Casing the Colors © Week 11

Casing the Colors © Week 11 • • • CHAPTER 21 • • "Who is it?" Kate asked, bewildered by the voice in the dark bedroom. "Vice President Wilson is dead," her father repeated, switching on the light. "His plane exploded in mid-air while he was on his way back to Washington from a party fund-raiser in Des Moines. His wife and the GOP national chairman were on board, along with two aides." "Exploded?" Kate choked, suddenly fully awake, "you mean a bomb?" "That's my reading. I just got the call from the White House. Stu's on his way to the President. If you want to come with me, you have fifteen minutes. Pack your bag for Mexico, just in case." Mexico, she thought as she dressed and tossed things into her travel case. What luck. And, poor Jack Wilson. Killed by shrapnel from the war on terror. Did Chelenko know last night that Jack was hours away from death? Trust me, he had said. Who did Jack trust? Poor, dumb, ambitious, dead Jack. It was almost 4 a.m. when they arrived at the White House. The President was hysterical. "How in God's name could anyone simply blow up the Vice President's plane?" he thundered, slamming his hand on the desk. "The plane disintegrated," Stu said. "It will take several days for the initial report, but it was almost certainly a bomb of some sort." "I thought we secured our goddamned planes," the President demanded. "How did a fucking bomb get into his plane, for Christ's sake? What in the hell are we going to do?" The others, trying to ignore his panic, reviewed a press release drafted by Stu Wellford and the chief of staff. The President retreated to his desk and sat tapping his pencil nervously, staring blankly at the draft someone had handed him. Gradually, everyone stopped working and watched him. He didn't notice. His rhythmical tapping continued for long seconds as his half closed eyes lost contact with his surroundings. Stu Wellford called the President's doctor, who took him to his apartment, gave him a sedative and stayed with him until it took effect. The White House press secretary read the prepared release to the assembled night shift press corps, just before the Oval Office swearing-in of the Speaker of the House as Vice President. Attorney General Morrison had decided to follow presidential succession law to avoid political problems. Congress would later ratify the Attorney General's act. The press secretary confirmed that the President was resting, but he told them that he was alert and taking diplomatic calls. The networks ran lengthy, glowing biographies of Jack Wilson from canned materials routinely prepared to cover such emergencies. The White House media corps talked into TV cameras about his campaign troubles and his courting of the GOP extreme right wing in an effort to find sufficient convention votes to secure the party's presidential nomination. The reports, analysis and interviews went on without interruption while the media scrambled to find anyone who knew what was going on in the White House or at the crash site, which had been sealed off. Stu Wellford had long since been accepted by White House staff as the person who wielded presidential authority. So when he arrived at the Oval Office early the next morning to give orders for the day's activities, no one questioned him. He sent the newly sworn-in Vice President back to Capitol Hill to brief congressional leaders and then he spoke to the President's doctor. Afterward, he settled in with General Gordon, Kate Gordon and Secretary Stevens to monitor world reaction to the Vice President's death. The first batch of official condolences arrived from Europe, where it was early afternoon. European politicians hadn't known Vice President Wilson very well, but they feared his conservatism and so they had one common, although unspoken, reaction. Relief that the next American President would not be Jack Wilson. Stu put down the sheaf of telegrams Bill Stevens handed to him. "We can deal with these later," he said. "First, we have to decide what to do about Mexico." "Keep the appointment," Bill Stevens replied. "It may be our only chance to contact Miguel." "I don't want to put Kate and Dave in danger," Stu answered. "They'll be completely safe," General Gordon said. "Jack Wilson was killed by someone who was afraid of being identified. Whoever it was had to know that Jack was too weak to stand up under our questioning." "Does Chelenko know who the source is?" Kate asked. "I don't think Russia was involved," Bill Stevens answered. "Katerinov wouldn't have gone out of his way to connect Jack to Raqqa knowing that Jack would be eliminated immediately afterward. He knows that he would have won nothing by delivering a dead link between Raqqa and his White House source. On the other hand, Jack's source had every reason to be terrified of what the Russians might be telling us." "In any event, we can assume that the source now knows that neither Kate nor any of us can identify him. So why would he want to kill her? General Gordon asked. "Whoever blew up Jack's plane realized soon after the meeting here yesterday that Jack was under suspicion," Stu said. "The list includes all of us, plus the Joint Chiefs, General Bennett, George Morrison and the President." "I'll have Intel check everyone out again," General Gordon said. "What are we going to do about the President? I'm worried as hell about him," Bill reminded them. "Can we walk him through his public appearances for Jack Wilson's funeral." "Stu, monitor his condition," Kate said, "and if it begins to look as if we've got real problems, we'll deal with it. I'm going to pay a visit to GOP headquarters. I think it's time to deal." "Be at Andrews by 10 a.m.," General Gordon ordered. "Don't forget you've got a date in Mexico this afternoon." • • At GOP headquarters, the trailing media quickly positioned themselves, cameras and microphones ready. "Miss Gordon, are you coming to mend fences? Did the President or Mr. Washington send you? What's your reaction to the Vice President's death?" She brushed past them, dodging the mikes held out as barriers to stop her. In the headquarters kitchen, she found what she was looking for. "Hello, Pete. Do you have a spare cup of coffee?" Peter Lowell, at thirty-eight, was the young wizard of the GOP. He had grown up on conservative Middle America Republican politics, where everyone was expected to believe and to work. He went to college, majoring in political science...and the election of Republican candidates. His campaigns at state and congressional levels were legendary for their skillful attack on every opposition weakness while wrapping the winner, always Pete's boy, in red, white and blue. He had a wife and a couple of kids somewhere, but his life was conservative Republican politics. He was campaign director for the national committee. "What the hell are you doing here? If you're applying for the candidate job, you'll have to get in line," he said bitterly. "Thanks for the terrific welcome," Kate replied, pouring herself a cup of cold coffee. "I suppose they're all over you already." "Yeah, and no one's wasting much time on sympathy." "I'm sorry, Pete, but you know this town as well as I do." "Just why the hell are you here?" he asked, by this time actually curious. "Well, I certainly don't want to be the candidate. We need to talk, Pete. Not today, but soon. Without Jack, you've got a real problem. Maybe we can solve it together." "You mean jump on the American Agenda bandwagon," he sneered. "No thanks, Kate. The GOP isn't interested." "We both know the party will be interested in whatever saves its bacon," she shot back. "After the funeral, we'll talk. Meantime, stay flexible." She swallowed the cold coffee in silence. "Shit," he muttered as he got up to get a Coke. "Shit." "Pete, I've got to go. I don't want to get caught in your staff's panic." "Okay. Call me, Kate, when the cameras are gone. I've got other problems right now. Thanks for coming," he added, not wanting to ruin what could be a new opportunity. "I don't know what we're going to do about Jack's replacement, but I'll stay loose until you and I talk. Kate," he added as she turned toward the door, "we both know that Jack was a bastard, but he was a lovable bastard." She fought her way back through the gauntlet of reporters. "A lovable bastard," she repeated mentally. "Pete had got part of it right." • • • CHAPTER 22 • • Dave Browning was pacing in front of the Andrews Air Field hangar when Kate Gordon's limousine arrived. He opened the car door and started shouting before she could say hello. "What the hell's going on, Kate? Secretary Stevens called me at five this morning to tell me a military plane was on its way with pilots to fly my plane. My pilots are with me, but they were forced to ride shotgun from New York." "Dave, everybody's jumpy after what happened to the Vice President's plane. It's just a routine precaution," she said, trying to calm him. "I promised there'd be no military with us in Monterrey. No military. Do you understand?" he demanded. "They can wear your pilots' uniforms. Your guys will wait here for us. We're just flying down for some tacos, right?" She put her arm through his and snuggled him until he smiled at her. He patted her backside and they walked through the hangar to the executive lounge. Kate found some coffee. "Dave, if the Vice President's plane was sabotaged, the military want to protect us. They're checking out your plane very thoroughly. It makes sense to have military pilots, just in case." "Just in case what?" Dave asked, raising his voice again. "What the hell good will military pilots be if there's a bomb on board?" Kate shrugged her shoulders sympathetically. "I don't know. Do you really object or are you just worried about your plane?" "Hell, doll, I can buy fifty of these babies. I just don't want to be caught lying in Monterrey." She suddenly realized what Dave was frightened of. The tough as nails wheeler and dealer who handled Carlos Miguel and caught rattlesnakes for fun was scared of the boys in Monterrey. Well, you're not the only one, friend, Kate thought, but I'll never admit it. General Barber arrived to see them off. He addressed Dave Browning's fears, telling him about the devices that had been installed in his plane to detect sabotage and explaining the military pilots' use of special codes that would bring instant Air Force support if there was trouble. "I know it's all going to be unnecessary," Tony Barber ended, nodding toward Kate, "but we'll feel better if you agree." "Well, General, now that you've spelled out the details, I guess it makes sense. Wheels up," Dave said with false bravado as he warmed to the game. Sixty minutes into the flight, General Gordon made radio contact with the plane. "Bill Stevens has received a message from Chelenko," he told the pilot. "You are to go to Veracruz, not Monterrey. Do you read me?" The pilot responded affirmatively. "We won't have time to check out the area in detail, but we'll have operatives in place for your arrival. The phone number Chelenko gave my daughter is for the Yucatan Hotel in Veracruz. That's your destination. A private limousine will be waiting at the airport for you. Good luck." Kate began to explain the conversation to Dave, but he waved her off. "Don't bother, it would only confuse me. Veracruz," he repeated several times, "not my idea of paradise." "I met a lawyer for you in Veracruz last year," Kate said. "It is definitely not Acapulco."