Hannah is pleased the two of them have caught on to what she’s just said.
“Correct, Liam. We are not in a normal world. We’re in a world where you and others have unwittingly helped a very sick man attack our adversaries in secret, to take this nation to the brink of a world war, a war that will eventually turn off our lights, kill our farms, and destroy our cities. That takes precedent over your respective violations of the law and the Constitution.”
Hannah glances down at her notes on her legal pad, looks up, and says, “The question now, of course, is what are we going to do about it?”
CHAPTER 76
FOR A PLEASANT few seconds, Liam Grey thinks he and Noa are going to slide unscathed through this thundering avalanche coming down on them both, but that feeling quickly disappears when the CIA director says “we” when mentioning stopping the president.
“Ma’am,” he says. “What do you mean, ‘we’? We don’t have the authority or power to do anything to President Barrett.”
“True,” she says. “Do you think that’s just a coincidence? Of course not. The president has used his CIA and military background, connections, and experiences to put himself where he is—untouchable.”
Liam says, “Impeachment, then. Failing that, the Twenty-fifth Amendment. If the three of us testify on Capitol Hill as to what happened, what illegal orders he’s issued, then Congress will have to act.”
Noa speaks up. “Do they? Liam, the usual system is broken, don’t you see that? The vice president is in a coma. The speaker of the House is fighting for her political life. Do you think she’s going to do anything to upset those representatives who are Barrett true believers, who think he can do no wrong? Like it or not, Barrett has positioned himself to where he has absolute and unchecked power.The secretary of state and the secretary of defense belong to him. His chief of staff can’t even order pizza without POTUS agreeing. There’s no national security director in office.”
Liam sees what Noa is saying, but doesn’t want to acknowledge it. This was the United States, damn it, not some South American republic that could change its president or constitution at the drop of a hat.
He takes a breath, trying to calm himself. “This … it can’t be done. You’re talking treason. We have to let the system work, no matter how clumsy and slow it’ll be.”
Noa says, “Liam, you mentioned the Twenty-fifth Amendment. Congress has no power to bring that into effect. It’s up to the vice president. Who’s in a coma.”
The room falls quiet for a moment.
Hannah says, “Noa, you told me that Barrett nearly threatened to rape you in the White House, or even kill you. Liam, you told me that you think the president had something to do with Captain Webster’s murder.”
Liam just sits still, not wanting to hear what comes next.
“Ever since this Republic came to life, nearly every president has been accused of being a mentally ill madman, and always by their partisan opponents,” Abrams says, voice suddenly weary. “But now it’s happened, for real. And I’m afraid we’re running out of time.”
CHAPTER 77
JOINT INTELLIGENCE CENTER PACIFIC
PEARL HARBOR, HAWAII
LIEUTENANT COMMANDER CORNELIUS Johnson is the night duty officer at the facility supplying intelligence to the Indo-Pacific Command of the US Navy. One of his deepest secrets is that he loves every minute of being here. During meal and coffee breaks he’ll join in with the general bitching and moaning of working for the Navy, resisting the urge to tell his fellow sailors and officers just how damn lucky they are.
Cornelius grew up poor in a housing project in the Cherry Hill part of Baltimore, where the sounds of gunshots and sirens kept you awake at night, where too many of your neighbors were on street corners, hustling or nodding off in abandoned doorways. But he found his escape via a Navy recruiting station in a broken-down strip mall. The Navy fed him, clothed him, paid him well, and, considering he was a child of Cherry Hill, also gave him one hell of a responsibility.
In this large, darkened room with workstations with large computer screens and enormous illuminated wall displays, he and a dozen other Marine and Navy personnel kept watch on almost everything on the move in the Pacific and associated waters. Civilian airliners, commercial freighters, factory fishing craft, and, of course,every military aircraft and ship and submarine from every navy operating in the Pacific.
When he first arrived here, he had been overwhelmed by the complexity of the screens, the symbols and numbers marking targets of interest, but now, a quick glance tells him all he needs to know.
Right now, things are relatively calm.
His station is a cluttered desk that overlooks the rest of the room—called the Pit—and his evening is suddenly interrupted by one of his secure phones ringing. Since 9/11, when one glaring error was revealed on how each intelligence agency and law enforcement organization jealously kept their work to themselves—called siloing—a move went afoot to break down the barriers and allow cross-communications and intelligence sharing.
He has six secure phones on his desk: one each connecting him to the Indo-Pacific Command duty office, the Pentagon, the Defense Intelligence Agency, the FBI, the CIA, and the National Security Agency. In his nine months here as duty officer, the phones from the FBI and CIA have never rung once.
But the teal one from the NSA is ringing. He smiles, hoping Tina—his night duty counterpart—is on the line.
She is.
“Hey, Corny,” she says, “how goes it tonight?”
“Looking forward to my hula lessons in the morning, how about you?”