Free Line of Succession by Brian Garfield

but Mr. Hearn did reveal they are three men and three women. Whether the Government suspects that more than these six were involved in the.… One moment, please. We have only just received this. The Director of the FBI, who has been placed in charge of rescue and investigative operations at the bombed Capitol building in Washington, has authorized the release of a preliminary list of casualties. We are advised the list will be read out by the President’s news secretary, Mr. Hearn, in just a few minutes’ time. BBC is now preparing to switch us via satellite to live coverage of Mr. Hearn’s briefing in Washington.”
    There was an obsequious knock. McNeely rose with alacrity and two of the agents went with him to answer the door. It was the hotel manager, wheeling a large television console. Fairlie thought irritably that it had taken the hotel almost three quarters of an hour to locate and deliver the television set to his room—probably the same set he had had removed the day of his arrival because he detested television and found French television to be a particular abomination.
    The hotel manager backed out of the room after whispering something in McNeely’s ear. The agents turned to stare at the warming TV screen, and McNeely said to Fairlie, “He says the place is crawling with reporters and the rumor’s around that you’re going to make a statement.”
    â€œNot just yet.”
    â€œI hope they don’t think of bringing a battering ram.” McNeely didn’t smile; he only flopped into his chair and brooded toward the screen.
    The telephone.
    McNeely bounced up and Fairlie watched him with care. He had left instructions with the switchboard to connect no incoming calls except from President Brewster, who had called an hour ago and asked him to stay on tap.
    McNeely covered the mouthpiece with his palm and gave Fairlie an unreadable look. “It’s the girl on the switchboard. She’s holding a call for you from Harrisburg.”
    â€œJeanette?”
    â€œYes. Evidently she’s been trying to get through to you for more than an hour. I gather she’s blistering the corns off the poor girl on the board.”
    That wasn’t hard to credit. Fairlie approached the phone, moving awkwardly sideways to keep the TV screen in view. It was French television of course and the sound was down very low; he could hear the BBC radio announcer introducing Perry Hearn and on the screen he could see the satellite picture of the White House Lawn, gray on a misty cold afternoon with a thick crowd waiting, breath pouring like steam from their nostrils.
    â€œJeanette?”
    â€œOne moment please.” An American operator’s voice.
    â€œCliff darling?”
    â€œHi sweet.”
    â€œMy God what trouble I’ve had reaching you. I finally had to pull rank—the President’s wife is calling, I told them. It sounded God-awful to me.”
    â€œHow is it there?”
    â€œIt’s madness, Cliff. You can’t imagine it. I think the whole city’s glued to their television screens as if they were bleeding to death and the tube was their transfusion bottle.”
    â€œThere hasn’t been any trouble, has there?”
    â€œOutside of the Hill, you mean. No. I don’t think anybody’s thought of making trouble. We’re all too numb.” It was a good clear connection but she was pitching her voice high and loud as if to span the intercontinental vastness.
    The TV had gone to a tight closeup of Perry Hearn’s amiable bland face and the radio carried Hearn’s voice but they were somewhat out of sync, the radio voice anticipating the movements of Hearn’s lips on the screen by a half second. As of now thirteen Senators and twenty-eight Congressmen are still missing.…
    â€œAre you all right, sweet?” He had turned his shoulder to the others in the room and spoke low, confidentially into the