William A. Cozzano arrived at the Lady Wilburdon Gunshot Wound Institute via helicopter, roughly fifteen minutes after the bullet had entered his body. By that point, he had lost roughly half of his blood supply. He was trucked straight into a trauma room, where his chest was split open by Dr. Cornelius Gary. The President was in good hands: between his service in the Gulf War and the trauma centers of D.C., Dr. Gary had personally treated more gunshot wounds than any other physician in the United States.
Before going under anaesthesia, Cozzano's last words to his son, James, were: "You're free now, son. Go out and be a good man."
Dr. Gary worked to mend Cozzano's shattered organs for thirty minutes. William A. Cozzano died on the operating table at 12:58 p.m., having been President for just under one hour.
62
The first document in the black envelope was a one-sentence executive order that continued in force all of the orders made by Cozzano from the inaugural platform.
President Richmond moved her temporary headquarters to the Senate Press Room, which was easier to secure than the Rotunda, and well equipped with communications gear. She ordered a confirmation from all elements affected by Cozzano's orders that they had received, understood, and would obey. She faxed a message to the ops center on the seventh floor of the State Department and told them to send a copy to every other country in the world. The message stated that today's violence was strictly a domestic affair, things were in order, and full disclosure would be made soon.
She called in the Senate and House leadership. Each was examined by a physician. The Speaker of the House, who had suffered a stroke in November and been rehabilitated at the Radhakrishnan Institute in California, was declared to be medically incapacitated - the document stating so was already drawn up inside the black envelope; the senior whip of the majority party took over as acting House Speaker.
She sent out messages to all four network anchors requesting their presence in the Rotunda. They and their crew members were all carefully frisked and then ushered up to the Senate Press Room, where they interviewed President Richmond, who was flanked by the Senate majority leader and the acting Speaker. The most junior Justice on the Supreme Court had by now been rustled up and brought into the room.
The broadcast went live to all the networks at 2:08 p.m. Eleanor led off by making the first official announcement of President Cozzano's death.
Then she said, "You see before you the three branches of the United States government. Our purpose in being here is to reassure you of the continuity of the basic institutions of this government and to respond to the questions of these journalists, which will hopefully reflect the concerns of the nation."
A network anchorwoman raised her hand. Eleanor nodded to her.
The anchorwoman said, "Madame President. How do you feel at this moment?"
Cyrus Rutherford Ogle, handcuffed in the back of the GODS truck, had no idea what was going on until about 2:30, at which point the doors were suddenly thrown open and he was blinded by a rectangle of pure white light.
Framed in the white rectangle was a man in a black suit. Behind him were several men wearing dark FBI windbreakers. "Ogle," said the man in the black suit, "I've been looking for you."
"Howdy. Who are you?" Ogle asked.
"I'm the new Attorney General of the United States," the man said.
"I've been out of touch the last little while," Ogle said apologetically.
"Oh. I'm sorry. My name is Mel Meyer."
Ogle was deeply mortified. Not to mention confused. "I thought that President Cozzano was going to appoint-
"Change of plans. When you weren't there to keep things in hand at the crucial moment, we had to do a little improvising. I had to step in and fill the vacuum. You know all about filling vacuums, don't you, Mr. Ogle?"
"Well, I've done my share."
"But I think you'll be happy with the results," Mel Meyer said. He waved his hand at the FBI men. "I've directed the FBI to arrest you. I'm sure you understand."
Ogle didn't understand at all. "On what charge?" "Turning the Attorney General's best friend into a degraded slave," Mel said. "And a number of other charges which I have written out at great length, and which we can discuss in the fullness of time. President Richmond has ordered you held for a few days until we can sort things out." "President Richmond?"
The FBI agents grabbed Ogle's arms and hauled him up out of the chair where he'd been sitting for the last two hours. His feet almost slipped out from under him on the blood-slickened floor; they gripped his arms tightly and ushered him out the door and down the steps. An FBI chopper was idling on the ground in Taft Park.
"I hope you're not going to use the power of your office to pursue some kind of personal vendetta," Ogle said, shouting back over his shoulder as the agents took him across Louisana Avenue.
"Oh, on the contrary," Meyer said. "I've gone to great trouble to arrange a cell for you that I think will be to your liking." "You're not putting me in with crack dealers, are you?" "Absolutely not," Meyer said. "You'll be with people much like yourself."
"I thank you for that courtesy," Ogle said. They loaded him on to the chopper, strapped him into the seat, and lifted off, cutting forward across Constitution at a low angle. Ogle had a spectacular view of the Capitol dome out his window. He had gotten damn close. And now, in some way that no one had bothered to explain to him yet, he had lost.
It was okay. He was tied into the Network now. The Network needed him. As long as that was the case, he'd never have to worry about anything.
The chopper headed due south, crossing over the Southeast Freeway and then over Fort McNair, on the point of land where the Potomac and the Anacostia rivers came together. They cut down the center of the Potomac until they were south of National Airport, then banked into a gentle right turn and headed south-southeast, passing near the spire of the Masonic Memorial in Alexandria.
"Where are we going?" he asked twice. But the FBI agents either couldn't hear him or pretended they couldn't.
They flew for several miles across the suburban sprawl of northern Virginia, roughly paralleling I-395. The broad grassy lawns of Fort Belvoir were visible on the left. Perhaps they were using Fort Belvoir as a temporary camp for political prisoners. That wouldn't be so bad; folks in the Army called Belvoir the Country Club.
Instead, they came down in a yard amid enormous, drab buildings, surrounded by tall fences topped with swirls of razor ribbon.
Lorton. They were putting him in Lorton Reformatory. The District of Columbia was so small and so full of criminals that there wasn't room to build a big enough prison; they had built one out in Virginia instead. And now Ogle was going to be an inmate.
He reckoned they would put him in a minimum-security wing somewhere, maybe out in a nice wooded area. But they took him straight into one of the big prison buildings. Straight to a maximum-security wing, where all of the prisoners were locked in their cells all day long.
The prisoners hung on their bars and watched Ogle hungrily as he was led down the corridor in his nice suit and his polished shoes. They shouted things to him. Disgusting things.
Ogle was almost paralyzed with fear. Meyer had lied to him.
Finally they reached a cell that was empty. Maybe he'd be put there.
But they passed right on by it and continued to the next cell. This cell had one man in it, curled up on the upper bunk, not moving. Ogle just got a quick glimpse of him before he was shoved in through the door: his new roommate was small, stoop-shouldered, late middle-aged, wearing a dress shirt and slacks just like Ogle.
The massive iron door thudded shut behind him.