Page 17 of Air Force One (Miranda Chase #16)
Miranda was halfway to the door of the President’s PEOC office. She was unclear if that was technically correct as Sarah Feldman hadn’t been sworn in yet, so perhaps it was still the President-elect’s office—or was being Vice President a higher office? It didn’t seem appropriate to ask.
“Ms. Chase,” the President-elect / Vice President / President called out. Or should it be from highest to lowest possible offices: President / Vice President / President-elect?
Miranda had only just started thinking about contacting her team, so it wasn’t too disorienting to delay her departure. “Yes?”
“Thank you, Ms. Chase.”
“You’re welcome…” except now it was a problem. “I don’t know by which title to call you as you haven’t been sworn in yet.”
“You’re right. You may call me Sarah. Felicia, find me a judge.”
“The White House is in hard lockdown. That will take some time.” A phone rang and Felicia answered it, said “Uh-huh,” twice and hung up. “CNN has the crash from a flight tracker and is planning to go live in five minutes.”
“That means we have to go live in four. People should witness me taking the oath. How the hell am I supposed to find a judge in that time?”
Miranda held up her hand.
“What?” Miranda once against retreated behind Andi. This time she remembered to duck lower from the start so that only her eyes and the top of her head showed. “I’m sorry. What do you have to say? And you don’t have to raise your hand.”
Miranda peered out carefully, though she didn’t step clear. Her voice would be partly muffled by the back of Andi’s shoulder. She hoped it was understandable as she wasn’t moving an inch—
Oh! She finally understood the Secret Service agent’s instruction when they’d received Drake’s phone call. She went to pat herself on the back for learning something new, when she noticed everyone in the room was watching her. After a moment she remembered why.
“Article II, Section 1, Clause 8 of the US Constitution places no restrictions on who can administer the oath; anyone can technically swear you into office. It was once even done by a notary public, when Calvin Coolidge’s father swore him into office after word of President Warren G.
Harding’s death reached him at his father’s home. ”
“Anyone here a Notary Public?”
No one answered.
Miranda whispered in Andi’s ear, “Lizzy.”
But she must have done it too loudly as Lizzy turned to look at them and began shaking her head.
“No, I can’t do it. Having it administered by the nominee for the next Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff would send the wrong message.
Besides,” she waved a hand at the screen and mumbled softly, “Drake.”
Miranda recognized a sad face without her reference page. She’d been taught what to do about a sad face and said, “I’m sorry.”
Lizzy nodded.
Miranda then gave Andi just enough of a push forward that she took a step.
She was fairly sure that the look Andi half turned to give her was panic, but that couldn’t be right, because Andi never panicked except when attacked by her PTSD. And those attacks lay in her past.
“Uh, United States Army Captain Andi Wu (retired) willing to be of service, Madame President.”
“Elizabeth is right. It still implies a military stance I’m unwilling to promote directly due to recent events.
” Sarah pointed at Miranda. She couldn’t duck behind Andi because she’d pushed Andi ahead.
“At the moment there are precisely three non-military personnel in this bunker. It can’t be Felicia as she’s my Chief of Staff and I can’t swear myself in.
You, Miranda are nominated. Someone find a Bible.
Felicia, call CNN, FOX, and all the other majors.
Get BBC, Al Jazeera, and anyone else you can think of. We go live in three minutes.”
Before turning to the phones, Felicia tossed her a hairbrush, which Sarah caught neatly. Oh, the blast of air in the PEOC’s entrance had made a mess of her hair.
Miranda tried to slip from the room three times. The first time Lizzy stopped her, the second time the scary-looking Indian woman named for the goddess of death and destruction, and the last time by her wife’s gentle hand, firmly taking her arm and guiding her to stand beside the President-to-be.
It didn’t make her feel any better that Meg had trotted along beside her each time, giving no indication that she sensed Miranda suffering an autistic meltdown. She wouldn’t mind having one rather that what she knew came next.