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She knew the White House chief of staff made the selection.
“The secretary of transportation.”
“Who’s great at building highways, but doesn’t know beans about leading this country,” Danny said. “Not to mention the constitutional problems with that succession law. I had it checked out.”
“Litchfield?” Stephanie asked him.
“Hell, no. The White House counsel handled it. That 20th Amendment and the succession law are a train wreck. Once the dust settled from a bomb, there’d be court challenges, political fights, chaos.”
She remembered what the voice on the phone at Kris’s house had cautioned. “And more, possibly fueled by the SVR in a misinformation campaign.”
“That they would,” Danny said.
She glanced at him and he nodded. “We also have an added complication.”
And she reported to Cotton, Cassiopeia, and Edwin what had happened in a northern DC park.
“I thought it best to keep that to ourselves,” Danny said.
“He confirmed that the bombs exist,” she said. “But we have no way of knowing if that’s true. No way at all.”
“Not yet, anyway,” Cotton said. “But Zorin is coming closer. With Kelly, and they’re surely headed straight for them.”
“The Russian government is about to get some chaos of its own,” she said. “The people making money over there like things exactly the way they are. They have no dreams of a new Soviet Union.”
Danny turned to Edwin. “Get State working on this. I want an assessment of who they might take out. Have the CIA advised and see if they can pick up anything. Since we’ve been given a heads-up, let’s not get caught crapping by the creek.”
Edwin nodded and left the room.
“Going to be quite a party here tomorrow,” she said.
“My last. They’re setting up the Blue Room now with cameras. It won’t take long. Maybe thirty minutes. We’re having a small reception for the bigwigs starting at 10:30. They’ll all be out of here by 1:00.”
“So there’s a two-and-a-half-hour period where the whole Fool’s Mate scenario could play out,” Cotton said.
“Not really. Fox and his VP won’t arrive until 11:30. So there’s ninety minutes, at best, we have to worry about. But 12:00 noon is the perfect time. Everyone is guaranteed to be front and center.”
She knew that other festivities around town would not get under way until Monday after the noontime public ceremony. On leaving the podium, finished with his inaugural address, Fox would head inside the Capitol and sign the necessary documents submitting nominations for his cabinet so the Senate could go to work on confirmation. He would then have lunch with leaders of Congress before enjoying the inaugural parade. In the evening would be celebration balls, the new president and vice president making the rounds.
“Once they’re all out of here,” Danny said, “it won’t matter. Everybody is too scattered. No. Our Achilles’ heel is noon tomorrow. Where’s Luke?”
The sudden shift in topic caught her off guard.
“Checking out more leads with the Society of Cincinnati,” she said. “Zorin sent Anya Petrova there for a reason. I want to know what that is.”
‘‘So do I,” Danny said. “Which brings up a fascinating question. What does a two-hundred-plus-year-old Revolutionary War social club have to do with the USSR?”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Luke sat at the kitchen table. Water bubbled in a kettle on the stove where Begyn was preparing hot tea. Sue sat with him and Luke wondered how much of this she knew and how much she was discovering for the first time. Her comments earlier seemed to indicate that she was more than a passive observer. He wondered about her mother, but knew better than to ask. He’d noticed some family pictures in the other rooms—father and daughter only—which made him wonder about divorce as opposed to being a widower.
An antique brass chronometer on the wall showed that it was approaching 5:00 P.M. The day had gone by fast. Snow had begun to sift down from an ever-darkening sky, and the wind continued to rattle the panes. A fire still burned in the grate, casting warmth and a golden glow. But no more logs lay in the wood box and anything outside would be too wet to burn. He’d already noticed a thermostat, which indicated that the house came with central heating.
Begyn brought the kettle to the table and poured them all a cup of hot water. Luke liked green tea, a taste acquired in the army from a fellow Ranger. Nothing fancy for him, though. No fruit or spices or cream. He preferred a simple blend, plain, nothing added, decaffeinated if available. Which Begyn had on hand.
His host sat at the table. Stacked before them were the plastic bundles from the box in the mudroom. He’d discovered that they were vacuum-sealed bags, the contents obscured thanks to the opaque covering.
“This may not seem important to you,” Begyn said. “But some things relative to the Society of Cincinnati are important to me. I’ve been a member my entire adult life. One of our ancestors fought in the Revolutionary War and was a founding member.”
“Are you the first to be its leader?”
The older man nodded. “That’s right.”
“And let me guess. You’re the last, until Ms. Jim Bowie here gets married and has a son, since women aren’t allowed as members.”
“Are you always such a prick?” Sue asked.
“Only when I’m being played which, by the way, both of you seem to be doing.”
“Peter Hedlund told you about the 14th Colony,” Begyn said.
He nodded. “America’s plans to conquer Canada. That was a long time ago. Who cares?”
“We do.”
Begyn’s voice rose several notches, which seemed to surprise the older man. So Luke backed off and listened about how things had been just after the Revolutionary War. A new country emerging into turmoil. Leadership at a minimum. A virtually nonexistent economy. Thirteen states fighting among themselves. No uniformity. No centralization. Both officers and regular army soldiers had been sent home unpaid after years of loyal service. There was talk of another revolution, this time a civil war.
The Society of Cincinnati, first formed in 1793, emerged from that turmoil. At first, no one paid it any mind. But when chapters organized in all thirteen states and its treasury swelled to over $200,000, people became frightened. The society had more money than the country, and soldiers organizing raised alarm bells. The fact that membership passed hereditarily stunk of a new nobility and a nation divided by classes.
“Patricians and plebeians,” Begyn said. “That’s how critics saw the new nation. Like ancient Rome, where the same thing happened. Between 1783, the end of the Revolution, and 1787, the start of the Constitution, this country stayed afraid. Those were difficult years the history books gloss over.”
Then, as Begyn explained, when French officers, who’d been allowed to join the society, began to donate money a new worry began—foreign influence and monarchal leanings. Finally, when the society started to exercise control over both state legislatures and Congress, lobbying for causes it believed in, calls for its abolishment grew loud.
“They labeled us ‘contrary to the spirit of free government. A violation of the Articles of Confederation. A threat to the peace, liberty, safety of the United States.’ If not for George Washington’s personal intervention, the society would have dissolved. But in 1784 Washington proposed massive changes, which were ultimately accepted, and the threat level diminished.”
Henceforth, no more lobbying. No more politics or hereditary titles. No more foreigners or foreign money. And, to quell fears of collusion, general meetings would be held only once every three years.
“Everybody seemed satisfied with the new and improved society and we were forgotten.”
“So why is that not the end of the story?”
“During the War of 1812 we were called upon
to help the country,” Begyn said. “In a capacity that was … in conflict with our new charter. Many of our members had fought in the Revolution. James Madison was president of the United States. He wanted a war with Great Britain and he got it. Then he wanted Canada invaded. That was the closest British territory, so he asked the society to draw up an invasion plan.”
As Hedlund had recounted. “That didn’t turn out well.”
“You could say that. Some of the journals here on the table, sealed away, detail those 1812 war plans. Called, as you know, the 14th Colony. They’re quite detailed. The men who drew them knew what they were doing. Unfortunately, the men running the war were incompetent. The invasion was a disaster. Afterward, we hid these plans away. About thirty years ago we purged them from our official archives. It was thought best that no one ever know what we’d done. I was told to destroy them, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Embarrassing or not, contradictory or not, they’re still part of history.”
He was recalling more of what Hedlund had said. “Charon knew about these journals?”
“Of course, he was the Keeper of Secrets at the time. He had them in his possession. But he violated his duty and allowed an outsider to see them.”
Finally, the good part. “Do you know who?”
Begyn sipped his tea. “Only that he was a Soviet, working out of the DC embassy. I don’t remember his name or position. It was back in the late 1970s or early 1980s. Brad allowed him access to our sealed archives, which was an absolute breach in protocol. We let it go the first time, but when it happened a second time, about ten years later with another man, an American this time, the president general removed him.”
“You got a name there?”
Begyn shook his head. “I was never told.”
“So if we open these packets up, all we’re going to find is our Canadian invasion plans from the War of 1812?”
Begyn laid down his cup and began to shuffle through the ten or so bundles on the table. “It’s amazing these things survived. These vacuum bags work. I remember buying the device, used for food, and adapting it. I haven’t thought about any of this in a long time.”
