The plane began to shake, mildly at first; then it began to shudder violently.
“Now, Mr. Caulfield,” the agent said again. “I really have to insist.”
The aide tried to breathe deeply, then wiped off his nose, carefully put away everything in his briefcase, and washed his face and hands. A moment later he was sitting again, his seat belt fastened, his eyes closed, his mind reeling, terrified about his mother, his brothers, and his friends.
Twenty minutes later, the turbulence had passed.
Special Agent-in-Charge Curt Coelho unbuckled his seat belt, stood, and straightened his tie. “Sir, it’s time,” he said.
He then introduced Oaks to the Honorable Sharon Summers, the sixty-three-year-old chief United States district judge for the Middle District of Florida, who thus far had been sitting unnoticed in the back of the executive jet.
“I appreciate you joining us on such short notice, Your Honor,” Oaks said as he shook the judge’s hand and offered her a seat at the small conference table.
“I’m horrified, sir,” Judge Summers replied. “But be assured, Mr. President, I’ll do whatever you need to get our government up and running again, consistent with the Constitution.”
“Thank you, Judge Summers — I’m going to hold you to that. How long have you been serving on the bench?”
“President Bush 43 nominated me to serve just after 9/11, sir,” she explained. “Senate confirmation went quite quickly, compared to most of my colleagues. I was confirmed on March 27, 2002, and received my commission three days later.”
“Thank you for serving your country,” Oaks said.
“It is my honor, sir.”
“Do you have a copy of the Constitution?” Oaks asked.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I always keep a copy in my purse.” She held up a small, leather-bound edition.
“Does someone have a Bible?” Oaks asked a few moments later.
“I have my personal Bible with me, sir,” the judge said. “Will that do?”
“It will,” he said. “Are you a woman of faith, Judge Summers?”
“Not growing up, I’m afraid,” she replied. “But I have to admit, Mr. President, the Ezekiel War changed everything for me. So, yes, I am now, you could say.”
“Very well,” Oaks said, thankful that someone with faith he himself didn’t possess could be with him at this terrible moment. “Then I’d very much appreciate your most earnest prayers in the hours and days ahead, Judge Summers.”
“You have not only my prayers but those of a grateful nation, Mr. President,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
Oaks appreciated the sentiment and deep down hoped it was true, but he wasn’t so certain that it was. He had been an agnostic for as long as he could remember. He wasn’t hostile to people of faith, not by any means. His own wife had found herself drawn back to the church in the months since the war. But he simply couldn’t seem to put himself in their shoes. He’d always been a Frank “I Did It My Way” Sinatra kind of guy, and he had no idea how to change, even if he had wanted to.
“Well, we had better not wait,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s get this done, and then we’ll talk about the line of succession and the chain of command.”
“Yes, sir,” Judge Summers replied.
She stood, as did everyone else on the plane, aside from the pilots themselves. Bobby Caulfield pulled out his digital camera to record the event for the nation, for the world, and for generations yet unborn.
“Mr. President, is there a particular passage you would like me to open to before I administer the oath of office?” the judge asked.
Oaks found himself embarrassed by the question. MacPherson had been the religious man on the ticket, not him, and at this moment, his mind was blank.
“Whatever you think would be appropriate would be fine with me, Your Honor,” he said, hoping to sound gracious rather than ignorant.
“Well, sir, ever since the Secret Service picked me up at my home and told me what was happening, I just keep thinking of 2 Chronicles 7:14,” she explained, opening up to the passage, clearing her throat, and reading it softly. “The Lord says, ‘If My people who are called by My name humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, will forgive their sin and will heal their land.’ We need a whole lot of healing right now, sir. Which means we need a whole lot of prayer and a whole lot of humility.”
Oaks nodded. “I couldn’t agree more, Your Honor. That will do nicely.”
“Thank you, sir. Are you ready?”
Oaks looked around a plane full of strangers. The only person he recognized was Caulfield. Marie wasn’t with him. Nor was his chief of staff or any of his military or political advisors. He felt alone and overcome by the magnitude of the task ahead of him. He couldn’t let it show, of course. He had to project strength, particularly here, particularly now. But the truth was he was scared, and he knew he wasn’t the only one. He could see the fear in all of their eyes, no matter how brave and professional they acted or sounded. It was up to him to set the tone and to rally a nation paralyzed with shock.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m ready,” he said at last.
“Very well, sir, please place your left hand on the Bible. Thank you. Now, please raise your right hand, and repeat after me as I administer the oath of office, from Article II, Section 1, Clause 8 of the U.S. Constitution.”
Oaks did as he was told. So the judge began.
“I, William Harvard Oaks, do solemnly swear…”
“I, William Harvard Oaks, do solemnly swear…”
“… that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States…”
“… that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States…”
“… and will to the best of my ability…”
“… and will to the best of my ability…”
“… preserve, protect, and defend…”
“… preserve, protect, and defend…”
“… the Constitution of the United States.”
“… the Constitution of the United States.”
Judge Summers lowered her right hand and held it out to the man who now legally held the fate of the nation — and perhaps the world — in his hands.
“Congratulations, Mr. President,” she said as Caulfield continued to snap pictures. “Please lead us well.”
Everyone applauded.
“I’ll do my best, Judge Summers,” the president replied. “May God have mercy on us all.”
21
The bloodred sun rose quickly over the desert.
It was already nearly a hundred degrees, and it wasn’t even six in the morning. The camp was stirring back to life, thus far unaware of the horror unfolding in the United States.
But Bennett and Dr. Kwamee knew. They huddled with a few other night shift doctors and nurses around a small television the camp’s chief physician kept in his office. Not a single American broadcast television network was on the air, but Dr. Kwamee kept switching back and forth between the BBC, Sky News, and CNN International. None of them could believe what they were hearing or seeing.
“… and to recap for those of you just tuning in, the BBC has now confirmed that four American cities — Washington, D.C., New York, Los Angeles, and Seattle — have been hit by nuclear bombs. Sources at Whitehall have confirmed for the BBC that killed in the attack on Los Angeles was American president James MacPherson. I repeat, the BBC can now confirm from senior British government sources that the American president is dead. He was killed in a nuclear explosion just as he was beginning to deliver his address to the Republican National Convention at Staples Center in Los Angeles. No word from 10 Downing Street yet, though we expect the prime minister to make a statement shortly.