The President of the United States and his national security advisor were alone in the Oval Office. It was midafternoon. They sat in chairs facing each other near the fireplace.
Both men were in their late fifties. President Tyler Magnuson’s belly had expanded a couple of inches since taking office, but he’d managed to keep his chestnut hair. His roguish face and tall frame helped retain his youthful appearance—a blessing for any politician.
National Security Advisor Peter Brindle went bald years earlier, and his face had leathered from three decades of smoking that finally ceased after a heart attack scare.
Magnuson and Brindle were veterans. The president served as an Army infantry platoon leader after graduating from Texas A&M with a degree in political science and a commission as a second lieutenant earned during his four years in ROTC. After three years of active duty, he left the Army to pursue a career in law and politics.
Brindle was a graduate of the Naval Academy. He spent thirty-two years as a surface warfare officer before retiring as a four-star admiral.
Today, the subject of their meeting was Russia and China. U.S. relations with both countries were in a tailspin.
“How much time do we have?” President Magnuson asked.
NSA Brindle clasped his hands. “A couple of days at best. The ship’s crew are not the problem. It’s the scientists that were aboard. Other than grant funding, NOAA has no leverage with them.” The previous day, a National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration research ship berthed in Hawaii conducted a routine biological survey offshore of Oahu’s southern coast.
“What do they know?” asked the President.
“When the trawl net was hauled aboard, most of the captured marine life was sent to the ship’s laboratory for analysis and storage. That’s where the trouble started. Apparently, one of the fish snagged in the net was highly irradiated—from byproducts of the nuclear detonation. One of the scientists had decided to run a radiation background check.”
“Why would they do that?”
“As I understand, it was to establish background conditions to compare against fallout from the Qingdao explosion. The winds will eventually carry radioactive debris to Hawaii and beyond.”
POTUS nodded. “Have our people been able to identify the source of the Pearl Harbor bomb?”
“Both Livermore and Los Alamos are working on it. So far, they’ve determined the fissile material was plutonium. They’re trying to link it to Russian reactors but haven’t found a match yet.”
“But those scientists in Hawaii don’t know what really happened, correct?”
“Yes, plus the press remains in the dark about the detonation offshore of Honolulu. But plenty of rumors have surfaced on the internet about ‘something’ that happened last week.” Brindle extracted a photograph from a folder he held. He handed the photo to the president. “You’ve seen this before, sir.”
Magnuson examined the color print. It was an enlargement from a NOAA weather satellite that monitored the central Pacific Ocean. A marble sized gray-white blemish, surrounded by deep turquoise water, was visible offshore of Honolulu’s coastline.
Brindle continued the accounting. “Even though the bomb detonated about two thousand feet deep, light from the nuclear flash reached the surface. It was visible for just an instant. A couple of airline pilots called in the sighting as well as one private aircraft that was in the area.” Brindle recalled another factor. “The blast was also picked up by our earthquake sensors and underwater sound recorders. So, you can expect the same for the UN monitoring system as well as other foreign nuclear event monitoring facilities.”
“I get it, Pete. Someone’s going to put all this together.” He placed the photo on the coffee table fronting his chair.
“I’m afraid so. That’s why I believe we need to be proactive.”
The president pressed his lips tight, working overtime to contain his fury.
“Sir, I recommend that you address the nation tomorrow evening or at the very latest the next day. The people need to know what happened.”
“Not the weekend. We have the state visit and dinner for the Indian Prime Minister.”
“Right. I’ll set it up for Monday.”
“How am I going to explain this, Pete, this impossible mess that we’re in that’s no fault of our own?” Magnuson shifted position, his lumbar spine the focus of the mounting stress that assaulted his well-being. “The people will be terrified. Congress will be all over me. And the damn Russians will deny everything.”
“I’ll help script your speech but I don’t recommend pointing the finger at Russia, at least not yet.”
“For God’s sake, Pete, those idiots in the Kremlin detonated a nuclear weapon inside the United States. I’ve got to respond to that without starting World War III.”
“I understand. But it’s not just Russia.”
“What do you mean?”
Brindle cleared his throat. “We suspect the event in China is tied directly to what happened at Pearl. Until we fully understand that linkage, I recommend holding off on retaliation against Russia.”
“How long?”
“The FBI and CIA are working the issue around the clock. They need about a week.”
“Too damn long. Tell ’em to step on it. I want options ASAP.”
“Will do, sir.”