The Brink

Chapter 3 Jack combed his hand through his hair one last time before they hit the Oval Office. He had thrown on a pair of dark slacks and a long sleeve polo shirt embroidered with the presidential seal in record time. The door opened and Director of National Intelligence Howard Fielding launched off the couch that flanked JFK’s rattan rocker into a fully upright and locked stance. The two men sitting on the other couch across the coffee table followed Fielding’s lead. Although it was the original coffee table from George Washington’s sitting room at Mount Vernon, it was somewhat less impressive than the one upstairs in the president’s bedroom. Jack recognized Hunter Atkinson from his picture on the back of his book jackets. He had no clue as to the other man’s identity. Even at nearly four in the morning, they were all dressed in suits and ties. Jack addressed them as he crossed the room. “Gentlemen.” No one shook hands. The shared concern in the room trumped any ritual of good manners for the moment. “Mr. President,” Fielding started, “approximately two hours ago, two armed suspects broke into Monticello. They shot and killed the two security guards on duty. They proceeded to the South Square Room where they smashed a sewing table to pieces. This table had a secret compartment in it. We believe they took whatever was inside it.” Jack asked the most important question first. “Are the guards’ families being attended to?” “We have agents at their homes as we speak, sir,” Fielding replied. “I wanted to inform you first.” “Let’s make the families as comfortable as possible, Howard.” “Of course, sir.” Fielding whipped out his Blackberry from his jacket pocket and began pecking away. Jack looked at Simon. Simon nodded, but not because he approved this show of sympathy from the White House. He knew why Jack’s instinct was to put families first. “So what are we thinking was stolen?” Fielding had already made the Blackberry disappear. “Mr. President, this is Bubba Durant and Hunter Atkinson.” Jack nodded at them as Fielding continued. “Bubba is the head of the American History department at George Washington and Hunter is an author that…” “Specializes in the history of the American presidency,” Jack finished. “I’m a big fan.” Hunter beamed. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.” “Although I’m not yet certain why you’re here, thank you both for coming in the middle of the night.” “They’re here to help us figure out what exactly was stolen from Monticello, sir,” Fielding replied. Jack edged around to the rocker and motioned for all of them to sit. Simon took up his normal post at the far end of the couch from the president. “Forgive me,” Jack started, “I know this sounds heartless, but how does the murder of two Monticello guards involve the White House?” Simon cleared his throat. “Mr. President, Julius Brennan informed me about the robbery attempt at the library immediately after it happened...” “There was a robbery at the Library of Congress?” Bubba blurted out. Silence crashed into the room as Bubba realized his faux pas. He sunk back into the couch cushions. His reaction only intensified Jack’s glares at Simon and Fielding for bringing in outsiders before all their ducks were in a row. Simon cleared his throat once more and continued. “I called Admiral Fielding shortly thereafter and explained the situation. I told him if anything else should surface that could be tied to the event to please notify us immediately.” “And that’s what he’s doing here now?” Jack asked. “Yes, sir,” Simon replied. “He called me approximately one hour ago with the report of the Monticello break-in. I wanted to verify everything before getting you involved.” “And Mr. Atkinson and Mr. Durant just happened to be here taking the tour in the middle of the night?” “They’re on a short-list of consultants we use, Mr. President,” Fielding replied. “Wonderful. The United States government pays for on-call history detectives. Imagine if the press got a hold of that one.” As they tended to do wherever Jack went, all eyes were glued on the president. It allowed Simon to begin a silent conversation with him. He only needed to arch one of his thin, silver eyebrows. Jack sighed. “Mr. Atkinson, Mr. Durant…may we have the room for a few minutes please?” Chapter 4 So as not to arouse the suspicions of a college professor and a writer, Simon Shilling had Julius Brennan enter the Oval from the side door that led directly to his office. They met for fifty-five minutes before the decision was made to let Bubba and Hunter back in. Jack allowed them to get comfortable on the couch before he issued his warning. “Gentlemen, what we are about to discuss has been verified by Director of National Intelligence Howard Fielding as pertinent to our national security and is therefore classified information. You are forbidden by law to disclose any part of this conversation to any persons,” Jack paused to let the words soak in. Then he stared at Hunter Atkinson. “Or include it in the pages of your next bestseller.” “Yes, sir,” both men said simultaneously. Jack nodded at Julius. He retrieved the briefcase from his feet and set it on the coffee table. His hands trembled again as he fumbled with both locks. He opened the briefcase and scooped out the plastic bag containing the brown file folder. Jack noticed the words “ACID-FREE” and “BUFFERED” that ran along the bottom of the folder’s spine. Julius extracted the folder from the bag. He set it down on the table and then dove back into his briefcase again. He retrieved three pairs of white cotton gloves and slipped one pair on his hands. Hunter and Bubba looked at the gloves and then at the president. “Be my guest,” Jack said. He motioned toward Simon. “We’ve already seen it.” Julius waited until the two wriggled on their gloves before continuing. He moved to open the folder when Howard Fielding leaned forward. “Gentlemen.” With that one word, Fielding stole the attention away from the documents waiting for them inside the folder. “May I remind you that breaking laws pertaining to national security can, and in this case, will be punishable by life sentences in prison. Not even the highest paid attorney or the loudest protests from the ACLU will change that fact.” Hunter nodded first. Then Bubba. Again, all eyes focused on Jack and he nodded at Julius to open the folder. As he did, the faint letters at the top blazed with impossibility. Article .VIII. After both men read through both documents, Julius closed the folder. He eased it back into the plastic bag and then shucked his gloves. As his actions punctured the crescendo of silence, all eyes were not on the president. Instead they were firmly focused on the two pieces of paper that were now safe from the dangers of both theft and exposure. “A lost article of the Constitution.” The words fell out of Atkinson’s mouth. “I can’t believe it.” He gazed at the president. “Mr. President, you will have it tested it to ensure its authenticity?” “We have an expert on standby,” Simon Shilling answered. “This is…,” Atkinson muttered, his eyes back on the folder. “It’s unthinkable.” “But here it is all the same,” Bubba said. Over the next few minutes, Bubba regaled his audience with exactly why there would be an Eighth Article in existence and, more importantly, why it had been separated from the rest of the Constitution. He concluded by stating that there had to be copies. Copies no doubt hidden by Thomas Jefferson in his hallowed Virginia residence. Other pieces of paper. Words for which people had just killed. The room once again fell silence for well over a minute, an eternity in the Oval Office. Simon gazed at the president and pierced the hush.