Three Heartbeats Away

Chapter 1 - Excerpt

Time: 9:00 AM

The crowd had been gathering since dawn on this crystal clear Memorial Day at Lafayette Park. President Clayton Whitcomb was scheduled to make a brief and welcoming appearance to kick off the unofficial start of summer. He would reflect on the true meaning of this special day: “never to forget our fallen heroes.” Now half way into his second term, President Whitcomb was loved by the majority of Americans, respected by both sides of the congressional aisle and all our allies. Of course, certain radicals needed him eliminated.

The Secret Service always seemed to be on overdrive when President Whitcomb made public appearances. The head of the division, John Randolph, just met with the President this morning with a strong request. He said, “Mr. President, I suggest you move today’s gathering from the park to the White House lawn. We will accommodate all the spectators and we can make it look like we are moving the affair to a very special place.”

The President replied, “John I can’t thank you enough for always keeping me safe, but I want the American people and others of all walks of life to feel that Lafayette Park is their Park and they are as good and important as I am.”

Mr. Randolph quickly rebutted, “Mr. President, if you insist on the park, at least move the platform closer to the mansion. Also, the ceremony is way too close to the street.”

He reached the microphone, waved, and smiled to all as they continue to applaud his arrival; their hospitable roar was thunderous. As the band concluded their piece, President Whitcomb got off only three words, “My dear friends…” He collapses forward; a hush took the place of cheers, which was soon replaced with horror-struck screams.

The Secret Service immediately surrounded the stand and placed the president on the ground. Within seconds, emergency medical staff made their way to the blood-soaked leader of the free world. The doctors went through the motions of checking his vital signs, but with the grayish maroon brain matter covering the small platform, everyone knew their adored president had been assassinated.

The president’s chief of staff, Carl Cramden, shouted…

Time: 9:00 AM

The view of the Gulf of Mexico, just off the coast of Sarasota, Florida, appeared to be a sheet of glass on this picture perfect Memorial Day. Vice President Wendell Boyer was soon to board the SS Farewell for a planned sailing and fishing excursion. His friend, Abdul Moritz, owned the fifty-foot schooner and after their last two Memorial Days out on the ship, it was decided to make this an ongoing scheduled event. “Let’s call it a guy’s day out,” said Abdul after last year’s memorable cruise. However, in their case, it would consist of a five man crew and an equal number of Secret Service agents.

Earlier, Abdul telephoned the vice president around 7:00 AM begging his forgiveness for bowing out of the occasion because of a severe stomach virus. “Please Mr. Vice President, the crew has everything ready and my cousin, Ockmed would be heartbroken if the trip was called off.” Vice President Boyer didn’t want to break the date and welcomed the chance to see Ockmed again. He remembered Ockmed’s keen insight into the Republican philosophy and his great personality.

The vice president, as with the commander-in-chief, had an 85-percent approval rating but unfortunately, everyone did not admire the vice president. Because he insisted the United States must have a permanent presence throughout the Middle East, many felt he must be removed.

The vice president’s head of security, Philip O’Connor was against a routine of any kind. “Mr. Vice President, this is the third consecutive year you are sailing and fishing on Mr. Moritz’s boat on the same day and the same time. Please don’t go out at all but if you must, please make it later in the day.”

“Philip, your men have thoroughly checked out the ship both inside and out, twice. Everything will be just fine. I plan to catch enough fish to feed the entire Secret Service for a month.”

As planned, the vice president’s motorcade was quick to arrive at the harbor with little fanfare therefore allowing him to embark rather quickly. The schooner’s powerful engine was always used at the start of any trip to pull away from the dock with ease and within several seconds, they were about one-hundred yards from the pier. By that time, the small crowd that gathered to offer a last minute wave, started to break up. As Sarasota’s local police start to leave the wharf, the unexpected happens. As an enormous blast occurred, a massive ball of fire instantaneously engulfed the fifty-foot ship. The two remaining police officers on the waterfront couldn’t believe their eyes but alertly called their superiors and all are patched immediately to the Secret Service in Washington, D.C. The seconds of silence were deafening to those on the line.

John Randolph bellowed …

Time: 9:00 AM

The humidity was low, the early morning sun was shining and Kevin Preston was getting ready for his morning run. When President Whitcomb took office, the Republicans also regained control of both houses of Congress. Six years ago, Kevin Preston was unanimously voted in as the Speaker of the House. He was a seven-term congressman who actively sat on ten committees. Speaker Preston had this bi-partisan magnetism that allowed him to draw support from even the most liberal-minded Democrats.

He didn’t time himself but his jaunt usually took about an hour. Being a bit compulsive, he stretched for five minutes, made sure the mobile phone was securely clipped to his running shorts, and started his run by leaving his residence every day at exactly 9:00 AM.

The Speaker of the House saw a familiar and welcoming sight in the distance. It was a very fit, Middle Eastern-looking female running with an infant stroller. He saw her every day and expected they both would smile and exchange their usual good mornings as they passed each other.

His phone chimed with the identifiable ring ascribed to the Secret Service. He picked up after the second note and answered with the programmed words when this call comes through, “What’s up?”

He recognized John Randolph’s voice hollering, “I know you are running but who and what’s around you?”

He knows he is forbidden to joke any time the Secret Service called but said, “The street looks the same and the familiar jogging mother with her baby is about twenty yards ahead and approaching fast”.

“Get out of there now, no questions, run the other way!”

“She is right next to me smiling...” The blast was heard three miles away.

Mr. Randolph heard an explosion and the line quickly went dead. “Mother of God help us.” He pressed a three digit code on his mobile phone, which is an emergency call to eighty-six year old Republican Senator Herman Sunderland of California. He was the president pro tempore of the Senate who is next in line to become president of the United States should the vice president and Speaker of the House be unable to assume power. As the Secret Service head listened to his connected call to the Senator just ring and ring, he whispered to himself, Please Senator, I hope you have your phone turned on and your hearing aide turned up. Could this really be happening?