1:00 P.M. WASHINGTON, D.C.
As he slowly paced before his desk in the oval office, President Joseph Stein kept glancing at the man in the air force uniform who stood at attention. Sunlight streaming through the windows glittered from the wealth of medals on General Matthew Cozeba’s chest.
“I can’t do it, Matt. We want our citizens to go on believing that the threat is thousands of miles away, so they can live their lives as though nothing is wrong.”
“Yes, sir, I understand. But given today’s intelligence reports about the secret gulags in Russia, it cannot possibly hurt to begin some quiet evacua—”
“Apparently, it can. The secretaries of defense and homeland security assure me that word will get out, and people will panic. They say America will come to a dead stop and riots will break out in every city, which is the last thing the economy needs right now.” Stein lifted a finger and pointed it sternly at the general. “Russia can panic. China can panic. But for the sake of the world, America must not panic.”
Cozeba exhaled and stared at the far wall.
“Besides, Matt, you have assured me that Operation Maze Master will work. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
“No, sir. It will work.”
“Then why are we having this discussion?”
“Sir, we must be prudent. If we’re not going to commence evacuations at home, then you must allow me to take the necessary actions abroad to protect the world before it’s too late. I know you’re concerned about the loss of innocent lives…”
Stein held up a hand to halt the general’s next words.
Totally exhausted, he walked around behind his desk and sank down in his chair. For almost four months the world had been scrambling, trying to figure out the strange new virus in France. Until six hours ago, the quarantine had held.
He swiveled around in his chair to look out the window at the marines guarding the front gates of the White House. The only people standing beyond the fence were tourists, but that would change. As soon as the news got out, hordes would descend with placards, screaming that he do something. He prayed he had at least a few days before that happened.
“Not yet, Matt. Mount of Olives has to remain a last resort. You’re dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.”
General Cozeba saluted, pivoted, and left.