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"Screw Oates!" Fawcett said coarsely. "The whole idea is stupid.
He's only trying to save his own ass. I don't have the credentials to drop the bombshell. As far as the grass-roots voters are concerned, I'm a nonentity. Not one out of a thousand can recall my name or give my position in the administration. You know exactly what wou
ld happen. The public would immediately sense their nation's leaders are floundering in a sinking boat, shrinking behind closed doors to save their political hines, and when it was over, any respect the United States ever had would be wiped out. No, I'm sorry. Oates is the logical choice to make the announcement."
"But you see," Mercier said patiently, "if Oates is forced to take the heat and plead ignorance to a lot of embarrassing questions, it might seem he had something to do with the abduction. As next in line for the Presidency, he has the most to gain. Every muckraker in the country will scream 'conspiracy." Remember the public backlash when former Secretary of State Alexander Haig said he had everything under control right after Reagan was shot by Hinckley?
Warranted or not, his image as a power seeker mushroomed. The public didn't like the idea of him running the country. His base of influence eroded until he finally resigned."
"You're comparing catsup to mustard," Fawcett said. "I'm telling you, the people will be incensed if I stand up and state the President, Vice President and the two majority leaders in Congress have mysteriously vanished and are presumed dead. Hell, no one would believe me."
"We can't sidestep the main issue," Mercier said firmly. "Douglas Oates has to go into the White House as pure as the driven snow.
He can't do a decent job of picking up the pieces if he's surrounded by doubt and malicious rumor."
"Oates is not a politician. He's never expressed the slightest interest in attaining the Presidency-"
"He has no choice," Mercier said. "He must serve in the interim until the next elections."
"Can I have the Cabinet standing behind me for support during the press conference?"
"No, they won't agree to that."
"So I'm to be run out of town on a rail," said Fawcett bitterly.
"Is that the mutual decision?"
"You're overstating your case," said Mercier mildly. "You won't be tarred and feathered. Your job is secure. Doug Oates wants you to remain as White House Chief of Staff."
"And ask me to resign six months later."
"We can't guarantee the future."
"All right," Fawcett said, his voice trembling in anger. He pushed past Mercier and Lucas. "Go back and tell Oates he's got his human sacrifice."
He never turned back but strode down the hallway and went directly to his office, where he paced the floor, fuming in rage. The bureaucracy, he cursed to himself, its wheels were about to rumble over him. He was so furious he did not even notice the President's secretary, Megan Blair, enter the room.
"Mercy, I've never seen you so agitated," she said.
Fawcett turned and managed a smile. "Just complaining to the walls."
"I do that too, especially when my visiting niece drives me mad with her disco recordings. Blasts that awful music all over the house."
"Can I help you with anything?" he asked impatiently.
"Speaking of complaining," she said testily, "why wasn't I told the President had returned from his farm?"
"Must have slipped my mind-" He stopped and gazed at her queerly.
"What did you say?"
"The President back and no one on your staff warned me."
Fawcett's expression turned to abject disbelief. "He's in New Mexico."
"Certainly not," Megan Blair said adamantly. "He's sitting at his desk this very moment, He chewed me out for coming in late."
Megan was not a woman who could lie easily. Fawcett looked deeply into her eyes and saw she was telling the truth.
