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SPENCER TRIES TO walk away but Liam blocks him.
“Wait, wait,” Liam says. “What are you going to do?”
“Didn’t you hear me earlier? What the hell can I do?”
“You’re a doctor, you should be able to tell the president’s personal physician what you found out.”
Spencer says, “Commander Prentiss? Sure. I’ll make an appointment tomorrow and we’ll have a nice little chat. Maybe I can convince him that the president has a Cluster A personality disorder, presenting as paranoia. What then?”
Liam says, “Well, there must be some sort of plan, or protocol, or—”
“Or nothing,” Spencer says. “What, you think this is some sort of Third World country where a cadre of doctors can get together and declare the president is insane? Do you?”
Liam says, “There has to be something …”
Spencer says, “Ever read a book calledNight of Camp David?”
“No,” Liam says.
“It was published back in 1965, written by Fletcher Knebel, half of the writing team that didSeven Days in May. I read it a couple of weeks ago. Not a bad thriller for its time, but damn, the situation issimilar. A senator is close friends with the president and is convinced that the president is paranoid, imagining enemies everywhere.”
Liam says, “What happens in the book?”
“You looking for a way out, a resolution?” Spencer shakes his head. “It doesn’t end that way. The senator tries to convince the secretary of defense, a Supreme Court judge, other officials, that the president is increasingly unstable. But who makes the decision? The Cabinet? A congressional subcommittee? And imagine the firestorm ifanythinggot leaked to the press that members of President Barrett’s administration are concerned about his mental health? It’ll make the Trump administration seem like an Amish barn-raising by comparison.”
Liam says, “Answer the question. What happens in the book?”
Spencer says, “A bit of a letdown, honestly. The president … he seems to realize that he’s not well, and he resigns. End of book. Unfortunately for you, me, and the nation, I don’t think President Barrett is going to follow that plotline.”
Liam sighs, runs both hands through his hair. “Something has to be done.”
“Like what? Look at our history. Kennedy had enough drugs in him to open a pharmacy. Johnson was so paranoid that he thought his Secret Service detail—all JFK appointees—were out to get him. Nixon had a drinking problem, on top of his paranoia. And we don’t have to go too far back in history to find another president who had questions about his stability.”
“But something has to be done.”
“Certainly,” Spencer says. “But not by me, friend. Nope.”
“Aren’t you worried?”
“Of course I am, but at least there are guardrails out there. Nixon’s folks kept it together until he resigned. And there are safeguards in place when it comes to declaring war. As much as he may want to do it down the line, POTUS can’t launch a nuclear attack on his own. Even if he is a paranoid.”
Somewhere a car honks.
Spencer says, “So that leaves it to you, doesn’t it, to do something about it.”
“Me?” Liam asks. “Why does it have to be me?”
Spencer walks away, gently tapping him on the shoulder. “Because it has to be somebody.”
CHAPTER 45
IN AN ISOLATED alleyway in Georgetown off M Street Northwest is an unmarked wooden door that leads to the Button Gwinnett Club, with access only allowed through a numbered keypad lock.
The code to the lock is given upon a payment of $100,000 to the club, and in exchange, the club offers something rare in the District of Columbia.
Pure privacy.
No cell phones or electronic devices are allowed into the club, and there is a warren of corridors that lead to private dining rooms so the shakers and movers of the nation’s capital don’t bump into each other while making off-the-record deals with their supposed opponents.