Free Capitol Conspiracy by William Bernhardt

television audience the illusion that he was talking, not reading. Neither of them was turned on. Now this was genuinely unprecedented, and it meant that the president, not generally considered a great master of the English language, would be speaking without a safety net. Was this address so top secret he wasn’t even willing to give a copy to the people who operated the TelePrompTers?
    “There is much to be said tonight,” President Blake began. Ben observed carefully the lines etched in his face. Had he opted to go on without stopping in the makeup room? He looked as if he had aged a decade in the past week. “But before I proceed, I would like to ask you all to join me in a moment of silence in remembrance of the first lady of the United States, my dear wife, Emily Blake.”
    Heads bowed. The president probably felt he could not actually call for a prayer, even in a chamber that opened each day’s business with a prayer, but he came as close as was constitutionally possible. Every head in the room lowered, and Ben heard considerable sniffling and choking. It was a supremely moving moment.
    When the president raised his head again, Ben saw that his eyes were moist, almost limpid. He steadied himself and continued. “Emily loved this country. She loved everything about it. She didn’t care that much about politics, but she cared about people. Good people. Like all married folk, we had our…difficulties. But my ardent admiration, and my undying love, remained just as constant as her devotion and support to me and my work. Emily was indeed a unique, gifted, and very special individual. For those fortunate enough to call her friend, she was the best friend they could ever have. For the one man fortunate enough to call her his wife, she was a loyal and tireless companion, and quite simply the best woman—no, the best person—I have ever known.”
    Someone in the rear began clapping, not thunderously, but in a strong steady rhythm, soon joined by many others. It was not so much a round of applause as a token of remembrance, like tossing dirt onto a casket.
    The president cleared his throat, brushed away another tear, and continued. “But we must not let our grief over the loss of the first lady lead us to forget the many others who fell in service of their country during this cowardly terrorist attack. Eight Secret Service agents also fell, men and women who gave their lives in defense of the country, to ensure that our leaders are chosen by the people, not terrorists. Four civilians, including a”—hard as he tried to stop it, his voice cracked—“a little girl age three named Pauline.” He paused. “Her family called her Poppy, and she liked to skip rope, and to color pictures of flowers, and she was kind to her little brother, Kevin.” He inhaled, and once again Ben felt certain the man’s voice would break. “Now poor Kevin is an only child, unable to understand what has happened to the big sister he loved so much.”
    The president turned his head to one side, blinking rapidly. A quick survey told Ben that he was far from the only person in the gallery fighting back tears.
    “Major Mike Morelli, the man who in all probability saved my life, as well as others, remains in critical condition.”
    Ben felt a clutching in his chest. Christina reached across and squeezed his hand tightly.
    “We also lost two august members of Congress—Senator Tidwell of Oklahoma, killed during the attack, and Robert Hammond, the minority leader and longest-serving member of the Senate, in an equally cowardly poisoning. We have now learned that…”
    The president paused again, gritting his teeth. What more could there be?
    “We have discovered the remains of Lucas Marshall, Director of Homeland Security, who was killed in advance of the Oklahoma City attack. It appears that Director Marshall was killed in an effort to obtain critical security information that would allow the killers to do their dirty work. I don’t want