Lethal Trajectories - Michael Conley [62]
The pain pill had done its job, and the president had one of his best night’s sleep since arriving in the White House. He felt rested as he walked into the Oval Office and greeted his secretary, Virginia Mogenson. “Morning Ginnie, did you miss me?” he asked in a chipper voice.
“Good morning, Mr. President, and welcome back. It’s so good to see you again,” she answered with compassion and sincerity. “I wasn’t sure exactly when you would be back, so for all intents and purposes your day is free of any appointments or meetings.”
“Thanks, Ginnie,” said the president, appreciative of her work. “Could you give Candace Pierson a call and have her stop by my office at about nine thirty? Tell her to set aside about forty-five minutes for the meeting and to clear her calendar for the remainder of the day. I would also like you to call the cabinet for a meeting here tonight at seven o’clock that will last about two hours. Can do?”
“Sure thing, Mr. President,” she replied. She would know that calling both the press secretary and cabinet in for a special meeting meant that something big was in the air, but he would have to leave it at that as he continued into his office to prepare for the day.
At nine thirty in the morning, Candace Pierson was escorted in to see the president. “Good morning, Candace,” Burkmeister said, “thanks so much for coming on such short notice. Did Ginnie tell you to clear your schedule today?”
“She did, Mr. President, and I’m almost afraid to ask why.”
When he broke the gruesome news, she was speechless, just as Clayton had been a few nights ago. But after a few moments of personal time, she put on her press secretary hat and was all business. Her ability to discuss his condition and succession plans with near-instant professional detachment amazed him, but after all, it was her ability to give sound advice under fire that had landed her the job in the first place.
His next appointment was with White House Counsel William Maroney, with whom he had conferred on Saturday about the legal niceties of the succession process. He told Maroney, “I just finished talking with Candace, and she said we need a brief summary of the Twenty-Fifth Amendment that can be handed out at the cabinet meeting tonight at seven o’clock. I’d like you to prepare a summary and be there, Bill.”
As Maroney headed out, a wave of exhaustion washed away the last of his morning’s verve. Knowing he still had a big day ahead of him, the president told Ginnie he was going to take a little visit to Shangri-la and asked to be called at about half past noon.
He closed the door to Shangri-la and immediately took off his dark gray pinstriped suit coat. Stretching out on the large couch, he pondered the date he had set for the succession to take place—the first of November. His violent attack last night, the heavy-duty pain medication required to tame it, and Doc Toomay’s ominous prognosis convinced him there was little time left. Candace Pierson had said a short while ago—quite rightly—that a delay would only confuse the situation. He would be a lame duck, and Clayton would be a premature one. A leadership crisis would be the worst of all possible worlds, he concluded, and shortly before dozing off he made a decision that he hoped Clayton would accept.
Burkmeister wasted little time getting down to business following Clayton’s two o’clock arrival. “Clayton, I’ve had an interesting morning following an awful night, and I think we’ll need to move the succession date up by a couple of weeks. Let me explain my reasoning, and if you don’t agree, we’ll go back to the original date of November first.”
He could see Clayton was taken aback as he continued.
“I had an awful time last night, Clayton. It took some mighty powerful painkillers to get me stabilized, and it made me realize that my ability to function as president may be impaired in the near future. I just can’t take a chance on that happening again. I don’t want this to be a deathbed handoff, and prolonging the inevitable