Chapter 30

The POTUS was sitting in front of the fireplace in the White House Library when he got the call from his Chief of Staff. “Sir, details are just starting to come in. Nothing’s confirmed yet, but it looks like there have been at least two, maybe more, church bombings this evening. And we have another one of those “sent to the world” messages allegedly from the DPRK claiming responsibility. It also says that they will attack us again once a week, starting next Friday, until we meet their demands.

But within minutes we get yet another message, this time sent only to our official channels, saying that the DPRK isn’t responsible for any of these attacks. Things just got complicated Mr. President.” The POTUS, who was well into his third George Dickel, responded “you can’t trust those fuckers, Abbie. They’re playing us, just like they’ve been playing us for the last seventy years.”

The Chief of Staff broke in, “hold that thought, Mr. President; we just got an update. We are up to four bombings sir, and they are bad. It’s all over the news. I’m looking at the one in Columbia, South Carolina right now on CNN.”

The POTUS grabbed the remote off the table next to his chair and turned on the TV mounted on the wall to his right. He punched a present channel selector button for CNN. Tufts of smoke and steam could be seen coming from shattered windows and a gaping hole that used to be the front entrance of a church. EMT’s came out pushing a gurney toward a waiting ambulance. Sirens wailed as firemen, wearing bulky looking breathing gear, moved in and out of the church. It was semi controlled pandemonium.

As he was watching the news, flipping from CNN to Fox, the POTUS burst out of the brain mist the whiskey was starting to spread. The Fox News anchor, some third string holiday fill in, interrupted the live coverage to read the latest “we warned you” message from the DPRK. He did not mention, at least not during this segment, the other message which proclaimed North Korea’s innocence; at least concerning this and the airline attacks.

“Abbie, I know it’s Christmas, or soon will be, but I am declaring this a national emergency. Get on the horn to our war council and tell them to have their butts in the Situation Room no later than 0700 tomorrow. I think Major Ferris is the carrier this week. I will let him know that we are in motion.”

Major Aron Ferris, USMC, was one of five military aides responsible for carrying what is known as the Nuclear Football for the POTUS. The football is a rather non-descript, black suitcase which contains the launch codes and plans for nuclear war.

Any time the POTUS travels, the football handcuffed to the carrier’s wrist is never more than 100 feet away. In fact, there are three footballs, one for the POTUS, one which follows the Vice President in the event the POTUS is killed or incapacitated, and one called the “Spare Tire” which is stored at the White House. There are a set of procedures that will be followed if the POTUS decides that a first, or retaliatory, nuclear strike against an enemy is to be initiated. Below the president, in a submarine, silo, or bomber there is a strict “two-man procedure” required to launch a nuclear weapon; a Commander and the number two in command must concur that any launch code received is valid.

Currently, there are no such restrictions on the POTUS. He or she can initiate an all-out nuclear war at their discretion. The Secretary of Defense, if available, is supposed to verify that the president is in fact, the person giving the order but he or she does not have any veto power. The POTUS does carry a sealed plastic card that contains codes that will be used with a launch order to identify him or her to Pentagon or Ravern Mountain staff that it is indeed the president. This system was designed during the cold war to ensure that a response could be initiated quickly in the event incoming missiles were detected. In theory, U.S. missiles could be in the air in less than ten minutes, and without congressional or any other oversight or approval.

“Clear Sir!” The Chief of Staff replied, “I’m on it.” The POTUS ended the call then punched another call button on his desk telephone. The call was answered before the second ring ended. “Major Farris sir.” “Major Farris, we just went on high alert. I’m sure you have a news feed on and are getting a good dose of Pentagon alerts. However, just in case you were in the shower, doing whatever Marines do in a shower, we have suffered what appears to be another attack. I need you and your football in the Situation Room at 0700 tomorrow. I am going to try to grab a couple of hours sleep and suggest you do the same.” “Yes Mr. President, I’ll see you at 0700.”

Major Farris knew he needed to rest. He had been awake for over 20 hours. But his brain was giving the “dump adrenalin command,” and even though he was physically near exhaustion, he was mentally wide awake. The shit was about to hit the fan.

Abdulla called Saad as soon as the first news reports started coming in. “My loyal friend, you have done well. You will surely reap your earthly reward once our mission is complete. If the news reports I am watching are even remotely accurate, there is unbelievable panic throughout the American heartland. And the hatred and thirst for revenge are even greater than the days after 9/11. Only this time it is directed solely toward the North Koreans rather than our Islamic brothers in the Middle East.

Saad, I trust you will be starting your journey to Riyadh during the next day or so.” “Yes, Abdulla I have leased a car and will be traveling to Montreal tomorrow. I will spend the night there and then catch the 1730 flight to Paris the next day. I will follow the same pattern as Khalid, staying a couple of days in Paris and then on to Riyadh. I will keep you informed of my progress via Dmail. I agree with you my Caliph; it appears that we have sorely wounded this paper tiger.”

“Once again you are correct Saad” Abdulla replied, glowing in Saad’s reference to him as his Caliph. “And on their January twentieth Inauguration Day, the sword of Allah will deliver the final thrust to its heart. Be safe and careful my old friend, ila al-liqaa.” Abdulla ended the call, said his evening prayers, and then prepared for bed…and the dreams.