Panic Switch полностью

“Having a son on the ice that day, well, that presents a conflict-of-interest. It could be construed that you attacked that plane just to save your son.”

“I did,” Pacino said. “But I’d still do it if my son were safe at his home in Virginia Beach. Besides, shooting the Russian rescue aircraft that could have saved my son? That’s acting against any conflict of interest.”

“Sir, you gave away to the Russians that we’d successfully spied for the intel, the information that they were planning to take our survivors hostage.”

“For all we know,” Pacino said, “the Russians dangled that in front of us intentionally to see what we would do. If we let them take our survivors as prisoners of war, they’d know we were weak. And that would make dealing with them in the future that much more difficult.”

O’Keefe considered for a moment and nodded. “You make a good point. What did the CIA director think of that idea? Or the director of the NSA?”

“I didn’t ask,” Pacino said.

“See, that’s another of Carlucci’s reasons,” O’Keefe said. “You don’t consult experts. You just act. One day that could get you into trouble.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, Remi,” Pacino said, finding a book that had gotten buried under papers, then putting a framed photo of him and young Anthony on top of the book. There was little else to remove from the office. “But I’m returning to retirement, so I don’t think your advice will get used.”

“I doubt that,” O’Keefe said, smiling.

“Are there any more reasons?” Pacino asked. “I should get going.”

“Chopper isn’t here yet,” O’Keefe said, glancing out the office’s south window. “The president wants you to take Marine One to wherever you want to go. Also, he needs a little time to gather up the press.”

“That’s considerate of the president,” Pacino said. “But he could have arranged a limo. I’m just going back to Annapolis.”

“Listen… Admiral,” O’Keefe said, searching for the proper title to call Pacino, since he was no longer the vice president. “President Carlucci wants you to run against him in the primaries.”

Pacino stopped searching his desk for any other things to bring with him and stared at O’Keefe.

“What?”

“You heard me right. Carlucci wants you to run for the American Party nomination next spring and win it.”

“Why? If he’s done, why doesn’t he just resign? Or announce that he won’t run?”

“He’s definitely done, Admiral, but he believes it’s better to lose to you in the primaries than quit. I think his exact words were, ‘winners never quit and quitters never win, but you can always lose the primaries and go home with your dignity intact.’ He says once he loses, he will endorse you and throw his full political weight in your favor so you win the general election.”

Pacino inhaled. “That’s a lot to take in,” he said after a moment.

O’Keefe smiled. “Can I tell the president you didn’t reject the idea?”

Pacino nodded. “As you said, I need to confer with the experts. So I will consult them.”

“Excellent, Admiral. Here, let me take your photo and book. I’ll have a Marine bring this to the chopper with your briefcase.”

“I don’t have a briefcase here,” Pacino said.

“You do now. It will contain a tablet computer with information Carlucci wants you to have with access to his files and his database. It’s highly classified, so—“

“I’ll take good care of it, Remi,” Pacino said, smiling.

He felt a thousand pounds lighter as he walked out of the office, wondering what he’d say to the reporters gathering on the south lawn.

The rotors and engines of the gigantic helicopter, Marine One, had been shut down, presumably, Pacino thought, so that the crowd of reporters could hear what he had to say.

He stepped to the podium that had been set up and looked out over the crowd. “Good morning, everyone,” he said, the crowd quieting. “You may have already heard that I tendered my resignation as vice president to President Carlucci this morning. I’ll be returning to private life and retirement. Other than that, I have no further comment.”

He walked from the podium but the reporters mobbed him, four Secret Service agents pushing them aside and forming a corridor allowing Pacino to walk to the helicopter, which had started its engines.

“Did you resign, Admiral, or did you get fired?” one reporter shouted.

“Did you have disagreements with Carlucci?” another asked.

“Are you running for president next year?”

“Did the Russians contact the White House about your order to attack their rescue aircraft?”

Pacino frowned at that last question. He’d ordered Operation Poseidon to be classified so highly no one would know about it for a decade, but maybe Carlucci had leaked the information or even declassified it. It would make sense, Pacino thought. Firing on the Russian aircraft would gain Pacino points with a lot of voters, he thought, although it would lose him others.