killed while they prayed. The fact that each of the mosques was run by a radical preacher seemed to matter little. The pictures of women and children mourning their dead husbands and fathers in Saudi Arabia had replaced the smoldering ruins of the US Capitol on international news channels.
The American people were outraged. Outraged at the seeming support for the radical Muslims who had destroyed their Capitol. President Clay Caldwell’s approval ratings, even after the worst terrorist attack in the US since 9/11, rose even higher.
Clay pulled the note back out of his pocket:
America needs to look after number one. Tomorrow, recall all overseas forces. The world can fend for itself.
What had looked like the impossible twenty-four hours earlier, looked like a perfectly reasonable response only one day later. If the world didn’t agree with how the US looked after itself and reacted to an attack, let the world fend for itself. He had no doubt the people would be behind him. His problem was the impact the pull-out would have around the world. It was the elected officials trying to maintain their electoral advantage that had made the calls to him, not the man on the street who would feel the repercussions.
He had wrestled with it all day and night. He would easily have the people’s support. The country was in mourning, they had funerals to plan and before that, bodies still to be recovered. The news had not improved overnight. Survivors from the Capitol were the exception, the destruction was complete. The building was a total loss and the chambers inside totally collapsed. The bomb had been confirmed as being the stolen Russian FOAB, once again proving to Clay that planning had been underway for months, perhaps years. His captors were acting out a well coordinated and detailed plan, the purpose of which Clay was failing miserably to understand. Whoever they were, they had to have had support right across and through government, military, and law enforcement. This wasn’t a small scale lucky plan, this was a mainstream global conspiracy, in which, by his complicity, he was fully involved, no matter how he sugar-coated it. Yes, his daughter, one nobody knew about, was being held to keep him quiet and subservient. However, there was a limit, and the world without America would be a world at war. North and South Korea, the Chinese in the South China Seas, Russia in Europe, Israel in the Middle East. One life, even his whole family’s life, could not be placed above those of millions around the world.
He had been unaware that the attack was planned on the Capitol. Had he known and been able to stop it, he would have done so in a heartbeat. Not that he believed for a second he could have, it would have happened with or without his complicity.
“Mr. President,” Ramona interrupted his thoughts. “The chief justice is about to arrive.”
“Thank you,” he replied absently.
Though his two military chiefs had arrived the previous day as requested, both were shadows of themselves. They, like him, had lost many, many friends and colleagues in the bombing. It hadn’t been a day for announcements, certainly not on the scale that his captors wanted. It had given him time to think, mourn those he had lost, and gain a perspective and resolve that had changed his mind.
Ramona left his office. She too was a shadow of her former self. The brash no nonsense, don’t mess with me attitude was gone. He hadn’t noticed until then. Something had happened, he hadn’t even thought to ask how she was, merely accepted she was there whenever he needed him.
“Ramona?”
She entered quietly, something was very wrong.
“Everything okay?”
The tears erupted the second he asked. Floods of tears and big hearty sobs. Clay led her to the sofas and sat her down, placing an arm around her heaving shoulders.
“What’s wrong?”
She brushed her tears away, “I’m sorry, Mr. President, with everything else going on and with everything else you have to deal with...”
“You’re as important as anyone to me.”
“The fact you even take the time for me, Mr. President…”
“You’re my rock, you and Val. Without you two by my side, I’d be nothing.”
The tears flowed again. “So tragic, so many people we know…”
He pulled her close, gave her a hug, and they sat in silence. Ramona was the hardest person he knew. Her exterior seemed impenetrable but he knew it protected one of the biggest and softest hearts he had ever met. She had been with him night and day the last few days and never once had the chance to let off steam.
At the sound of footsteps outside, Ramona jumped to her feet.
“Use my private study, Ramona. Let it out, freshen up, and take some time.”
“I can’t, Mr. President.”
“Well you can’t be seen like this, I’m sorry but you have a reputation to uphold for both of us. Who’s going to jump or be frightened of this Ramona?” he asked.
She nodded, throwing him the million dollar smile he hadn’t seen for days.
He directed her towards his private study, opening the main office door. Two Secret Service agents and the small and aging chief justice stood waiting. In his early eighties, the man easily looked his age but his eyes sparkled with a brightness of a twenty-year-old. His body wasn’t coping well with age yet his mind was as brilliant as it had ever been.
“Mr. Chief Justice,” welcomed Clay.
“Mr. President,” he replied, taking the president’s hand weakly and entering the Oval Office.
The first few minutes were spent discussing those that had been lost. Fond memories shared of good friends taken long before their time. A tragic day that would go down in the annals of American history.
After the pleasantries, the chief justice asked, “You wanted to see me, Mr. President?”
Clay desperately wanted to tell him what was happening but images of his beautiful daughter Clara kept filling his mind.
“Where do we go from here? I’m being urged to enact Directive 51—”
“Not necessary. We have a Congress and a Senate. Granted, their numbers are significantly diminished, however, they can still function. As long as a quorum is present, that is, if a majority of the House is in session, any legislation can still be voted and passed. Even one member in theory could vote and pass a bill, although they are open to challenge if a quorum is not present. We simply redo the math, as a quorum is a majority of either House. And the majority is a half plus one of the total number of senators or representatives, less vacancies. We have nineteen senators and forty-eight representatives. A quorum would be ten in the Senate and twenty-five in Congress.”
“I assumed we were without a legislature. What about the Senate, the governors can just replace…”
“We’ve been discussing that very subject in great depth. We, the justices, don’t believe the replacement of eighty-one senators at one time was ever foreseen and therefore their replacement never mandated within the Constitution. We wish to change that; flooding the Senate with unelected cronies at a time like this will do nothing other than harm our democracy. Congress is a different matter, it’s covered and elections do need to be held to replace House members.”
“I don’t even know how the politics of the survivors stacks up.”
“The same as they did before, marginally Republican in both,” confirmed the chief justice. “We’ve spent every waking moment analyzing this, Mr. President. It’s one of the reasons we believe elections should be mandatory for Senate replacements. We need to maintain the will of the people.”
“Okay, you’ve convinced me,” said Clay, delighted that the legislature would still be able to hold him to account.
“I’ll get the AG in here and we’ll get things in motion before the governors start selling seats in the Senate,” he joked, though neither thought it was in the least humorous or unlikely.
Twenty minutes later Clay was once again alone. The news of the legislature still in place was one that gave him hope. They could stop any craziness by his captors in their tracks. Although there were ways around the legislature, but there was always the Supreme Court to protect him and America.
He pulled the note out of his pocket:
America needs to look after number one. Tomorrow, recall all overseas forces. The world can fend for itself.
The instruction bore heavily on him, he was avoiding it. While they may have cleared the way for him domestically, his conscience remained.
The Chief Justice boarded the VH-60 White Hawk helicopter and strapped himself in. He wasn’t a fan of travelling by chopper, even one of the president’s own choppers. The justices had been relocated to Camp David immediately after the bombing of the Capitol. It was a beautiful location but the Justices of the Supreme Court, just like their elected counterparts, wanted to be back at work.
“Would it be possible to fly over the Supreme Court building?”
“Mr. Chief Justice, this helicopter can go anywhere you want it to.”
He looked at his cell, that wasn’t entirely true. Flying it into the building was where he wanted it to go. Accidental death would save his precious grandchildren, suicide would end his turmoil, but he was assured would also end their lives.
Convince the president to keep the legislature and require Senate elections.
They had contacted him days earlier, they had his grandchildren in their sights, he would receive orders which he would follow to the letter. They were watching and listening to his every move.
Mrs. Klein was nothing like he had pictured on his trip across America. He had pictured himself sitting sipping tea with a woman in her fifties, prim, proper and very efficient. Joe sat in disorganized chaos as a young, stunningly attractive and very ditzy Mrs. Amy Klein, ‘Please call me Amy’, searched through a mountain of notes and paperwork. All the while, stopping to pat and tell Sandy how super cute she was. As much as Joe found her frustrating, Sandy loved her.
“I know I have something here with your name on it. God, she is too cute!” She patted Sandy again.
“Oh I remember!” She abandoned the pile of papers on her desk and reached across to a table equally stacked with papers, producing a handwritten note:
Joe Kelly, new pool man arriving in next few days.
She laughed, and Joe smiled inanely. “Anyway, it was on my desk when I got back from my honeymoon. It’s from the chief of staff, so you’ve obviously got some powerful friends!”
Joe shrugged, he didn’t know what to say. He knew he had to remain under the radar but had no idea of the cover story. The less he said, the less he could incriminate himself.
“So sad. I mean, he wasn’t young or anything, about sixty or something, older than my dad, he was a lovely man though. Did you know him well?”
“No, you?” Thank God she’d added ‘well’. Joe didn’t even know the man’s name.
“What?”
“Did you know him well?” he prompted.
“Never met him,” Amy replied. Joe’s eyes raised skywards, she was something else.
Sandy walked over to Amy, brushing past him roughly and rubbing against her affectionately. He could almost hear Sandy say with her actions, ‘Don’t be so mean, bless her, she’s sweet.’
“Go somewhere nice on your honeymoon?” asked Joe, wanting to get the subject off of who or what he knew.
“Bora Bora, amazing!” she said, twisting her shiny new wedding ring. Joe focused on the lump of diamond next to it that would easily buy a small family home.
“You been?”
“Out of my price league, I think,”
“You know, now that you mention it, I’ve got no idea what your pay should be. I wonder if anyone else knows about your job?”
Joe remained calm. The last thing he needed was Amy messing up Clay’s plan to get him into the White House without anyone knowing. “Money’s not a big thing for me, pay me the same as the lowest member of staff and I’ll be more than happy. With everything going on, I’m sure people have enough to worry about other than a pool guy’s salary.”
Amy shrugged. “Okay, although that’s like $42,000. I mean…”
Joe had to stop himself from reacting. Forty-two grand!
“…how can you live on that! It’s scandalous,” she continued.
“That’s fine for me,” he said calmly, his mind racing at how much he could do with forty-two grand.
“Then all I need is your Social Security details, security clearance, and a copy of your resume.”
“Ah, unfortunately my luggage was lost in the explosion.” He pointed to the dressing behind his ear and the plaster on his neck as evidence while desperately trying to think of something that would allow him to stay and take the job. “Oh, I know, the Marines took my fingerprints and have my old record. Would that help?”
“Military record?”
Joe nodded.
“Okay, that might work, give me a few minutes. I’m sure we can work something out while we work our way through the rest and get replacement papers for you. It’s not like you’re going to be working inside the White House after all.”
“I’m not?”
“No the pool’s on the grounds.”
“So it’s not like a pool guy as in part of a group, like a pool of drivers?”
“No pool as in swimming pool,” she replied. “Is that not what you do?”
“Yeah, I mean there’s nothing I don’t know about swimming pools, quite literally nothing!”
With a scratch of Sandy’s head, Amy Klein disappeared out the door. Fifteen minutes later, she reappeared with a copy of Joe’s military record in her hand. The record that up until that day had caused him nothing but problems and one that years earlier he had given up even referring to.
“The Marines have been looking for you,” she said as she entered. Two Marines followed her into the office; the corporal that had taken his prints and a captain.
Joe rose and saluted the captain, despite the fact they had obviously realized their mistake and were going to throw him unceremoniously out of the White House.
“We checked your record and noticed something we are not at all happy about...” began the captain.
Joe walked towards the door. Sandy reluctantly relinquished herself from Amy’s affections and joined him. Without papers, he was never going to be allowed to stay on the White House grounds. The Marines vouching for him was his one and only hope. He hadn’t even thought about papers until Amy had mentioned them. He didn’t need to hear the rest.
“Whoa, Master Sergeant, what’s the hurry? We’re not finished here!” snapped the captain.
Joe stopped in his tracks. He was still calling him Master Sergeant?
“Yes, Sir,” said Joe. Sandy sat rigidly at his side, she too reacting to the captain’s snapping.
“You’ve got a disability compensation payment allocated to you and it shows you’ve not received one red cent in twenty-six years. You served your country and your country needs to recompense you for what that service cost you, Master Sergeant.”
“Yes, Sir,” replied Joe, not really comprehending what was happening. He had seen his service record, the dishonorable discharge for cowardice was glaring and had blocked any type of help over the years. To the extent years earlier he had given up even trying.
“It’s a pretty sum you have waiting for you, Master Sergeant. Don’t spend it all at once.”
The captain thanked him for his service, handed him an envelope, and left with the corporal in tow.
Joe looked at the envelope, not sure what to do.
“Do you mind if I see that?” He pointed to the printout of his records in Amy’s hands. Nothing made any sense.
Amy handed it over without question.
Joe scanned down the file, flicking through the pages. His military history was exemplary. Commendations, citations, awards. Joe Francis Kelly had been an impressive Marine. He scanned beyond all of the glowing reports from his commanders, his heart pounding with pride at the man he used to be. He turned the page, March 1991, the date of his discharge. He wasn’t surprised it wasn’t as he remembered. The reaction of the people to him had meant it couldn’t be there. Instead, a recognition of his outstanding service concluded with an honorable discharge for medical reasons and a recommendation for disability compensation.
A tear welled in his eye, he wiped it away quickly before Amy could see.
He kept scanning down, a time and date stamp for each entry into the file was listed. The last stamp was dated two years earlier. His file had been altered two years previously by a COTJCOS. Normally the stamp was a Marine position and surname. OOTCOTJCOS, Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Two years earlier President Clay Caldwell had been elected. Clay checked the date, the entry was dated the same day of Clay’s inauguration. One of his first acts of the president had been to right a wrong from over twenty years earlier.
“When do I start?” asked Joe. His energy levels had instantly trebled. He felt like a new man, a man with a purpose.
Shit
, he thought.
That Librium
is
good!
“Aren’t you going to check what’s in the envelope?”
“One surprise at a time I think,” said Joe. He was scared to look. As much as he hated his life, its simplicity appealed to him. Money only ever complicated lives.
“I think all I need are some contact details and we can get your pass ready for starting tomorrow, if that’s okay with you?”
“You do have an address in the city?” prompted Amy when Joe remained silent. “Okay, I don’t know you but you’ve been personally recommended by the president, you have a file that the Marines downstairs were wetting themselves over, and the cutest, smartest dog I’ve ever seen.”
“The president didn’t—”
“Anyway,” she waved. “The president, somebody up there, whoever, thinks you’re a good guy.”
Joe tuned out as she talked, trying to think of an address he could give her. One that wasn’t a national monument that would be too obvious even for Amy.
“So what do you think?”
“Sorry?”
“The basement apartment in our house?”
“What about it?”
“You can use it until you get somewhere else. We’ve got a big garden and a park nearby for Sandy.”
“What about your husband?”
“He’s away a lot. He’ll be pleased since I’m always complaining how scary that big house is on my own. If I know you and Sandy are downstairs in the basement I’ll sleep much better.”
“You sure?”
“I’ll call him now!” She clapped her hands excitedly like a child as she reached for her phone.
While Joe listened to himself being described as a lovely old war hero, the
old
emphasized a few too many times for his liking, ego, and confidence. He opened the envelope. President Clay Caldwell’s guilt had obviously weighed very heavy. Joe knew how the disability compensation worked, he’d tried many times to get it. He’d have been lucky to qualify for a 10% rating. Joe Francis Kelly had been rated at 100%, he didn’t need to work a day in his life again.
“Oh, and honey, he’s a whiz with pools, he can sort ours out,” Amy said, ending her call with her husband. She threw a thumbs up to Joe, it was all good.
Joe struggled to raise his with anywhere near as much enthusiasm.