A Heartbeat Away

Allaire.”

Ellis, her spirit suddenly taking flight, looked on gravely, mirroring Tilden’s worried expression. Thanks to her connection with Genesis, and her nearly disastrous encounter with Group C, she knew specifics about the virus and its horrific physiological effects. Was Allaire suddenly infected? Had he fallen victim to his own creation? That had to be it. Destiny had taken her firmly by the hand.

“Is there something wrong with the president?” Tilden asked. “I was with him just a few hours ago. We were discussing supply shipments. He seemed fine to me. Anxious, but fine.”

Ellis was pleased that Tilden had been excluded from whatever was going on, but she was hardly surprised. Clearly, Allaire considered him as much of a dimwit as she did.

“I, too, thought he was doing well,” Townsend said. “But now there’s been an incident.”

Again, Ellis felt a rush. Bad things should happen to bad people, she was thinking.

“What sort of incident?” Tilden asked.

“The president went into a rage during a video conference with the virologist who is working on the antiviral treatment.”

“Do you know what set him off?” Ellis asked.

“That’s the strangest thing of all,” Townsend replied. “Nothing really did it. It was like a switch had been thrown. Even the president admits that his outburst was disproportionate to the issue being discussed.”

The virus, Ellis thought. It could be stress, but she sensed it was infection.

Then she realized a downside to Allaire’s getting infected that she had not considered. Her thoughts opened on the horror she and O’Neil had encountered within the Senate Chamber. The lethal insanity of Archibald Jakes. The blood. The sickness and stench fouling the room. The wretched sounds of suffering. If Allaire was succumbing to the same malady, then this virus could be spreading faster than Genesis had led her to believe it would.

“So, does Allaire—excuse me, President Allaire—know you’re speaking with us?” she asked. “I mean, you are his physician. Is it appropriate to be discussing his medical status with us?”

“He doesn’t know that I’m speaking to you about this,” Townsend admitted. “But I have another duty to perform that exceeds my obligations to any privacy standards.”

“Duty?”

Ellis already knew what was coming. She had to hold on to the side of her chair to keep from floating.

“The Twenty-Fifth Amendment to the United States Constitution,” Townsend said.

“Are you suggesting the situation is so dire that we must consider forcibly removing the president from office?” Ellis asked.

Of course, she now knew that was exactly what Townsend had come to discuss. Still, it was meaningful to her to hear the words spoken aloud.

“I have not approached President Allaire about transmitting to Vice President Tilden, our president pro tempore of the Senate, and yourself, a written declaration that he is unable to discharge his duties. But this is a matter we discussed soon after the virus was released.”

Ellis knew the mechanics of the Twenty-Fifth Amendment verbatim. Tilden, along with either Congress, or the Cabinet and principal officers of the executive branch, could remove the president from office with a simple majority vote. The president’s personal physician held tremendous influence in determining how people would vote.

“What are you proposing we do, Dr. Townsend?” Ellis asked, barely able to keep a tremor from her voice.

The stars were aligning.

“For now, nothing,” Townsend said. “But Mr. Vice President, you are second in line to ascend to the presidency, and Madam Speaker, you are third. I felt it was my obligation to inform you both of the situation, as you, Henry, may be called upon to take the presidential oath of office.”

Tilden grimaced in an honest display of remorse. Ellis did the same, but her apparent dismay was anything but honest.

“Let’s pray it doesn’t come to that,” Tilden said.

“I suggest that we meet at least every two hours on the hour so that we’re all on the same page,” Townsend said. “If the situation with the president worsens between checkpoints, I shall simply summon you both back to the rostrum and we will decide a course of action from there. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” both said.

The meeting adjourned, and Ellis set off to locate Gladstone. Her mind was on the biocontainment suit she saw hanging by the Senate Chamber door. She regretted now not putting it on, as she had subjected herself to a high concentration of infected air. Hopefully, she would not manifest signs of infection until she had shepherded the Genesis bill through Congress. The video on her BlackBerry of Group C, and the guarantee from Genesis of a treatment, should be enough to drive the legislation home in no time.

Before she could locate Gladstone, she felt a vibration against her ribs. The Genesis messaging device, secured there with masking tape, was buzzing for her attention. Ellis made a hasty change of direction and returned to the ladies’ room, where she felt it safest to read and respond. The message from Genesis was simple and to the point.

They wrote: What is the status of the legislation?

Ellis typed back: Getting closer. Allaire is showing symptoms of infection. Has exhibited rage behavior that is worrisome to his personal physician.

Genesis: This is the time to strike. Get that bill passed.

Ellis: Tilden is still a veto threat.

Genesis: That is your concern, not ours. If you want the antiviral treatment, then you will need to find a way to pass the bill into law.

Ellis stared at the messaging device. She knew what “find a way” really meant. She was third in line for the presidency, soon to be second. More than just her ambitions were at stake now. She had put her life in danger simply by setting foot inside the Senate Chamber. Now, she needed the treatment. Of course, there was a way.

Consider it done, Ellis wrote.

CHAPTER 50

DAY 6

11:30 A.M. (CST)

Sergeant Stafford equipped Griff and Forbush with down parkas for the short walk to the bungalow where Rappaport was waiting. For Griff, it felt splendid to breathe fresh air again. One of the greatest pleasures of going down was a deep appreciation for the little things after coming back up.

The sun was a pale disc in a placid sky. It would be nearly set by the time he escaped from Kalvesta on his way to the Certain Path Mission in Wichita. Wind from the south whipped across the flat, frozen landscape and sent Griff’s hands scrambling for the lining of his jacket pockets. His footsteps crunched on rime as he and Forbush trudged past the same model VH-60N Whitehawk helicopter that lifted him out of the Florence prison yard just a few days ago.

“Isn’t that the president’s helicopter?” Forbush asked.

“No, it’s just the same model,” Griff said, his voice etched with worry. “But if we don’t figure out an antiviral treatment, it could be the new Marine One for President Rappaport.”

They entered the topside bungalow that functioned as the facility’s conference room. The sharp wind whipped the hinged door closed behind them. A portable kerosene heater in the corner of the room sputtered and gurgled while keeping the rectangular space at a serviceable sixty-five degrees. Griff left his parka on, hoping that