Читаем Panic Switch полностью

Pacino opened the folder. It was a one-page document signed by the president and the cabinet revoking Pacino’s interim appointment as acting president under the 25th Amendment. There was a space at the bottom for him to sign. Campbell handed him a pen, and he signed the document and returned it and the pen to her. Without a word, the beefy attorney general turned and left the room.

“She’s a real sweetheart, isn’t she?” Carlucci quipped.

“I suppose that job would bring out the dark side of anyone, sir,” Pacino said.

“Can you imagine what she would have done if you’d refused to sign that? I might have advised you to do that just to see the look on her face,” Carlucci chuckled. “Anyway, have a seat, Patch,” Carlucci said, waving to the floral-patterned couch. “I need to talk to you.”

“Why do I feel like I did whenever one of my wives used to say, ‘we need to talk’?” Pacino said, taking a seat on the couch so he could face Carlucci’s wheelchair.

“Exactly,” Carlucci said, his expression turning grim. “Patch, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna say it. You’re fired. I need you out of the building in the next thirty minutes.”

Pacino stood and offered his hand to Carlucci. He smiled and said, “it was an honor working for you, Mr. President.”

“Wait, Patch, what the hell? Sit back down,” Carlucci said in exasperation. “Don’t you want to know why I’m firing you?”

“Reasons for being fired never matter, Mr. President. Only the decision matters. Besides, as to reasons to fire me? I probably know a dozen reasons that haven’t even occurred to you yet.”

“Maybe, Patch, but you’ll need to know in case the media asks. And they will ask. What you will say affects us both. So let’s get our story straight.”

Pacino sat back down. “Go ahead, then, sir,” he said.

“First, you didn’t get fired. You resigned. Getting fired as the VP would stain your reputation. But you’re walking out of here by your own choice. That way, politically, you live to fight another day. And I don’t look like a jerk for firing a popular vice president.”

Carlucci’s chief of staff, Remi O’Keefe stuck his head in the side door. “Should I wait, Mr. President?” he asked.

“No, Remi, come on in.”

Chief of Staff Remi O’Keefe strode in, all six foot four inches of him. He was a African-American attorney who’d been a college basketball star at LSU and almost played for the NBA before a bad knee changed his career to law. He’d recovered nicely, Pacino thought, Harvard Law and a career as a Manhattan prosecutor, even being recruited to run for district attorney, but sometime during his travels, he’d sat on an airplane seat next to Carlucci, who at the time was running for mayor of Cleveland, and the two had become friends. O’Keefe had left Manhattan to become Carlucci’s chief of staff when Carlucci had been elected to the Senate, and had been by his side ever since.

Oddly, O’Keefe had been completely absent during Operation Panther, Pacino thought, as well as this op, Operation Poseidon, until the bitter end. Carlucci had hinted that O’Keefe was a staunch pacifist, hated all things military, and would object to being in any room that had Pacino in it. O’Keefe kept to domestic affairs, leaving international issues and national security to the president and national security advisor. Odds were, Pacino thought, O’Keefe had objected to Carlucci hiring a former admiral-in-command of a war fleet as his national security advisor, but Carlucci kept his own counsel when it came to hiring and firing.

O’Keefe took a seat on the wing chair near Carlucci, facing Pacino. He nodded at Pacino. “Morning, Mr. Vice President,” he said respectfully.

“Anyway, Remi, I was just talking to the vice president about his sudden decision to resign, which is a serious problem.” Carlucci winked at Pacino as he said, “Hell, Patch could run against me in the primaries, and who knows, with his recent popularity, he might knock me out of my party’s nomination.”

“That won’t happen, Mr. President,” Pacino said.

“Never say never, Patch,” Carlucci said. “Anyway, we were speaking about reasons? I thought I’d let Remi fill you in on that on your way to clear out the vice president’s office.”

“Good-bye, Mr. President,” Pacino said, standing and shaking Carlucci’s hand. “I hope you feel better.”

“I hope I can call on you for advice, Patch,” Carlucci said.

Pacino smiled. “Any time, Mr. President,” he said, and turned and walked toward the main Oval Office entrance, the most direct route to the vice president’s office. O’Keefe paused to pick up something in his office, across from Pacino’s. Once in Pacino’s VP office, O’Keefe shut the door.

“Something about reasons?” Pacino asked.

O’Keefe nodded solemnly. “You did something that Carlucci would never have allowed. You attacked that Russian rescue airplane.”

Pacino nodded. “I did. And I’d do it again.”