A Heartbeat Away

“If I didn’t call somebody,” Allaire said, with an edge, “either I don’t need them, or I don’t trust them.”

CHAPTER 4

DAY 1

9:45 P.M. (EST)

Ursula Ellis assumed Allaire had included her among the high-ranking officials he had summoned to meet with him. It took some time for her to realize he had not. Perhaps she had misheard over all the commotion, she wondered—either that, or the president’s gunshots had temporarily impaired her hearing.

Vice President Henry Tilden sat beside Ellis on the rostrum. He was a tall, gangly oaf of a man whom Ellis knew would never make anyone’s list of the most intellectual politicians in the land.

“Henry, did the president include me?” she leaned over and asked.

“I don’t think so, Ursula,” Tilden said, pushing himself up from his seat and carefully avoiding eye contact. “But I wasn’t listening that closely. Please, excuse me now. I’ve got to go.”

Yes, of course, you go, Ellis thought. Go be the good lapdog that you are.

Ellis remained seated in her designated chair, looking, she sensed, regal and composed. She had been a fourteen-point underdog when she won the nomination to oppose Allaire. A throwaway, many political pundits had called her, persisting with that notion even when she had shaved a good chunk of that lead away by the time of the election. One more month and she would have caught the bastard, she had thought over and over again.

One more month.

She concentrated on maintaining an appearance of composure. People were looking. Allaire had been an idiot firing that gun the way he did. She needed to appear above it. Many out there had to be aware of the slight the man had just delivered to her. She needed the power brokers and the doubters to see a woman impervious to the chaos engulfing them—a true leader, fearless in the face of impending disaster.

Ellis glanced sideways at Allaire. The sight of him churned her stomach. Perhaps now the American people would see past the smoke and mirrors of their so-called leader. Perhaps they would see that for all his cries for cooperation and unity between the legislative and executive branches, when push came to shove, the speaker of the house was being left on the outside looking in.

Well, fine, she thought. While he was slinking away to meet with his yes-men, she was where it really counted—with the people. Sooner or later that snub might prove to be Allaire’s undoing. Those waiting for him to handle whatever was going on had to have seen how his color had gone pale; how sweat dripped a rivulet of makeup down his Botox-stiffened face; how his hands shook. The man oozed weakness and uncertainty.

The moment the election results were in, the moment she had conceded, Ursula Ellis had begun thinking about the election four years from then. She had checklists in her study of her possible competition, within her party and Allaire’s. None of them was all that formidable. Privately, her advisors questioned whether this might be the time for her to step back from politics and resign her seat in Congress to gather up and re-form the scattered pieces of her campaign team. But she had the foresight to anticipate a virtual dead heat for control of the House, and had chosen to run for reelection to her seat while campaigning against Allaire. Now, here she was, elected in her district by a landslide, and back as speaker.

She had been guided in her decision to keep her seat by a persistent inner voice telling her the time was not right to pull back. That gentle voice, which had led her so unerringly in the past, made it clear that God had plans for her—plans to lead the country. She simply had to stay in the limelight.

Allaire surveyed the chosen ones. He looked as if he were about to faint.

This is it, Ellis thought. Whatever was happening, the president was not equipped to handle it. Sooner or later, he was going to slip—to make a profound error in judgment. And when he did, she would be ready to step forward. In truth, she felt certain her rival was misreading the situation altogether.

First, though, before she could stand in opposition to the actions he intended to take, she needed information.

Allaire was the consummate conniver. What was he up to this time? Was this some sort of demonstration—a test, like the civil defense interruptions on the radio?

Did he really believe that seven hundred of the most powerful and influential Americans were being affected by some virus?

If there was any truth at all to what he was claiming, then people needed medical evaluation and attention— food and water, not threats and isolation. But odds favored that the whole thing was some sort of scam. Allaire’s leadership skills were fraying. Hers were sharper than ever. If there really was a virus, she had the intelligence and charisma to bring the people together.

It was God’s will that she was in this spot at this moment.

Ellis observed that none of the president’s trusted advisors now gathered at the lectern showed any physical effects from whatever had been released by Genesis. None, that was, except for the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Admiral Archie Jakes, who was trying unsuccessfully to suppress his near-constant coughing. Where had Jakes been sitting when the vapor released? It would be interesting to find out—possibly very interesting.

Her body tingled with what she playfully described to her staff as her “Spidey Sense,” a little surge of neuroelectricity that helped her distinguish information which had value from that which did not.

Her aide, Leland Gladstone, was a badger on any task. He needed to search out other coughers in the chamber and figure out where they had been sitting during the little explosions. Child’s play for the man who would have been her chief of staff in the White House, and who still might have a shot at the position if things went her way.

Ellis then turned her attention to the more pressing matter at hand. Something tremendous had just occurred inside the House Chamber—her chamber, she might remind Allaire. Election opponents or not, the speaker of the house should have been a part of any closed-door briefing.

She rose and smoothed out the creases of her form-fitting black skirt. She was a trim, attractive brunette, who had once been the homecoming queen at Mississippi State. Careful not to call excess attention to herself, she approached the president, who had his back turned to her.

“Mr. President, excuse me?”

Allaire continued his exchange with Gary Salitas.

“Mr. President, can you give me some idea what’s going on?”

Allaire either ignored the question or simply did not hear it over the swirling commotion. Ellis felt a rush of anger, which she quickly parried. She was not accustomed to being ignored by anyone, the president included. Allaire continued on, as if unaware of her presence, now speaking in a hushed voice to his chief Secret Service agent, Sean O’Neil. Ellis strained to pick up some words, but could not.

“Mr. President, would you like me to join the team for the briefing?” she said, louder than before.

This time, Allaire turned.

“Ursula. I’m glad to see you. Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Thank you. But I’d like to participate in the briefing, Mr. President.… That is if you need me.”

“No. I need your leadership here in the chamber. I’ll keep you informed as things develop.”

Which means you won’t tell me jack shit, Ellis thought.

Allaire had turned and resumed his dialogue with O’Neil.

Ellis stood behind the president, burning with hatred.

“You okay?”

Gladstone had materialized beside her. Thin and dark haired, with ice blue eyes that at times gave Ellis the shivers, the man embodied what every congressional leader sought in an aide—charm, good looks, and a wobbly moral compass.

Ellis led him away from Allaire and the others.