dependability, Mr. Franklin. It’s just… well, I’ll let your boss decide after I tell him, and he can select one other person to conceal a copy of the documents. How’s that?”
“Fair enough,” Franklin admitted. He left the room while Doug sucked in cool air, thankful that the staff had got the power working again.
Christian sighed and let it out. “Tomlin has been working with General Newman, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.”
Dead silence reigned while the others absorbed the impact of Christian’s announcement. “Yeah,” he said as he saw their reaction. “That’s how I took it, too. At first. After that I got so mad I wanted to kill the son of a bitch. And before any of you ask, there’s very little chance the information has been planted. It’s all true.”
“I’d better call Santes,” Doug finally said.
“Wait. Let’s decide what we want her to do first.”
“Do?” Fridge asked emphatically. “Do? We need to court martial the bastard and execute him!”
“How? Christian said. “That’s done by the military. Pretty hard task to get the boss of the whole military establishment to submit to a court martial, don’t you think?”
Doug understood. “The president has to relieve him from duty and order it done. But… damn, I hate to say it, but the president is such a political animal, I’m not sure he would do it. Oh, he might relieve the general of his duties, but even that would make him look bad. He might just try to cover it all up.”
“Or worse,” Qualluf said.
“Yeah, as much as I hate to say it, Qualluf, he might do worse than that. I just don’t trust the man like I do Santes.”
“But can Santes do anything? The vice president has no real authority, you know,” Christian said.
“Marshall will do it if we make this whole thing public,” Qualluf said. He clinched a fist, indicating his determination. “Especially if we let Santes in on it.”
“If General Newman isn’t on to us already,” Christian said. “He’s a smart son of a bitch, even if he did get where he is through politics. I guess we better go with the VP if no one has a better idea. Maybe she’ll come up with a way to handle this, but God help us if she’s in on the plot, too.”
No one had a better idea. If Doug could have crossed his fingers while dialing the vice president with one hand, he would have. While he was talking to her, Christian was on his military phone, advising his deputy commander that he was back at CDC headquarters and Qualluf was talking with the Church of Blacks authorities, giving them instructions to stay calm a little longer—and to exhort the rest of the black community to do the same.
Santes sat quietly in her soft, form-fitting chair in her prestigious but powerless office. She waved away an aide, saying she needed to think for a few minutes. She had two concerns. First, would President Marshall take constructive action or simply try to cover up, even deny what had taken place; and secondly, could Qualluf Taylor be trusted? One thing she knew that needed doing immediately was to inform her most trusted assistant where the duplicates of the paper and computer would be stored. She pressed a button on her desk and only a minute later, Baron O’Keefe IV entered.
Santes smiled to herself at all the amusing barbs and political cartoons she had seen since taking office. A Hispanic vice president with a man carrying one of the most aristocratic names of the eastern establishment working so easily and casually with her was grounds for endless speculation on the political strategy involved in placing him in that position. In reality, there was no strategy; Baron O’Keefe was simply one of the best political operatives in Washington, though he had mostly worked for the other party. When she got a chance to sign him on, she hadn’t hesitated in calling him for an interview, then hiring him halfway through it. She had found no cause so far to regret the decision.
A half hour later, O’Keefe loosened his tie and accepted the small snifter of brandy Santes offered him.
“Thanks,” he said. “I can’t recall a time when I’ve felt the need of a drink more. This is almost unbelievable.”
“Not to me it isn’t. You haven’t been around Newman and Tomlin nearly as much as I have. Now Baron, the big question is, do we let the president in on this or simply announce it first and then ask him for cooperation?”
O’Keefe rubbed a hand across his receding hairline while he sipped at the brandy and thought.
Santes knew better than to hurry him. He had a mind that could integrate facts, figures, behavior and implications of political equations better than anyone in Washington—or the whole country, for that matter. Not only that, he was seldom wrong in his astute judgment of people and how they might react under given circumstances.
O’Keefe stood up and paced a few steps, then sat back down. “There’s only one way to do this,” he decided. “Go ahead and announce. I think he’ll try to deny the whole thing publicly; it makes him look stupid for appointing both men. Privately, he’ll ask them to submit their resignations “in the best interests of the nation”. However, just doing that won’t fly with blacks and Hispanics, and particularly not with Qualluf Taylor. I’ve met the man. He’s no dummy; in fact, he’s brilliant. He and his staff are going to want Newman, Tomlin and Johannsen’s heads on a platter. You’d better tell the president what we predict will happen if we don’t hand them over; what’s left of the black community will go after his balls like a shark after blood. After the announcement, I think you should meet with the men and women down there who broke the story and wrap the rest of it up then.”
“Doug has already told me he offered to give up Johannsen as soon as the CDC’s finished with him. That was part of their terms even though it may not be strictly legal. But you think we should go ahead anyway? Announcements, then the meeting to wrap it up?”
“Certainly, even though it puts them all in danger. Men who would instigate such a world wide catastrophe will have no compunctions about killing those three men and the CDC Director. They’ll stop at nothing, and remember, we don’t know everyone involved in this affair. Those five jerks we executed were just the scum on the pond. The fish with teeth are still swimming around free. Now here’s how I’d work it: First, release enough information to keep the rioting and violence down. Give the poor souls some hope with the possibility of a cure. Next, ask for a national hookup in your name, then bring them all to Washington to introduce them—no, I have a better idea. You fly to Atlanta for that. It will go over better if it comes from the site where the plot by Tomlin and Newman and the white supremacists was first unraveled. That will be more effective politically, especially if the Director of the CDC is recovered enough to attend.”
Santes had been taking notes on her PDA, the stylus moving busily over the screen in her distinctive handwriting. When he was finished she looked up. “I’ve got it all, but I want one change. I’m going to release everything, including what we know about Newman and Tomlin, before I leave for Atlanta tomorrow morning. The meeting there will be simply for reinforcement and also to give everyone some heroes to look up to for a change. Telling it all first is also a precaution, in case someone has managed to tap into any of our conversations. Don’t announce that I’m going to Atlanta. Don’t even let the president know or he may try to stop me. And thank you Baron; as usual, you’ve got it right. It was a good day for the country when you came to work for me.”
“I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. I wonder if those people in Atlanta know how famous they’re going to be? And how much they’re going to be loved by some—and loathed by others?”
Santes had Baron O’Keefe begin preparations for a flight to Atlanta, with her recorded announcement to be made just before departure.
“Why there and then?”
“Just as I said, Baron. I’m afraid President Marshall might try stopping me by ordering my plane grounded on some pretext or another, or do something even more drastic. I guess what it comes down to is that I simply don’t trust the man.”
Baron O’Keefe nodded his agreement with her opinion of the president, then left to arrange her flight and prepare the groundwork for her announcement.
Vice President Santes dialed Doug’s number in Atlanta, where she knew they were waiting for her to decide what to do. If this didn’t settle the country down, she didn’t think there was much hope of anything else doing it.
