White House Situation Room
Washington, DC
President Starling stared at the screen in disbelief. His missiles were arming across the country, across the globe, something that was supposed to be impossible. He was the only one who could launch them, or so he had thought. As was explained to him only minutes before, the Vice President’s codes were also valid, though only should he be named President.
Apparently, the system thought he had.
Unbelievable!
“Why weren’t his codes invalidated the moment he was kidnapped?”
General Parsons looked up from his computer. “They were, sir, but the system sent a fake acknowledgment back to us. Apparently at that point, they already had at least partial control.”
“How many targets are we talking about?”
“So far it looks like about three-hundred, all cities with populations over one-hundred-thousand, all in predominantly Muslim countries.”
Starling shook his head, feeling sick. “How many missiles?”
“Sir, the important number is warheads. Each crew commands ten missiles, each missile has three warheads, so thirty targets per crew. At this time, we believe we’re dealing with as few as ten crews that have received orders to standby for launch.”
“Just ten? Why can’t we just knock on the damned door and tell them to stop?”
Parsons shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, it doesn’t work that way.”
“Can we send abort codes?”
“We’ve tried, sir, but they now have complete control of the system. We have no way to send the abort codes to the silos. Our people have just taken down the team that did this at Offutt Air Force Base, but it could take hours for our techs to figure out what they’ve done.”
Starling’s chest tightened. “But we don’t have hours. There has to be something we can do.” He motioned toward the drone footage of the bunker. “What if we destroy that thing, will that help?”
Parsons shook his head. “It depends on how far into the process they are. The final launch order hasn’t been sent yet, and we don’t know why. They’re waiting for something.”
“Then hit the damned thing before they can send the code!”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
Director Morrison cleared his throat, his image among a grid of others jacked into the meeting via teleconference. “Mr. President, I have people in there.”
Starling looked at him. “Then tell them to get out.”
“We can’t, sir, they’re out of contact.”
Starling shook his head. “Then I’m sorry, Leif, there’s nothing I can do. We have to hit that bunker before it’s too late.”