Line of Succession

Posted on Thu Jan 16th, 2025 @ 12:49am by Johnathan Keats

1,949 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Towers of the Void (Series Premiere)
Location: Secure Facility, Undisclosed Location.
Timeline: July 25, 2024

Secretary of Education Johnathan Keats sat in the corner with his son sleeping, sick. His suit rumpled and his face pale, his mind racing as he tried to comprehend the events that had unfolded over the last few hours. Around him, secret service agents moved to secure the location with frantic precision, their voices a chaotic blur of updates and commands. It all felt surreal, like he was trapped in someone else’s nightmare.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to him. Not to the country.

- A few hours before -

The morning had started like any other. Keats had woken early to the sound of his six-year-old son, Matthew, coughing in his bedroom. His wife, Allison, was already up, tending to him. As a working parent and a Cabinet member, Keats often juggled his responsibilities carefully, but today he’d decided to stay home. “You’ve got enough on your plate,” he’d told Allison, offering to let her go to work while he managed the day. Matthew had a high fever and a nasty cough, and Keats had canceled his morning meetings to be with him. She listened to him and gone to work.

Meanwhile, the President had convened a Cabinet meeting at the White House. Keats had intended to join virtually but hadn’t yet logged in when his phone buzzed with the first alert—something about unusual activity on the East Coast. He’d brushed it off. That kind of thing always landed on his desk as a heads up or FYI. As a cabinet member, he would get security updates but only on a need-to-know basis, and as Secretary of Education, he only received limited information. On the flip side, as a cabinet secretary, he was assigned U.S. Marshal protection. Unfortunately, being at the bottom of the succession list, he was only afforded one marshal who also doubled as his driver. He was parked outside. Keats never could have anticipated the gravity of what was unfolding.

Reports began pouring in of strange disruptions: communications blackouts, sudden power outages, and erratic behavior from automated systems. Keats’s phone stopped working, then his television cut out. His home internet went dark next, leaving him completely in the dark. Then, the first explosion rocked Washington, D.C. Even miles away in suburban Virginia, the faint rumble of destruction reached his ears, and the plume of smoke rising from the direction of the city made his stomach drop.

Panic set in. Allison, still at work, called him from a landline. “Stay inside with Matthew,” she’d urged, her voice shaky. “Something’s happening in the city.” Then, the line went dead. “Allison? Hello? Hello!” he shouted into the receiver, his voice echoing uselessly in the silence.

Keats tried to call her back but there was no tone. The phone didn't have a signal or appears it was no longer connected. He tried his cell phone but there was no signal either. He put the phone down and hurried to the front door, throwing it open. Jacobs, his US Marshal, was already rushing up the stairs to the house in a near sprint, his face etched with concern.

“Sir, I lost contact with the Marshal service and the Treasury Dept.” Jacobs reported, his voice clipped and urgent. “It’s not just us. Communications are down everywhere. My cell phone and the car's line too. We should get you to a secure location now.”

Keats hesitated, glancing back toward the living room where Matthew lay on the couch, wrapped in blankets. “I can’t just leave my son—”

Jacobs looked at the house and then the car. He too was a father. “Alright, let's go."

Both men rushed back into the house. Keats wasted no time. “Alright, grab the duffle bags from the coat closet,” he instructed, moving swiftly to scoop up Matthew, who stirred groggily but clung to his father’s neck.

Jacobs opened the door to the coat closet and grabbed the two all-black duffle bags on the floor of the coat closet. He also grabbed Keats wallet and cell phone off the kitchen table.

They both exited the house together each with their own responsibilities.

“Ready, sir?” Jacobs asked as he opened the SUV’s rear door and placed the bags inside.

“Yeah,” Keats replied, sliding into the back seat with Matthew cradled in his lap. “Let’s get out of here.”

Jacobs jumped into the driver’s seat, the engine roaring to life. As they pulled out of the parking spot, Keats looked back at the house—his home, his sanctuary—wondering if he’d ever see it again.

The journey to the secure facility was harrowing. The normally bustling streets were eerily quiet, save for the occasional siren or explosion heard in the distance. Jacobs navigated around abandoned vehicles and panicked civilians fleeing on foot.

Keats cradled Matthew tightly, whispering reassurances to calm him as they drove. His thoughts raced.

“Any updates?” Keats asked, his voice tight as he glanced at Jacobs.

Jacobs shook his head. “Nothing. Whatever’s happening, it’s big. We’re blind out here.”

Keats’s phone remained lifeless in his pocket, a reminder of how isolated they were. Every passing moment made the situation feel more dire.

They had finally reached the facility. It was a gated house in deep suburbia. As the SUV pulled up the gate, the gate slid opened as it read the sensor off the vehicle. The vehicle rolled in to the front as Jacobs opened his door. “Inside, sir,” Jacobs urged.

Jacobs led Keats with his side arm drawn downward but ready to use. Keats carried Matthew as they entered the house. The house seemed empty. A quick tour and Jacobs confirmed it was empty. Keats gently placed Matthew on a couch in a nearby formal living room.

In the den, Jacobs brought both duffle bags into the house and placed them on the dining room table. He opened one of the duffle bags and retrieved a secured laptop.

“What now?” Keats asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Jacobs powered up the laptop, its screen glowing dimly in the darkened room. “These laptops are secure and run on a different network that in theory shouldn’t have been affected by the blackout. If they do still work, we input your credentials. In case of an emergency such as this, everyone in the line of is required to verify their status and location. It’s part of the continuity of government protocol.”

Keats nodded, watching as Jacobs entered the credentials from a sealed envelope marked with an “A.” A secure interface loaded on the screen, prompting for his confirmation.

Keats typed in his code, his fingers trembling slightly. A moment later, the screen displayed a message: Location verified. Await further instructions.

“It worked,” Jacobs said. “They’ll know you’re alive and where to find us.”

Keats exhaled, a small victory in an otherwise chaotic day.

“What happens if… if there’s no one else?” Keats asked quietly.

Jacobs met his gaze, his expression grim but resolute. “Then, sir, you would be the President.”

A few minutes later.

The sound of Matthew coughing jolted Keats from his daze out the window. He rose quickly and went to the living room where his son was curled up on the couch. Matthew’s cheeks were flushed, and his breathing was labored.

“Hey, buddy,” Keats said softly, sitting beside him. “How’re you feeling?”

Matthew blinked up at him, his small voice hoarse. “Thirsty.”

“Alright bud, I’ll be right back.” Keats said as he walked over the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He grabbed a water bottle and walked back to his son.

Keats opened the water bottle and helped him drink. The boy’s fingers clutched the bottle weakly as Keats held it steady. After a few seconds, Matthew questioned.

“Where are we?" Matthew asked.

Keats hesitated. “We are in a secret government building waiting for information."

“Is Mommy coming?” Matthew asked, his question piercing through the haze of chaos.

Keats hesitated. “Not yet, kiddo. But she’ll be okay,” he lied, forcing a reassuring smile. He had no idea where Allison was or if she was even safe.

Approximately 20 minutes later, the quiet moment was shattered by the low hum of approaching engines.

Jacobs straightened instantly, one hand on his sidearm as he moved to the window. “We’ve got company,” he said from the other room his voice low but firm.

"I'll be right back, Matt, stay here." Keats got up and walked out the room to the front door and looked out with Jacobs.

Keats’s heart skipped a beat. “Friendly or not?”

Jacobs didn’t respond immediately, peering. A small motorcade of black SUVs and tactical vehicles approached the gate with red, white and blue lights cutting through the gloom of the suburban street. The gate opened.

“Looks like Secret Service,” Jacobs confirmed, relaxing slightly but not entirely. “Stay here, sir. I’ll confirm.”

Jacobs moved quickly to the door, stepping out with his weapon still drawn but lowered. Keats watched as the SUVs parked in a tight formation around the house, agents both plain closed and uniformed spilling out with tactical weapons and gear. They moved with practiced efficiency, securing the perimeter and taking up defensive positions. One agent approached Jacobs, showing identification and exchanging a few terse words.

Moments later, Jacobs returned, his expression unreadable. “They’re here to secure you, sir. Looks like the protocol worked.”

Keats let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “And now?”

Jacobs gestured toward the front door as two agents entered. “Now, they take over.”

Two agents entered the den, their movements precise and professional. The lead agent, a tall woman with sharp eyes and an air of authority, extended her hand.

“Mr. Secretary, I’m Special Agent Davis, Secret Service. We’ve been dispatched to secure you and this location as per continuity of government protocols.”

Keats shook her hand, his grip firm despite his nerves. “What’s the situation? Do we have any updates from Washington?”

Davis hesitated for the briefest of moments before responding. “Sir, the situation in Washington is still evolving. Preliminary intelligence suggests widespread attacks targeting key government and civilian infrastructure.”

Keats’s stomach churned. “And the President? The Vice President?”

Davis’s expression tightened. “Unconfirmed, but we know of an attack on the White House. We’re still trying to verify their status, but… it’s not looking good.”

The weight of her words hit Keats like a punch to the gut. He stumbled back slightly, catching himself on the edge of the table. “You’re saying…—”

“Yes, sir,” Davis interjected gently but firmly. “As of now, you are the highest-ranking confirmed survivor in the line of succession.”

Keats stared at her, the enormity of the revelation settling over him like a heavy cloak. He glanced at Jacobs, who gave him a solemn nod.

“What’s next?” Keats asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Davis straightened. “We’re securing the perimeter and will try to establish a direct line of communication with the emergency command network. Our priority is your safety and ensuring continuity of government. A mobile command unit is en route to further establish operational control.”

Keats nodded slowly, his mind racing. “And my family? My wife—she was working in D.C. when this all started.”

Davis’s expression softened. “We’ll do everything we can to locate her, sir. For now, our focus has to be on stabilizing the chain of command.”

The agents moved quickly, transforming the once-quiet suburban home into a new White House.

 

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