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Aides shuffled in and out of the room on an almost continuous basis. The large dining room and living room of the mansion had been converted into offices for Baxter’s support staff and the dozen or so essential personnel who had been displaced when the Old Executive Office Building had been shut down by the Secret Service.
It was one of those essential aides who quietly entered the room and approached King. In a voice low enough to not distract the vice president, she said, “Director Stansfield and General Flood are on the line, and they wish to speak to the vice president immediately.”
King stood. “Which line?”
The young woman held up two fingers and began her retreat. King watched her leave. Out of habit he checked out her backside as she sauntered for the door. It was nice. He’d been eyeballing her for the better part of the new year, but knew it would be trouble. Office romances were a big no-no. Stick with the married women, King told himself.
King made his way over to a credenza on the other side of the large study. After running a hand through his hair and checking himself out in an ornate gilt-framed mirror, King grabbed the receiver from the phone and stabbed the blinking red button.
“Director Stansfield, General Flood, Dallas King here.”
It was General Flood who spoke first. “Dallas, where is the vice president?”
“He’s right here, but he’s on the line with the secretary general of the UN.”
“Well, tell him we need to speak with him.” Flood’s voice was even gruffer than normal.
King held the receiver to his left ear and with his right forefinger he smoothed out his eyebrows. Looking into the mirror to check on his grooming, he replied, “As I said, he’s on the line with the secretary general, and it’s rather important. Is there something I can help you with?”
Flood, the highest-ranking officer in the entire United States military, was used to people jumping to his requests. Add to this the tense situation and a lack of sleep, and the result was predictable.
“Goddamnit,” bellowed Flood. “You’ve got some things to learn about the chain of command, son. When the chairman of the Joint Chiefs calls and says he wants to talk to the vice president, you put him on the phone!”
King pulled the receiver away from his face and looked at it with a frown. Under his breath, he said, “Give me a break.” Then into the phone, he replied, “Let me see if he can take your call.” Without waiting to see if that was okay, King pressed the hold button and set the phone down. Looking into the mirror one more time, he straightened his tie and checked his perfect white teeth.
Walking across the spacious study, he approached the vice president’s desk and gave his boss the proper signal. Baxter looked up and when the moment was right, he said, “Excuse me, Mr. Secretary. Would you hold one moment please?” Baxter covered the phone. “What now?”
“General Flood and Director Stansfield are on line two and they want to talk to you immediately.”
“Immediately.” Baxter repeated the word in the same tone as King.
“Yep, General Flood has got his undies in a bind about something. He snapped at me when I told him you were busy.”
Baxter took his hand off the receiver and said, “Mr. Secretary, I want to continue this conversation, but I must take an urgent call. May I call you back in a few minutes?” Baxter nodded several times while he listened to the secretary general of UN and then said, “Thank you.”
King looked down at his boss and said, “I think I’d better listen in on this.” Baxter nodded his consent, and King quickly crossed the room and stood poised above the phone on the credenza. When his boss reached down to punch the proper line, King did the same.
Baxter said, “Hello, General Flood.”
“Mr. Vice President, I’m on the line with Director Stansfield. We’ve come across some troubling information that we must bring to your attention.” In less than a minute Flood brought Baxter up to speed on what was going on in regard to Mustafa Yassin and the information provided by the Israelis and CIA.
Dallas King watched his boss silently from across the room. He listened to Flood, and in some t
wisted way the news excited him. King knew it shouldn’t, but this was real high drama, and he was one of just a few who were privy to this jarring information. The president was not as safe as they had thought.
General Flood moved from stating the facts into stating his case, and he did so with two sentences. “Mr. Vice President, under no circumstances can we allow the president to fall into the hands of these terrorists. Delta Force and HRT are ready to retake the White House on your order.”
Vice President Baxter let out the moan of a man who could take no more bad news. And then after a moment or so of fidgeting, he asked, “How can we be sure? Aziz has said nothing about the president in any of his demands.”
“We can’t be sure,” answered Flood. “But we sure as hell can’t take the risk of letting the president become a hostage.”
“What if this information is wrong?” Baxter looked up at King. “We still have quite a few hostages in there, and from what you’ve told me, the odds of them surviving a takedown are not good.”
“Sir, at this point I see no other alternative. We cannot, under any circumstance, allow Rafique Aziz to get his hands on President Hayes.”
There was a long pause while Baxter looked up at King. Finally he sighed into the phone and asked, “What is it that you want from me, General Flood?”
“I want you to do what’s right. I want you to give me the green light to retake the White House.”
