PROLOGUE
Blair House, Washington, D.C.
“Well, what the hell are they doing in there?” the chief clerk of the United States Supreme Court whispered excitedly. He knocked again on the door of the Truman Quarters, the master guest suite of Blair House. Behind him waited the chief justice of the Supreme Court, along with several aides, Secret Service agents, and Blair House staff. Who the hell would keep the chief justice and most of the rest of the world waiting like this?
A few moments later, the President-elect himself opened the door. “Come in, please, gentlemen,” he said, his ever-present half-smile on his face. “Welcome. Hope we didn’t keep you too long.”
“Of course not, Governor Thorn,” the chief justice responded, with a faint smile. “Don’t be silly — I’m the one disturbing you. This is your time. Probably the last real peace and quiet you’ll have for a very long time.”
The president-elect shook his head and smiled as if he was completely oblivious to what was going to happen soon. “Nonsense, Your Honor. Peace is a state of mind, not a function of time, place, or sound.”
“Of course.” The chief justice and the clerk looked at each other and exchanged a single silent comment as they entered: Yep, he’s a strange one, all right.
The clerk looked at his watch, then at the chief justice with not a little concern as they were admitted inside. The president- and vice president elect were supposed to be at the west portico of the Capitol in twenty minutes for the start of the inauguration-day ceremonies. The festivities had in fact already started: a military pass-in-review in honor of the outgoing president and vice president, a concert by the Marine Band, the invocation, and various poetry readings celebrating the first peaceful transition of power in the United States of the new millennium.
The vice president — elect would be sworn in first at ten minutes before noon, followed by a song or march of the vice president-elect’s choice while the players on the dais repositioned themselves. The vice president-elect, who happened to be one-half Seminole Indian, had chosen the “John Dunbar theme” by John Barry, from Dances with Wolves, with Michael Tilson Thomas conducting the New World Symphony. The president-elect’s swearing-in was supposed to start at thirty seconds before noon, timed so that at precisely one second after noon, the president-elect should be uttering the words “So help me God.” The swearing-in would be followed by the first playing of “Hail to the Chief’ by the Marine Band, then the President’s inaugural address to the nation, followed by a reception with the congressional leadership, Supreme Court members, and other dignitaries and guests in the Presidential Room of the Capitol.
Then there would be the parade down Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House — the newly sworn President and Vice President and their wives were expected to continue the Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter tradition and walk a good portion of the twelve-block parade route. Later tonight, there were inaugural balls scheduled all across Washington — about fifteen in all — and the new President, Vice President, and their wives were expected at least to put in an appearance and take one turn around the dance floor at all of them. Everything was being coordinated down to the second, and there was intense pressure by organizers on everyone — even Supreme Court justices — to keep on schedule.
Thorn extended his hand to the chief justice of the Supreme Court as the latter entered the room. “Chief Justice Thompson, good to see you again,” he said. “Here to do the preliminaries, I presume?”
“Yes, Governor,” the chief justice said, a bit impatiently. “We’re a little pressed for time, so we’d better—”
“Yes, I know, I know. The precious schedule,” the president-elect said, his smile disarming. The room was packed, but everyone was on their absolute best behavior, sitting quietly without fussing or any sign of nervousness. The president-elect had five children, all less than eight years of age, but there was not a peep out of any one of them except for polite whispers — everyone thought they were the most well behaved children on the planet. “We’re ready for you now.”
The dark horse had a name, and it was Thomas Nathaniel Thorn, the former boy-governor of Vermont. Tall, boyishly handsome, his wavy hair thinning but still blond — Thom was only in his mid-forties — with dancing blue eyes and an easy smile, he looked like anything but the fastest-rising star on the American political scene. As the founder and leader of the Jeffersonian Party, Thorn was the first alternative-party candidate since Abraham Lincoln and his fledgling Republican Party to be elected to the presidency.
The vice president-elect, Lester Rawlins Busick, the former six-term senator from Florida, and his wife, Martha, were inside as well, with their two grown children. Busick, a former southern “Reagan” Democrat — fiscally conservative but socially liberal — was an old political pro and very well respected inside the Beltway. But he had parted ways with his party on several issues, and had soon come to realize that his message could better be heard from the forum of the hot new Jeffersonian Party rather than if he were just another veteran senator shouting against the political hurricane. Despite Busick’s strong reputation and sheer physical presence, however, he was practically invisible in the crowded hotel room.
The door was secured, and the onlookers gathered around, with an aide discreetly snapping pictures. The chief justice shook hands with everyone, then said in a rather rushed tone of voice, “As you know, Governor Thorn, the Twentieth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States prescribes the actual moment at which you take office, which is one second after twelve o’clock noon today. Article Two, Section One of the Constitution also mandates that you take the oath of office before assuming your responsibilities as president of the United States.
“Therefore, since there is a big ceremony with a lot of people and a lot of things that can conceivably go wrong between here and the official swearing-in …” he paused slightly — they were very late already, so this was certainly a case of one of “those things that can conceivably go wrong”—”… it is customary to administer the oath of office before the public ceremony, so that at the moment your term of office does officially commence, you will have already been sworn in and we avoid any constitutional questions. I’m confident you will have no objection to taking the oath twice.” Thorn just smiled that peaceful, confident half-smile, the one that helped power him past an incumbent Republican, President Kevin Martindale, and a nationally recognized Democratic front-runner and all the way into the White House. “Very good. You have the Bible, I see, Mrs. Thorn. Let’s proceed.”
Amelia Thorn held out an antique Bible, one that could be traced back to President Thomas Jefferson’s family, in the direction of the chief justice’s voice. Amelia Thorn had been blind since an early age, the result of childhood diabetes, but hers was a true story of perseverance and strength: she was an experienced jurist, a mother of five, and had held a seat on the New Hampshire State Supreme Court before resigning to help in her husband’s presidential campaign. “Please place your left hand on the Bible, Governor Thorn, raise your right hand, and repeat after me: ‘I, Thomas Nathaniel Thorn, do solemnly swear …’ “ Thorn recited the oath of office flawlessly, passionately, with his eyes on his wife, and hers on him, lifted toward the sound of his voice. The task was repeated with Lester Busick, with his wife Martha holding the antique Bible open to a passage in the Book of Isaiah.