Reilly sat in the big comfortable chair, swiveling from side to side. He was happy it didn’t squeak—that was craftsmanship. The chair wasn’t his. It was good enough for a ship’s captain, but nowhere good enough for the President of the United States.
A knock came from the door.
“You’re late,” shouted Reilly.
The door opened. A tall thin man came in. A woman followed. Riley hesitated about getting up to greet them. After wrestling with the decision, he rose. He smiled. Walking from behind the desk, he reached a hand to the woman. Keeping her at arm’s length was the plan. Reilly hated when the weaker sex behaved true to form.
“Katherine,” he said.
“Mr. Vice President.”
He read her condescension, but gave a friendly smile. A smile as friendly as his face would allow. He broke the handshake and turned to the man who entered. “We are ready.”
The man shook his hand and opened the door. Motioning to unseen people, he turned back, holding the door wider. A stream of people came into the small room, reducing it to matchbox size. Among the group was his associate, Fanmer. Fanmer walked without looking at him, taking residence among a group of flashing photographers. “Ingrate,” Reilly said under his breath.
“Let’s begin,” said the first man that entered. He held up the Holy Bible. Reilly placed his left hand on the book and raised his right. “Repeat after me: I, state your name.”
“I, Jason Neville Reilly.”
“Do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office President of the United States.”
“Do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States.”
“And will to the best of my ability.”
“And will to the best of my ability.”
“Preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.”
“Preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States of America.”
“Congratulations, Mr. President.”
Cheers came from the observers. Flashbulbs went off and people frantically talked on cell phones while scribbling on notepads.
President Reilly was glad for the distraction. He had no intentions of thanking Chief Justice Oaks, he hated the man for being the deciding vote to overturn a moral law Reilly and his group managed to pass. That was bad enough, but not getting the pledge right, unforgivable.
“Congratulations, Jason,” said Katherine Connors. She extended her hand.
“Thank you, Katherine,” said Reilly. He gave a pleasant smile, but thought the former First Lady had nerve, insulting him by not calling him Mr. President. “I hope my presidency will honor James.” If she won’t call me President, I won’t call him President. His smile widened, only he knew why.
“Um, yes,” said Katherine. She walked out of the room without further comment.
“Mr. President, Mr. President,” a reporter shouted, waving his hand frantically.
“Yes, Bradley.”
“Sir, will the former First Lady have a role in your administration?”
“No, however, Katherine, Matthew, and Luke will be honored guests at the Vice President’s residence. What happened to President Connors was a tragedy and I intend to get to the bottom of it to give her peace of mind.”
“Will you keep the cabinet intact, sir?”
“Mr. President.” He corrected. “And yes, I will make no changes. The first order of business is to bring these terrorists to justice. They will rue the day they took this action. Their deaths will be a beacon to all those who would act against the United States of America. I will tolerate no dissension on my shores.”
“Mr. President, Mr. President,” several reporters vied for his attention. He responded to none, leaving the room.
The noise of the flashbulbs and questions faded as he made his way down a tight fitting corridor, turning sideways once to allow an indignant soldier to pass. He opened the door and stepped into a room, shutting it behind him.
Fanmer sat at a small table. Reilly didn’t like the way the man looked at him. Soon, he would have to get rid of him and find another lapdog.
“Good afternoon, Fanmer.”
“Mr. President.”
The words sounded wrong. Reilly gave him a hard look as he sat across from the man. “Where are we on the aftermath?”
Fanmer swallowed hard. He passed a sheet of paper across to President Reilly.
“Good, good,” said Reilly, scanning the sheet. “Round them up and bring them to me. I will make the proclamation from here.”
“Here?”
“Yes,” Reilly said the word harshly. The vein in his forehead pulsed like a second heartbeat. Fanmer cringed under his gaze, lowering his head. “I’m not going to the White House until this is finished. I want my pound of flesh.”
“Yes, sir.”
Reilly gazed at the paper again. His crooked grin was pierced by a flicking tongue. Reilly rose with paper in hand. Fanmer opened his mouth to say something. A sharp look from Reilly silenced him. He watched the new leader of America exit the room. Trouble was brewing.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Pierce