Code Word: Paternity, A Presidential Thriller by Doug Norton Read Free Book Online

its
owner the ability to track it anywhere in the world as long as it stayed within
range of a satellite or a cell phone network.
    Kim laughed as he read on. From any
computer anxious parents could locate the family car and see how fast their
teenager was driving, as well as obtain a history of locations and speeds. If
the parents wished, they could send a signal locking or unlocking the car doors
and even disabling the ignition.
    One of those devices could be paired with
each bomb, linked to the firing circuit in such a way that, if the device were
tampered with, the bomb would be disabled and a small explosive would destroy
the bomb and the tamperer. With the device in place and functioning, Kim would
know where the bomb was and could, if he chose, disable it. Tomorrow he would
tell the Arabs it was a deal, one he of course would dominate by selling old
plutonium weapons that had never worked powerfully in tests.
    Having solved the problem, Kim returned
to his theater and On the Waterfront .
Sadly for Dugan, the Mob killed him for taking their whiskey.
    Later, riding through the deserted
streets, Kim briefly considered the U.S. presidential election of the
previous week. Since Kim’s view of the world was Kim-centered, he viewed all
others as either threats or oppo rtunities. And since all
his life he had his way in nearly everything,
he tended toward opportunity when assessing people. None could match him
anyway, he thought. He had long ago accepted his own genius and his destiny to
create the perfect society for his dear people.
    Martin would be another opportunity.

 

  

 
 
 
 
    Chapter
7
    President Martin entered a small, drab
room smelling of mildew. Cabinet officers and the few others rose, their faces
mostly neutral. Some nodded and smiled slightly as his eyes met theirs. Others
didn’t hold eye contact.
    Yesterday’s press conference had ended in
fiasco with the power failure and stampede. After Wilson’s
command Rick sat thinking, for just a moment, of people trapped in collapsed
buildings in Las Vegas.
As Martin was pushing away emotions, Wilson
had tensed at a voice sounding in his earpiece. He then growled, “No fire, Mr.
President, just some fuckin’ idiot with an overactive imagination! We’ll let
the herd run away and then walk out of here. The generators will be back up in
a few minutes.”
    Today the journalists, not wanting to
admit they had panicked over a five-minute power outage, spun a narrative of
the administration’s failure to be prepared.
      I’m not
going to think about the people in Las Vegas , Rick vowed silently. If I do, I’ll become as paralyzed as Walter
there , he thought, contemplating the secretary of education. He slid the
memory into the vault where he kept unwanted things.
      “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Now we
begin. The day before yesterday was, literally, the first day of the rest of
our lives. The country expects us to aid the victims and prevent another
attack. With God’s help—and Congress’s—we’ll do that!
    His face earnest, a look he could turn on
and off at will but now was sincere, the president leaned forward, fingers
interlaced in front of him on the table.
    “I believe that each of you is up to the
job. I’m not expecting perfection, but I am expecting best efforts, twenty-four
seven. I need to hear what you believe, not just what I want to hear. We can’t have leaks, not only for
security reasons but for the other reason we all know. Fear of being hung out
to dry causes people to hold back. I pledge to you this is a Woodward-free zone
and you must each make the same pledge to me and to each other.”
    A brief ripple of smiles held Rick’s
attention, and he missed the frown that flitted across the vice president’s
features. Bruce Griffith’s square face and ruddy complexion were topped by
longish, white-blonde hair, carefully blow-dried and combed forward to conceal
a receding hairline. But acne scars in his cheeks and