“Thank you, Mr. President,” Falcone said.
Before Falcone could say another word, Oxley stood, signaling his exit and bringing all in the room to their feet. “I’m off to see what Barry and Stephanie are putting in my prompter,” he said. “You’ll be joining us, Sean?”
“Yes sir. I’ll be there very shortly,” Falcone said.
Still standing for the departure of the President, Falcone held up his hand and said, “I want everyone in this room—except Penny, Anna, and Hawk—to go to their regular offices and begin carrying on whatever business you’d be doing on any other day. At dawn, America will begin to see the reality of what we have seen through infrared images. At dawn everything will change. There will be panic, rumors, false claims, a media frenzy. But we have to project confidence—and continuity.
“Max”—Falcone looked at the videoconference screen showing the Vice President’s ruddy face—“for the next little while, I think you should stay in your ‘undisclosed location.’ We’ll keep you in the loop.”
“God be with you, Sean, and with the rest of us,” Cunningham said as his image faded away.
“Captain Spencer, you’re our early witness. We need you,” Falcone continued, pointing toward the Navy officer. “Find a place for a couple hours of sleep and then set up an operations post in the Watch Center. That’s going to be your duty station until you’re relieved.”
Penny Walker stayed at her place as the other ExComm members filed out. Falcone walked around the table, sat next to her, and held her hand.
“Penny, you’ve got the lead on the biggest catastrophe in American history. I want you here, in the White House, not across town at DHS. Use my office for now. We’ll rearrange things so that you’ll be right at hand. As you know, we need an incident commander. He or she will be the face of the catastrophe, at the scene, twenty-four-seven. Any ideas?”
Walker stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. “You want someone who is centered—we say that in pottery about the clay on the wheel. Being solid, concentrated, balanced,” she said. “And you want a human being who is not a bureaucrat, someone who has commanded, who has the look of authority. I know who you want. Admiral David Mason.”
Falcone hesitated before saying, “The commandant of the Coast Guard? I … I don’t really know him.”
“I do. He’s the finest man I have ever known. And he is smart, damn smart.”
“I’d like to talk to him … first.”
“Sorry, Sean. You take him on my word or you don’t. Right now. I’m not going to call him to come in for an audition.”
“Your point is taken, Penny. Call him and get him here. And tell him to bring his sea bag.”
34
AN HOUR before dawn, a GNN helicopter took off from Atlanta and headed for Savannah, timing its flight so that it dipped low over the center of the city minutes after the first rays of the sun pierced the blackness. “We are above Savannah. Or what used to be Savannah,” said Ned Winslow.
GNN had charted a private jet aircraft to whisk Winslow down to Dallas and then back to Atlanta in order to avoid any flight restrictions imposed along the eastern coast. When the helicopter banked, his profile partially framed an image of dark water, still as a pond, shrouding what lay beneath.
In the growing dawn, shattered buildings emerged, and the curving course of the Savannah River was faintly outlined. “We are looking at total desolation,” Winslow continued as the helicopter pivoted over the twin towers of the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. “Part of the roof is torn away. I can look right down into the nave of the cathedral.”
The image shifted, bringing the river into focus. “I can see a pile of cars, jammed together. There is no sign of life. No sign anywhere.”
Along the shore, huge gas tanks spilled fires that flowed atop the water. Upriver, the tangled remains of the Talmadge Bridge were partially visible. “I can see what I guess was a ship,” Winslow said as the camera zoomed to a torn white hull. “My God! It looks like part of a cruise ship.” The camera turned away. “And there’s another ship—a freighter, I think—lying on its side like a giant toy.”
The helicopter followed the river to the sea and swung over a vast wetland dotted with clusters of wreckage. “It’s hard to see where the sea ends and the land begins. It looks as if the tsunami flowed across the marshes and the waters are slowly receding. The damage—the disaster—is immense. There are no lights anywhere. Electric power—”
*
“I don’t want to see any more private helicopters in that airspace. Where the hell is the FAA flight ban? I want a flight-exclusion zone centered on Savannah and radiating out twenty-five miles in all directions. Get on that right away, and—” Falcone was giving Hawkins orders when, on Falcone’s Watch Center screen, the GNN image suddenly shrunk to a square in the lower left corner.
The rest of the screen filled with the image of President Oxley in the Oval Office. The image also appeared on screens that had been showing the reporting of all the networks. They were covering the disaster from their Washington studios or from correspondents in Atlanta. No one had wanted to venture into Savannah at night. Only GNN had sent in a helicopter.
Now the site of news had shifted to the Oval Office, and all were covering the same event, a presidential address that promised to be momentous.
“Good morning, my fellow Americans,” President Oxley began, his voice strong, his face taut. “Dawn has brought us the reality of the catastrophe in Savannah. Last night, when we had only fragmentary information, I said that a tsunami had struck Savannah. I have now learned that some kind of high-explosive device—possibly a nuclear device—caused this catastrophe.
“During the night, after getting reports of a possible nuclear incident, I ordered a Nuclear Emergency Support Team to enter Savannah to determine whether a nuclear or radiological event had occurred. The team, known as NEST, consists of scientists, technicians, and engineers operating under the United States Department of Energy’s National Nuclear Security Administration.
“We expect that the NEST experts will detect some radiation produced by a nuclear device. We believe that the widespread electric power failure, centered on Savannah, may have been due to an electromagnetic pulse produced by the explosion of the nuclear device.
“All the resources of our federal government have been mobilized to deal with this catastrophe. As I speak, a Navy task force including two aircraft carriers and a hospital ship are steaming toward Savannah. The carriers’ electrical systems will be connected to the electric grid to provide emergency power while the grid is being restored. Air Force aircraft sent off by the Department of Homeland Security have already landed near Savannah. They carry food, water, medical personnel, portable hospitals, and supplies of pills that lessen the effects of radiation on the body.
“We do not have any casualty figures or any damage estimates. Nor have we found the actual dimensions of the catastrophe. But clearly Savannah has been grievously damaged.
“We, as a nation, must now deal with three vital tasks: We must go to the aid of Savannah and the victims of this catastrophe. We must determine how this catastrophe happened. And, if it happened because of the evil designs of an enemy, we must find and punish that enemy.
“While aid is speeding to Savannah, our intelligence agencies are focused on determining the source of the explosion. Our allies throughout the world are also helping us in many ways.
“At this point, we do not believe that the catastrophe is part of a general attack on the United States. But under long-standing Department of Defense procedures, the report of a nuclear incident produced a global response. All military commands are on full alert. And, as a precaution, the Homeland Security Threat Advisory has risen to Severe, the highest alert.
“A decision to declare a Severe Threat automatically produces, throughout the government, predetermined protective measures. Many of these measures cannot be publicly announced at this time. But I pledge to share with you as mu
ch information about the catastrophe and the threat as possible, consistent with the safety of the nation.
“Because of the enormity of this catastrophe, because responding to it is clearly beyond even well-prepared city and state governments, I am declaring a national emergency, under the National Security and Homeland Security Presidential Directive. That directive was created by a previous president as a mechanism to guarantee continuity of government during a catastrophic emergency.
“Acting under that directive, I place the immediate area of the catastrophe under federal management. Further developments may call for a similar decision about other areas.
“The lead federal agency, under the law, is the Department of Homeland Security, which is sending teams to the area. Those teams will work closely with Governor Morrill and local authorities.
“I have named my national security advisor, Sean Falcone, the national continuity coordinator, a post called for in the Presidential Directive. He will be the overall federal administrator. The incident commander, who is on his way to Georgia, is Admiral David Mason, commandant of the Coast Guard. He will be the day-to-day director of operations.
“I have further decided that I will curtail my reelection campaign so that I may concentrate on what has happened—and whatever may happen—in the days to come.
“Vice President Cunningham will not be campaigning. Until we determine the true dimensions of this event, we must be concerned about the continuity of government in the event of a successful attempt on the life of the President.
“Vice President Cunningham is in a location I cannot disclose. Until the threat level is lowered, he will remain there, in constant touch with me, as assurance of presidential succession.
“When we find out the source of this catastrophe, we will provide you with all the intelligence that we can reveal without imperiling methods and sources. During our worldwide investigation, we will demand cooperation from any nation that possesses information that will help us determine the cause of this catastrophe.
“If we determine that this was the launching of an attack on the United States by another nation or by an organization given sanctuary by that nation, the consequences for that nation will be extremely severe.
“Catastrophe has launched us into a new world. We have never experienced on our soil a calamity of such magnitude. This new world is full of unknowns. It is a place of uncertainties, a place without familiar paths.
“We must do what Americans have always done when facing the unknown: We banish fear, solve the problems, blaze the paths. As a people, we have always turned away from the past and moved into the future with confidence in ourselves and faith in our God. We will do so once more, beginning with this new dawn.
“No matter what the future holds, we are one nation, under God. No matter the crisis, we will honor our pledge of liberty and justice for all.
“And now we must all get to work.
“God bless Savannah and God bless the United States of America.”
*
ARMY Brigadier General Richard Castleton, military advisor to the Deputy Secretary of Defense, watched the President’s address on a monitor in a modest office in the E-Ring of the Pentagon. As soon as the President finished, Castleton locked his office door, unlocked a desk drawer, and removed a metal box with a combination lock. He spun the dial four times, opened the box, and took out a cell phone. He looked at the device that was now buzzing urgently. On a narrow screen appeared a six-digit number, which changed every twenty seconds.
Castleton switched on the cell phone and repeated the six digits he was seeing on the screen. He saw two green lights, heard the sound of a buzzer, waited a moment, then said, “You heard truth. Oxley and his crew have no idea what happened.”
“Expected,” said the metallic voice of Rolf Eriksen. “But do we have any idea what went wrong? How in hell could this have happened?”
“At this point, we don’t have an answer, sir,” Castleton said evenly.
“We can’t let them know what we were doing! Do you understand?” Eriksen’s voice retained its artificial quality, but was no longer calm.
“Yes, sir. There will be no fingerprints.”
Castleton put the smartphone back in the box and into the drawer and then turned to his computer to continue reading the first draft of Secretary Kane’s top-secret report to Falcone on the availability of troops for martial-law duty.
35
FALCONE ENTERED the Oval Office just as the television crew was leaving. He was not surprised to see that Ray Quinlan was already there, sitting in one of the two straight-back chairs in front of the President’s desk.
“Your speech was exactly what the country needed, Mr. President,” Falcone said before he sat down. “You let everyone know that there would be information you can reveal and information that it’s necessary to withhold. That’s an important point.”
“‘Curtail’ was just right about the cutting back on the campaign,” Quinlan said. “You indirectly damped down any rumors about cancelling the election. The blogosphere is already filling with that bullshit.”
“But wait till Stanfield gets a look at the Executive Orders on the books,” Oxley said. “We’re in for a rough ride.”
“There’s more than Stanfield to worry about, Mr. President,” Falcone said. “The crazies are going to be in full battle cry. As you said, there are three tasks. Savannah gets the humanitarian attention. But, for national security, the most important tasks are finding out what happened and deciding what to do about it.
“My instincts give you forty-eight—maybe seventy-two—hours before the mobs are in the streets … and, if that happens, you’ll have to use those Executive Annexes, which will make you into a dictator.”
“I agree with Sean,” Quinlan said. “And that doesn’t happen very often. You have less than a week to be the hero who will rescue Savannah and find the bad guys. In that time I think you should be the leader, not the candidate. But maybe Max could be out there, your surrogate?”
“No dice on that,” Oxley said. “It would look like I’m ducking. Max stays put. As a matter of fact, I gave him a job. I told him to call all the important Southern senators and representatives to assure them that the feds aren’t on the march in Dixie. Don’t forget, I came close to not carrying Georgia.”
“Remember how Stanfield howled when President Bush invoked an Executive Order after that hurricane hit Texas?” Quinlan chortled.
“Roberta mentioned that when she briefed me,” Oxley said. “It was an order, going back to Kennedy, that gave the president emergency power over all forms of transportation. FEMA used it to aid the evacuation of Houston by ordering that all lanes of a two-way highway be used for a one-way route out of the city. My God, a simple traffic change.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Quinlan said, laughing. “Stanfield went after the traffic-rage vote by denouncing FEMA for expanding federal power. But he never said a goddamn word about what had happened, just before, in New Orleans.”
“Wait until he goes on Google and looks for ways to attack me,” Oxley said. “Take a look at this. Roberta told me about it.” He gestured for both men to go around the desk and look at the monitor. Oxley hit the button to call up the Internet, via Explorer. He then called up Google, and across the page came this message:
Under the National Emergency Presidential Declaration, the Department of Defense’s Cyber Command and other U.S. Government agencies may routinely intercept and monitor communications on the Internet for purposes including, but not limited to, communications security; defending against cyberterrorism; and for law enforcement and counterintelligence purposes. An Intrusion Detection System is in force, defending against unauthorized users attempting to gain access to vital U.S. Government networks. At any time, the U.S. Government may inspect and seize data stored on this computer.
“My God!” Quinlan swore. “Wait till the loonies on the net get ahold of this! It’s a conspiracy theory come to life.”
/> “This particular bit,” Oxley said, “comes under a directive that allows the government to seize and control the communication media.”
“So screw the First Amendment! Wow! It’s a dictator wannabe’s wet dream.”
“Calm down, Ray,” Oxley said, lightly. “I’m not going to order 60 Minutes off the air.”
The mirthful political chatting in the midst of catastrophe bothered Falcone. But he had worked in Washington long enough to know that, rain or shine, peace or war, politics always trumped. He excused himself and headed for the Situation Room as Quinlan was talking about the need for a discreet poll to determine whether Oxley’s popularity had gone up or down after his speech.
*
FALCONE, as national continuity coordinator, had staked out a section of the Situation Room Watch Center. Dabrowski and Hawkins occupied two adjacent cubicles. Penny Walker moved into Falcone’s West Wing office. Her principal aides took over NSC offices in the nearby Eisenhower Executive Office Building, the imposing nineteenth-century edifice that once held the State, War, and Navy departments.
Falcone had hoped for fifteen minutes on his cot, but Dabrowski and Hawkins were waiting for him when he returned. During the night, he had roughly worked out a division of labor. Walker would handle the catastrophe, while he, Anna, and Hawkins would work on finding out what caused it. He decided to start with the possibility that the source of the explosion was a stolen U.S. warhead.
“I asked a nonproliferation guy at CIA if we’ll be able to identify the source of the radiation,” Hawkins told Falcone as he eased himself into the chair in front of his monitor and telephone console. “He was very guarded about that. It’s very sensitive. He says that the only reliable answer would have to come from a higher pay grade, like Director Stone or the Secretary of State. And he believes that Los Alamos will have to tap into IAEA data.”
“That’s almost certainly bullshit,” Falcone said. “If possible, I want to keep the international atom people out of this at this time. But let’s not ruffle anybody for a while. I’ve told Lanier we’ve got to find the origin of the bomb … the device … whatever the hell it was.” He turned to Dabrowski. “Anna, what do you have on the inventory?”
Blink of an Eye Page 20
