BLAIR was in the conference room when the news arrived. She’d had to park some distance away. The lot, including where her space was, had been blocked off. Power diggers were gouging out earth. General Tomlin, the chair, Ms. Clayton, and the others were taking their seats when the new staffer barged in. Without a word, Reich turned on the television. They watched, appalled, as a stony-faced anchor spoke against a background still of a carrier departing port, sailors lining the rails, families waving from the pier.
“Details are sketchy. But the Department of Defense has confirmed that a possible nuclear explosion was reported early this morning. The presumed target was a U.S. task force on its way to support our allies in the Western Pacific. Five to six Navy ships are out of communication and may be lost. A Canadian ship reports heavy damage. It is searching for survivors, but encountering high seas and bad weather.”
The anchor paused, then went on, tone of voice somber. “Critics of the administration are already asking why the force was sent into a war zone without antimissile protection. Apparently an escort was planned, but was not yet ready for deployment. The group was directed to sail without it.”
“Let’s see what Fox has to say.” The general spoke soberly too, as if he’d suffered a personal loss.
The conservative network had little to add, except for a report that a Coast Guard cutter attempting to rescue survivors had been torpedoed. “But if this dreadful news is confirmed, America must strike back.”
Clayton said acidly, “Yesterday everyone was saying we had no business in the Pacific. Nothing official yet?”
The aide shook her head, still watching the screen.
Which now showed a blue-suited officer against the seal of the U.S. Pacific Command. The banner read “Live from Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Briefing by spokesperson for U.S. Pacific Fleet. Loss of USS Roosevelt strike group.”
The officer began reading from a prepared text, gaze not meeting the camera. “A possible nuclear detonation was reported by units in the Western Pacific at approximately 0210 Pacific time this morning. A large explosion was confirmed from national sensing sources, localized to a position several hundred miles west of Guam.
“Five ships fail to respond to attempts at communication. The ships are: attack carrier USS Franklin D. Roosevelt. Destroyer USS Elisha Eaker. Destroyer USS Richmond P. Hobson. USS Crommelin, a frigate. USS Salisbury, a littoral combat ship or frigate.
“A weak signal from HMCS Protecteur, a Canadian replenishment vessel that was part of the strike group, reports experiencing heavy damage from an explosion. She is searching for survivors, but encountering high seas, bad weather, and radiation contamination. Any further details must be considered as rumor until confirmed. We are attempting to reestablish communication, receive damage reports, and vector submarine and other units to the scene to assist in rescue of any survivors. Our communications are still degraded. However, even if their main comm links were damaged, U.S. Navy ships have enough backup systems that they should have reported in by now.
“Based on that fact, and on a report by a Saipanese fishing trawler east of the detonation area, we have to presume that at the very least, American forces have suffered heavy damage. Each Nimitz-class carrier carries upwards of six thousand personnel. Adding in the crews of the escort units, total casualties may be as high as seven to eight thousand.
“We … hope the numbers will not be that high. New Zealand and Australia have offered search and rescue assistance, to add to those missions already being conducted by U.S. national forces.”
The briefer lowered his head and coughed into a fist. Touched his eyes, then continued. “In comparison: About two thousand four hundred soldiers, sailors, and civilians were killed in the Pearl Harbor attack on December 7, 1941. And just under three thousand military and civilian dead on September 11, 2001.
“We will provide additional information as it becomes available.”
The staffer switched from channel to channel but got only the same footage. Blair sat frozen. They hadn’t mentioned Savo, and Dan’s ship wasn’t part of that strike group, as far as she knew. But a loss of this magnitude … it was devastating.
“We have how many carriers in the Pacific?” the general murmured.
“Two,” Ms. Clayton told him. “Unless we find Roosevelt is still afloat.”
“Which doesn’t sound likely,” Blair put in. “The reporters are giving us hope that they’re just not answering the radio, but is there really any? With heavy seas, radioactivity—”
“Those ships are lost.” Clayton’s long fingernails scratched at the tabletop. “Seven thousand crew. Carriers. Destroyers. That … idiot … has nuked us. And there’ll be no restraining Szerenci now.”
Blair checked her phone. 9:01. She stood, raking papers into her briefcase. “We’re not going to continue to sit here any longer, are we? It’s in JCS’s hands now. I’m going over to the Senate.”
Tomlin held up a hand. Looked at the aide, who seemed frozen, still staring up at the screen, where the anchors were repeating the same information. “Alex. Alex! What about our report?”
She flinched. “Um, sir, yes. The report … the fact is, I’ve been activated too. National Guard. I’ll have to report in to my unit. This afternoon, I’m afraid.”
Clayton said that was all right, she understood. “What’s your MOS? Your specialization?”
“I’m an MP, ma’am. Virginia’s activating us, I believe to protect the nuclear plant at Calvert Cliffs.”
The general had the remote now. Fox was on again, a talking-head retired general saying this was another Pearl Harbor, another 9/11. Calling for resolve and vengeance. The streaming banner read “Stock market closed. Trading suspended by SEC. By presidential order.”
They were still watching, silent and appalled, as she let herself out.
* * *
THE streets were all but empty. Then she remembered: it was Election Day. But with this news, how many would turn out? Every flag was at half mast. She started to calculate whether a low turnout would help her or Beiderbaum, but made herself stop. Her worries seemed so petty, so selfish, in the face of what was happening.
PBS was streaming BBC World News. The soothing voice of Marion Marshall repeated what they’d just heard from the Pacific Command. Then reported that passengers on an Air Kiribati flight had witnessed a bright flash. The pilot turned away immediately, and the aircraft had suffered turbulence, but no damage.
Next Marshall read a release from Beijing. “Xinhua News Agency, the official press agency of the People’s Republic, reports that Premier Zhang has offered peace in the Pacific. Zhang is quoted: China has recently increased stability in Asia by the introduction of a new class of heavy intercontinental ballistic missiles. Fifty of these multiwarhead weapons, the equivalent of the Russian SS-19 or the U.S. Peacekeeper, are now fully operational, deployed in hardened bases proof against any attack.”
Marshall read on, “China desires stability and peace in Asia and throughout the Pacific. As the premier, General Zhang Zurong, has repeatedly warned, those who attempt to upset the balance will be met with force. This was the fate of the recent aggressive American move to threaten China’s coastal cities with a nuclear-armed carrier battle group.
“China regrets the loss of life. However, we must insist on respect for our role in the rimlands of the Pacific, the territorial integrity of the province of Taiwan, and those islands and sea areas that remain historically and geographically Chinese. The United States must withdraw from the Western Pacific and refrain from additional provocations. This more equal relationship is our only precondition to a full and complete restoration of a stable, constructive bilateral relationship, maintaining the mutually advantageous commercial ties that are so necessary to a return to global prosperity.”
That ended the communique. Blair braked hard, narrowly missing a barrier in front of the Capitol. Troops, not cops. A guardsman in BDUs, carbine slung, leaned into her window. “This road’s blocked, ma’am. No entry.”
“I’m a staffer.”
“I’ll need ID, ma’am.” The trooper stepped back and waved someone over from a group of uniforms near a hulking armored vehicle.
They insisted on searching her trunk before letting her pass. Fortunately, there was nothing in there but her spare, and the jumper cables Dan always insisted she carry. At last, they waved her on.
* * *
THE meeting area beneath the great dome was thronged. Apparently they were in a quorum call, which for most senators meant feeling free to leave their seats and even the floor. To mingle, discuss, try to reach compromises. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t see this as a good sign.
Blair blinked around, thinking what a great target this would make for a suicide bomber. She recognized senators. Generals. Executives from major defense firms. All seemed torn between the requirement to display grief and the necessity of conducting pressing business. Four men surrounded Talmadge, who was holding court beside the statue of Dr. King. He favored that location for photographs, to appeal to his sizable African-American constituency. A tall black man stood beside him, with several other men. She almost didn’t recognize Hu Kuwalay, the defense assistant.
“Missy.” Talmadge extended a palm, but his gaze darted here and there, examining, calculating. “You know Hu. ‘Bat’ Jingell, majority leader, from the other side of the building. And Tony Venezelos, from Archipelago Defense.”
She nodded greetings. “What’s going on, Bankey? Aren’t you voting?”
“Any minute now. That idiot woman from Seattle called for a quorum. Then we got word about the address.”
“What address? This is the authorization bill?”
“No, it isn’t,” the old senator said. Now she noticed he was perspiring.
Kuwalay said, “The president’s coming over.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Coming here?”
“He wants war powers,” Talmadge rumbled. “Wants that blank check. Should we give it to him? I don’t honestly know.”
“We’ve been attacked. There’s really no other response.” Jingell smiled down at her. She wondered why he was here. As far as she knew, the lower house didn’t have a dog in this fight. The Senate approved treaties and declared war.
Then she remembered. This was Election Day. By midnight, she’d learn if she was Congresswoman Titus, or just plain Mrs. Lenson. She thought of asking again about funding. She’d borrowed heavily for a last-minute ad blitz. But no, she couldn’t. Events were too big, moving too fast, to think about herself.
“Missy? You always gave good advice.” Talmadge took her hand. “I don’t want to send kids off to war. I went, to Korea. Fought the Chinese then. They’re not gonna be a pushover like Saddam. And that security adviser … he scares me.”
“I’ll tell you exactly what he’ll propose,” Blair told him.
“What’s that?”
“A nuclear strike on the mainland, in retaliation. I’ve heard him before. Do it while the balance still favors us.”
Jingell said, “But does it? With the new missiles they announced?”
“Doesn’t mean they’re operational,” Kuwalay put in. “It’s a bluff, to scare us off. We still have the advantage.”
Blair felt like gripping her head and howling. Did they have any concept of what all-out war could mean? She’d lived through 9/11. Barely. Nuclear exchange would be that, magnified ten thousandfold. “We don’t want to play nuclear dare, Hu. Millions will die. In the most horrible ways. The time’s past when we can isolate the homeland from the effects of a war.”
“You’re not saying let them have their way,” the majority leader said.
“No. But we can’t cave, either.”
A stir swept the dome. Someone called from a nearby group, “Good news. One of the ships reported in. Damaged, but afloat.”
A cheer rose, applause, then subsided. No one mentioned the other ships. She guessed they were still missing. And by now, presumed lost.
“The middle course is always tough.” Talmadge waved to someone over her shoulder. “The party was soft on this even after they invaded. I offered the authorization resolution, but we only had forty-two members in support. So I put off the vote.
“But this attack, sinking the Pacific Fleet … we can’t opt out. The country wants action. Demands it.”
“I believe you’re right,” Jingell said, but not very eagerly.
Blair squeezed the old man’s hand, not bothering to correct his military terminology. Knowing he wanted reassurance, not advice. But for once, the two were the same. “Zhang took this out of our hands, Bankey. He’s rolled the dice. Now all we can do is see what numbers come up.”
The old senator sighed. Before he could say anything else, an intern came trotting past. A live quorum had been called for. He gave her shoulder a squeeze, patted Kuwalay, nodded to the majority leader, and headed for the Senate antechamber.
* * *
THE closed-circuit monitor in the visitors’ center carried the floor proceedings. With two hundred others, packed shoulder to shoulder, she watched.
A hush. The president came in, flanked by Secret Service. Head down, he delivered a low-voiced, almost inaudible address that she caught only a few words of. “For the first time since World War II … unprovoked and dastardly attack … existential threat to national security … defend our allies to the utmost … topple the dictator, and bring democracy to all Asia.”
She tightened her mouth, sensing overreach. Hubris. Or maybe, just hyperbole. This president had never been noted for skill with words, or insight into the way to deal with foreign countries. But at least his speech was short. So short that she, and apparently the others around her, hadn’t quite grasped what was happening, by the time he stepped down.
“He’s asked for a declaration of war,” someone said.
“War … war…” The murmur eddied through the crowd. A lone spectator began to clap, but no one else joined in. He persisted for a few seconds, then stopped as those around shushed him.
She felt suddenly faint, and pushed her way through the throng to lean against a display case. Her head swam. Her knees trembled. What was it with human beings? They were like cattle thronging down a chute, with no idea what lay at its end. Distantly, through a hissing hum in her ears, she registered the question being moved. Seconded. Then, the roll call. Each senator going on record. Standing, to call out his or her vote, rather than simply pressing the usual button.
The final vote was for, but by only 54 in favor, 46 against. The narrowest vote for war in U.S. history, she was pretty sure. She stared to check the fact on her phone, then remembered: no service. And anyway, what did it matter? The room was emptying, gradually, then more swiftly. Almost a stampede. She limped along after them, hip aching now, feeling hollow. Alone.
And more frightened than she’d ever been in her life.