To Kill the President: The most explosive thriller of the year. Sam Bourne

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      But, thank God, he was not paying attention. His eye was fixed on the TV, chiefly, Kassian suspected, on the straight blonde hair and shiny, waxed legs of the Fox morning anchor, seated on the couch between two middle-aged white men.

      A new worry replaced the first. What if the President asked why the media were not trumpeting the humiliating climbdown he had forced the North Koreans to make? But that was the one upside of working for a man with an apparently extreme case of attention-deficit disorder, a man who seemed to struggle to focus on one subject for more than a few seconds: played right, it was not hard to get him to move on.

      Now as they filed out, agreeing only to meet again in twenty-four hours’ time if not sooner, Kassian steered the Defense Secretary as subtly as he could down a corridor and out into the covered walkway, the colonnade that looked out onto the Rose Garden.

      Only once he was sure they were neither overlooked nor overheard did Kassian allow his demeanour to change. The two men had already spoken once by phone earlier that morning, so now they could pick up where they left off.

      ‘You’ve heard about Frankel?’ Bruton began. ‘The state his body was in?’

      ‘I heard,’ Kassian replied.

      ‘I mean, Jesus Christ, Bob. We were there just a few hours before. It’s so obvious.’

      ‘Listen, Jim. I hear McNamara is hoping to have a new physician in place by tomorrow morning. Perhaps even tonight.’

      ‘Jeez, that’s quick.’

      ‘Like he doesn’t want to leave anything to chance.’

      ‘Shouldn’t that be you? Choosing the White House doctor: that’s up to the Chief of Staff, no?’

      ‘Of course it should be.’ Kassian looked over his shoulder. He could see two reporters, heading towards the briefing room. (Had Frankel’s death been announced already?) ‘But guess who got involved over breakfast this morning?’

      ‘You’re kidding. Daughter? Son-in-law? Don’t tell me. Both?’

      ‘I don’t know. Maybe. But however early I get in here, McNamara’s already on it. He meets the boss in the Residence every morning. Cup of coffee, shooting the breeze. Taking the temperature from the daughter—’

      ‘And the son-in-law.’

      ‘The whole imperial court. Czar, Czarina—’

      ‘He’s a regular Rasputin.’

      ‘Anyway,’ sighed Kassian. ‘He’s ahead of me on this one. Now he gets to do what they all wanted to do on day one.’

      ‘Appoint the family physician?’

      ‘Yep. The loyal retainer.’

      ‘That guy who signed off the bullshit statement during the campaign?’ Bruton allowed himself a smile. ‘It’s a wonder that jackass wasn’t struck off years ago.’

      ‘Well, his position is safe now,’ said Kassian. ‘And we can forget him signing off any “inability” medical letter.’

      ‘That’s why they want him there. He’ll have one job.’

      They stood and faced outwards together. Kassian wondered if they were too visible. ‘Frankel was right about one thing,’ he said.

      ‘What’s that?’

      ‘There’s nothing in the Twenty-fifth about an expert opinion. Nothing about a doctor’s certificate.’

      ‘So?’

      ‘It makes things even harder. For us, I mean.’ Kassian reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a thin booklet, no bigger than a wallet. ‘Since this is the document we swore to defend, I thought I ought to look at it. I read it again this morning.’ He started flicking through the pages. He came to one towards the end. ‘Here we go,’ he said.

      ‘Key bit is Section Four.’ He read out loud. ‘“Whenever the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive departments, yadda yadda, transmit … their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall immediately assume the powers and duties of the office as Acting President.”’

      ‘So we’d have to have the Veep and a majority of the cabinet,’ said Bruton. ‘Not or. And. Fuck. We’d have to have both.’ He twisted the sole of his cowboy boot into the ground, just like he did when stubbing out a cigarette butt on the road to Baghdad. His frustration was visible.

      Kassian said, ‘My hunch is there’s no way we can bring the VP on board with this. He couldn’t do it.’

      ‘Folks would say he was out for himself.’

      ‘He’d be dead to the base if he backed a stunt like this. Forever. And he’s smart. “The assassin never inherits the crown.”’

      Kassian put the document back in his pocket. ‘So what if the cabinet came together – without him – and wrote the statement? Presented it to the Veep as a fait accompli. Nothing to do with him, he can’t be blamed. He just has to go along with it.’

      Bruton shook his head. ‘Fine in theory. And he gets what’s going on. Or at least he should, a man like him. But the others? Look at them, Bob. I sit around the table with those guys. They’re nodding dogs. So long as they’re getting their beef and gravy, they’ll salute. Have you seen even one of them voice misgivings about anything?’

      ‘Tom is anxious, I know that.’

      ‘The Ag Sec? You think the President is going to be removed from office because he’s lost the Department of Agriculture?’

      ‘Barbara is also unhappy. Health and Human Services is a significant department.’

      ‘Yeah, but Barbara’s husband is a tranny, Bob.’

      ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘“Transitioning to become a woman.”’

      Kassian exhaled. ‘I did not know that.’

      ‘McNamara’s been holding onto it for weeks. Leverage.’ Bruton opened his eyes wide, as if to say: We’re not in Kansas any more, Toto.

      ‘We did the right thing with the doctor, but it’s not helped us,’ Kassian said, mindful that they both ought to get back to their offices before people – McNamara – started getting suspicious. ‘We can’t get the VP. We can’t get the cabinet. We don’t have any of the tools in place to trigger the Twenty-fifth and we have no prospect of getting them.’

      Bruton sighed. ‘We’re back to impeachment.’

      ‘We’ve been over this, Jim. “Treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanours”.’

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