Collateral (Tier One #6)

The Oval Office

The White House

Washington, DC

1703 Local Time

“Have a seat, Kelso,” the President said as he rose from his chair behind the Resolute Desk and gestured to the seating area.

Jarvis nodded, heels clicking on the wood floor until he stepped onto the huge, oval area rug with the Presidential seal in the middle. He met Warner at the twin gold-colored sofas positioned opposite each other. Warner sat first, crossed his left ankle over his right knee, and pushed up the already rolled sleeves on his white dress shirt. The door behind him opened and he winked at Jarvis.

“I asked for a snifter of brandy for both of us. That okay for you?”

For a moment Jarvis worried he meant because of his medication or his “condition,” but he shook the paranoid thought away. “Of course,” he said.

The steward poured out two snifters for the men, set the bottle on the coffee table, and left as he had come, without a word. The President took a long pull on his brandy, then set the snifter on the rectangular table between them. He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, and steepled his fingers.

“Kelso, as you know, the loss of the Vice President is catastrophic to our nation, but it is also catastrophic for me personally and for the smooth running of my administration. I’ve met with my closest advisors—a small, select group of which I consider you an important member—and with White House Counsel. Even though there is precedent for me to ride out the rest of my term without appointing a Vice President, I’ve decided that it is something I feel very strongly needs to be done.”

If I’m really one of your closest advisors, then why talk to me now after your mind’s made up? he thought, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. No matter; the inner workings of the White House are not only outside my expertise, but also outside my concern.

“How can I help, Mr. President?” he said.

“Well, Kelso, since you asked . . .” The President was smiling at him in a way that made Jarvis suddenly feel very uneasy, and then it all clicked into place, just before Warner verbalized the worst idea in the history of American government. “I would like you to serve as Vice President of the United States for the remainder of my term.”

Jarvis coughed involuntarily as he struggled to keep the absolute repugnance of the idea from showing on his face. He was no bureaucrat and couldn’t imagine anything worse. He was a Navy SEAL and now the leader of the entire American intelligence community. To become Vice President was, well, in his mind a demotion.

“Sir, I’m flattered, but . . .”

“Don’t be,” Warner said, waving his hand. “There’s nothing flattering about it. Frankly, it’s a shit job, well beneath the talents of a man with your pedigree. But that being said, it’s the job I need you for.”

“Sir, with all due respect, this is the worst possible time for me to change billets. We are on the brink of war with Russia, I’m managing ongoing intelligence collection and counterterrorism operations in thirty-three countries, and at the same time trying to prosecute your objectives and avoid World War Three. How on earth could I step away to take on what is, frankly, a bureaucratic position in this time of crisis?”

“The crisis is what demands it, Kelso,” Warner said, undeterred.

“How is that, sir? My understanding is there is no constitutional mandate requiring that the Vice President be replaced, much less in the middle of an international crisis rivaling the Nazi invasion of Poland. The timing is terrible.”

Warner picked up his brandy and stood.

“I have never encountered your equal in tactical and strategic thinking. It’s why you’re in the position you are, why I have given you free reign with an asset like Ember, and why even as Vice President, I would need you to keep your fingers on IC operations through this crisis and beyond. And yet despite your strengths and capabilities, you still refuse to embrace the crucial role that gamesmanship plays in the global chess match we call geopolitics. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but civilization is binary—there’s either peace and politics, or war and politics. In either case, the common denominator is politics. Now, whether this shortcoming of yours is a conscious choice or a skill set you lack, I cannot say—I would presume the latter; otherwise you would have attempted to master the skill like everything else in your career.”

Warner’s voice was calm but commanding as he paced beside the table, leaving Jarvis awkwardly in his seat to be lectured by the President of the United States. “You’ve spent a lifetime evaluating risks and prosecuting threats with direct action. That’s all fine and good for a military man, but as the leader of the most powerful nation on Earth, it’s only half the picture. Let me ask you this . . . if something were to happen to me, the Speaker of the House would become President. Do you really trust that gutless, showboating politico to rebuff Russian aggression in Ukraine, to protect our forces and allies, and to bring our brave men and women home victorious?”

Apparently, it was not a rhetorical question, because Warner—one hand on his hip and the other clasping his brandy snifter—stared at him for an answer.

“No, sir,” Jarvis said. “Given the circumstances, he would not be at the top of my list.”

“Bullshit,” Warner said. “He shouldn’t be on any fucking list under any fucking circumstances! As President, I swore an oath to defend and protect the Constitution. That responsibility extends beyond my tenure of service. Choosing and endorsing the best possible successor is not a luxury, it’s an obligation. What kind of leader would I be if I dropped dead from a heart attack and left the Speaker in charge?”

Jarvis nodded but held his tongue.

“But here’s the real deal, Kelso. Tenet was poised to continue my policies toward Russia. He was leading in early polling and I believe was a shoo-in to win the next election. That’s why Petrov wanted him out of the way. And let’s not forget, his Zeta minions have already taken a shot at me once. What’s to stop him from trying again? So, while I don’t have to replace the Vice President, what message do you think it communicates to the Kremlin if I tap you—a decorated Navy SEAL, the Director of National Intelligence, and my man going toe to toe with Arkady Zhukov—to fill the role?”

“The exact message I would want Russia to receive, sir.”

“With you next in line, my safety and America’s safety have never been more assured,” the President said, his eyes alight with fire and confidence.

“If I agree to this, I want to continue to oversee and coordinate Ember operations against Zeta,” Jarvis said, failing to see any viable exit strategy.

Warner dropped into his seat, crossed his legs, and with the brandy still in his hand said, “Your statement makes it sound like you think this is a negotiation. What you don’t seem to understand is that I’m not asking, I’m telling. You’re going to be the next Vice President of the United States, whether you want to or not. You’ve answered every call of duty your nation has asked of you for over thirty years. This is your next billet. The Vice Presidency is where I need you now. I plan to swear you in tomorrow at fourteen hundred hours, and I will make an announcement to that effect tomorrow morning. Decide what personnel changes need to be made to keep things moving as smoothly as possible and notify the necessary personnel on your staff.”

With nothing else left to say, Jarvis acquiesced. “Yes, Mr. President.”

“Now that that’s settled,” Warner said, smiling and leaning into the backrest, “who do you have in mind to take over as DNI?”

Jarvis knew who should be his successor . . . the woman who had spent her entire career in Intelligence, from her time at JSOC and the Office of Naval Intelligence, to her tenure as his Chief of Staff at ODNI; the woman who had saved his life by taking a bullet for him; the woman who was his most trusted advisor and had her fingers on the pulse of literally everything in the Intelligence Community. But he knew better than to offer her name up for such a monumental, life-changing opportunity without consulting her first.

“Sir, I’ll put together a short list for you, but I need to give my candidates a heads-up first.”

Warner chuckled at this. “You’re not going to do to them what I just did to you, huh? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Just telling you straight, sir,” Jarvis said, with a chuckle of his own.

“And that’s why I need you.” The President stood and extended his hand.

Jarvis gripped it firmly. Thank God the medicine was working, or the rigorous exercise regime, or maybe both in tandem. Either way, it didn’t matter; he was just grateful that his hand didn’t shake, tainting the memory of this moment for the rest of his life.

Warner released his grip, flashed Jarvis a wry smile, then said, “Now go tell Petra the bad news about your promotion and get back to me. I imagine the two of you have a lot to talk about.”

That’s the understatement of the year . . .

“Yes, sir,” he said, practically punch-drunk, and walked out of the most powerful office on earth to find Petra.

He didn’t have to go far; she was waiting for him in the President’s Outer Office, sitting in the chair opposite Warner’s secretary’s desk. She stood upon seeing him, a knowing look on her face.

“You heard?” he said.

“Just had a meeting with the President’s Chief of Staff,” she said. “Let’s, um, find someplace private we can talk.”

He nodded, and she led him out into the corridor and down the hall to the Vice President’s Office. Vice President Tenet’s secretary greeted them, nodded at Petra, and let them into the well-appointed and eerily vacant office, with its iconic blue carpet and blue-painted walls.

“So,” she said, turning to him once the door had closed behind them.

“That about sums it up,” he grumbled.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “He’s already asked me who I recommend as my successor as DNI.”

“Who did you tell him?” she asked, her expression rife with curiosity.

“I didn’t,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you first.”

“I appreciate that,” she said with a smile. “I think the choice is obvious; it should be Reggie.”

He met her gaze but didn’t say anything.

“What?” she said, shifting her weight.

“It should be you,” he said.

For a moment she didn’t react, then she burst into laughter. “Me? Have you lost your mind?”

“My mind’s as sharp as ever,” he said. “You’re the perfect candidate, Petra. You’re brilliant, prudent, and you’re already read into everything going on. There’s no one I’d trust more to take the reins at ODNI.”

She walked over to him and took both his hands in hers. “I’m flattered, Kelso, I really am. But even if I could make it through the confirmation hearings—which I wouldn’t because I don’t have the CV to warrant—”

“I already thought about that,” he said, cutting her off, “Warner will name you Acting DNI, and then with my endorsement and Warner exerting pressure behind the scenes, I know we could push your confirmation through after the crisis in Ukraine settles down.”

She squeezed his hands, stopping him. “You didn’t let me finish . . . What I was trying to say is, even if I could make it through the hearings, I wouldn’t want the job.”

“What?” he said, screwing up his face at her. “What are you talking about?”

This made her chuckle. “Kelso, I don’t want to be DNI. In fact, in my mind, taking over as DNI would be a demotion.”

“A demotion?” he echoed, confused.

“Yeah, because given the choice between being Chief of Staff to the Vice President of the United States or being Acting DNI, I’ll take the former any day of the week. Besides, I don’t want to be DNI without you. We’re a team. Where you go, I go . . . Assuming, that is, that you want me?”

“Want you?” he managed to choke out. “I’m terrified of becoming Vice President. I don’t want the job if it means doing it without you. But the last thing in the world I ever want is to be selfish and force you to hop, skip, and jump around wherever the winds blow me. I don’t want to hold you back, Petra. You’d be an amazing DNI.”

“Thank you, for believing in me,” she said and pulled him in for an embrace, squeezing him tight around the chest. “But if it’s all the same to you, I have my heart set on being the Vice President’s Chief of Staff.”