Madam President ✓

106. Promotions

Anthony

   For a moment the long table overcrowded by cyber and national security experts, CIA and FBI officials, Director Lucette, and Secretary Larsen falls silent.

On Jeremy's screen, a 'no signal' banner bounces from corner to corner- like Alex Higgins's phone no longer exists. I observe his face the longest. The resolve not to lose his shit is long gone and has been replaced by pure terror. He frantically inserts lines of code, trying to reestablish a connection with the device.

  "No no no no fuck-" The ring of his fingers connecting with the keyboard bounces off the walls, causing it to echo back and sound like it's in my ear canals. "Alex? GODDAMNIT ALEX-"

  "Pull yourself together!" Phillip Lucette snaps, slamming a hand on the table. "Maybe they're not dead and they just......"

  Madelyn Larsen suddenly places a hand on his shoulder and starts breathing through her nose, trying to stave off nausea. Her phone glows bright a few inches in front of her. I barely manage to keep my breakfast from yesterday down.

  "We are... getting confirmation of an explosion at Vnukovo. It's quiet for now but... that won't last long. The media will catch wind in less than an hour- two major networks have branch headquarters within five miles of... the site. Mr.President where are you going?" She starts.

I can't fucking do this. This isn't real. I'm not here.

  How the fuck am I supposed to focus on public perception right now?

  I abruptly stand up, holding my stomach in. I don't acknowledge security as I pass them- or the secret service that follow me to the elevator and through the west wing, only leaving me alone once I'm in the Oval Office.

  Bad idea.

  The movers have just started taking her personal items out, and I know this shouldn't irk me as much as it does- after all, how would they know?

  Still, when I make eye contact with them, it take everything I have not to punch the closest one. "Get out."

  "Yes, Mr.President."

Okay, maybe I don't hate that title so much right now. They're gone before I've gotten halfway to the small table behind my desk, now empty with a box beside it. I bend down and pick up one she took of Darrel when he'd just woken up sometime in 2022.

  The bags under his eyes are prominent, sure- but in his eyes you can tell how genuinely happy he was. I know how selfish it is that I don't want to be the one to tell him.... I just can't without losing my own shit.

If I did, with no vice president- the office of the presidency would go to Edward Marcellus. I'd rather die than let that happen- not because he's a bad politician or even a bad person, but because I'm feeling particularly petty now. I shouldn't even be here.

For fucks sake- I was a communications director just two years ago. One of the least respected political staffer jobs among other professions, yet the most important. I shouldn't have the privilege to sit in this desk- but I do.

  Damnit.

  I think about calling my mother, sending secret service to bring her to Washington- but what would the point be?

  I guess I do need to accept she's too far in to save, no matter what treatment facility or program I put her in. She always seems to find access to heroin or cocaine wherever she goes; whether that's from a nurse smuggling it in to hospital patients for money or a rehab doctor giving it out in exchange for sexual favors( In 2021, I lit his ass up like the Fourth of July until he didn't have a medical license and was thrown in federal prison for eighty years).

   So short of locking her in a concrete box like a detainee at Guantanamo bay, there is nothing more I can do.

  I try to start thinking logically.

  I've had my minute- now I have to be serious.

  I pick up the phone constantly sitting on my desk and ask the White House operator( I really need to learn her name) to send Analise in. She tells me she was going through security, on the way out so she could relieve her babysitter and stop wracking up such a large bill. I make a mental note to pay that bill for her and tell the operator to make her come back anyways.

  Five minutes later, there's a knock at my door- and there she is.

  "You wanted to see me, Mr.Vice-  Mr.President?" Her tone is nervous, like she knows what I'm about to tell her.

  "Sit down please." She does not protest. I move to join her on the slightly bigger couch. "Analise....."

  "He's not. No-" She shakes her head.

"Analise. We're about 80% sure that he is. I'm sorry-"

  "You're fucking sorry?!" She interrupts. "Gee, that makes everything so much better Mr.President. How the fuck did you let this happen?"

  "I... I don't know."

  "If you can't even give a proper explanation maybe you should resign and let Edward take over-"

  "I'm not doing that. Analise.... No matter how much you may despise me right now, the White House needs a press secretary. You are the most qualified person whose clearance is high enough it won't be an issue during the gap period between now and receiving the... same level Walter had."

  "Are you...." She laughs, a second away from insanity. "Are you seriously giving me a promotion after that outburst?"

  "Under normal circumstances I wouldn't but... there was a confirmed explosion at the Vnukovo airport. We will need somebody to host a press conference soon. Until then try to get some sleep."

  "How am I supposed to-" Without warning, the door swings open, and Secretary Larsen lets herself in.

  "I'm sorry for the interruption Mr.President but...." She jerks her head at Analise, the universal 'make her leave' gesture. I don't have to ask. Analise gets the message on her own.

  "What?" I rub my forehead once she's gone. This whole 'being the president' thing is much harder than I could have anticipated- yet it's been less than seventy two hours. I can't wait to see what this year has in store for us.

  "I just got communication from my source in Minister Petrov's office." Perfect. Just perfect. "Mr.President.... He said that... someone tipped him off about them being there and he ordered the supply plane be rigged so he could blame it on the president and assume his position, since he is the automatic second in line."

  I close my eyes.

  This will start a war.

  "Sir.... President Ivanov was found dead in the basement along with... at least seven of the military soldiers assigned to his protection detail."

"Do we know who's responsible for the massacare?"

"My source says the prime minister didn't order it- and that he wasn't aware of Ivanov's death at the time of... organizing the explosion."

  "For fucks sake Madam Secretary- how trustworthy is this source? That man is a goddamn monster."

  "Yes but... think about it this way: he's a methodical monster. Why would he have killed Ivanov and everybody on that plane if his only goal was to take Ivanov's position? Nobody wants to start their presidency off with a war if it's unnecessary- forgive me for being insensitive but....." her phone dings. "He will officially ascend the presidency in seventeen minutes."

  That MOTHERFUCKER-

"Mr.President?" A young intern pokes her head in. "I'm sorry for the interruption but.... You're getting a call from your personal phone."