Read Online (1964) The Man by Irving Wallace - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Irving Wallace
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House of Representatives shall, upon his resignation as Speaker and as Representative in Congress, act as President.’ ” His gaze moved down the page. “Yes, clear enough—President, Vice-President, Speaker of the House—and after that the order of succession is President pro tempore of the Senate, Secretary of State, Secretary of the Treasury, Secretary of Defense, Attorney General, and so forth through the Cabinet.” He raised his head. “Any Speaker even come half this close to the Presidency before?”
“Not while Speaker, no,” said Tim Flannery. “One former Speaker, Polk, was later elected President. But none ever—”
“Okay, there’s always got to be a first time,” said Talley. He handed the papers back to the press secretary. “So it’s the Speaker of the House—grumpy old Earl MacPherson himself—who’d have believed it possible? Okay, that’s the law, and no matter how we feel, we might as well start dictating some kind of press announcement.”
Flannery snapped his fingers. “I forgot to get a capsule of MacPherson’s background. Some of that should be in, too.”
“Definitely,” said Talley.
Flannery twisted in his chair toward Edna. “Can you be a good girl and fetch Representative Harvey Wickland in here? He can give us what we need for now on MacPherson.”
Edna came out of her swivel chair, hastened to the door leading to the President’s Oval Office, opened it, and then halted, surprised. Everyone in the crowded room was on his feet, all converging upon Arthur Eaton, who stood in the center of the room, in the middle of the eagle of the United States seal woven into the thick green Presidential rug.
Edna turned to Flannery and Talley. “Something’s happening!” she exclaimed. “Everyone’s gathering around Secretary Eaton.”
Immediately, Talley and Flannery jumped to their feet, pushing past her into the room toward Eaton. Reluctantly Edna followed them to the center of the Oval Office.
Eaton, his voice dry and low, was speaking aloud. “I have just been called outside to take a telephone call from Frankfurt. I have terrible news to report to all of you, terrible news, and it grieves me. Speaker of the House Earl MacPherson died in surgery, on the table, under the knife, ten minutes ago. This has been confirmed. Now the Speaker is also dead.”
A great gasp swelled through the room, and off somewhere there was someone hysterically sobbing, and after that there was a sickening silence.
Edna heard Tim Flannery, beside her, whisper, almost to himself, “Multiple vacancy.”
The first to be heard speaking aloud was Governor Wayne Talley. “I don’t believe it.”
The second to be heard aloud was Arthur Eaton. “It is true.”
Then it was that General Pitt Fortney called out, “Who in the hell is T. C.’s successor?”
Arthur Eaton held up his head. “According to the Presidential Succession Act of 1947, the next in line is the President pro tempore of the United States Senate.”
For strange and suspenseful seconds, the Secretary of State’s pronouncement hung in the air, and those who heard it were immobilized, allowing it to sink into their minds, as the curved walls with their niches and shelves of dead mementos seemed to close in on them.
“The President pro tempore of the Senate,” the Attorney General intoned, as someone might intone Amen.
And then at once, all at once, collectively, each in the room seemed to realize who this was, who their next President of the United States was, and all at once all of them, collectively, turned their gaze upon the one man who stood somewhat apart from them, near the Buchanan desk.
Everyone, it seemed, was staring at Senator Douglass Dilman. And for Edna it was frightening to see that in each person’s eyes, without exception, there was registered a look of horror.
Within thirty minutes the group, grown larger from the arrival of other members of the government, had assembled in the Cabinet Room.
“Not while Speaker, no,” said Tim Flannery. “One former Speaker, Polk, was later elected President. But none ever—”
“Okay, there’s always got to be a first time,” said Talley. He handed the papers back to the press secretary. “So it’s the Speaker of the House—grumpy old Earl MacPherson himself—who’d have believed it possible? Okay, that’s the law, and no matter how we feel, we might as well start dictating some kind of press announcement.”
Flannery snapped his fingers. “I forgot to get a capsule of MacPherson’s background. Some of that should be in, too.”
“Definitely,” said Talley.
Flannery twisted in his chair toward Edna. “Can you be a good girl and fetch Representative Harvey Wickland in here? He can give us what we need for now on MacPherson.”
Edna came out of her swivel chair, hastened to the door leading to the President’s Oval Office, opened it, and then halted, surprised. Everyone in the crowded room was on his feet, all converging upon Arthur Eaton, who stood in the center of the room, in the middle of the eagle of the United States seal woven into the thick green Presidential rug.
Edna turned to Flannery and Talley. “Something’s happening!” she exclaimed. “Everyone’s gathering around Secretary Eaton.”
Immediately, Talley and Flannery jumped to their feet, pushing past her into the room toward Eaton. Reluctantly Edna followed them to the center of the Oval Office.
Eaton, his voice dry and low, was speaking aloud. “I have just been called outside to take a telephone call from Frankfurt. I have terrible news to report to all of you, terrible news, and it grieves me. Speaker of the House Earl MacPherson died in surgery, on the table, under the knife, ten minutes ago. This has been confirmed. Now the Speaker is also dead.”
A great gasp swelled through the room, and off somewhere there was someone hysterically sobbing, and after that there was a sickening silence.
Edna heard Tim Flannery, beside her, whisper, almost to himself, “Multiple vacancy.”
The first to be heard speaking aloud was Governor Wayne Talley. “I don’t believe it.”
The second to be heard aloud was Arthur Eaton. “It is true.”
Then it was that General Pitt Fortney called out, “Who in the hell is T. C.’s successor?”
Arthur Eaton held up his head. “According to the Presidential Succession Act of 1947, the next in line is the President pro tempore of the United States Senate.”
For strange and suspenseful seconds, the Secretary of State’s pronouncement hung in the air, and those who heard it were immobilized, allowing it to sink into their minds, as the curved walls with their niches and shelves of dead mementos seemed to close in on them.
“The President pro tempore of the Senate,” the Attorney General intoned, as someone might intone Amen.
And then at once, all at once, collectively, each in the room seemed to realize who this was, who their next President of the United States was, and all at once all of them, collectively, turned their gaze upon the one man who stood somewhat apart from them, near the Buchanan desk.
Everyone, it seemed, was staring at Senator Douglass Dilman. And for Edna it was frightening to see that in each person’s eyes, without exception, there was registered a look of horror.
Within thirty minutes the group, grown larger from the arrival of other members of the government, had assembled in the Cabinet Room.
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