The following are the first two chapters.

One It was raining when Barbara Westphall arrived at Danal’s restaurant in SoHo. The kind of cold, penetrating rain that divides Winter from Spring. She quickly got out of the cab, ran down the three steps and pushed through the front door. The New York City crowd reluctantly allocated her the minimum amount of standing room in the small, overcrowded waiting area just inside the front door. She accepted her space, the 7:30 reservations around her beginning to grumble as the clock crawled inexorably toward eight. When she took off her rain hat the owner of the restaurant spotted her and worked his way through the crowd, parting it with his beaming smile. As the anchor for the GNN Evening News, Westphall was his most recognizable customer, and he had anticipated her arrival. He spread his arms in welcome when he reached her. "Madame Westphall. So delighted to seeing you this evening." The small, dark-skinned Jordanian stood on his tip-toes and kissed her on both cheeks as he held her hands between his. At five feet, five and one half, she still towered over him. "Wonderful to see you too, Ali." she smiled back at him. "Please to come. Mister Verde is already at your table for fifteen minutes." She accepted the slight rebuke in his voice insinuating that she shouldn’t keep a man waiting. He turned and led her through the still parted crowd and into the restaurant. A short, plump, balding man leading the taller, slender, strawberry blond. She glanced quickly about the rooms as she passed through them. Tin ceilings, cozy seatings around plain wood tables, dark wall paper. Two comfortable couches on either side of a working fireplace, conversations everywhere, no outside windows. She liked Danal’s. It was a small, neighborhood restaurant where few tourists ever showed up to bother her, and the native New Yorkers acknowledged her but gave her the space to eat quietly. Her smile spread from her lips to her eyes as she approached the table and spotted her lover of two years waiting for her. David Verde rose as she approached. She decided he fit the old cliché perfectly, tall, dark and handsome. And even at fifty his athletic body was still trim and attractive. Ali handed Westphall over to Verde as if he had personally rescued her from some terrible peril. "Here she is, Mister Verde, our favorite national television news lady. I find her waiting at front door." "Thank you, Ali." Verde smiled at the small man. "My pleasure. Please to enjoy your meal." He bowed from the waist and left them alone. David kissed Westphall lightly and remained standing until she was seated. He admired her slim figure and her graceful manner as she sat. He kept his smile, almost a boyish grin, that over the years had melted almost every heart he had used it on. He sat next to her instead of across the table. "So, how was your day?" She sighed and shook her head. "Slow news day. They’re always the worst. We almost have to invent something to talk about. I hate it." He picked up a glass and handed it to her. "I’ve got just the answer. Bombay on the rocks with a twist. A double." Ever since she had been too tipsy from a birthday celebration to go on the air when the Branch Davidian situation finally broke in Waco, Westphall had vowed never to drink when she might be called to go on the air. That meant she usually only had a drink on weekends, and since this was Friday night and she wasn’t scheduled on air again until Monday evening, she accepted the glass and immediately took a long drink. She closed her eyes as she enjoyed the burning sensation the cold liquid produced as it slid through her, letting Global Network News slide into the background. "That tastes great. Thanks." David smiled again. "Maybe you should become a binge drinker." She laughed. They held hands lightly and exchanged small talk until the appetizers arrived, unaware of the rest of the room around them. Over smoked blue fish and Appenzeller cheese she took his hand again. "I’m going up to the Hamptons this weekend to open the house. Can you join me?" David looked puzzled. "It’s only April." "I know, but the Hamptons are so pretty in the early spring. It’s been a hard winter and I just can’t wait any longer. I miss the place." David just nodded. "So, can you join me?" she pressed. "Maybe on Sunday." He saw the disappointment on her face and tried to rally. "I mean for sure on Sunday, I just don’t know when. I’ll try to meet you for lunch." The disappointment didn’t abate, so he forged on. "The big AT&T merger meeting is Monday, and I’ve got to tie up some loose ends with my staff before then. I just came from the office and I’m supposed to go back after dinner tonight. I left a room full of associates working their tails off, and I’ve got to check in on them. Then there’s a full staff meeting tomorrow. Could take all day." He gave her his ‘I’m doing the best I can’ smile. She tried to smile back. This was far from the first time their respective career schedules had interfered with their personal lives. "OK. Guess that’s the price I pay for loving a big time corporate lawyer from Black and Wood." He lifted his glass in a mock toast. "Top dog at the city’s top corporate law firm. Madly in love with the top television news reporter on the planet." They clinked glasses and drank again. As they did her digital phone beeped. "Damn." Verde’s face stiffened. "Just shut it off." She carried the phone at her producer’s request. They had an agreement that he wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency, and she wouldn’t ignore the call if it came. But she had already mentally entered the weekend and was looking forward to the time off to recharge her batteries. When she had said to David that she hated slow news days, she had left out that they were also draining on her. They lacked the energy, the excitement, the adrenaline pumping impact of a big news story. She sighed to herself. "You know I can’t. I made a deal with Mel." She fished the phone out of her bag and tossed her shoulder length hair to one side so she could put the phone to her ear. She punched the answer button and spoke into the phone. "This had better be good, Mel. I’m just finishing my appetizer and I’m very hungry." Mel Osterman, her producer, responded in a serious tone. "It’s actually bad, Barbara, but it’s very big. We need you here." "I just left there, Mel." Westphall reminded him as she picked up a piece of Blue fish and popped it into her mouth. "I know, but I need you back. Now." Westphall rubbed her temple as she spoke. She was tired and the call was giving her a headache. "Mel, can’t the weekend staff handle it?" "Not this one. It’s too big. The other nets will have their top guns, and I need mine." She took a deep breath. She knew she’d eventually have to cave in, but she decided to try to put it off until after dinner. "How soon?" "Ten minutes ago." "What’s the rush?" she complained. "Not over the phone, please." Osterman was paranoid that all of the other news stations had the technology and the interest to monitor his calls in order to scoop him on breaking news. Westphall had tried several times to explain to him that a digital phone could not be monitored, but he had refused to believe her, and eventually she had given up trying. Whenever he got this way she liked to play with his mind. "Then I’m not coming." Westphall pouted. "Barbara, don’t do this to me." Westphall smiled to herself and waited. She could picture him struggling with his fears. She knew he would eventually give in and tell her, and that once he started, his natural instinct to talk would take over and he’d spill everything. She waited for the process to start. He tried to cajole her. "You’re impossible, you know that." "That’s why you love me, Mel. Now come on. What is it?" She smiled at Verde as she continued. "Why should I skip a perfectly good dinner with a very handsome man in a quaint little restaurant to come back in to work?" After another long silence he sighed. "There’s been a terrorist bombing." Westphall sat up straighter. "Where?" "Barbara! Not over the phone." "Good bye, Mel." "Wait!" A pause. "Shit!" Another pause. "OK." A final pause. "In Washington." She sat up even straighter. "As in, DC?" "Very." "Anybody hurt?" "You could say that." "Anybody important?" Another pause, but shorter. "How about all nine Chief Justices, all dead." She stopped breathing. Now it was David’s turn to sit up straighter as he reacted to the look on her face. She unconsciously squeezed his hand a little harder. Mel repeated himself as if Westphall had not heard. "All dead." "I heard you before. I can be there in twenty minutes." "It gets worse." Osterman was now into his ‘I can’t stop talking’ mode, and Westphall wasn’t sure she wanted to hear any more. "Not over the phone, Mel." But true to her prediction, Osterman couldn’t stop himself once he started. "The President was with them. He’s dead, too." "Jesus!" Osterman tried to lighten the mood. "No, fortunately he wasn’t there." "Fifteen minutes, Mel." She shut off the phone before he could say more and stood up. "I’ve got to go." Verde stood up with her, groping for her coat and hat on the empty chair to his right. "Bad?" "The worst." Verde held her coat for her as she jammed her arms in and then shrugged it up onto her shoulders. Her body language and sharp actions confirmed her statement. Verde cautiously spoke over her shoulder. "What can you tell me?" She looked around and leaned closer to him, speaking in a whisper. "President Thornton’s dead." David blinked and looked around, relieved to see no one had heard her. He took her arm and headed for the door. "I’ll go with you." They had to walk single file to get through the crowd still waiting at the front door. As they reached the sidewalk Westphall suddenly stopped in her tracks and David almost ran into her from behind. "Damn!" "What?" She turned and studied his face. "I just realized what this means." "What’s that?" "Atilla the Hun is now the President of the United States." David touched her shoulders and smiled tightly. "Do me a favor and don’t call him that on the air tonight, OK?" Westphall nodded and shivered as rain began to work its way down her back. Verde opened an umbrella and herded her underneath it with his arm as he hailed a cab. Her head was spinning as they climbed into the cab and headed uptown to the GNN studios. She filled David in on what she knew and then began putting on her ‘game face’ as she prepared to break this incredible news to an unsuspecting nation. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Two The knock at the door was insistent. Charles Westin Powers, the Vice President of the United States, former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and soon to be President of the United States, looked up from the brief he was reading, wondering how long the knocking had been going on before it had worked its way into his consciousness. He glanced around the room to get his bearings, so lost in his work that at first he didn’t know where he was. He finally recognized the furniture of his office in the White House. His annoyance at the interruption was evident when he spoke. "What is it?" Luther Williams, Powers’ personal aide entered the office quickly and efficiently and stood at attention in full army dress greens, anxious to be addressed. "Luther. I thought I made it quite clear I was not to be interrupted. I’m trying to understand this brief on China." "Yes, sir. But this is serious shit." Williams’ words almost ran together, he was speaking so fast. Powers closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. After fifteen years together he knew that Williams using that kind of language with him and speaking so fast meant he was very excited about something he considered very important. "What’s the problem, Luther?" Williams tried very hard to control himself. He had seen Powers handle all sorts of crisis situations over the years, but this was the worst news he had ever had to present to his boss. He wanted to remain calm. "Sir. There has been an incident." Powers waited patiently, showing no signs of anxiety. "Proceed." "Sir. The President is dead." Powers took a short breath. "Go on." "At nineteen fifteen this evening a bomb exploded in the chambers of the Chief Justices. President Thornton was there at the time for that photo session." Powers eyes narrowed. Williams was speaking very fast. "Casualties? Slowly now." "Yes, sir. The President," Williams paused between each phrase. "and all nine Chief Justices dead. Eleven members of the media dead, nineteen critically wounded. Six secret service dead, seven wounded. Eleven Justice Department staff dead, six wounded. And..." Williams stopped as his memory failed him. He knew better than to guess at anything, so he admitted his shortcoming. "Some other big shots involved, but I can’t remember the numbers." Powers stood up. He handled crisis situations better when he was moving. He buttoned his jacket and began to pace. He had spent his entire career dealing with the death of friends, comrades and men who served with him and under him. But the President of the United States! And not just any President, but his President. His thoughts swirled in all directions. Shock, sympathy and sorrow fled though his mind, chased by anger and then the stunning realization of the implications. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He looked at his watch. He began by stating the obvious. A small trick that always helped him get his mind in gear again. "We need to take action immediately." "Yes, sir." "We’re in charge now." "Yes, sir." The drill began to work and Powers slowly gained control of himself and began to function again. "We’ll need a federal judge here as soon as possible." "The duty officer already sent for one." "Good. Where’s the First Lady?" "Still in California visiting her sister. Her two sons are with her." "Make sure one of our people tells her before she hears it on the news if possible. And then get them all back here as soon as we can." "Yes, sir." Powers continued to pace. "And get the White House Press Secretary here. What’s his name?" "Warner." "Right. He’ll be dying to give me advice on what to do, so let’s get it over with." He stopped and looked at his watch. It was a silver faced Omega with gold numbers his grandfather had given to him on his sixteenth birthday, and he wore it every day of his life. Now its silver hands measured out seven thirty-two and fifteen seconds. "And then call a staff meeting for twenty-one thirty. We’ll need to plan next steps." "Yes sir." Powers’ mind shut down on him again. He needed some time to get himself together. "That will be all for now." "Yes, sir." But Williams didn’t move. Powers had looked away, but now turned back. "Yes?" "Sir, may I be the first to wish you the best of luck." Powers stared at his aide for a second and then extended his hand. "Yes, you may." Williams stepped forward and shook Powers hand. Two black men who had seen years of service together, now embarking on a new assignment. Their biggest ever personally, and the biggest ever for their race. "Congratulations, Mister President." "Thank you, Luther." Williams spun and left the room. Powers walked across the room and picked up the telephone. The night operator came on immediately. "Yes, sir." Powers recognized her voice. "Sharon, I need to speak with the Special Investigations Officer immediately." Powers held the phone and waited, knowing the transfer would be quick. Within seconds a sharp Boston accent crackled across the line. "Sir. Colonel James P. Harbeson, Special Investigations." Powers nodded. He was glad it was Harbeson. He had seen his work before, and felt he was one of the best investigators on his general staff. "Good evening, Colonel. We’ll have to skip the pleasantries. We have an emergency. There has been a bombing at the Justice Department. The casualties include the President of the United States and all of the Chief Justices. I want you to get a team over there immediately. Get everyone off the scene except your own men, then shut it down. Nobody goes near the scene, nobody goes near any survivors, and your reports come only to me, not through the chain of command. I want no media leaks. I want nothing released to the public unless I say so first. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, sir, perfectly clear." "Good. Then get moving and report back when you’ve got things under control." "Yes, sir." "And Colonel?" "Yes, sir?" "When I mean shut it down, I mean nobody learns anything. Not the press, not the city police, not the FBI, not your wife, not the mistress of your staff sergeant. Nobody. Understood?" "Yes, sir." "Good. That’s all." The line went dead as Harbeson moved to his task. Powers considered the situation and decided to find out what the media was saying. He walked to the side wall and opened the cabinet hiding the television. He turned it on and switched to CBS. A man he didn’t recognize was speaking. "We take you now to our studios in New York for a special report from Barbara Westphall." The screen blinked and Westphall appeared, calm and collected. "Good evening. I am Barbara Westphall with a special news announcement. The President of the United States, Richard Edward Thornton, is dead." The screen changed to a live shot of the Justice Building. Because it was dark and raining and the camera man was behind the police barrier some distance from the building, it was difficult to see exactly what was going on. What was clear, however, was that there was a significant amount of chaos. Fire trucks were still arriving, the building was smoldering as several firemen were dousing it with hoses, and the flashing lights from the numerous police and rescue cars scattered across the front of the building cast an eerie yellow-red glow on the entire scene. Westphall continued to speak over the scene on the screen. "Authorities are still gathering information on the terrorist attack that occurred this evening at the Supreme Court Building in Washington, DC. The President of the United States and all nine Chief Justices died when a bomb exploded in the private chambers of the Chief Justices at 7:15 PM. President Thornton was there for an official photography session with the Chief Justices to celebrate the addition of his two latest appointees, Raymond Taylor and Jennifer McPatrick, to the highest bench in the land." The TV screen shifted back to Westphall in the studio. Westphall paused and turned to face a camera to her right, then continued as a recent photo of Powers appeared over her left shoulder. "Vice President Charles Westin Powers will succeed Thornton as the new President of the United States. A little more than year ago General Powers, then the recently retired Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, became the Vice Presidential candidate of the American Party. The lack of a majority winner in the subsequent elections and the outbreak of war in the Middle East brought Powers the Vice Presidency when The House of Representatives voted for the Republican candidate Thornton as President and the Senate voted for the American Party candidate Powers as the Vice President. Now, the untimely death of President Thornton has elevated General Powers into the White House. General Powers is the first third-party candidate in this century and the first African-American ever to hold the office of President of the United States. We have no report as yet, but we assume he will be sworn into the office some time tonight. An office where he will face an unfamiliar role in an arena where he has little experience. We can only hope that President Powers is a fast learner." Powers turned away at the jibe and turned off the set in order to be with his own thoughts. A black man, a recently retired military man in the White House. He smiled to himself at the irony. He had always had a vision for America, a dream of what the country could be. He had lived through many of the shortcomings of the country because of his skin color. And now he was in a position to make his dream for a better America come true. He believed he could provide the means for America to metamorphose into Utopia, a place where all Americans could live safely and prosper beyond their wildest dreams. Some hard decisions would have to be made, and even harder actions taken, but he believed the end result would justify the means. Yes, he tried to reassure himself, the end would certainly justify the means.