Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 18
Five Days, Eighteen Hours, Thirty-Eight Minutes
Ignoring the feeling of pure hatred he had for the man, Arthur Pendley stood ceremoniously greeting Ethan Stoddard. He could tell by the look on the man's face that the current crisis weighed heavily upon him – as it should. They greeted one another with a handshake, and then Stoddard said, "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Arthur, but we're very busy at the moment."
"Yes," Pendley agreed, "so I've heard."
The White House Chief of Staff raised an eyebrow. He stayed where he was – completely still – his stare fixed upon the elder senator. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."
Feigning politeness, Pendley smiled. "May I ask ... where is the President?"
"As they told you when you arrived, Arthur: the President is unavailable."
"I'd like to speak with him."
"I can't help you."
Stoddard stiffened as he realized that somehow the senator was aware of the situation facing the Administration – facing the entire nation – right now. He knew that the man's position on the Foreign Intelligence Committee might somehow have opened avenues for the flow of information – even the most classified – but this ... this news was entirely fresh? Once the White House communication system had been compromised ... once the satellite surveillance network had been co-opted ... the President had issued a complete lockdown. No one had been allowed in or out of the White House with the exceptions of Colonel McGinty – he was off on an errand to meet the personnel of Project Backstep – and Arthur Pendley – the man insisted on being allowed a meeting with the staff. Given those facts, how could the senator possibly know anything?
"Ethan," Pendley began, "I believe our great nation has reached a crossroads. If you are the man left in charge in the President's absence, then the choices that you make in the next few hours could very well dictate how history will remember these days."
The chief folded his arms across his chest, taking a defiant pose opposite the man a few years his senior.
"What is this?" he demanded. "And don't play any games with me, Arthur. I want to know exactly what this is?"
"What is what, Ethan?"
"You arrive at the White House and demand a meeting with the President," Stoddard explained. "But ... if you have any knowledge of what's transpired in the last few hours, Arthur, then you are fully aware of what steps would be taken to protect the President. You – perhaps more than any of us – know the protocol once a member of the Presidential family is attacked ..."
"Ah, yes," the senator interrupted, folding his hands across his waistline. "Protocol. The linchpin of any good democracy." He tilted his head. "We must have our rules, mustn't we? If we failed, anarchy would rouse its ugly head, and the nation would be plunged into chaos ... much like the War Room was not long ago when your satellite defense system curiously slipped from under control of the bureaucrats ... much like I would imagine the Secret Service behaved once they realized that Trace Hightower – our President's media-friendly son-in-law – had fallen victim to a – shall we say – terrorist attack?"
Flashing red in the face, Stoddard called for the nearest Secret Service agents. Immediately, the dark suited men marched over and took Arthur Pendley into custody, escorting him in the direction of the nearest conference room.
"Is this wise?" the senator called over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hallway.
"You're getting what you deserve, Arthur."
Stoddard sat at the end of the long conference table in the Cabinet Room. To his left was Samantha Breckenridge, Secretary of the Interior. To his right was Winthrop Styles, Secretary of Defense. Given the circumstances – given the nature of the national emergency – all other White House personnel had been evacuated – along with the President to an undisclosed location. It was protocol. These were necessary steps to ensure that, in the unlikely event of another unanticipated attack on the government, some form of political structure would survive. Since Hightower's death, the White House had acted entirely according to procedure, and Stoddard wouldn't have it any other way. However, Pendley's arrival – and his clear admission of awareness of events no living person outside of this room could possible know – had stopped protocol dead in its tracks. Now wasn't the time for the chaos and anarchy that the senior senator clearly wanted. Rather, now was the time to force the American system of government – and its corresponding agencies – to serve at peak efficiency.
A door opened, and Chloe Vandemark – Stoddard's aide in managing the White House personnel – walked in. She approached the table, went to her boss, and whispered in his ear: "The Secret Service has confirmed that the President and the other members of the Cabinet are safe."
Stoddard nodded to her, and the red-headed woman quickly moved around the others and took a chair.
At the far end of the table, Arthur Pendley sat, a plain smile on his regal face. Agents of the Secret Service stood on his right, his left, and at his back.
"Gentlemen," Stoddard announced, "let's begin."
Leonard 'Match' Thomkins, a director for the Secret Service, stood on Pendley's right. Casually, he pulled back a chair and sat down next to the senator. His moves – as was his demeanor – were practiced and precise. He gestured for the agent opposite him – Orlando Baines – to sit at the table. The man did.
"Senator Pendley," Thomkins finally began, "tell us what you know about Trace Hightower."
The elder statesman didn't reply. He stayed perfectly still at the table, staring in the direction of the White House staff, his eyes locked with Ethan Stoddard.
"Senator Pendley," the agent repeated, "I will not ask you again."
"Good," finally came the reply. "You'll only be wasting your breath."
"You will answer my question, sir."
"I have no need to provide you anything, young man."
"You will answer my question, sir, or Mr. Baines will make you answer my question."
"Is this absolutely necessary, Ethan?" Pendley cried out from his end of the conference table.
Interrupting, Thomkins snapped, "You will speak to me, senator. You will speak only to me until you have been notified otherwise by the Chief of Staff."
"Ethan?"
"What do you know about Trace Hightower?"
"I know that he is dead," Pendley finally exhaled his answer.
"How did you come by this information?"
"That is simple," the senator said. "I'm the one who killed him."
Thomkins wouldn't allow for the emotional impact to derail his efforts. The interrogation had to remain focused and on track. "Why did you kill Mr. Hightower?"
"I never much cared for him."
"Sir, that is not an answer."
"It's as good as you'll get, young man."
Nodding at Baines, Thomkins watched as the Secret Service agent pulled his silver Glock from under his dark jacket and placed it on the table.
"I will ask you the question one more time, senator," the director stated. "Your refusal to answer will result in the use of deadly force. Do you understand me?"
"I understand you perfectly."
"Why did you kill Mr. Hightower?"
Pendley nodded. "To send a message."
"To whom did you wish to send a message?"
"Isn't that obvious?"
"To whom did you wish to send a message?" Thomkins knew that Pendley was only trying to bandy word games with him, but he would have nothing to do with it.
"To your boss," Pendley answered. "To the President of the United States."
"What message did you wish to send?"
Finally, Pendley admitted, "To make it perfectly clear that he had made a fatal mistake."
"What mistake would that be, sir?"
Sighing, Pendley sank a bit in his chair. "The President should have offered me a seat at this table, young man. His fatal mistake was in failing to do so."
Unable to remain silent any longer, Ethan Stoddard slammed his open palm to the conference table. The sound echoed throughout the room like gunshot.
"Is that what this is all about, Arthur?" the chief of staff demanded.
Thomkins held up a hand. "Mr. Stoddard, according to Executive Order, I am the ranking officer, and I am to conduct this interrogation."
Angrily, Stoddard waved back at the agent. "Then you ask him the damn question I just asked!"
"Please, please," Pendley offered, holding up a hand, "it's all right. I'll answer the question for the both of you." He closed his eyes, gathering his strength, before continuing. "I made it perfectly clear that, in delivering my state's electoral votes in the last election, my expectations would be to sit in the President's Cabinet. I made no such predictions as to which position I wanted. That was entirely up to the President. However, he made no such offer, and now we are facing the first of many consequences for his negligence."
"The first ...?" Stoddard asked. "The first of many consequences?"
"That is correct."
"Arthur," the chief tried, leaning forward in his chair, "if all this took was a seat at the table, why in the name of God didn't you come and speak with me?"
Again, Thomkins tried to maintain control of the situation. "Mr. Stoddard, if you please ..."
Rising, the chief ordered, "Stand down, Mr. Thomkins, or I will have you removed from your position!"
"Given the present circumstances, sir, you do not have the authority."
"By God, man, I'll remove you myself ... if I have to!"
"Gentlemen, please," Pendley interrupted, "let's keep this civil, shall we?"
"Civil?" Stoddard shoved his chair out from behind him and marched around the table. "You executed the President's son-in-law, and now you have the nerve to sit here and accuse the rest of us of what, Arthur? Being discourteous? Rude? Unprofessional?" He reached the end of the conference table. Baines rose from his chair and cut him off from reaching the senator. "What do you think is going to happen? Do you think we can turn back the clock on this entire scenario, Arthur, for the sole purpose of granting you – a professed killer – one of the highest seats in our government today?"
Pendley pursed his lips in thought. "We do have the technology, Ethan, to do exactly that?"
Confused, the chief asked, "A backstep? Is that what you're demanding, Arthur?" He folded his arms before him. "The BackStep Program is at operational standby ... for the time being."
"Why is that?"
"That is none of your business."
"This isn't a wise course of action, Ethan."
"And yours is?"
"Mr. Stoddard!" Thomkins tried. "I will have my agents remove you from this room."
"You do that," the chief threatened, "and I'll have the lot of you removed from the White House. Don't challenge me on this, Thomkins. I may not be the President, but I can make this happen. You and your men will be lucky to find employment as security guards once I'm done with you. I won't sit here and be threatened by our own homegrown terrorist."
"Ethan, please."
The chief of staff pulled out a chair and sat next down next to Baines.
"Let me understand what it is you're asking, Arthur," Stoddard announced. "You want me to order a backstep in order to spare the life of Trace Hightower. In exchange for that action, you expect to be granted a seat within the Cabinet. Is that what this is all about?"
Slowly, Pendley smiled.
"I didn't think so," the chief shot.
"Am I so transparent?"
"Aren't all terrorists?"
Clearing his throat, the senator sat up in the chair. "You're right, Ethan. You are. I am that transparent, but I do believe that the present situation you find yourself in warrants that you hear what demands I have. If you refuse to meet my demands, then I will have no other choice but to see to it that my own personal weapon of mass destruction be used in a second wave of attacks ... and I give you my assurance that a series of second strikes will be far more detrimental than the first."
Leaning forward, Stoddard asked, "Do you really think we're going to let you walk out of here, Arthur?"
"Hear me out, my good man, and I think you will understand that you have no other choice."
END of Chapter 18
Five Days, Eighteen Hours, Thirty-Eight Minutes
Ignoring the feeling of pure hatred he had for the man, Arthur Pendley stood ceremoniously greeting Ethan Stoddard. He could tell by the look on the man's face that the current crisis weighed heavily upon him – as it should. They greeted one another with a handshake, and then Stoddard said, "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Arthur, but we're very busy at the moment."
"Yes," Pendley agreed, "so I've heard."
The White House Chief of Staff raised an eyebrow. He stayed where he was – completely still – his stare fixed upon the elder senator. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."
Feigning politeness, Pendley smiled. "May I ask ... where is the President?"
"As they told you when you arrived, Arthur: the President is unavailable."
"I'd like to speak with him."
"I can't help you."
Stoddard stiffened as he realized that somehow the senator was aware of the situation facing the Administration – facing the entire nation – right now. He knew that the man's position on the Foreign Intelligence Committee might somehow have opened avenues for the flow of information – even the most classified – but this ... this news was entirely fresh? Once the White House communication system had been compromised ... once the satellite surveillance network had been co-opted ... the President had issued a complete lockdown. No one had been allowed in or out of the White House with the exceptions of Colonel McGinty – he was off on an errand to meet the personnel of Project Backstep – and Arthur Pendley – the man insisted on being allowed a meeting with the staff. Given those facts, how could the senator possibly know anything?
"Ethan," Pendley began, "I believe our great nation has reached a crossroads. If you are the man left in charge in the President's absence, then the choices that you make in the next few hours could very well dictate how history will remember these days."
The chief folded his arms across his chest, taking a defiant pose opposite the man a few years his senior.
"What is this?" he demanded. "And don't play any games with me, Arthur. I want to know exactly what this is?"
"What is what, Ethan?"
"You arrive at the White House and demand a meeting with the President," Stoddard explained. "But ... if you have any knowledge of what's transpired in the last few hours, Arthur, then you are fully aware of what steps would be taken to protect the President. You – perhaps more than any of us – know the protocol once a member of the Presidential family is attacked ..."
"Ah, yes," the senator interrupted, folding his hands across his waistline. "Protocol. The linchpin of any good democracy." He tilted his head. "We must have our rules, mustn't we? If we failed, anarchy would rouse its ugly head, and the nation would be plunged into chaos ... much like the War Room was not long ago when your satellite defense system curiously slipped from under control of the bureaucrats ... much like I would imagine the Secret Service behaved once they realized that Trace Hightower – our President's media-friendly son-in-law – had fallen victim to a – shall we say – terrorist attack?"
Flashing red in the face, Stoddard called for the nearest Secret Service agents. Immediately, the dark suited men marched over and took Arthur Pendley into custody, escorting him in the direction of the nearest conference room.
"Is this wise?" the senator called over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hallway.
"You're getting what you deserve, Arthur."
Stoddard sat at the end of the long conference table in the Cabinet Room. To his left was Samantha Breckenridge, Secretary of the Interior. To his right was Winthrop Styles, Secretary of Defense. Given the circumstances – given the nature of the national emergency – all other White House personnel had been evacuated – along with the President to an undisclosed location. It was protocol. These were necessary steps to ensure that, in the unlikely event of another unanticipated attack on the government, some form of political structure would survive. Since Hightower's death, the White House had acted entirely according to procedure, and Stoddard wouldn't have it any other way. However, Pendley's arrival – and his clear admission of awareness of events no living person outside of this room could possible know – had stopped protocol dead in its tracks. Now wasn't the time for the chaos and anarchy that the senior senator clearly wanted. Rather, now was the time to force the American system of government – and its corresponding agencies – to serve at peak efficiency.
A door opened, and Chloe Vandemark – Stoddard's aide in managing the White House personnel – walked in. She approached the table, went to her boss, and whispered in his ear: "The Secret Service has confirmed that the President and the other members of the Cabinet are safe."
Stoddard nodded to her, and the red-headed woman quickly moved around the others and took a chair.
At the far end of the table, Arthur Pendley sat, a plain smile on his regal face. Agents of the Secret Service stood on his right, his left, and at his back.
"Gentlemen," Stoddard announced, "let's begin."
Leonard 'Match' Thomkins, a director for the Secret Service, stood on Pendley's right. Casually, he pulled back a chair and sat down next to the senator. His moves – as was his demeanor – were practiced and precise. He gestured for the agent opposite him – Orlando Baines – to sit at the table. The man did.
"Senator Pendley," Thomkins finally began, "tell us what you know about Trace Hightower."
The elder statesman didn't reply. He stayed perfectly still at the table, staring in the direction of the White House staff, his eyes locked with Ethan Stoddard.
"Senator Pendley," the agent repeated, "I will not ask you again."
"Good," finally came the reply. "You'll only be wasting your breath."
"You will answer my question, sir."
"I have no need to provide you anything, young man."
"You will answer my question, sir, or Mr. Baines will make you answer my question."
"Is this absolutely necessary, Ethan?" Pendley cried out from his end of the conference table.
Interrupting, Thomkins snapped, "You will speak to me, senator. You will speak only to me until you have been notified otherwise by the Chief of Staff."
"Ethan?"
"What do you know about Trace Hightower?"
"I know that he is dead," Pendley finally exhaled his answer.
"How did you come by this information?"
"That is simple," the senator said. "I'm the one who killed him."
Thomkins wouldn't allow for the emotional impact to derail his efforts. The interrogation had to remain focused and on track. "Why did you kill Mr. Hightower?"
"I never much cared for him."
"Sir, that is not an answer."
"It's as good as you'll get, young man."
Nodding at Baines, Thomkins watched as the Secret Service agent pulled his silver Glock from under his dark jacket and placed it on the table.
"I will ask you the question one more time, senator," the director stated. "Your refusal to answer will result in the use of deadly force. Do you understand me?"
"I understand you perfectly."
"Why did you kill Mr. Hightower?"
Pendley nodded. "To send a message."
"To whom did you wish to send a message?"
"Isn't that obvious?"
"To whom did you wish to send a message?" Thomkins knew that Pendley was only trying to bandy word games with him, but he would have nothing to do with it.
"To your boss," Pendley answered. "To the President of the United States."
"What message did you wish to send?"
Finally, Pendley admitted, "To make it perfectly clear that he had made a fatal mistake."
"What mistake would that be, sir?"
Sighing, Pendley sank a bit in his chair. "The President should have offered me a seat at this table, young man. His fatal mistake was in failing to do so."
Unable to remain silent any longer, Ethan Stoddard slammed his open palm to the conference table. The sound echoed throughout the room like gunshot.
"Is that what this is all about, Arthur?" the chief of staff demanded.
Thomkins held up a hand. "Mr. Stoddard, according to Executive Order, I am the ranking officer, and I am to conduct this interrogation."
Angrily, Stoddard waved back at the agent. "Then you ask him the damn question I just asked!"
"Please, please," Pendley offered, holding up a hand, "it's all right. I'll answer the question for the both of you." He closed his eyes, gathering his strength, before continuing. "I made it perfectly clear that, in delivering my state's electoral votes in the last election, my expectations would be to sit in the President's Cabinet. I made no such predictions as to which position I wanted. That was entirely up to the President. However, he made no such offer, and now we are facing the first of many consequences for his negligence."
"The first ...?" Stoddard asked. "The first of many consequences?"
"That is correct."
"Arthur," the chief tried, leaning forward in his chair, "if all this took was a seat at the table, why in the name of God didn't you come and speak with me?"
Again, Thomkins tried to maintain control of the situation. "Mr. Stoddard, if you please ..."
Rising, the chief ordered, "Stand down, Mr. Thomkins, or I will have you removed from your position!"
"Given the present circumstances, sir, you do not have the authority."
"By God, man, I'll remove you myself ... if I have to!"
"Gentlemen, please," Pendley interrupted, "let's keep this civil, shall we?"
"Civil?" Stoddard shoved his chair out from behind him and marched around the table. "You executed the President's son-in-law, and now you have the nerve to sit here and accuse the rest of us of what, Arthur? Being discourteous? Rude? Unprofessional?" He reached the end of the conference table. Baines rose from his chair and cut him off from reaching the senator. "What do you think is going to happen? Do you think we can turn back the clock on this entire scenario, Arthur, for the sole purpose of granting you – a professed killer – one of the highest seats in our government today?"
Pendley pursed his lips in thought. "We do have the technology, Ethan, to do exactly that?"
Confused, the chief asked, "A backstep? Is that what you're demanding, Arthur?" He folded his arms before him. "The BackStep Program is at operational standby ... for the time being."
"Why is that?"
"That is none of your business."
"This isn't a wise course of action, Ethan."
"And yours is?"
"Mr. Stoddard!" Thomkins tried. "I will have my agents remove you from this room."
"You do that," the chief threatened, "and I'll have the lot of you removed from the White House. Don't challenge me on this, Thomkins. I may not be the President, but I can make this happen. You and your men will be lucky to find employment as security guards once I'm done with you. I won't sit here and be threatened by our own homegrown terrorist."
"Ethan, please."
The chief of staff pulled out a chair and sat next down next to Baines.
"Let me understand what it is you're asking, Arthur," Stoddard announced. "You want me to order a backstep in order to spare the life of Trace Hightower. In exchange for that action, you expect to be granted a seat within the Cabinet. Is that what this is all about?"
Slowly, Pendley smiled.
"I didn't think so," the chief shot.
"Am I so transparent?"
"Aren't all terrorists?"
Clearing his throat, the senator sat up in the chair. "You're right, Ethan. You are. I am that transparent, but I do believe that the present situation you find yourself in warrants that you hear what demands I have. If you refuse to meet my demands, then I will have no other choice but to see to it that my own personal weapon of mass destruction be used in a second wave of attacks ... and I give you my assurance that a series of second strikes will be far more detrimental than the first."
Leaning forward, Stoddard asked, "Do you really think we're going to let you walk out of here, Arthur?"
"Hear me out, my good man, and I think you will understand that you have no other choice."
END of Chapter 18
