The President

by Parker Hudson

  “She’s gone,” Ted Braxton said.

  “It’s just as well,” came William’s voice from New York. “This is no time for a divided house. If anyone else thinks we ought to give in or throw the election, you ought to leave now too. This isn’t going to get any easier in the next few hours. We’re going to be guided throughout these two days by what we know is right, not by what seems temporarily expedient. It’s right to resist this attempt to dictate to us. It’s right to hold the election. We’ll do the very best we can to defuse the threat, but in the end, it really is up to God. Anyone who doesn’t believe that won’t last long on this team. Now, Vince, let’s reconvene when your contingency plans are ready, or when anything else important comes up. Ted, think about TV—some kind of statement. We’ll get you an update from up here as soon as we can.”

  NEW YORK—Mary Prescott waited outside the Trenton Hotel with Agent Blevins, Sarah, and Katherine for almost fifteen minutes. It was painfully clear that no limousine could make it to them, since the same cars were stopped in front of their hotel for their entire wait, and no traffic was moving at all.

  “How far is it to the Park Empire Hotel?” Mary asked.

  “At least eighty blocks—over four miles,” Blevins answered.

  Looking at the girls, she said, “Well, I don’t think we’re ever going to get there at this rate. I think we’d better walk. Maybe taxis are moving further uptown. Let’s head in that direction.”

  “I think that’s all we can do,” Blevins agreed, wishing he’d worn different shoes and cursing the high rise buildings that made it almost impossible for his low-powered transceiver to reach anyone.

  It had taken Rebecca almost ten minutes to calm Eunice down after her water broke. She lay on the bed and kept repeating, “O God, what are we gonna do now?”

  Rebecca knew that reasoning with a woman in Eunice’s condition was not always easy, but she also knew that they had to move out quickly, before her labor began in earnest.

  “Eunice, please, let’s go. The clinic is just down the street. I’m sure they’ll help us. They must have good equipment. Let’s go.” On the fifth try, Rebecca coaxed Eunice up, and they moved slowly down the elevator and out onto the sidewalk, where there was utter pandemonium. People were running in all directions. Or they were trying to run, but the sidewalks were so crowded it was difficult. A huge man carrying a suitcase ran right into Rebecca and knocked her down. She got up quickly to keep from being trampled, and she thanked God that he hadn’t hit her friend.

  The two women finally made it to the door of the clinic, but it was locked. Rebecca rang the bell. No answer. Eunice grabbed her stomach and started to moan—her first contraction. Rebecca swore. She stepped back, then looked up and down the block.

  “Eunice, stay here. I think this place must have a back door. I’m going to try to get in. I’ll be back.”

  Eunice could only nod in her pain. Rebecca shoved her way along with the crowd until she reached the end of the block. She turned north and quickly walked a half block, where she found the entrance to a dark and narrow service alley which served the backs of the buildings on the two main streets.

  Rebecca looked down the alley toward the back of the clinic on the left, and was relieved to see that the area appeared to be deserted. Saying a prayer, she cautiously entered the alley and then ran to the back door to the clinic. She knocked twice, but there was no answer. The glass panels of the back door were wired for a burglar alarm, but Rebecca decided that having the police come in the next few minutes would be a great improvement, so she picked up an old brick from a trash pile and threw it through the glass pane closest to the door handle, which immediately set off a loud siren. She tried to ignore the piercing sound and, her heart racing, she reached inside to unbolt the door.

  Once inside, she closed the door and ran through the empty and dark ground floor, finding her way to the front door, which she opened into bright sunlight. Eunice was sitting on the steps, clutching her stomach, and Rebecca helped her stand up and walk inside. She locked the front door and asked Eunice to stay in the waiting area while she made a quick search of the building with the siren still blaring loudly all around them. The ground floor and second floor contained typical doctors’ offices and examining rooms, but on the third floor she found a well-equipped operating room. Where the abortions are performed, she thought.

  When she returned to the small elevator, her curiosity made her press the button for the one remaining floor above her. There she was immediately struck by the smell of dust and disuse. Cobwebs were everywhere. She glanced down the hall and decided that these had been overnight rooms for patients back when the facility was more of a functioning community hospital.

  Rebecca returned to the ground floor and helped Eunice to stand. “You and the baby are going to be fine. There’s a great operating room upstairs. I’ve never done a delivery in New York, but it can’t be much different than in Atlanta.”

  Eunice appreciated her attempt at humor, but she was in too much pain to respond. As they entered the elevator, Eunice said, “I just hope he’s not delivered today only to die tomorrow! And I wish that siren would—”

  As if it heard her, the siren stopped, apparently connected to a timer. The silence was eerie. Then the elevator door opened, and Rebecca showed Eunice to the operating room. “Come on. Let’s take one problem at a time. Right now we’re going to use this abortion clinic to bring your son into the world. With that kind of start, he ought to be something else when he grows up!”

  Leslie Sloane and her camera and sound men made it to the U.S. Network’s headquarters building from the Park Empire Hotel in thirty minutes, stopping at several points to take footage of the huge crowds on the streets and of the completely frozen traffic.

  When she arrived at the newsroom on the thirty-sixth floor, Ryan jumped up and gave her a long and genuine hug. “Hey, we’ve been so worried about you. Are you all right?”

  Leslie collapsed into a chair in the news director’s office and gladly accepted the soft drink Ryan offered.

  “Yes, I’m fine. But it’s crazy out there. We got some pretty good footage, if you can use it. What’s the latest?”

  “The mayor and police chief are of course urging everyone to stay calm—no problem!—and to evacuate at least the lower half of Manhattan, plus all of Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Jersey City. But the reality is that everyone’s trying to leave who’s within fifty miles of the city, and all the roads are completely jammed for as far out as anyone can check. They’re trying to get some sort of emergency vehicles in to evacuate the hospitals and the elderly, but I can’t imagine that there’s much of a chance of that.”

  “It’s a mess,” Leslie agreed.

  “Where’s the president?” Ryan asked.

  “When I left the Park Empire, I think he was still there. Probably by now they’ve left in the helicopters.”

  “No, they’re still in Central Park.”

  “Really?” Leslie sat up and put down her drink. “Do you think he’s staying?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t imagine. Of course the rally’s been canceled, but apparently the vice president’s going to go ahead with hers at the Jefferson Memorial in Washington at three. In fact—” he walked over to the window as he spoke—”they want me to take one of our helicopters off the roof to Philly and then catch the Metroliner to Washington to cover it. Actually, I was just leaving when you came in. Washington is your beat, Leslie, do you want to take it?”

  She thought for a minute. “The president is my beat, Ryan. If there’s a chance he might stay, I’d like to try to interview him, then catch a helicopter out tonight. Will there be others going?”

  “I think so,” he said, still looking out the window.

  She stood up. “Okay, then. I’ll get my guys and head back to the Park Empire. Do you think we could get a walkie-talkie or something?”

  “I’m sure they can fit you with an earpiece and transceiver for your purse. We’l
l see Dave.”

  “No, you go on. I’ll take care of it.” While she spoke, he moved over to her. “Ryan, you need to get to Washington. I’ll be along, hopefully tonight.”

  He held her. “Please, Leslie. Don’t do anything stupid—or heroic! Just get your interview and get back here. I’ll tell Phil to be sure there’s a space saved for you in a chopper.”

  She smiled up at him. “Sure, Ryan. Now we’d both better get going.”

  He picked up his briefcase and headed for the elevator, and she went to find their technician.

  Sadim was prepared for the first challenge to come from some daredevil individual boater or pilot—Wafik had warned him. Ninety minutes into their operation, at about eleven, a private speed boat began criss-crossing the harbor near the Bright Star, with each pass coming closer to the ship.

  Sadim waited in the command center until the boat was easily in range, then took over manual fire control of the high-powered Gatling gun point-defense cannon mounted on the bow. Instead of aiming right for the craft, as the computer would have done, Sadim’s aim led the boat by about fifty yards and, on its sixth pass, he opened fire.

  The driver and his female passenger were close enough to hear and see the firing of the cannon and the shell bursts hitting the water in front of them. She screamed, he turned the boat away, and they quickly beat a retreat up the Hudson River. But one piece of the Bright Stars defense had been uncovered and captured on video and photographs from around the harbor. And the two New York police officers who had volunteered for the mission were given the rest of the day off. Except there was nowhere for them to go.

  William and his chief of staff hung up from talking again to the Situation Room. Vince Harley had emphasized that they were still examining photographs of the Bright Star, but for the moment there were no plans that could guarantee either a taking of the ship or its destruction without some chance of detection, and therefore some chance of nuclear detonation. Absent some new plan, the general said that their task now was to work up the probabilities, based on previous incidents, of which scenario had the greatest chance for success without triggering the device.

  He did confirm that the antenna array indicated air and surface search radars and that the stack had been modified and encased to reduce its heat signature. In addition, there were two fast-repeating point-defense Gatling guns for destruction of incoming missiles, as well as matchbox launchers on the port and starboard sides, which the photo reconnaissance experts believed to contain surface-to-air missiles.

  After the conversation William stood, took a deep breath, and walked over to the window. He could see the three helicopters in the large field and the small contingent from the New York SWAT team that was helping the Secret Service guard them. A crowd had gathered around the perimeter, and William was concerned for the safety of the crews. He rubbed his hands on his temples and thought, I wonder where Mary, Katherine, and Sarah are? They should have been here long ago. And Rebecca, where is she? And what are we missing? What else should we be doing?

  The three women and agent Blevins were about halfway to the Park Empire Hotel, walking along Fifth Avenue near Thirtieth Street. Although the going was slow, at least most of the foot traffic was headed uptown with them, and they were definitely moving faster than the taxis and cars which had all but stopped.

  The earlier gridlock had caused many motorists to leave their cars in desperation and join the pedestrians. The large number of abandoned vehicles in all the streets meant that it would be almost impossible to restore any sort of traffic flow for several days. And several days they did not have.

  The four of them rested under an awning at a large electronics store with televisions and video equipment in the window. This store, like most others, was closed, but the TVs were still running behind the large, electronically guarded display windows. The screens showed a map of New York with arcs drawn outward from the position of the ship. Although they could not hear the audio, they could read the labels on the arcs. Sarah looked for a street sign and then said, “Hey, we’re safe here. The buildings here won’t be melted—just all the glass blown out and some structural damage, plus lots of heat and radiation! Piece of cake...I say we stop here and have a picnic.”

  The others smiled as they turned to walk on. Mary said, “Onward, Christian soldiers! No picnics until we get to Central Park.”

  They had not walked twenty yards when there was a huge crash behind them. They spun around and Tyler Blevins drew his automatic pistol from his shoulder holster. Someone in the crowd behind them was clearing away the jagged edges of the remaining glass in the window of the appliance store. A moment later, ignoring the loud siren, the crowd surged inside.

  Blevins shoved his gun back into the holster and said in disgust beneath his breath, “Alternative shopping.” Then to his charges, “Come on, we’d better make tracks. The longer this goes on, the more unruly this crowd may become, and we’ve still got a long way to go.”

  As much as the conditions on the street would allow, there was a new urgency in their steps as they headed uptown.

  “Push, push, Eunice,” Rebecca urged, as the mother screamed and the baby’s head exited the birth canal.

  “Push again!”

  A moment later a new life entered the world, and Rebecca laughed, exhausted with Eunice, as she lay the baby on his mother’s stomach. Eunice smiled through her tears and reached for him; Rebecca cut the umbilical chord. He started to cry, and Eunice pulled him to her.

  “Okay, Eunice, let’s push the placenta out and get you cleaned up so we can get your son to a safer climate.”

  The new mother hadn’t stopped smiling. “Thank you, Ms. Harri— Rebecca. He’s so handsome, don’t you think? O God, please don’t let anything happen to him!”

  Just then the burglar alarm went off again.

  Many of the Fortson’s officers were watching on the wardroom television as events unfolded down the Hudson River from their position. Helicopters over Manhattan showed the massive exodus of pedestrians struggling to move uptown and over the bridges to...to where? Off Manhattan it was like a flood of refugees arriving in a land that had been deserted. The overhead cameras also caught the violence spreading from the looters in lower Manhattan to the well-heeled refugees who wanted food from locked suburban grocery stores.

  The executive officer looked over at Hugh after a scene showed people at gunpoint taking over an old ferry boat and forcing the crew to take them up the Hudson River. “Let’s double the armed guard at the head of the pier, as well as the roving patrol on the pier and the ship. We might have as much threat right now from panicked citizens looking for a way out as we do from terrorists.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hugh said, and left to find the young officer in charge of the ship’s few service weapons, normally kept under lock and key.

  When he returned, Teri waved him over to the television, where everyone was watching a civilian freighter making its way down river toward the Bright Star, ignoring the New York Police boats in front of it.

  The announcer was saying over the picture, “The captain of this freighter is either completely oblivious to the events of the day and to everything around him, or else he’s determined to get out of New York at any cost to himself and to millions of others.”

  Viewers all over the world stopped and watched as the network helicopters, hanging back over Manhattan, broadcast a clear picture of the freighter headed on a course that would bring it within a few hundred yards of the Bright Star.

  Teri, standing next to Hugh, grasped his arm and held it tightly as the freighter kept on its course, and the small boats and helicopters dropped back and retreated, as if they were afraid of what was to come.

  “O God, please don’t let us all die. Not now. Not like this,” Hugh heard Teri whisper. A knot formed in his stomach and grew tighter as Teri’s grip on his arm increased.

  Suddenly from the port midsection of the Bright Star there erupted a flash of light, and a missile shot from
its matchbox launcher directly in front of the freighter but did not home onto it.

  As if awakened from a trance, the freighter instantly turned to port, away from the Bright Star, and opened distance between them.

  “That was close,” Lieutenant Early said.

  “That was a warning, just like with the speedboat,” Hugh said. “He could have taken out that freighter if he’d wanted to. Whoever’s driving that tramp freighter is very lucky.”

  “Aren’t we all,” Teri added, realizing that she was still squeezing Hugh’s arm.

  As Rebecca cleaned up and Eunice tried to nurse her son, they heard the sounds of breaking glass and of cabinets being ripped open on the ground floor.

  “Drugs,” Rebecca whispered. “They’re looking for drugs, and I imagine they’ll be coming up here real soon.”

  Eunice’s eyes widened, and she looked down at her baby. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m not sure, but one thing is sure—you’re going to have to move, and I know that won’t be easy.”

  By early afternoon the press corps at the White House was clambering to know more about the president’s location and what he was doing to solve the crisis. Lanier Parks, Chris White, and Ted Braxton gave a news conference at two in which they retold what everyone could see on their televisions and confirmed that the president was still in New York, still very much the commander in chief, and reviewing the option list his advisors had prepared. They would not confirm his exact location but did say that he had no intention of leaving the city. And they called for calm, law, and order.