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Hannah feels the weight of history upon her, knowing that this has to go right, no matter the emergency, the lack of time, and she says, “A Bible! We need a Bible!”
More than a century ago, upon the death of President Warren G. Harding, his vice president Calvin Coolidge took the oath of office by kerosene lamp in a Vermont farmhouse, administered by his father, a notary public and justice of the peace. As a cabinet member, Hannah is confident this oath-taking will hold up as well.
One of the nurses ducks out, comes back with a purse, pulls out a small yet thick leather-bound book. With a slight accent, she says, “It’s Spanish, is that okay?”
“It’ll work,” Hannah says, stepping forward. She hands her phone to Noa and says, “Noa, record this, will you?”
Noa says, weakly, “Director, I’m hurting something bad. I think I’m gonna faint.”
Hannah says, “Noa Himel, I’m ordering you not to faint within the next thirty seconds.”
She takes the vice president’s left hand, with IV tubes running out, and places it on the soft leather cover.
“Madam Vice President, please lift up your right hand, and repeat after me.”
A nod.
“I, Laura Hernandez …”
“I … Laura … Hernandez …”
“… solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States …”
The words are low, halting, and slow, but they gain strength with each word. Hannah fights to keep her voice under control as tears come to her eyes.
“… and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. So help me God.”
The words are repeated, and at the “So help me God,” one of the nurses and one of the Secret Service agents give the sign of the cross. Hannah says, “Congratulations, Madam President.”
“Thank you … but this war you say is coming … how can I stop it?”
Hannah is stunned.
She looks around the suite.
According to procedure, a backup football with a military officer should be at the vice president’s side, containing the important codes that authorize her to issue orders as president.
But they aren’t here.
CHAPTER 145
IN THE REAR of his armored Tahoe, General Tucker Wyman, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, is running through his mind what he’s going to say and how he’s going to say it to the president when he roars up to the White House.
In front of him his driver and security officer are murmuring back and forth, even radioing ahead to the lead police cars. Tucker ignores them.
What will he do?
Suppose President Barrett won’t see him?
Can he break into his upstairs office? Or the Oval Office, if he’s there? And will the Secret Service put up resistance? They are sworn to protect the president, but damn it, he’s got to see him, convince him to reverse the order that will set off a chain of worldwide disasters.
There’s a sudden braking, a swerve to the left, and the police cruisers up ahead have made a similar turn. Tucker slaps the driver on his right shoulder.
“What the hell is going on? You’re going the wrong way! This isn’t the way to the White House!”
His security officer turns to him. “Yes, sir, we know. But you wantto see the president. The president isn’t at the White House. The president is at Walter Reed.”
“Is he—”
