ACCORDING TO THE clock on the wall of Acting President Eli Jared’s new and luxurious office, the sun of Tuesday, July 18 had already come up over the invisible Virginia horizon.
The sleepless night had been spent reading every emergency paper that was left for the position he now occupied, most papers written by those in bureaucracies of the Executive Branch of Government.
In the adjoining office which served as a reception room, sat Helen behind her desk. Throughout her adult life it almost became her name: Helen Behindherdesk. Helen was a somewhat overweight woman in her late fifties, maybe early sixties with brown curly hair. She had been assigned to be the assistant of Eli Jared and was living in fear: not only the natural fear of the war but the natural fear of Eli Jared. She did not quite understand that Eli Jared enjoyed being Eli Jared, particularly enjoyed being old and he wanted to be older, as though he wasn’t old enough. He had learned to take advantage of age, knowing at this stage of his life and at this stage of his stature he could get away with teasing and scaring people by saying the most absurd things to them. They would rarely challenge him and he knew it. He was in no way presumptuous but he wanted to enjoy himself. Just as noticeable as his demeanor was that he was from the old-school of treating women with far more respect than he treated men. Since the 1960s this was a novelty. He always opened doors for women, gestured for them to go first, and unless it was an inappropriate occasion, he stood up for them, and pulled out chairs for them to sit or for them to rise. At the same time he would have no hesitancy to call them ‘honey,’ or ‘gorgeous’ or ‘sweetheart’ and generally even the most ardent women—liberationists not only accepted such words from him but were flattered by them. They had so recklessly abandoned femininity years-back that many had begun to doubt they had any, and he restored faith in themselves. With all his old-school behavior he knew and they knew that his words were meant to be compliments. None of this, however, was important to poor Helen Peterson who was scared to death of him out of fear she would do something wrong.
She emerged into the doorway of his office with her hands clasped in front of her in her usual posture of absolute decorum that made her look like a singer in a Verdi opera. “Ralph Ussery to see you, Mister President.” Even such a simple sentence had been rehearsed when she had walked toward the doorway.
Eli Jared didn’t call Helen ‘honey’ or ‘gorgeous’ or ‘sweetheart.’ He didn’t even call her ‘Helen.’ He called her by her last name, ‘Peterson.’ “Good. Yes, good. Please ask him to come in, Peterson. Thank you.” Acting President Jared moved his eye-patch from his left eye to the more informal position of having it rest against his forehead. He took off his reading glasses (one glass had long since been removed from the eye-glass frame) and put them on top of the stack of papers.
With some relief for apparently having done everything correctly, Helen turned her head to someone who was out of view from President Jared. “He’ll see you now, Mr. Ussery.”
President Jared left his desk and went to a lounge chair as Ralph Ussery, a balding man in his late forties in horn-rimmed glasses came in the office. Eli Jared respected Ralph Ussery as the head of Electronic and Digital Infrastructure, a craft of which little was known by Eli Jared who still had difficulty with anything that required an instruction book, and surely not an instruction CD.
“Sit down, Ussery. Sit down over here.” He indicated for him to sit in the lounge chair opposite the one on which he was sitting. “You making any progress on communications?”
Ralph Ussery nodded. “Communications are, in many cases, restored.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Thank God! And thank you, Ussery!”
“Mister President, it’s not that good. According to what I hear, and I don’t know if it’s true, but from what the revolutionaries are saying publicly, millions of Americans have been killed. The revolutionaries are in every big city in the United States. Or so they’re saying. From the reports, our armed forces are losing everywhere—but I’m hearing this from the revolutionaries so I don’t know if it’s true. Television is telling nothing. It’s just Islamic prayers and Imams and music; Mideast music, things like that. But on phones, on chatter, what they say is unthinkable. There is no confirmation. One of the reasons there is no confirmation or denial is that I’m very sorry to add, Mister President, something terribly important: there are holes in our communications. Big ones. To the best of my knowledge, no signal is getting out of here to the contingency locales or our military bases or to the designated codes for major Chiefs of State. It’s like there’s a shield around them. I think there is.”
“Oh, my God! My heavens!”
“I’ll keep trying, sir, but I’ve tried almost everything I can. I’ll keep at it.”
“My God! Are you talking about U.S. Strategic Command as well?”
“I am. That was the first place I attempted. And I’ve attempted to get hold of it repeatedly. Offutt Air Force Base where the Strategic Command is located is totally dead. No signals. Nothing. A total void.”
“Oh, God!”
“Mister President, I have a belief about this, but only a belief.”
“What?”
“I believe that they’ve used electromagnetic pulse weapons. I believe they had enough power to melt every piece of circuitry in communication devices here in Sebotus that connect us to our key contacts; our K.C.’s as we call the key contacts that are separate from the rest; or maybe they used electromagnetic pulse weapons to stop the sending of communications from our military bases, our contingency locations, and particular foreign locales. Either way, I think we are looking at electromagnetic pulse weapons. E.P.W.’s they’re called. I don’t know what perimeters they’ve penetrated but it could be they are around this facility or around all our K.C.’s. The best we can hope for is that it’s only around ours.”
“Can they do that, Ralph?”
“Yesterday, sir, I would have told you they couldn’t do that. We have all kinds of ‘cages’ around our K.C. circuitry and so does everyone else have ‘cages’ around theirs. But today it appears to me as though it’s been done.”
“And no way to contact any of the Doomsday Planes?”
There was a long silence as Eli Jared got up and paced, then sat down again. “Keep at it, please. Keep at it, Ussery. Please, Ralph. And about the reports about millions killed—they can be false. I don’t want anyone here to hear them. This place will be in panic. They have to keep their spirits. And those reports could be nothing but propaganda. What else do they say?”
“Justice being given to all infidels. And then all schools closed. They’ll be opened for boys only. A lot of small things, too. Small in comparison. Strict clothing codes for everyone; things like that.”
“No one can hear this, Ralph. Our spirits have to be maintained. All of this is rumor that can be designed for the purpose of destroying our determination. Remember that when it comes to us, they want to kill us if they know we’re here. They can kill us just by spreading this kind of information. Do you understand what I mean, Ralph?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ralph—I want to see the reports. I want you to move the television monitor from this office to my apartment on the Succession Apartments Floor, and make sure it’s connected to every commercial channel. I’ll take that risk. Just make sure no other set with TV channels is operative.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And keep trying to get in contact with—with our people—our K.C.’s as you call them.”
“I will, sir.”
“Yes. Keep at it. A World War and it’s on our own shores, and we can’t find our President or our Strategic Command or—or anything. Thank you, Ussery. Thank you, Ralph. Tell Peterson I want to see her, will you please?”
“Who, sir?”
“Peterson. The girl out there. My secretary.”
“Yes, sir.”
After hearing from Helen Peterson, a select group of nine met in the Sebotus Situation Room (SSR). President Jared sat at the head of the table across from Admiral Kaylin. President Jared told them about the lack of communications with the contingency locales. He told them nothing about the other reports he heard. “I have issued an Executive Order and it is going out right now to everyone in Sebotus, staff and members alike, to turn in any electronic communications they may have independently. We cannot take the chance that our signals will be picked up by the revolutionaries. We don’t know what technology the revolutionaries have and what they don’t have. We know it’s sophisticated enough to have knocked out all our communications with U.S. Strategic Command and all our contingency locales. I want you to see to it that there is not one sign of panic here. Not from you, not anyone else. Remain calm and get your bearings. Understood?
“Now, I have not called the entire cabinet together.” And then with his usual immense command, he became more relaxed as though he was not burdened by events. “And you know why I didn’t call the whole cabinet together here? Too many of them have no business being here. Frankly, I don’t know what to do with them—not that any real president ever did. Every administration begins with the new president telling the country he will run a cabinet-oriented administration. It’s bunk. In short time, cabinet officers become more loyal to their inherited bureaucracy than they do to the president. It takes a while but presidents learn. And to make matters worse, they soon find out that cabinet meetings are worthless. What are they going to talk about? They all have such diverse interests that they don’t stick to the subject matter at hand or they don’t know enough about it to make any intelligent comments. And those things of interest to some members are of no interest to others and too many of them are of no interest to the president. It’s bunk.
“President Reagan used to fall asleep during cabinet meetings. That was to his credit. At least he got some sleep. Why on earth would President Kennedy have wanted to hear from his Postmaster General or from his Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare during the Cuban Missile Crisis? So he didn’t. So he created an ExCom as he called it; an Executive Committee. Just the people he wanted in it. And why, during Hurricane Katrina would President Bush want to hear from the Secretary of Veteran’s Affairs? It’s bunk. It’s all bunk. So this is my ExCom. Maybe you could call it my National Security Council but I’ve excluded a couple of what would be the NSC members and included others whose jobs have never been included as part of it. Half the NSC’s wouldn’t have known what to do without a staff. So this is ExCom 2. You are all designated as members of ExCom 2. Nine of you and one of me. Now we are legal.
“Here’s what we know. No. No. Here’s what we don’t know. I don’t know if President Wadsworth is alive or dead. I don’t know who is alive and dead outside of these walls. I don’t know if our military is winning battles or losing them. We have to assume the worst of everything. Everything. All we have to do is concern ourselves with devising a plan—a plan to somehow . . . somehow bring about the enemy’s defeat. You all have minds. Think like you have never thought before. We’re not going to sit in Sebotus Headquarters coping. And I don’t want plans on how we save our own necks. I want plans on how we save the nation’s neck. We are going to do whatever must be done. So think. Think by yourselves. I want to have nine plans. Send them to me whenever you get done even if it takes you all night, but I want them on my desk by six o’clock tomorrow morning. We’ll meet after I’ve studied them. Think like you have never thought before. Is that clear?”
“President Kennedy had thirty in his ExCom, sir,” Acting Vice President and National Security Advisor Vernon Mapes said.
“I don’t want historians, Vernon! I want thinkers.”
And that’s when a very loud alarm went off. President Jared assumed it was a test but it wasn’t. Over the speaker system came the familiar feminine voice that seemed to make all announcements and who had no name and no face. “All eyes to the television monitors,” she said and then repeated it. “All eyes to the television monitors.”
And the television monitors exhibited surreal images. A helicopter had landed outside the Sebotus Headquarters. Seven men walked from the helicopter to the first door of the mountain. One of them put something in the slot outside the entrance. None of the barriers opened. And while the helicopter flew off spewing massive sprawls of dust around them, another of the men tried putting something in the slot but it accomplished nothing, while another attempted to engage a card into the DNA verification card-slot.
“That ‘copter was not one of ours, sir,” Vernon Mapes almost yelled.
“We can take care of this in very short time,” President Jared said with amazing calm. “We don’t even have to walk down the hall. We just happen to be in the right room at the right time. Do you know the protocol, Admiral?” President Jared asked Admiral Kaylin.
“I read it last night, Mister President. It was in the briefings they left for me.”
President Jared gave a short nod. “That’s when I read it. Did you put it to memory?”
“That was what my directive ordered. Yes, sir. It’s in my memory and the card is with me.”
“Do it. Let’s hope it works. Do it, Admiral.”
Admiral Kaylin gave a short, “Yes, Mr. President” and took a small card from his left breast pocket and moved to another chair. Then he “did it” with “it” meaning the insertion and drawback of the card into and out of a slot in the side of the table followed by pressing a yellow button that was inlaid into the table-top. That was followed by pressing a blue inlaid button next to the yellow one, and then a red inlaid button next to the blue one. He pressed the red one three short times and one longer one. Then he reinserted his card into the slot on the side of the table. Then President Jared pressed a button on his side of the table.
This procedure allowed the seven men outside headquarters to feel, if not see, a barrier open. The barrier was beneath their feet. It opened, swallowed them, and closed. It was close to being instantaneous giving no opportunity for its victims to move away.
“They’ve been swallowed, sir. It’s done, Mr. President,” Admiral Kaylin almost whispered.
President Jared closed his eyes for a few seconds, opened them and looked back at Admiral Kaylin. He nodded again and said, “Thank you, Admiral.”
“Yes, sir.”
None of the others said anything for maybe ten or fifteen seconds and whatever the span of time, it seemed like an hour. Vernon Mapes finally offered, “There will be more. They were either the first team sent to make an attempt or maybe a suicide squad to see what we could do. Maybe both.”
President Jared shook his head slowly as he closed his eyes again, and then he put his elbows on the arms of the chair and formed a single fist with both hands. He rested his chin on top of the fist. “It doesn’t make any difference who they were or what will be tried next—if anything. No one is going to get in. If more attempts are made, they’ll just be killing themselves. Sebotus is beyond penetration. I hope they send an army. And then another army and another army. Because when the armies get close enough they’ll be killed by us and all we have to do is lift a finger. If they send enough armies we’ll win the war that way. And if they hold off sending armies and, instead, try to blast us out of here, they won’t succeed that way either. This place can withstand a direct hit with a nuclear bomb.”
Vernon Mapes at least appeared to be thinking deeply. “So what do you think they’ll do, sir?”
“If they’re smart, they’ll do nothing. If they’re brilliant they’ll recognize that all they have to do is wait until we die. Sebotus can’t prevent death by natural causes—like starvation.”
There was no response.
“We can last four to six months. That’s what they wrote in my briefing papers. We can last longer if I start rationing now.”
Admiral Kaylin asked, “Are you going to order that?”
“No. There will be no rationing. We’re not going to wait inside this place until we die. We aren’t going to be in this place that long. We’re only going to be in this place until we win. The worst thing we can do is start rationing and get everyone depressed thinking that this is the end and they have to spare the food to lengthen the time they can live. Let them bathe in the food. We’re going to think our way into winning. Victory calls for optimism. Be concerned only with presenting to me your individual plans for victory. I told you, no more days of coping. Think. God gave you minds. This is why he gave you the minds you have. Now don’t let anyone in this facility think of failure. After all, you have reason to be optimistic. We just killed seven enemy combatants, didn’t we? There are seven less of them than there were just minutes ago.”
Eli Jared went into the hall and coming the other way was Traci Howe, files under one arm and a few papers in her free hand. Eli Jared wanted to get out of the mood of what he had just been through and he knew exactly how to do it. He squinted his eyes as they came closer to each other in the hall. “What’s your name again? Trudy? Tanya? Tammy? Trixie?” He knew her name.
She knew he knew. “Traci, Mister President. Traci Howe.”
“Traci. Traci. That’s right. I remembered. I remembered,” he said so she would think he didn’t remember. “Are you sure you aren’t Joan of Arc?”
That wide smile with the perfect teeth. “I don’t think so, Mister President.”
“Well, I think you are. I think you’re really Joan of Arc.”
“You think? Why?”
“I hear good reports about you.”
“From who?”
“From the press.”
“From the press? What press?”
“Some newspaper. I don’t remember which one.”
“Mister President, you didn’t learn anything from the press! There is no press here.”
“I guess you’re right. So what?”
“Mister President, do you always tease people?”
“Not always,” and this time he smiled. “But it’s fun. Life has to be fun. You can’t let things get you down. Where do you work anyway? For Kaylin? Isn’t that where I saw you?”
“Yes, sir. For Admiral Kaylin. I brought you to his office, remember?”
“That’s right. That’s right. Well, he’s a good man. You’re working for a good man. He’s not as good looking as I am, naturally, but maybe he can have some plastic surgery done while he’s here.”
She laughed again. Then she raised her eyebrows in pretended seriousness. “I’ll mention that to him.”
“Tell him it’s your idea. You take the credit.”
“Oh, thank you. I will!” she teased back.
“Where you heading? To some silly beauty pageant? Miss America or something?”
“I don’t think they have them here! Besides, I don’t think I qualify. I’m going to the file room.”
“I didn‘t know there was a file room. There’s a room for every thing imaginable in this place.”
“Maybe, but you or someone else might want some document quickly. It’s important to have a file room where everything is cross-indexed every possible way. I established the indexing system here months ago. It was my job here before—before all this happened.”
“Alright, alright, alright. I take it back; you’re not Joan of Arc.”
“I’m not? Why not?”
“I minimized you that way. That’s what. I think if Joan of Arc was told she was somewhat like you, now that would have been more like it. That would have been a compliment for the old dame.”
Traci laughed. “Thank you. But I really don’t mind being compared to Joan of Arc.”
“Well, have a safe trip to the file room. There’s a lot of strange people in these halls. Be careful.”
“Oh, I will be, Mister President.”
They both walked in opposite directions but he turned his head to take one more look at her as she walked away. He mumbled to himself, “Make a preacher lay his Bible down.”
Eli Jared went back to the opulence of the Presidential Office and sat at his glass-topped desk. At another time he would have raptured in the luxury. Not now. Reality came back and luxury was a poor substitute for the security of the nation. What he had not told the others in the Situation Room was that he already had a plan. And the plan would be exercised unless one of them came up with something of greater ingenuity and promise.
Without punching the button on his interoffice communication box he simply yelled, “Peterson?”
It was only a few seconds before she appeared at the doorway, her frightened eyes taking up half the room on her face. “Yes, Mister President?”
“I want you to get Wayne Stuart over here.”
She looked confused. “Who, sir?” she asked cautiously.
“Wayne Stuart.”
“Is he with Sebotus, sir?” and her hands went to their more normal interlock in front of her.
“Sebotus staff. He’s on staff.”
“Yes, sir,” she said and disappeared to once again become her normal Helen Behindherdesk.
Only one minute passed before Eli Jared buzzed the interoffice communication box.
“Yes, Mister President,” Helen Peterson answered the buzz.
“Where is he? Where’s Wayne Stuart? What’s up?”
With some breathlessness she said, “I’m on the line, sir, trying to get him. There’s been no answer.”
“What do you mean there’s been no answer?”
“He might be in the men’s room. Maybe that’s where he is.”
“Get him out of there, Peterson. I want to see him.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”
“Not good enough! Do better than your best.”
Two minutes later there was a buzz on his interoffice communication box.
“Yes, Peterson?”
“Mr. President, Secretary Glass would like to see you.”
“Who’s that? Who’s Secretary Glass? Where’s Wayne Stuart?”
Now she talked fast in an attempt to get it all out quickly. “I’m still having difficulty getting him, sir. In the meantime the Secretary of HUD, Angus Glass is here. He said it’s important.”
“Oh, God; Angus Glass! What does he want? Wait. Wait. Is he standing right there in your office?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can he hear me or do you have earphones on?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir, what? Okay, you can’t answer which one. I get it, Peterson. Just say yes or no. Can he hear me?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you have earphones on?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Listen, tell him—oh, God, let me see. Tell him that I have my hands full but he can have three or four minutes—and that’s it: three minutes or four minutes and then tell him I have to go to a briefing. Got it, Peterson?”
“Yes, sir. I will, sir.”
“Time him. And in three minutes get him out of here. And if you get Wayne Stuart before then, tell Stuart to get himself over here, and I’ll get rid of Glass myself. Got it, Peterson?”
“Yes, sir.”
Angus Glass walked in and gave a quick look around the office he had never seen before. “This is nice, sir.” He sat down opposite Eli Jared who was still sitting behind his desk. “Sir, the reason for my visit may not be any of my business but—”
“You’re Secretary of Housing and Urban Development, aren’t you, Angus?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you want to build some houses or demolish some shopping malls, then it is your business. Just tell me what you want to destroy or build and I’ll give it consideration that would be due the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development.”
Without showing any intimidation, Angus Glass answered, “I’m in the line of succession, sir, so I would think I should have a voice in some of the policies carried out here, sir.”
“You bet you do. Shoot.”
“What, sir?”
“Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. What’s your advice?”
“Was the Attorney General consulted before you buried those seven men alive, sir?”
“Of course not.”
“Of course not?”
“Didn’t you hear me, boy? I said ‘of course not.’”
“Yes, sir. I heard you. Sir, there has to be some kind of judicial review before we kill people.”
Eli Jared stared at Angus Glass for a while before he said very softly, “I see.” Another pause. “I see.” Another pause. “That’s your advice, Mr. Acting Secretary?”
“Yes, sir, because we can’t be as uncaring about life as our opponents. What good is giving up everything the Founders wanted us to be and start using the same tactics as our opponents?”
Again, “I see. Yes, yes, the Founders.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Acting Secretary—Mr. Glass—the Founders would have long ago put you in shackles.”
Angus Glass hesitated and then asked, “For what offense, sir?”
“Ignorance. Stupidity.”
Now Angus Glass was, of course, insulted. “The Founders didn’t make such judgments, sir.”
“How the devil do you know?”
“I’m an historian, sir. I took U.S. history at U.C.L.A. and I received top honors.”
“What did you do? Get an ‘A’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My, God, an ‘A’ student! I didn’t know I had an ‘A’ student here in this facility. What good fortune!”
“Yes, sir.”
“You see, I didn’t do very well in school. Mrs. Bendel was my home room teacher in junior high and she told me I wasn’t paying attention. It was rough for me in school. I was looking at the girls. That’s all I did. You know how that is, Glass.”
“Uh-huh.”
“My boy, tell me a little about your experiences after you got out of school.”
“Well, sir, after I got my Masters; my MBA, I took a Civil Service Exam, and I passed quite well in comparison with the others. And then within weeks I got a job as a GS-12 right away in the Department of Education, and then was transferred to Housing and Urban Development and in the years since then I kept advancing all the way to an Assistant Secretary. And now, as you know, all the way to Acting Secretary of HUD.”
President Jared nodded as he looked deep in thought. “That’s impressive. Very impressive. I’ll tell you what. I’ll give thought to what you just advised, but assuming I take your advice, I want to know what you would do right now if you were me. What do you think I should do?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“We’re at war, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“How do I win?”
“How do you win?”
“I want to win. How do I do that? What’s your plan? If it’s a good plan I want to use it.”
“We win honorably, sir.”
“Good. Good. I like that. Honorably. Yes. Win honorably. Anything else? I mean that’s a pretty short plan.”
“Fair trials.”
“Check!” President Jared thumped the desk with his fist.
“Fair trials even for the worst of them.”
“Check!” President Jared thumped the desk with his fist again.
“With attorneys.”
“Check!” And another thump. “We have plenty of attorneys in the cabinet.”
“Always by the rules of the Geneva Conventions.”
“Check! Check!” Again, the thump this time followed by a second thump. “Of course, the Geneva Conventions.”
That’s when the buzzer went off on his intercom, and Helen’s voice told him, “Mr. President, it’s time for your briefing. You are running late.”
“Give me another minute, Peterson. Tell them I’ll be right there.” He snapped the intercom off. “Now, Angus, I have to hurry along. By the Geneva Conventions, hey? Good advice, Glass. I’ll consider that. I want to give some thought to the well thought-out advice you gave me. Let me think.”
It was quiet for a half-minute while Eli Jared thought as he put his hand on his chin and looked down. Then, after the half-minute was done he jolted his face up to look directly in Angus Glass’s eyes and he broke the silence by saying, “I thought about it.”
“Will you do it, sir?”
“Do what?”
“Live by the rules of the Geneva Conventions.”
“I go back further than that. I go back to the Founders, just like you said at first. I liked that. And I told you they would have put you in shackles for your stupidity, didn’t I? Something like that.”
“That’s what you said, sir, but I don’t think you meant it.”
“Well, I suppose I wouldn’t really know exactly what they did, of course. I told you about home room teacher in junior high. You would know. You’re an historian, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I’m sure you remember what I did study: When the Revolutionary War was fought, we were ruthless. I mean ruthless. It was the only way we could win. Now the situation is even worse than what was faced by the Founders so I will go further than just being ruthless. Tonight, as Acting President of the United States I have determined that during this time of emergency, stupidity is a capital offense. I will call in the firing squad.”
Angus Glass knew that Eli Jared was not serious but he also knew that his credentials did not impress his audience of one. Nor did his answers to the questions posed by Eli Jared raise his prestige. He regretted that his advice to the Commander in Chief would never be taken seriously, even though he was giving his advice as Acting Secretary of Housing and Urban Development.