drone and the steel blast doors to the tunnel slowly swing open.
The officer gestures politely and they all file into the cavern, three and four abreast.
The tunnel floor is polished concrete while the walls and the arched ceiling are inlaid with decorative, colorful stone work. Down the center of the domed ceiling runs a track of bright fluorescent tubes which emit a faint buzzing sound. Along the walls are many thick electrical conduits that look like railings. The hall echoes with each step.
Behind them, the steel doors slowly close and make a metallic thud when sealed. Ahead, several electric golf carts await the guests, each with a waiting driver.
"This way ladies and gentlemen, the president is expecting you," says the bowing, unctuous, military maître d'hôtel as he gestures towards the waiting carts. The guests climb aboard and settle themselves. When ready, on cue, the carts' electric motors whir all at once and they rush further deep into the passage.
After about half a mile, the caravan reaches its destination at the end of the tunnel, a large elevator shaft cut into the stone. The elevator and operator are waiting.
"Please hold onto the railings," says the head waiter as they enter the cab.
The elevator itself is about twenty by 30 feet, suitable for heavy freight but, as the occupants soon discover, very swift. The inside is walled with polished brass framed mirrors and green leather.
When the guests are all aboard, the operator pulls down the metal gate and throws a lever.
Several nearly fall as the elevator accelerates at a speed most had not expected. Through the gate, they see the rapidly passing rough stone as they soar 407 feet up through the interior of mountain.
A few moments later, the elevator rapidly decelerates and halts with a slight lurch. The gate is reopened and their guide gestures them to exit. After the last has left, the outside gate descends and it, the operator, and the headwaiter descend in a gust of rushing air.
They are in a large circular reception hall where they are met by the majordomo of this level. He gestures to a cloak room were several deposit their coats, check their hair and clothes then return a few moments later to the reception area.
When all have reassembled, they are ushered down a hallway and into a large conference room. One wall is a window overlooking a valley far below and sister mountains in the distance. In the center is a long polished wooden conference table. At one end of the room are two tall wooden doors upon the centers of which are carved federal eagles.
They take their places at the table behind preset name cards and wait, nervously fidgeting.
Present are Vice President Robert Jennings, Senate majority leader Senator Harry Rhodes, political consultant Shane Bader, Admiral Steve Black, head of the NSA, Army General Roger Simpson, commander, Joint Force Headquarters, National Capital Region, Jane Shouter, chair of the Federal Reserve, Mike Bunker, head of the Homeland Security Paramilitary Assault and Security Service Division, Joe Bucci, Devon Jackson, and Betty Fleischberg, bosses of the three largest government unions, Bob Cutter, CEO of Inter Continental Networks representing the state controlled media, Art Goldberg, head of MegaMax Studios, representing Hollywood's interests, billionaire hedge fund managers George Salazar and Warren Table, representing Wall Street, network news anchors Chet Hinkley, Dianne Frost and George Stopel, Bob Cooke, chair of the Progressive Party Central Committee, Arvind Gable, head of the IRS and several aides, the Rev. Bo Shepard, a race baiting hack from one of the state controlled cable networks, and several assorted yes-men and political coat holders.
Collectively they are present to create counter strategy to the threat presented by the Convention.
General Simpson would rather be shooting people than here. He exudes the will to kill.
The union bosses control huge political campaign contributions from money extracted from their members' paychecks. They have a large amount invested in the progressive state and expect that the candidates they bought to deliver as promised. DeWitt understands this.
Cooke is a nail biter. He knows the political situation and knows the party hasn't much time. He sweats a lot.
The latch on a side door clicks, the door opens, they all turn. It's DeWitt's press secretary, Tad Summers. He softly takes his place at the end of the table. Summers is in charge of the daily propaganda releases.
After several minutes of silence except for the sound of heavy breathing, shuffling feet and the slow tick-tock of a large clock in one corner of the room, they hear the single metallic click of a door latch on one of the carved wooden doors at the end of the room.
They jump to their feet in unison. The side-by-side doors swing open simultaneously. Several gaudily uniformed elite presidential guards enter and stand at attention on either side.
As is often the case, the inflation of the symbols of power usually reflects a deflation in actual power. The federal executive has reached the apex of imperial symbolism as its actual power is waning away to nothing.
The majordomo enters, steps to one side, bows and announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States."
DeWitt waddles in, trailed by aides and lackeys.
The majordomo pulls back the large chair at the head of the table, she flops into it. Its cushion springs squeak their objection. The aides sit in a semi-circle behind her. The others bow and take their seats. The meeting has begun.
"Alright people, we're here to review the situation and to hear a plan to deal with it," says DeWitt.
She turns to General Simpson and says, "Alright, what's the present military status?"
"Not good, Madame President. While we have full or good control of the National Guard units in the Northeast and California, but we've lost effective control of most of the others. In California and New Mexico, the Mexican army is still a threat. The military base situation is fluid. Some of our larger bases, Fort Bragg, Fort Campbell, Fort Lewis, Fort Benning, Fort Sill, Fort Rucker, and Fort Hood, have declared allegiance to the Convention. Others have made no statement, one way or the other but we're certain that, if push came to shove, they would defect as well. Essentially, we have control only in the Northeast and the far West."
"What about the Air Force?"
"They're playing it close to the vest. A few bases have defected but most are silent. We don't really know if they would follow orders or not."
"Missile Defense Command?"
"Loyal but useless."
"Navy?
"Not a lot of ships in the Kansas City area. Overall, I wouldn't count on the Navy at this point in time."
"So, do we have any effective military options to deal with the Convention?"
"They have all the options, we have none. Right now, to be honest, we'd be sitting ducks if they decided to move."
"Alright, where are we convention-wise? Bader, summarize." she barks, looking at Shane Bader, her long-time trusted political schemer.
"The convention has finished their document and it's been sent to the states. Ratification votes will begin in about two weeks. We believe this process will be very short and, if allowed to proceed, there will be a new constitution in less than two months."
DeWitt nods at Admiral Black who says, "That is consistent with our domestic surveillance reports as well."
Bader continues, "Once it passes, you can expect complete loss of military authority and no control over Federal agencies. They will defect en masse. Rats always know when it's time to disembark."
"Bunker, what's the situation in the Northeast?"
"Madame President, we're running low on bullets. But, yes, we expect to be able to keep things under control for the foreseeable future. But it is critical that we get regular food shipments started again. Another major disruption and we might not be able to handle the situation."
"Admiral Black! Anything new from your Utah hideout?"
"Nothing at the moment. Our usual methods aren't working very well here. We're monitoring their communications, at least the ones we can find. Th
ey however, have, managed to get some people to work for them who are very familiar with our methods. As a result, some of their communications are unavailable and we don't know how much."
"I thought you had every phone circuit in the country bugged," interrupts Bader.
"We do. But they've been using pay-as-you go unregistered cell phones, the ones you can pick up at any discount store with no user name attached. This makes it very difficult to locate them. Then they've been modifying the phone operating systems to include a new crypto algorithm that we haven't been able to break. Just as problematic, they're using encrypted spot beamed point-to-point satellite relays. The signals don't pass through any of the regular earth based communications routers, so we can't intercept them. Bottom line, we don't have access to an unknown amount of their internal communications. All we're getting is just the low grade material and even that's becoming difficult to decrypt. At the moment, we're flying blind."
"Wonderful. Just what I wanted to hear," says DeWitt sarcastically. "Shouter, what about finance?"
"Well, the government is effectively bankrupt, as we all know. Not much of a surprise there. The dollar effectively became worthless after the TBUS notes were announced. Our credibility is gone. We can't print any more money, because no one believes it's worth anything. We have no options short of trying to go on a gold standard but, since we don't control Ft. Knox anymore and the reserves in New York have already been used, that's