She was looking back at him, tears streaming down her face.
He hadn’t shed a tear in years. But that was about to change.
Part II
the adviser
~ 14 ~
~ ~ Earlier in Time ~ ~
Day 14. 9:35 p.m. The White House.
It had been thirteen days since the alien spacecraft were first detected by NASA—and exactly one day since the aliens attacked the Moon.
Earlier that evening, Defense Secretary Strauss had asked President Whitman to authorize an Earth-side show of force in response to the lunar attack. After reviewing the idea with her team, Whitman called for a larger group to discuss the proposal the following morning—at 8 a.m. on Day 15. She would make her decision soon after.
Whitman asked Chief of Staff Perez and Vice President Nielsen to stay behind after she dismissed the others.
She now turned to Nielsen. “Zack, you need to remember the kind of pressure we’re putting on everyone. At some point they’ll realize that their voice could be decisive—and the fate of humanity rests in the balance. No one should have to bear that burden. That weight can only be carried by the Office of the President—and that is where it will rest. I’m not tallying votes on this. You have to make that clear to everyone.”
“I understand, Madam President.”
“Now, let’s talk about Professor Kilmer. Is he as good as you make him out to be? Good enough for us to be calling him this late in the game?”
“I believe he is. His academic credentials are obviously impressive, but it’s more than that. I’ve seen how his mind works. I shared with you the advice he gave us during the Gulf of Aden crisis. And I’ve told you about his views on Kharkiv. He just sees things that others miss. And I know we can trust him to keep this quiet. He never asks for anything when he takes these types of calls—not even credit for the role he plays.”
Whitman nodded. “I remember his views on Aden. He changed your mind on that, and then you changed mine. And it saved us, there’s no doubt about that. As for Kharkiv… well, that’s still a damn mess.”
“It is, and it played out almost exactly like he predicted,” Nielsen pointed out. “He told me we had to be more aggressive. And he warned me not to agree to the ceasefire proposal that the UN was pushing at the time—said it would blow up in our faces. We just didn’t listen.”
“Fair enough. But then again, I’m not sure anything could have helped that situation.” Whitman paused, wondering whether she really believed that. Could they have done something more? Something different? “Okay, Zack, I hear you. Professor Kilmer brings a different perspective, and that could be helpful. By the way, that book of his you gave me for Christmas—Heirs of Herodotus—I thought it was excellent.” She smiled. “Although I’m surprised Laura allowed you to make that my Christmas gift.”
Nielsen grinned guiltily. His wife Laura had been horrified to learn that he had decided to give his boss, the president of the United States, a history book for Christmas. “But it’s a really good book. And it’s signed by the author,” Nielsen had protested. “Well, unless it’s signed by Herodotus himself,” Laura warned, “I don’t think Marianne is going to be too impressed.”
Nielsen prepared himself for the I told you so that now awaited him at home.
But Whitman laughed. “I’m sorry, Zack—Laura told me she gave you a hard time about it, so I had to pile on. In all honesty, Professor Kilmer’s book did more for me than those theater tickets I sent to Laura are likely to do for you. He makes an interesting observation about historians—how even the best of them are driven by a need for closure. They work too hard to tie things together with a thematic bow, making sure that every event and character from history fits neatly into their narrative. As a result, we end up with ‘lessons of history’ that are a little too clean, and a bit too overgeneralized to provide us proper guidance in the real world. It made me think about how we make decisions around here, in fact. And how we might do a better job.”
Kilmer’s book had caused a bit of a stir in academic circles, receiving praise from fellow historians just as often as it was reviled. Publishers Weekly quoted Kilmer at length in its starred review:
“Historians should not be in the business of explaining as much as possible with as little as possible. We are not here to create trend lines on the graph of human events. We owe the world much more than that. Whatever mistakes Herodotus, the “first historian,” made in this regard should have been corrected by those who came after—not amplified. Our job as historians is to extract principles, not punch lines.”
Whitman returned to the issue at hand. “So, Zack, how do you want to proceed?”
“If I can track him down in time, my plan is for Professor Kilmer to attend the 8 a.m. meeting tomorrow—just as an observer. He and I can debrief afterwards. The team’s on board, but with varying degrees of enthusiasm. For Allen and Druckman, he’s an unknown entity—they’re not sure he’ll add much, but they don’t see how it can hurt. Garcia is a fan; she knows his work and is aware that he helped us out during the Aden crisis. Strauss said he’s okay with it, but he added that sending a professor to bore the aliens to death might be a proposal worth considering as well.”
Whitman and Perez laughed.
“Let’s bring him in,” said Whitman. “If he tells you something I need to hear, I’ll make time for it. And Zack, when you invite him, please let him know that I loved the book… and that I’d be extremely grateful if he could join us.”
Zack smiled. And people wonder how she won by a landslide.
“Yes, Madam President.”
~ 15 ~
VP Nielsen and Chief of Staff Perez left the Oval Office and walked down the hall. They were almost at the door to the chief of staff’s office when Perez stopped short.
“Zack… can I have a minute please?” Perez sounded uncharacteristically hesitant.
“Sure. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just… well… you never brought it up, Zack. Not once—not even as a joke. And I give you a lot of credit for that. But I should have been the one to bring it up and clear the air.” Perez paused. “It’s no secret that you weren’t my first pick to join the ticket when Marianne was looking for a running mate. I want you to know I regret that. And I should have had the courage to say that to you when you came on board. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
This was the last thing Nielsen had expected Perez to bring up at a time like this. “Salvo, there’s no reason to apologize. You did what you thought was right—and a lot of people agreed with you. I didn’t take it personally.”
Nielsen genuinely believed that Whitman had had a lot of good VP options, but it still hurt a little to know that some of the people he now worked with had been rooting for the other guy. Regardless, Nielsen couldn’t think of any reason to make someone feel bad about it right when the world was about to end. Perez was a good man who cared deeply about two things—the United States of America and Marianne J. Whitman. No one doubted that Perez would be the first in line, even before the Secret Service, to take a bullet for the president. Nielsen could respect that.
“It probably sounds like I just need to get this off my chest in case we don’t get another chance to talk about it—with the alien invasion and all. Maybe that’s part of it. But there’s something else as well.” Perez inched closer to Nielsen. “Zack, you’re among the few people the president trusts to always speak their mind and to fully support her decisions. If we survive the next few days, things are going to get complicated. Stress levels are high, and I can see the cracks forming already. Strauss. Druckman. When the calls don’t go their way, they don’t take it too well. And if the president rejects their advice when the stakes are this high… I’m not sure how cooperative or forthcoming they’ll be after that. I’m not sure they won’t decide to, you know, go their own way—to use Sokolov’s phrase.”
“You think they have their own agendas?”
“No. I think their age
nda is mostly the same as ours. To protect the American people. But if they think millions or billions of lives are on the line and the president is making the wrong call, I’m not sure how they’ll react.”
“I see. What do you propose?”
“I just want you to be aware. I think the people we’ve chosen are the right people for the job—even when the going gets tough. But when all hell breaks loose? I just don’t know.”
Nielsen reflected on Perez’s words. If anyone was looking to undermine the president, he would certainly have no part of it. But how do you distinguish between undermining the president and following your conscience? He was suddenly reminded of what Whitman had said to him the day she offered him the VP spot. “Zack, I didn’t do you a favor today. I did what I thought was right. And I don’t want you feeling indebted to me. Whenever things get rough, I need you to say and do what’s right—no matter the consequences.”
Nielsen had always shared his views, candidly and respectfully, and then supported whatever decision Whitman made. Even in the worst of situations, and even when they disagreed, supporting the president had never felt like a moral dilemma. Not even remotely. But then, all hell had never broken loose before. What if his conscience told him Whitman was wrong at a time when millions of American lives were on the line? Would he still support her, like Perez was sure to do? Or would he decide to go his own way, like a Strauss or a Druckman might?
Nielsen admired President Whitman. He respected her. He trusted her. He had no doubt about any of that. But she hadn’t done him a favor. That was what he needed to remember. It was what she had asked him to remember.
“Thanks, Salvo, for bringing this to my attention. A lot to think about.”
Perez nodded in agreement, and then they parted ways.
Nielsen walked a few more steps to his office and gave his assistant some instructions, along with an address. Then he sat down at his desk and pulled out his cell phone. He had a call to make.
~ 16 ~
Professor Kilmer was at home, sitting in his library, when the call came. The developer had planned for the space to be used as a formal dining area, but that dream ended the day Kilmer moved in. Kilmer wasn’t interested in having two dining rooms, and he was even less keen on having zero libraries. The makeover solved both problems. The library was Kilmer’s favorite room in the three-bedroom condo where he lived alone—save for the countless spirits of scholars, strategists, philosophers, historians, and generals who drifted about his bookshelves.
The room itself was cozy, but otherwise unremarkable. The couch was more comfortable than trendy, and the pinewood coffee table was unworthy of further description. There was a desk in one corner, on top of which sat Kilmer’s laptop, some more books, and a few stacks of paper; he wouldn’t have been able to remember what documents comprised the bottom inch of any stack.
To be sure, there were some personal items as well. A Rembrandt print decorated one of the walls—The Storm on the Sea of Galilee. It was the only painting Kilmer had ever loved, or, for that matter, looked at for longer than thirty seconds. Tucked into another corner of the room was a fancy-looking globe—a gift from a woman Kilmer had once expected to marry. Five years ago, when they parted ways, she told Kilmer that it was because he would always be more concerned with what was happening around that globe than what was happening in their relationship. He had disagreed with that characterization of his priorities… but not with enough conviction to change her mind. He’d dated other women since, but as time went on, he started to think that she had been right about him—that he really was, in her words, wired for peace, and not for love.
And then there was the armchair, which had once belonged to his father. It was ancient—and managed to look even older than it was—but it remained Kilmer’s most prized possession.
Someone walking into the library, knowing nothing about who owned the home, would probably have imagined that it belonged to a slightly frail, gray-haired retiree who went for a walk every morning on doctor’s orders.
Kilmer was forty-two years old. He stood five-foot-ten, had a healthy tan complexion, and sported only a single strand of gray in his dark brown hair. He wasn’t much of a walker, either. When he needed to clear his mind, he chose to meditate; when he felt the need to exercise, he preferred to hit the gym.
Kilmer saw the name Zack Nielsen appear on his phone and answered on the first ring. The three seconds between reading the name and saying “hello” were spent wondering why the vice president would be calling so late on a Friday night.
“Professor Kilmer?”
“Hi, Zack. How are you?”
“Fine, Professor. Am I catching you in Boston or somewhere else?”
“Boston.”
“Got it. I’m sorry to be calling at this time, but do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure. I was just reading.”
“Oh, what are you reading?”
“Well, at the moment, I happen to be re-reading a few chapters from The Causes of War—by Geoffrey Blainey. I want to revisit some of his arguments for an assignment I’m going to inflict on my students next semester.”
“Wait—didn’t we read Blainey in our course? Is he the guy who says unintentional wars don’t really exist?”
“Good memory, Zack. That’s the guy. He says wars are never unintentional in the way we might think. That people don’t just stumble into wars where there was no willingness to fight. He makes some very good points.”
For each of the last seven years, Kilmer had taught an eight-week course in DC, entitled War & Peace: The Lessons of History. For four hours each week, a few dozen lawmakers, government officials, and military leaders would attend the class, ready to listen, analyze, debate, and distill insights from over 2,500 years of human history. Most of the students were American, but not all. Over the years, high-ranking officials from around the world had enrolled.
Zack Nielsen had attended the course six years ago. At the time, he was a senator from Michigan who sat on the Committee on Foreign Relations and the Select Committee on Intelligence. As a student, Nielsen was always respectful and well-prepared—although others in the class probably thought he raised his hand a little too often. Nielsen stayed in touch with Kilmer after the course, and they spoke at least once every couple of months.
On two occasions, Nielsen had invited Kilmer to Washington to advise on some highly sensitive matters. In one case—the Gulf of Aden crisis—they had worked together closely for weeks to resolve the problem. In the other—the Kharkiv fiasco—Kilmer’s perspective was pretty much ignored from the start. It was during those meetings that Kilmer discovered Nielsen had a pretty good sense of humor, reserved mostly for the darkest of moments. Maybe that was when it was needed most.
“So, Zack. Did you just call me for a book recommendation?”
“I wish, Professor. Listen, the reason I’m calling is that we need your help. I can’t give you any details, but it’s important. Just… assume the worst. Can you get to Washington ASAP?”
“Do you mean ASAP in the next few days? Or ASAP tomorrow morning?”
“None of the above. I mean tonight. I mean now.”
Kilmer put down the book. “I’ll try to come as soon as you need, Zack, but I won’t be able to catch a flight before tomorrow morning. If I get on the first one, I can probably meet you around 7 a.m. at your office. Does that work?”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t. We need you right away. We have a plane in Boston that can get you here at a moment’s notice, and since I figured you were probably in Boston, I already have a car on the way to your house. You still live in Brookline, right? Same address as before?”
“Yes.”
“Great. If you can be out the door in the next ten minutes, you can land here by midnight and I can meet you in my office around 12:30. And don’t worry, I already know… coffee, black and extra hot. I’ve got that covered. But can you do it?”
Kilmer was already in his bedroom and looking for clot
hes to change into. “Am I flying back in a few hours, or should I bring a change of clothes?”
“I don’t know. Bring some clothes just in case. For two days or so.”
“Okay.”
“Just one more thing. This invitation isn’t coming from me. It comes from President Whitman. She asked me to tell you that she hopes you can make it—and that she would be very grateful if you would agree to come. This is different from the last few times, Professor. You’ll see what I mean when you get here.”
This was different. Although Kilmer knew that his advice to Nielsen had always made it to the president in one form or another, he had never interacted with her directly—Nielsen was always the intermediary. For all Kilmer knew, Whitman had no idea who he was or that he had advised the vice president in the past.
“Okay. That’s good to know,” Kilmer replied, trying not to sound too excited. He probably wouldn’t get to meet Whitman this time either, but it was exciting to hear that the president of the United States had made the ask.
“Thank you, Professor. I’ve gotta run, but Joana, my chief of staff, will text you with information about the driver, the flight, and what to expect when you land. Let’s see… what am I forgetting… oh yeah. As you probably already guessed, you can’t mention this to anyone. Not even the fact that you’re going to DC.”
“Understood. I’ll be ready in ten minutes. And I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye, Prof.”
Nielsen hung up.
Kilmer changed into a pair of pants and threw on a sports coat, packed a carry-on, and equipped his laptop bag with the essentials. Anything else? Yeah, why not. He ran back to his closet and grabbed a tie. Just in case. He wore a tie about once a year, and only on special occasions. This might end up qualifying.
On second thought, he really hated wearing a tie. He tossed it back. It slipped off the rack and fell to the floor. He left it there.
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