The President

by Parker Hudson

  As Eunice finished, including how she had asked for and received a cash down payment on this baby and how degraded she had felt when the unsuspecting father had also paid her, Rebecca reached across the table for her hand and said, “Eunice, you don’t have to kill this baby.”

  “I...it’s just a fetus.”

  Rebecca noted the pleading in the other woman’s voice. She retrieved her purse and pulled out the ultrasound photo they had made months earlier. She handed it to Eunice. “I stopped by the hospital yesterday morning and got it for you. That was months ago, Eunice, and look how your baby has grown now! He’s been growing and maturing inside you. He wants to live, not die. Don’t kill him, Eunice. You’re his mother.”

  Eunice lowered her head and looked at the picture. She was silent for a minute. Rebecca noticed the tears forming in the other woman’s eyes. “But what about the money I owe them, including the train fare and hotel?” Eunice asked. “It must be close to a thousand dollars. And how can I possibly raise another child in my situation?”

  Rebecca reached for her hand again. “I’m not sure, Eunice, but I am sure this baby is supposed to live, not die today. I’ll help you with the thousand dollars, and I know people who want to adopt children, if you can’t keep him. I’m not thinking much beyond this moment right now, but I know there are answers, right answers. And his death is not the right one.”

  Eunice looked up. “You’ll help me? You’ll talk to Dr. Thompson?”

  Rebecca smiled. “You bet I will! I’ve got quite a lot to say to him, as a matter of fact. And I imagine that when I get through, not only will you not owe him any money, but he might be making a contribution to your medical bills. A substantial contribution!”

  There was the beginning of a smile through the tears. “You really think I don’t have to do this? Isn’t it a contract or something?”

  “Eunice, in the first place, what he’s asked you to do is simply illegal. But far beyond that, it’s immoral. You’re that child’s mother, his life-giver, not his executioner. Don’t worry at all about Dr. Thompson. I’ll handle him. You worry about your son.” And she pointed again to the photo on the table.

  Eunice was silent for a minute. Then she said decisively, “Well, if you’ll help me, I’ll do it. I’ll have this son. And then you’ll help me figure out what to do?”

  Rebecca could hardly contain her joy. She felt like jumping up and clapping. “Yes, Eunice. I won’t leave you. I promise. And we’ll sort out his future once we get back to Atlanta and he decides to join us!”

  Now Eunice was smiling broadly. She reached across with her other hand to hold Rebecca’s between hers. “Thank you. Thank you, Ms. Harrison. I know this is right. Thank you and thank God.”

  “Yes, thank God.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Well, it’s almost nine-thirty. Let’s walk back to your hotel, pack your bags, and find out when the next train leaves for Atlanta. I’ll call the Burroughs Clinic and tell them you won’t be coming in. Then we’ll head downtown for my bag and the train station.”

  “Oh, thank you again, Ms. Harrison. My hotel is just there at the corner.”

  “Please, call me Rebecca. If I’m going to be this boy’s honorary godmother, we ought to be on a first-name basis!”

  “Yes. Thanks.” The two women rose and left to walk the short half block to Eunice’s hotel.

  Precisely at nine-thirty Sadim keyed a computer connected to one of the transceivers in the command center of the Bright Star, and an instant later Wafik received a short encrypted fax in his high-rise observation post. The message from Sadim said to begin the operation.

  Wafik smiled, gave a prayer of thanks, and touched several keys on his powerful laptop. A few moments later six other computers in remote locations around the country began sending a steady stream of identical faxes to all the nation’s television networks, wire services, the White House, the New York police, twenty key metropolitan newspapers, and the fax machines in the Pentagon. The message appeared virtually simultaneously in all these places and read:

  Greetings from the Council for the Liberation of Palestine, and all praise be to Allah. This message is to inform the government and people of the United States, the imperialist gangster nation which has propped up its puppet, Israel, for far too long, that on this day steps are being taken to right the wrongs done in the land of Palestine.

  There is a ship anchored in New York harbor which has on its deck a nuclear bomb with a yield of approximately six-tenths of a megaton. The ship is the Bright Star, and a red dye is being released around it to confirm its location. All authorities and individuals are warned not to come near the ship, nor to take any action which could even appear to be hostile, as any such activity will result in both retaliatory action and the possible instant detonation of the bomb without further warning.

  For our tormentors in the Pentagon and White House, the device is a Soviet-built weapon which was liberated from the Perzomaisk region of Ukraine several years ago and modified for our use by Soviet-trained technicians. The serial number on the bomb is A672-393-81IT. We invite your verification of the records in Moscow. The Bright Star has been modified to provide the power necessary for detonation, and at this moment the bomb can be triggered manually by our mission leader, who is on the ship in the harbor, or automatically in case of attack. Six photos will follow this message showing close-ups of the device and of our modifications.

  Within one hour all air traffic must cease overhead, including high-altitude commercial flights. All helicopter flights will cease in the harbor area south of 14th Street. Do not try to attack this ship. It has been fitted with the most advanced countermeasures in the world’s arsenals today. In addition to sophisticated air search and surface search radar, there is passive sonar for detecting even the slightest underwater activity. Electronic equipment is scanning all military and police radio, radar, and telephone frequencies. In addition, we have visual observers in the area who are monitoring the entire harbor. Any attempt to approach or attack the Bright Star will produce an enormous tragedy for which we will not be responsible.

  This device will not be detonated if the government and the people of the United States do the following to correct their unbalanced, prejudiced, and illegal approach to the people of Palestine:

  1. The President will cause the government of Israel to release all political and so-called terrorist prisoners and transport them safely to the border with Syria by noon tomorrow. A specific list of the prisoners to be released will be sent to the White House and to the Israeli prime minister.

  2. The government of the United States will abandon its opposition to the United Nations’ resolutions calling for the return of all lands taken by Israel since 1967, and the U.S. government will cause the Israeli government to begin its withdrawal from these lands by noon tomorrow.

  3. The people of the United States will repudiate the attempt by Christian fundamentalists to take over their government, which we would consider openly hostile to the interests of the Palestinian people. They will instead elect members to the House and Senate in tomorrow’s election who are sensitive to the plight of the Palestinian people and reject a government built on the blasphemy of the Christian faith, which contradicts the teachings of the one true prophet and has criminally aided the Israeli oppressors in destroying our homelands.

  We consider that the West, led by the United States, has been in a state of war with the Palestinian people for over forty years. Directly and through your agents the Israelis, the U.S. has caused untold death, destruction, and misery among our people. Tomorrow will either move our two peoples on a path towards peace and reconciliation, or else it will be a moment of supreme revenge for all the terrible injustices your nation has inflicted on us. What happens tomorrow— peace or unspeakable destruction— is in the hands of your President, your leaders, and your people.

  The choice is yours. There is no one among us to contact. No one to negotiate with, because these d
emands are not negotiable. If our requests are not met, then shortly after the election tomorrow night lower Manhattan and the surrounding areas will no longer exist. If the demands are met, then our peoples can build a bridge of peace together. We will be waiting to learn of your decision.

  The Council

  The producer and director for the News at Noon capsule were in the U.S. Network’s headquarters on Fifty-sixth Street when the fax came in. The director called their local New York affiliate and asked the location of the station’s traffic helicopter. He gave the station manager a summary of the fax and asked for his help.

  Five minutes later Ryan Denning came into the newsroom to begin his workday, and the producer quickly apprised him of the situation. Then the phone rang, and the director answered it. He turned pale and put down the receiver. “There’s a freighter anchored just where the fax says with a big crate sitting on a tower above the deck and dark red dye in the water all around it.”

  During the next fifteen minutes several of the recipients of the fax used various means to verify the existence of the freighter. The Pentagon staff quickly confirmed to Vince Harley that the serial number and pictures matched the warhead the Russians had been unable to account for in their joint destruction program with the Ukrainians.

  Ryan and the director waited until 9:50 and, when the Pentagon and White House would neither confirm nor deny the accuracy of the bomb’s serial number, they interrupted the network’s morning talk show with a live news bulletin, read on the air by Ryan, carefully prefacing the report with the caveat that nothing in the communication had been independently verified. Within a few minutes all of the major networks had broadcast similar reports, promising to interrupt their regular programming when and if more was learned. As Ryan finished his brief report, which then replayed as a crawl at the bottom of the screen, he could hear the wail of sirens beginning on all sides of the city, and he suddenly wondered if Leslie was still with the president.

  Vince Harley directed the duty officer at the national security desk in the Pentagon to alert the president. A message was sent via the top-secret White House network to the military aide carrying a communications device in the president’s traveling entourage. This aide was standing with a Secret Service agent in an alcove of the hall outside the small ballroom in the hotel where the president was finishing his fundraising breakfast, and when the special briefcase he was holding started to hum, he actually jumped. It was the first time in his eighteen months on this duty that this had happened.

  He opened the case and found the micro printer inside discharging a fax with the following message:

  Flash. Top Secret. 1446Z: Castle believes there is a 60% chance that the previously threatened nuclear device under terrorist control is located on a ship in New York harbor. Verification is underway. See attached message received 1431Z. Suggest Eagle depart earliest possible time and return to House.

  The printer then began to provide a copy of the original message from the Council.

  The military aide was astonished and told the nearest Secret Service agent that he had to speak immediately to the president. Neither man had ever been in this position, but the agent cracked open the door to the ballroom and noticed that Jerry Richardson was standing nearby. He went in and explained that a flash message had just been received for the president. In less than a minute the chief of staff, message in hand, was approaching the podium, just as sirens started to wail outside.

  “Excuse me, Mr. President,” he said from a few feet away. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but something has come up that needs your attention.”

  The president turned to the audience of supporters who had given generously to the work of their election committee and smiled. “Well, it seems the government never rests. I have to go, but we were about to wrap up anyway. Thank you all from the bottom of our hearts, and may God bless each of you.”

  William waved as the audience stood and applauded. He, Jerry, and several Secret Service agents went out a side door that led to the service elevator.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “The bomb we’ve gotten the threats about may now be here in New York harbor under the trigger finger of Arab terrorists,” Jerry Richardson said. “The Pentagon received this message twenty minutes ago.” He handed it to the president as the small group, plus the military aide, entered the elevator for the ride up to the president’s suite. “The Pentagon wants us to leave New York immediately.”

  “Finally.” William almost whispered. “And today of all days!”

  William read the messages again as they exited and walked to the door of his suite. Only he and Jerry Richardson went inside.

  When the door was closed the president walked over to the window and looked out on Central Park. He could see the platform erected for the noon rally at the edge of a huge grass field, as well as the three presidential helicopters. Silently he prayed, Dear God, give me your strength, wisdom, and discernment.

  William turned and said, “Jerry, we don’t know yet that it’s for real. But if it is in fact the real thing, is the commander in chief supposed to leave a battle just because it’s dangerous? There are about ten million people in this city, and most of them don’t have helicopters. If this turns out to be for real, then my place is here.”

  “William, come on. This isn’t a battle! These could be fanatics who’ll trigger the bomb no matter what we do. You’ve got to get out so that, God forbid, you can help with whatever comes next. Please get your things and let’s go back to Washington as fast as we can, in case this is for real.”

  “You go, Jerry. I’m staying. I’m not saying forever, but at least for now, I’m staying. So have those communications people patch in some phone lines from the Situation Room in the White House—better use regular telephones with encryption if they’re monitoring the military frequencies. Of course this may blow over in a little while and we can get on with our rally.”

  Just then there was a knock at the door. Jerry opened it and an aide entered and saluted quickly. “Sir, this just arrived.” He handed William a single sheet of paper. William read it and passed it to his chief of staff. It read, “Photos check with earlier ones and appear to be real. All dates and details appear to check. Modifications are those that would be made for a static blast. Castle upgrades the probability of a real threat to 90%.”

  Jerry lowered the paper, his mouth turning dry. William took off his suit coat. He said calmly, “Jerry, either leave now or get to work on those communications lines. Have our helicopters leave soon but remain on standby not too far away—they may not be safe there in Central Park when word of this breaks. Tell them to wait long enough to take anyone on our team who wants to go—and that includes you. Whoever stays, tell the hotel we need this floor. I’m going into the bedroom to call Carrie. If you’re back here in twenty minutes, I’ll assume you’re going to stay till the end. Oh, and I guess the rules require us to get the vice president on the horn and send her to the Situation Room. Ask Vince Harley to leave someone good in charge at the Pentagon and get him over to the Situation Room, too, with a direct line to here and also back to Castle. Got it?”

  Jerry Richardson had jotted a few cryptic notes as William spoke. Then he looked up and nodded his head. “Yes, sir.” And he was gone.

  Within half an hour news of the nuclear bomb on the ship spread through the city and around the nation. In New York, everyone on Manhattan Island wanted to leave, or at least move uptown, at the same instant. Sirens could be heard in all parts of the city as the police tried to get to the tip of the Battery to cordon off the area and to do as much as they could to promote an orderly evacuation. But the streets, already crowded with incoming traffic on Monday morning, came to a near standstill as motorists, taxis, and buses tried to turn around and find the shortest escape routes across the choke points of the relatively few bridges and tunnels from the island. And equal pandemonium in neighboring Brooklyn, Queens, and Jersey City made the evacuation of Manhattan itself
all the more difficult.

  CHICAGO—The phone in Carrie’s hotel room on the lake shore rang just as her senior Secret Service agent was beginning to brief her on the situation in New York.

  “Excuse me,” she said and walked into her bedroom.

  “Hello.”

  “Carrie, it’s me,” William said.

  She was filled with relief at the sound of his voice. “Oh, William, I’m so glad. What’s going on? Are you still in New York?”

  “Yes. It may be interesting here before long. Palestinian extremists have finally emerged as the owners of the bomb we’ve worried about for so long. They aren’t real happy with our policies and want us to change—plus they don’t want Christians elected tomorrow.”

  “Oh, William. And they’ve got the bomb?”

  “Apparently.”

  “What will you do?” she asked, pacing back and forth as far as the phone cord would stretch.

  “We’ll be talking with the Pentagon shortly. They should have the Situation Room in the White House up in about twenty minutes. They’ve been war gaming this problem ever since that first fax arrived, so hopefully they’ve got a solution. In the meantime, pray. And if they don’t cancel your rally in Chicago, please ask everyone there to pray as well—tell them you’ve talked to me and we asked them to pray. Then please get back to Washington as soon as you can. Listen, where are Katherine, Mary, and Sarah?”