“Well, if the list had been more exclusive, we wouldn’t be here.”
Behind him, Ben saw the sergeant at arms making his way down the central carpeted aisle to perform his ceremonial function. Traditionally, since the president was not a member of Congress, he was not allowed to enter the chamber, much less address it, without requesting permission. In response to the request, the Speaker of the House issues a formal invitation.
The sergeant at arms stopped midway down the aisle and spoke in his deepest stentorian tones, “Mr. Speaker, the President of the United States.”
Behind him, President Blake entered, a somber, if not grave expression on his face. Everyone in the room rose instantly to their feet and delivered a spontaneous standing ovation. Ben knew it was traditional, during the State of the Union addresses, for the president’s walk down the carpet to take several minutes, as he stopped to glad-hand and exchange smiles with a select and predetermined few members of his own party. There was none of that today, however. The applause was strong, but also respectful. Everyone was cognizant that they had been assembled in the face of a national tragedy, at the request of a man who was not only the leader of the free world, but who had just lost his wife.
President Blake reached the front of the gallery without interruption and proceeded directly to the podium. Ben spotted creased foreheads on the faces of several of the bigwigs sitting up front. Traditionally, the president would present written copies of his speech to both the vice-president, fulfilling his constitutional role as president of the Senate, and the Speaker of the House. It was a token of respect; in exchange for the invitation to speak in their house, he let them hold the text in their hands. Today, however, no scripts were provided.
“This is very strange,” Christina whispered into Ben’s ear, just above the continued tumult. “Does this mean he still doesn’t know what he’s going to say?”
“Or perhaps,” Ben suggested, “he doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s going to say until he says it.”
After a few more moments, the applause faded and those in attendance reclaimed their seats. The Speaker of the House pounded his gavel and announced, “Members of Congress, I have the high privilege and distinct honor of presenting to you the President of the United States.”
Once again the crowd rose and applauded. This, too, was a long-standing tradition, but Ben noted that the applause faded much more quickly than it would during a typical presidential address. Perhaps that was out of respect for the solemnity of the occasion, but Ben suspected it was more because everyone was increasingly anxious to hear what the man had to tell them.
The president squared himself behind the rostrum. “Members of Congress, staff, cabinet members, members of the Supreme Court, and honored guests. Thank you for joining me tonight.”
Ben craned his neck to check out the two transparent TelePrompTers that were traditionally located just below the president’s eye level to the left and right of the podium, so he could look into either camera and still give the home television audience the illusion that he was talking, not reading. Neither of them was turned on. Now this was genuinely unprecedented, and it meant that the president, not generally considered a great master of the English language, would be speaking without a safety net. Was this address so top secret he wasn’t even willing to give a copy to the people who operated the TelePrompTers?
“There is much to be said tonight,” President Blake began. Ben observed carefully the lines etched in his face. Had he opted to go on without stopping in the makeup room? He looked as if he had aged a decade in the past week. “But before I proceed, I would like to ask you all to join me in a moment of silence in remembrance of the first lady of the United States, my dear wife, Emily Blake.”
Heads bowed. The president probably felt he could not actually call for a prayer, even in a chamber that opened each day’s business with a prayer, but he came as close as was constitutionally possible. Every head in the room lowered, and Ben heard considerable sniffling and choking. It was a supremely moving moment.
When the president raised his head again, Ben saw that his eyes were moist, almost limpid. He steadied himself and continued. “Emily loved this country. She loved everything about it. She didn’t care that much about politics, but she cared about people. Good people. Like all married folk, we had our…difficulties. But my ardent admiration, and my undying love, remained just as constant as her devotion and support to me and my work. Emily was indeed a unique, gifted, and very special individual. For those fortunate enough to call her friend, she was the best friend they could ever have. For the one man fortunate enough to call her his wife, she was a loyal and tireless companion, and quite simply the best woman-no, the best person-I have ever known.”
Someone in the rear began clapping, not thunderously, but in a strong steady rhythm, soon joined by many others. It was not so much a round of applause as a token of remembrance, like tossing dirt onto a casket.
The president cleared his throat, brushed away another tear, and continued. “But we must not let our grief over the loss of the first lady lead us to forget the many others who fell in service of their country during this cowardly terrorist attack. Eight Secret Service agents also fell, men and women who gave their lives in defense of the country, to ensure that our leaders are chosen by the people, not terrorists. Four civilians, including a”-hard as he tried to stop it, his voice cracked-“a little girl age three named Pauline.” He paused. “Her family called her Poppy, and she liked to skip rope, and to color pictures of flowers, and she was kind to her little brother, Kevin.” He inhaled, and once again Ben felt certain the man’s voice would break. “Now poor Kevin is an only child, unable to understand what has happened to the big sister he loved so much.”
The president turned his head to one side, blinking rapidly. A quick survey told Ben that he was far from the only person in the gallery fighting back tears.
“Major Mike Morelli, the man who in all probability saved my life, as well as others, remains in critical condition.”
Ben felt a clutching in his chest. Christina reached across and squeezed his hand tightly.
“We also lost two august members of Congress-Senator Tidwell of Oklahoma, killed during the attack, and Robert Hammond, the minority leader and longest-serving member of the Senate, in an equally cowardly poisoning. We have now learned that…”
The president paused again, gritting his teeth. What more could there be?
“We have discovered the remains of Lucas Marshall, Director of Homeland Security, who was killed in advance of the Oklahoma City attack. It appears that Director Marshall was killed in an effort to obtain critical security information that would allow the killers to do their dirty work. I don’t want to shock any sensitive ears…” He paused, as if allowing parents watching at home a moment to get their children out of the room. “It appears that he was tortured, slowly, then killed by…well, in the most painful and horrific manner that could possibly be imagined.”
This time there was no sound from the gallery, only a numbed silence.
“Members of Congress, if this could happen to the director of Homeland Security, the man in charge of ensuring the domestic security of this nation, it could happen to anyone. We have done much in recent years to tighten our security, but it is now self-evident that we have not done enough. The people of this great nation depend upon us to protect and defend them against threats to their security, whether from home or abroad. And on April nineteenth, ladies and gentlemen-we failed them.”
More silence. Harsh words, especially coming from the President of the United States. But difficult to deny.
“We have two choices: We can admit defeat, and leave ourselves open to attack by any demented individual or group with an axe to grind, or we can take action. I do not believe the people elected me to do nothing in the face of a clear and present danger. Therefore, we will take action.”
The president reached inside his jacket and withdrew what appeared to be a proposed bill, with the traditional blue backing.
“Some members of the press have suggested that I have spent the past week wallowing in grief. I can assure you that is not the case. To the contrary, I have been closeted with my closest and most trusted advisors, not only in my cabinet but in the FBI, CIA, NSA, and Homeland Security, for the purpose of drafting emergency legislation. Members of Congress, when you return to your offices, you will find a copy of my proposed bill on your desks. But I will tell you now what I am proposing. I propose that we stiffen our anticrime and antiterrorism laws to protect us from the enemy that lurks both outside and within our borders. I am not talking about another Patriot Act, something with a fixed term that will periodically need to be renewed. Until America’s enemies expire, we cannot allow our defenses to expire. Therefore, members of Congress, I am proposing a permanent law, an amendment to the Constitution.”
“I get why he wants it to be permanent,” Christina whispered. “But why does it need to be part of the
