by step-up apartment buildings, and was home to some of Washington’s professional elite. Charlie helped Maggie out of the car and they began walking down the tree-lined sidewalk toward the entrance.
Near the door, Charlie pulled Maggie into the shadow of the building and whispered quietly to her. “Don’t mention anything about what happened tonight, Maggie,” he said. “Now is the time to be cool and calm and simply keep our ears open. Understand?” Charlie asked in a deadly serious tone. She nodded silently.
Outside the entrance, two men in suits stared at their smart phones, grumbling loudly to one another. “They should find these hackers and cut their nuts off,” said one, a short, chubby man with a terrible comb-over. His friend grunted in approval, held his cell phone over his head and began turning in a wobbling circle, seeking better reception.
Maggie could smell an attorney a mile away, and both these guys reeked of legal briefs and out-of-court settlements.
As was usual for a Friday evening, the pub was noisy and full of customers. The clinking of glasses and silverware added to the drone of voices and conversation. A young waitress with a long black ponytail draped over one shoulder immediately recognized them. Smiling and waving a pair of menus over her head, she motioned them to follow. They navigated through the front area of the restaurant, eventually passing pool tables and people playing darts.
Two drunks at the bar were causing a scene. One hefty man wearing a hockey jersey was berating a short, stocky waitress who stood, arms crossed, staring at him with a look of disdain on her face.
“This isn’t tonight’s game,” he slurred, pointing a buffalo wing at the big screen televisions mounted on the wall behind the bar. “I’m telling you, that’s last week’s game.”
Puffing out her chest, the waitress stepped closer until she was nose-to-nose with the drunk. “I know it’s not tonight’s fucking game,” she half screamed. “I heard you the first fifty times. There’s something screwed up with the satellite signal and WE. . . CAN’T . . . FIX . . . IT.” She turned on one heel and, with a huff, stormed away.
The drunk watched her walk away with glassy eyes. “It’s not tonight’s game,” he mumbled at her retiring figure, pointing his beer bottle toward the television as if it were a remote control.
Charlie and Maggie were led to a booth in a dark corner of the restaurant where the walls were adorned with sports memorabilia. Sliding into the booth, Maggie realized everyone seemed relaxed and normal. People laughed and drank. A younger man pointed a french fry at his giggling date, emphasizing something important and witty.
“What’s going on, Sally?” Charlie asked the waitress as she flipped open her ticket book and poised her pen. “My phone and TV are both acting weird,” Charlie lied, fishing for information. “Don’t think I’m behind on a bill or anything.”
“Don’t have a clue,” Sally replied. “About an hour ago, the Lakers game is on, then the satellite just goes off. When it comes back on, last week’s game is playing.”
“What about the other channels?” Maggie interrupted, purposely fishing for more information.
“What other channels?” Sally replied with an innocent giggle. “Most of the channels are off the air. I’ll bring you some water. Do you guys need some more time to decide?”
“Yeah, Sally, give us a few more minutes.” As the waitress turned and headed toward another table, a customer at a neighboring table leaned over to Charlie and Maggie.
“Sorry to eavesdrop on your conversation,” the older, well-dressed gentleman said, peeling off some dollar bills and laying them on the table. “I spoke with a cop at the intersection outside when I was parking my car. He said the word going around is that hackers have crashed everything. He said it was causing a huge mess,” the man said, opening his hands out wide for emphasis. “Probably the Chinese. Whoever it is, I just hope they fix it quick. I get grumpy when I miss my reality shows,” he said, letting out a laugh and heading toward the door.
Maggie reached across the table and tugged on Charlie’s wrist. “Finish what you started to say in the car about the president.”
Charlie began to fidget with a salt shaker, switching it from hand to hand. Raising his dark blue eyes to meet hers, Charlie began to speak in a hushed tone.
“All the rights we enjoy as American citizens can be taken away in a second, Maggie. President Barakat doesn’t need a national emergency to impose an executive order to suspend the Constitution. However, if something does happen or an incident is created, then he looks less evil. You know, the incident sort of justifies his actions.”
“Why does this sound familiar? Refresh my memory, Mister History Wizard.”
For a moment, Charlie stared at Maggie with a look of stunned silence, his mouth hanging open. Then, placing the tip of two fingers under his chin, he deliberately, and in a very animated manner, began to push his mouth closed.
“Did you have mono and miss history class as a child?” Charlie asked sarcastically.
“History wasn’t one of my strong subjects or interests,” Maggie said, pointing a fork threateningly in Charlie’s direction. “That’s why I went to journalism school. I keep you around to tell me what famous dead people did in the past.”
Charlie looked around, taking an inventory of the people near them, before speaking. “In 1933, Adolph Hitler employed the Enabling Act, which immediately gave him dictatorial powers. It would be the same if the commander in chief were to act on an executive order. It is basically the same thing. On paper, activating the executive order makes the president a dictator by eliminating our democratic process and putting the kibosh on the Constitution.”
Charlie paused for a moment to give Maggie a chance to think about what he had just said.
Maggie took a drink of water, the glass shaking in her hand. “You are right, Charlie. Now I really am scared to death. I mean, look at what’s happened. That Koontz woman gave us our new Bible, ordered the public execution of a well-known journalist, and now Washington is beginning to look like an armed camp.”
Charlie’s intensive gaze on Maggie was suddenly drawn past her to the sound of loud voices inside the front door, where a small crowd had gathered.
“Stay here,” Charlie ordered. He walked to stand at the edge of the small crowd. One man seemed to be the center of attention, waving his arms and speaking loudly.
As Maggie watched Charlie stand, his hands folded, she felt some degree of safety. Charlie wasn’t just some desk jockey like other guys she knew who spent their days on the phone and in front of a computer. Charlie belonged to the 1 percent of Americans who had served in the US military. He had been an Army Ranger before being wounded in Somalia several years before. Maggie met him when he was a war correspondent embedded with an infantry unit in Iraq. It was during the invasion and then occupation of the war-torn country.
Charlie, camera running, never hesitated to follow a squad of battle-hardened soldiers as they raced from a burned-out car to the alleyway of a building. Charlie would turn the camera on himself and give a cool account of the action, a wall pockmarked by bullet holes as his backdrop.
Charlie had been home preparing for a new assignment in Afghanistan when a horrible life-changing event happened in Charlie’s life. His young wife, Kathy, a nurse in the neonatal unit of a pediatric hospital, was tragically killed by a drunk
