Sword of Shiva - Страница 35

Wainwright wished that he could somehow use the desk to mentally summon the wisdom of his predecessors. Perhaps if he concentrated deeply enough, their collective knowledge and insight would well up from the russet-colored wood and seep into his brain.

In 1899, William McKinley had signed the treaty with Spain from the Resolute desk, bringing a formal end to the Spanish-American War. Nearly a half-century later, the modesty panel had been installed to cover the kneehole, because Franklin D. Roosevelt preferred to keep his leg braces out of public view. Roosevelt had died before the modification was completed, leaving both the desk and the closing chapters of World War II in the hands of Harry Truman.

Truman had sat at the desk while agonizing over whether or not to drop atomic bombs on the cities of Japan. John F. Kennedy had coped with Bay of Pigs and the Cuban Missile Crisis from this spot, managing to drag the world back from the edge of nuclear war, despite Nikita Khrushchev’s promise that the Soviet Union would ‘bury’ the United States of America.

So much history had been made at this desk. So many bills had been signed into law or vetoed here. The futures of nations had been decided from the very place where Dalton Wainwright now sat.

But if there was such a thing as genius loci, Wainwright could not tap into it. For all its impressive legacy, the desk was not a talisman. It contained no power and conferred no special insight.

He raised his head about two inches and then let it drop back to the wooden surface with a dull thud.

“I’ve told you before, Dal” a voice said, “you’re not going to get anywhere by banging your head on the desk.”

Wainwright sat up. No one entered the Oval Office without an invitation, especially not at one in the morning.

Standing in the doorway of the presidential secretary’s office was former president Frank Chandler, Wainwright’s old boss, and the man who had dumped the presidency in his lap.

Wainwright stood up. “How the hell did you get in here? Did somebody forget to take your key when they booted you out of the building?”

Chandler grinned. “Nah. I left a window open so I can sneak back in whenever I want.”

The two men walked toward each other. They met near the middle of the room and shook hands.

“Damn, it’s good to see you, Frank,” the president said. “But seriously, how did you get in here? Am I going to have to fire the Secret Service or something?”

Frank Chandler shook his head. “Nope. I’m here as the personal guest of your Chief of Staff. He called and told me that you were banging your head on the furniture again, so naturally I came right over.”

“Ratted out by my own people,” Wainwright said in mock disgust. “Where is my faithful Chief of Staff, anyway? I want to kick his ass for hauling you in here without talking to me first.”

“I think he’s skulking in his office,” Chandler said. “Probably hoping that you won’t kick his ass for hauling me in here.”

“I’ll fire the little traitor tomorrow,” Wainwright said. “Or maybe I’ll have him shot.”

Chandler glanced toward the Resolute desk. “That thing is a national treasure, Dal. If you’ve got to thump your skull on the furnishings, we can get you something from IKEA, so you don’t go damaging presidential heirlooms.”

Both men laughed. They found seats in the big circle of chairs, and settled in comfortably. And suddenly, the humor was gone from the room.

“I wouldn’t have called you,” Wainwright said. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Chandler loosened his necktie. “Well, you know the old saying… I serve at the pleasure of the president.”

Wainwright stared at his former chief executive for a few seconds, but there was no trace of irony in the other man’s voice.

“I’m in over my head,” he said finally. “I mean, I knew that I was out of my fighting weight the moment you asked me to be your running mate. But I didn’t really think we could win the election, and a vice-presidential bid seemed like a nice way to finish out my political career.”

Chandler shrugged. “I didn’t expect to win either,” he said. “I think you knew that when I invited you on to my ticket. But here we are…”

President Wainwright nodded. “Here we are… Or at least, here I am. Because you left me holding the bag, Frank.”

The former president shrugged again. “My political career was dead after Kamchatka. You know that, Dal. I was the first president to order a nuclear attack since Harry Truman. And unlike Harry, I hadn’t just accepted the surrender of the Nazi powers.”

Chandler sighed. “If I hadn’t resigned, I would have been impeached. Either way, you were going to end up sitting in the big chair. So I decided to go gracefully, while that was still an option.”

“I know you didn’t have much of a choice,” Wainwright said. “And I know you played the best hand you could with the cards you were dealt. But what I don’t know, is what I’m supposed to do now…”

Frank Chandler leaned back in his chair. “Oh… That’s simple. Listen to your people, but think for yourself. And try to make the best decisions you can.”

He wiped his hands briskly, as though brushing off the dust at the end of a job well done. “If that’s all you need to know, I’m going to get back on the plane and head home.”

“I’m not joking,” the president said. “I’ve got serious problems here.”

“I’m not joking either,” Chandler said. “And that was a serious answer. It may seem trite, but I just told you everything you need to know to handle this job.”

Wainwright snorted. “Look, I’m not sure how much you know about the situation in Asia, but the whole damned continent is getting ready to implode.”

He looked at his watch. “A little over an hour ago, we shot down a Chinese surveillance satellite over the Bay of Bengal. About forty-one hours from now, the Republic of India is going to conduct a crippling attack against the national infrastructure of the People’s Republic of China. Unless my military advisors and the entire intelligence community are completely out to lunch, China is probably going to respond with a strategic nuclear strike. And the only way I can get the Indian government to back down, is to step into the fight and help them take on the Chinese military.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “No matter what I do, the shit is going to hit the fan.”

“You’re probably right,” Frank Chandler said. “But you can’t let that stop you.”

The president opened his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“It sounds to me like you’re trying not to screw up.”

“Of course I’m trying not to screw up,” the president snapped. “If I handle this the wrong way, a lot of people are going to get killed over there.”

Chandler turned his hands palm-up. “Well, I don’t exactly get Sit Room briefings any more, but from what I’ve seen on CNN, people are getting killed over there already. Tibetan protestors. A whole village full of Indian civilians. Chinese sailors. Indian sailors. Some of our own fighter pilots. And it’s only going to get worse as this situation drags on.”

The president stared at him. “What’s your point?”

“My point is this,” Chandler said, “you can’t lead by trying to avoid trouble.”

He smiled. “Let me share a piece of genuine wisdom with you. Sometimes, we get so wrapped up in trying not to do the wrong thing that we forget to do the right thing.”

“That sounds familiar,” the president said.

Chandler nodded. “It should sound familiar. You said it to me about six hours after my first inauguration.”

Wainwright waved a dismissive hand. “I was babbling. As I recall, we went to nine or ten different inauguration parties that night. The champagne was getting to my head.”

Chandler shook his head. “Pardon me for saying so, Mr. President, but that’s pure unadulterated horseshit. You were as sober as a judge. And that turned out to be a damned useful piece of advice. It kept me moving forward every time I found myself with a tough choice that I didn’t want to make.”

He smiled again. “So, now I’m handing your own advice back to you. Stop trying not to screw up. That’s a recipe for permanent indecision. Forget about it, and concentrate on doing what you believe is right. There might be consequences. Hell, there almost certainly will be consequences. That’s the nature of the game.”

He stood up. “Listen to your people, but make your own decisions. It’s all you can do. That’s all anyone has ever managed, including the men who sat in this office before us. And now, Mr. President… It’s your turn to do it.”

Without another word, Frank Chandler walked to the door and was gone.

* * *

The president sat for several minutes after the former commander-in-chief had left the room.

Finally, he stood up, walked to his desk and picked up the phone. He punched the number for the Situation Room Duty Officer.

“This is the president,” he said. “Start waking people up. I want the full battle staff in the Sit Room in an hour.”

He hung up the phone. It was time to get to work.

CHAPTER 40

FOX NEWS CHANNEL STUDIOS

1211 AVENUE OF THE AMERICAS

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

MONDAY; 01 DECEMBER

5:30 AM EST

The screen filled with an establishing shot of a computer-generated globe, circled continually by a swarm of CG satellites, each casting a translucent ring of simulated coverage on the rotating earth below. Superimposed over the lower left hand corner of the screen was the red, white, and blue logo of the Fox News Channel.