The God Complex: A Thriller by Murray McDonald Page B

to Paula Suarez.
    President Mitchell turned and faced the room. He was back in the Oval Office after spending the better part of the day locked in his Emergency Operations Center for his own security. The evidence linking the attacks in Santa Cruz to a presidential assassination plot had been delivered during his flight back from New York. His return to Washington had not been with the fanfare he had anticipated. Instead, he was rushed to the bunker under a shroud of bodies and held captive for his own protection.
    The White House was still in lockdown . Treble the number of Secret Service Agents were on duty with a small army in reserve at a moment’s notice. Nobody was taking any chances.
    “Have any of them explained why?” he asked, still perplexed. Many of those implicated with irrefutable evidence were lifelong friends.
    “Because of you signing the disarmament treaty,” replied Paula who, along with the Attorney General, was leading the investigation. They were in fact two of the very few people allowed to meet with the President. Even those not implicated were being security checked before they were given access to the President.
    “I know what the evidence says , but nobody knew it was going to happen,” protested the President.
    “You knew,” said Lynne candidly.
    “Yes but—”
    “And other world leaders knew,” added Paula.
    “In fact, was it not just a very well organized and superbly executed plan to force Russia and China to sign an agreement that nobody thought possible?” asked Lynne accusingly.
    President Mitchell nodded ; it had been an ingenious plan to rid the world of the weapons everyone knew could and probably would, one day, destroy the planet. Whether at the hands of a legitimate government or, more likely, at the hands of terrorists who had managed to steal them, the weapons had no place in the modern world. Antoine Noble was one of the world’s most coveted philanthropists and when he had floated the idea, President Mitchell had jumped at it. It was to be his crowning glory. Deep into his second term, President Mitchell had led an unremarkable presidency. The economy was slowly rebuilding after the economic crash, wars were winding down, and the number of unemployed was gradually falling. His epitaph in history was going to be unremarkable until that day, whereupon his signature had changed the face of the world for the better. Now, however, the same day that he would go down in history was the day his own people tried to assassinate him. The British had had Guy Fawkes who, over four hundred years earlier, had plotted against his government and who, over four hundred years later, was still commemorated for having done so. The US now had its own treasonous plot to commemorate. His unremarkable presidency was now about to live on into immortality. What he’d give to have remained unremarkable.
    He took another swig of Scotch and offered his guests another as he refilled his glass for a third time. Neither of his companions had touched theirs.
    “So none of them are talking?”
    “Other than to plead their innocence, no,” said Lynne.
    “You know what I don’t get?” he asked rhetorically while taking another swig . “The people you have in custody…I mean… they’re amongst the most powerful men in the world, with access to resources and men to complete any mission. Men and women I entrust to carry out missions to protect our nation. Missions they successfully complete day in and day out to keep us safe. Missions in which we seldom leave a trace of our involvement…”
    Both Lynne and Paula hung on the President’s pause; a pause that drifted on and on, past the point of comfort and reason.
    “And… ?” prompted Lynne, breaking first.
    “How could they have so royally fucked it up?” he said , draining his glass again.
    Paula looked surprise. “You sound almost disappointed.”
    “ Not at all. It’s the one thing that gives me hope that this is all bullshit,” he