then President Donnelly resigned.... No I'm not crazy either. It'll be on the news later today; I'm calling from the White House right now.... Lois? Are you there? ..."
He turned his face to Cromwell and rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, that's right. I'll have someone on the staff call later today and talk with you about what stuff we ought to ship out here.... I know. That's how it feels to me too." He smiled slightly. "It's like the old saying: It's dirty work, but somebody's got to do it.
"Look, I'll call again later. Right now I've got a ton of stuff to do. Okay?... Right.... If you watch the twelve o'clock news, you'll probably know more about it than I know now.... Thanks, sweetheart. You too."
He disconnected and turned to the others. The call seemed to have raised his spirits considerably. "Okay," he said, "let's call Okada in."
***
The penthouse office of Paul Willard Randolph Massey measured twenty-five by thirty feet, and the suite it was part of occupied the entire fifty-eighth floor penthouse of the Randolph Building in lower Manhattan. There was plenty of room on the adjacent landscaped roof for the private helipad. Massey had been informed that Manhattan was now safe, and he'd had himself flown down after breakfast.
The office furnishings could be described as expensively tasteful or quietly ostentatious, if you were connoisseur enough to realize how much they cost. The whole southwest wall of the office was a polarized thermal window. The drapes were drawn back, exposing a view across Upper Bay toward the Statue of Liberty, and in the farther distance, Staten Island.
The aesthetics of it didn't mean much to Massey, only the convenience. He was a gamesman, the game was power, and only some of the markers were money.
The late morning sun was angling in; it was just past noon, Eastern Daylight Time. His phone buzzed discreetly. A code flashed on its screen, telling him it was a direct line, scrambled, bypassing his receptionist. He touched a key, and a familiar face appeared on the screen. He touched another, activating a recording device that had no telltale. And a third, completing the connection.
Massey hadn't activated the camera at his end. He usually didn't; even in phone conversations with an employee, he liked to operate unseen. Instead he identified himself by his preferred name. "Willard," he said.
"Sir, this is Barron. There is something on the television news you should see. I have it on CBS."
Massey touched keys on a remote, and a picture, with sound, popped into being on his wall set.
"I have it, Barron," he said drily, then neither said anything more as they listened to Lester Okada, the White House press secretary.
"...per the Emergency Powers Act," Okada was saying. "President Donnelly therefore appointed a vice president and resigned. We now have a new president." Okada paused; the screen cut to a face-on close-up. "The new president's name is Arne Eino Haugen. President Haugen will be formally sworn in this afternoon at 2 P.M., before the cabinet, the Supreme Court, and leading members of the Congress."
After a moment of reportorial silence, Okada proceeded to choose individuals out of the clamor that arose, and answered about ten minutes of questions about Donnelly and Haugen and the legality of the process. When he was done and the network cut away to its commentators in New York, Massey lowered the volume nearly to nil and turned back to Barron Tallmon on the phone.
"Barron," he said, "contact Jaubert. Have him see what he can learn about this Haugen—his finances, his interests, his personal habits and idiosyncracies. Anything discreditable will be particularly appreciated."
He cut Tallmon off and sat quietly thinking for a few moments, then gave his attention to the report he'd been dictating.
SEVEN
Transcript from the evening news, NBC-TV, October 10. Read by Elliot Blanchard.
"Washington was startled, earlier today, by White House press secretary Lester Okada's announcement
He turned his face to Cromwell and rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, that's right. I'll have someone on the staff call later today and talk with you about what stuff we ought to ship out here.... I know. That's how it feels to me too." He smiled slightly. "It's like the old saying: It's dirty work, but somebody's got to do it.
"Look, I'll call again later. Right now I've got a ton of stuff to do. Okay?... Right.... If you watch the twelve o'clock news, you'll probably know more about it than I know now.... Thanks, sweetheart. You too."
He disconnected and turned to the others. The call seemed to have raised his spirits considerably. "Okay," he said, "let's call Okada in."
***
The penthouse office of Paul Willard Randolph Massey measured twenty-five by thirty feet, and the suite it was part of occupied the entire fifty-eighth floor penthouse of the Randolph Building in lower Manhattan. There was plenty of room on the adjacent landscaped roof for the private helipad. Massey had been informed that Manhattan was now safe, and he'd had himself flown down after breakfast.
The office furnishings could be described as expensively tasteful or quietly ostentatious, if you were connoisseur enough to realize how much they cost. The whole southwest wall of the office was a polarized thermal window. The drapes were drawn back, exposing a view across Upper Bay toward the Statue of Liberty, and in the farther distance, Staten Island.
The aesthetics of it didn't mean much to Massey, only the convenience. He was a gamesman, the game was power, and only some of the markers were money.
The late morning sun was angling in; it was just past noon, Eastern Daylight Time. His phone buzzed discreetly. A code flashed on its screen, telling him it was a direct line, scrambled, bypassing his receptionist. He touched a key, and a familiar face appeared on the screen. He touched another, activating a recording device that had no telltale. And a third, completing the connection.
Massey hadn't activated the camera at his end. He usually didn't; even in phone conversations with an employee, he liked to operate unseen. Instead he identified himself by his preferred name. "Willard," he said.
"Sir, this is Barron. There is something on the television news you should see. I have it on CBS."
Massey touched keys on a remote, and a picture, with sound, popped into being on his wall set.
"I have it, Barron," he said drily, then neither said anything more as they listened to Lester Okada, the White House press secretary.
"...per the Emergency Powers Act," Okada was saying. "President Donnelly therefore appointed a vice president and resigned. We now have a new president." Okada paused; the screen cut to a face-on close-up. "The new president's name is Arne Eino Haugen. President Haugen will be formally sworn in this afternoon at 2 P.M., before the cabinet, the Supreme Court, and leading members of the Congress."
After a moment of reportorial silence, Okada proceeded to choose individuals out of the clamor that arose, and answered about ten minutes of questions about Donnelly and Haugen and the legality of the process. When he was done and the network cut away to its commentators in New York, Massey lowered the volume nearly to nil and turned back to Barron Tallmon on the phone.
"Barron," he said, "contact Jaubert. Have him see what he can learn about this Haugen—his finances, his interests, his personal habits and idiosyncracies. Anything discreditable will be particularly appreciated."
He cut Tallmon off and sat quietly thinking for a few moments, then gave his attention to the report he'd been dictating.
SEVEN
Transcript from the evening news, NBC-TV, October 10. Read by Elliot Blanchard.
"Washington was startled, earlier today, by White House press secretary Lester Okada's announcement
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