While the mayor left to talk to the police, the president walked back toward the front door of the Park Empire Hotel, one arm around each girl.
In the lobby, Leslie scribbled a note and gave a video cassette to her sound man. “Here, run this over to the newsroom with this note. Then get back as soon as you can with more cassettes—better yet, try to commandeer a live mini-cam set-up, if one’s available. I’ll call ahead for you. We’ll do our best to work the sound till you get back, and we’ve got one tape left. Tell the director we’re about to do an exclusive address with the president!”
WASHINGTON—Carrie had returned from Chicago and watched a tape of the vice president’s rally. She was so upset she could hardly speak. She spent the next thirty minutes praying. Then she called Graham, Jennifer, and Courtney. With each of them she also prayed.
Downstairs in the Situation Room the president’s advisors and the best minds in counterterrorism at the Pentagon had not been able to come up with a foolproof plan. Any form of smart weapon attack meant some type of electronic targeting, and no human assault could happen instantly. So far a simultaneous attack by four remotely launched cruise missiles skimming the surface of the water, with a last second final targeting by laser seemed the most workable idea. But with the Bright Stars sophisticated radars, even that scenario carried substantial risk.
In a moment of frustration and anger, Vince Harley slammed his fist on the massive table and exclaimed, “There has to be a better way!”
After the rally, Congressman Trent Patterson rode to the Capitol with the vice president. As they parted, she invited him to have dinner with her and her advisors that evening, which he accepted. He then walked into his own office to find only a skeleton crew remaining because of the election, but he could tell that they were not happy with his unexpected defection from the president’s slate. He walked into his private office and closed the door, the events of the last few hours weighing heavily on his heart.
NEWYORK—The live mini-cam equipment and crew arrived within thirty minutes, and the police and Secret Service escorted them upstairs to where Leslie had prepared an impromptu set at a desk in a living room in one of the empty suites. They set up the small dish in the window, and within a few minutes the equipment was ready.
As Leslie walked down the hall to the president’s room, the elevator at the far end opened. Cut and bruised the president’s older sister emerged. Leslie was embarrassed by what her earlier program on the president’s family had said about Mary, and she stopped. But Mary recognized her, and the smile on her face seemed genuine. Mary called out, “Ms. Sloane—so glad to see you!” and she began limping toward the newscaster.
The sound of her voice traveled inside. A door opened and Sarah rushed out to hug her mother. Leslie stood in the hallway as Mary was reunited with her brother and niece as well. As Mary hugged William, Leslie heard her say, “Oh, William, I don’t think that wonderful Secret Service agent made it. I think they stabbed him. It was awful.”
After more hugs, William turned and saw Leslie. “Here, Mary, you remember Leslie Sloane? She did the special on our family.”
“Yes, we were just starting to say hello when Sarah came out. Hello, Ms. Sloane,” Mary smiled.
Leslie advanced and shook the hand that was offered to her. “Hello, Mrs. Prescott. You look like you’ve been through a lot. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Me, too.”
“Listen,” William said, “I’ve got to go with Leslie to do this television broadcast. Come with us, Mary, or rest, and I’ll be back when we’re finished.”
Five minutes later the president was seated behind the desk in the living room of the hotel suite. The lighting was low but adequate. Just before he began, Leslie said, “Mr. President, we’re feeding this live to all the other networks—take as much time as you want. And good luck.”
“Thanks Leslie. Thanks a lot.”
The video man started a countdown from five, and a moment later they were on the air.
“Good afternoon. I’m speaking to you from New York City, where this day’s events are certainly well known to all of you. I want to take this opportunity to give you our assessment of the situation and to ask for your help. I’m doing this without benefit of notes or lengthy preparation, so please bear with me in this moment of testing for our nation.
“First, let me say clearly and categorically that we as a nation simply cannot give in to terrorists, no matter what the price, because the next price will be even worse. Consultations with our Israeli allies may produce some concessions on their part, but those will not be demanded or even requested by us. Israel must make her own defense choices absent our pressure. We will honor the decisions of Israel’s leaders.
“Second, we will not concede tomorrows election. I’ll speak more on that in a moment, but we can’t alter our election process because a particular group wants a particular outcome. If we start down that road, I’m convinced that within a few years democracy as we know it will be finished in America—the strongest will simply rule by force and by threat. No, we have to hold up the institution of democratic elections against all attacks. Otherwise, there is no democracy.
“Third, I’m in New York and will stay here. Whatever happens to New York will happen to me. I say that not because I’m brave or want to die. I say it because our nation is being attacked, I’m the president, and I need to be where the battle is. In fact, several of my family members are here now as well. While I hope to find a way for them to leave, I will stay and see this situation through to its conclusion. That’s my job.
“I think that’s all I want to say about the threat here. If possible, I’d like you to look beyond this situation and focus on tomorrow’s election. There have been dark chapters in America’s history when we chose what was expedient over what was right, always with disastrous results. Our treatment of Native Americans and the enforced slavery of African-Americans come immediately to mind. Then there have been other chapters in our history when we chose what was right over what seemed expedient, always resulting in blessings for us and our descendants. Our own Revolutionary War, the emancipation of the slaves, our standing up to Nazism and to Communism—all seemed virtually hopeless at times, and many people in those times urged our leaders to compromise and to give in. But by sticking to what was right, instead of what was easy, God blessed us in millions of ways.
“We can’t begin to know all his blessings, but his hand has clearly moved among us at times of crisis. It happened right here in August 1776 when Washington impossibly saved eight thousand troops by moving them from Brooklyn to Manhattan under the eyes of the British, who couldn’t see them because of a sudden fog that disappeared as soon as the last men were safely on the other side. And it happened again at Gettysburg, Midway, and Normandy. God’s intervention is obvious to anyone who considers what happened when decisive ‘coincidences’ occurred. And the lack of his intervention in our nation is now just as obvious to each one of us, as we read the newspaper or consider the latest day’s news.
“You’ve heard the arguments from both sides in tomorrow’s election. You’ve read the position papers. The choice could not be clearer. And it is yours alone. I urge you now to join with me in doing what is right, not what is easy. Vote tomorrow for men and women who will turn this nation back to the God who, through ordinary men and women like us, founded this nation as a light upon the hill.
“The road ahead from tomorrow is not precisely clear. We believe our Twenty Points will be a good start to placing this nation back in the care of the One who made us and who expects much from us. Again, we have to change this nation one heart at a time if we are truly to change. I urge you to spend time on your knees tonight, as we will be doing, praying of course for this situation here in New York, but praying also for this nation and for your individual part in its future.
“Please, tonight, ask God to come into your heart through the wonderful, powerful presence of his Son living within you. And then tomo
rrow ask God to come back into the heart of our nation, by electing men and women who rightly fear God more than any terrorists.
“Thank you. Pray for us. Vote for our nation. May God bless each of you and your families. Good-bye.”
At the end of the president’s speech, Leslie found herself wanting to clap, tears streaming down her face.
Sadim sat with the ship’s captain in the command center beneath the bridge. While monitoring all of their threat evaluators, they’d managed to watch both the vice president’s rally and the president’s speech.
“That blasphemous infidel!” Sadim exclaimed as the president’s talk ended. “He should have run!”
The captain turned down the volume on the television. “Well, one way or the other he’ll be finished tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Sadim agreed, and looked carefully at the monitors giving complete coverage around Bright Star. “And praise Allah for the vice president. She understands our needs—we can work with her. By tomorrow night she should be president. Now all three demands depend on the vote of these people, and despite what that fool told them, they will vote for reason, not faith. They know that reason will save New York City. Faith will destroy it!”
“Any news?” Hugh asked the executive officer at dinner in the wardroom that night.
“No. But the phone line is open. By the way, I thought your brother’s speech was good, Hugh. I’m sorry we’re all here dealing with this, but I’m proud to be serving under him, and I never thought I’d say that when he started.”
“Thank you, sir. He has changed quite a bit.”
“Sir,” Ensign Malone asked, “whatever happens, will we need the whole crew? I mean, couldn’t some people be let go, to give them a chance to escape? We could run small boats over to New Jersey.”
“The captain and I have discussed it, and in the morning, depending on what happens, we may try to clear something like that with the Pentagon.”
Thirty minutes later the set in the room at the Park Empire Hotel had been taken down, but Leslie and her two-man crew were still on the floor. She knocked on the door to the president’s suite and then opened it. The president was standing with Jerry Richardson next to the map of the city, and he signaled her to come in.
“Mr. President, I just wanted to...I just...well, I think I’ve been wrong about you and about a lot of things for a long time....maybe ever since college, actually. But I do remember what my parents taught me about God and about Jesus, and I just...I just wanted to say whatever happens tomorrow, thanks. Thanks for having more courage than any man I know.”
“You’re exaggerating, Leslie,” William said, giving her a warm smile. “But thanks.”
“And I also want you to know that I called our office and they’ll be glad to fly your family out on one of our helicopters—I’ve asked for them to be on the one at nine tonight. And if you need to fly military helicopters in after it’s dark to airlift people out, you’re welcome to use the helipad on the roof of our building. It’s just inside the perimeter, and we’ve got armed guards watching it.” She was referring to reports that on several buildings intruders had hidden on the roofs, waiting to commandeer helicopters at gunpoint.
“Thank you, Leslie. I’m sure we’ll take you up on that flight for the two girls. Mary wants to try to find Rebecca in the morning, if she hasn’t turned up by then. Mary says they drove by some clinic where she was headed this morning. Anyway, we’ll also pass your offer to the Pentagon—it could be a big help. By the way, when are you leaving?”
“That’s the last thing. The guys and I would like to stay, if it’s all right with you. Sort of document all this, in case, in case...”
William smiled. “You’re welcome to stay with us, Leslie, but it will be very dangerous, and it isn’t a media event. I’m not sure how much will really happen, anyway. And I can’t have the media, even someone as good as you, in on our meetings. If you can stand waiting down the hall, we’ll try to let you know what’s going on and include you whenever possible. But this may be hazardous to your health, big time.”
“We want to take our chances.”
“Fine. Let me go get Mary and the girls. I’m sure they’ll be relieved.”
The room in which Rebecca, Eunice, and her baby hid was now completely dark except for the light from nearby neon signs outside the one window; these still flashed advertisements despite the threat of devastation. They had hoped their tormentors would take the drugs and leave, but the sounds below of partying and destruction had ebbed and flowed with the hours. Rebecca and Eunice sipped their water and talked—whispered—about many things, from their very different backgrounds to their children. And Eunice nursed her baby when he cried.
“If it’s ever quiet for a few hours, we’ll try to leave,” Rebecca said. “And listen, you ought to practice walking some. I can’t push you the whole way.”
“Just exactly where are we going?”
“Mary said that William was at the Park Empire Hotel at Central Park. I doubt he’s still there, but I figure we’ll head in that direction, if we ever get out of here, and hope to find a cop. I wonder what’s going on out there?”
It was a difficult night for every person left in New York, whether they were still trying to leave or not. Few people slept. The same was true in Washington and across the nation. Tens of millions responded to the president’s request and prayed—some for hours.
WASHINGTON—Carrie planned to stay up all night praying. The phone rang a little after eleven. It was Katherine on the other end, safe in Philadelphia. The Secret Service had dispatched a limousine to meet them when the initial call about the plan came through, and she expected to be home to the White House in the early morning hours.
“I’m sure I’ll be up, honey,” Carrie said. Then she began what would be several hours of praying, reading the Bible, and talking to her family and friends by phone. She hoped William would call, but she also hoped he would get some rest.
Trent Patterson tried to sleep, but couldn’t. The vice president’s dinner had been pleasant enough. Few specific programs had been discussed, other than a complete review of relations in the Middle East, the second emancipation of the human spirit, and legislation to protect the rights of children, with certain minimum enforceable behavior standards for parenting.
But it wasn’t the specifics that distressed Trent. It was the unspoken but very real presumption by the people seated around the dinner table that they would soon be in power and that they were far better equipped to manage and to make decisions for the nation than anyone else. They seemed to know what was right for everyone and for every family, and they were not hesitant to express it.
And besides this problem with the vice president and her staff, Trent had a problem with himself. He knew he was a traitor.
29
All of us who were engaged in the struggle must have observed frequent instances of a superintending providence in our favor.... And have we now forgotten that powerful Friend? or do we imagine we no longer need his assistance?
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
THE CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION, JUNE 28, 1787
Tuesday, November 5
The Next Morning
NEW YORK—Sadim dozed in his chair at the console, but the captain was awake next to him. They had divided the watch in the command center between them, in case there was an attack. Both of these men, and the chief engineer, would consider it an honor to die if Sadim or the computer detonated the bomb under the threat of an attack.
But not so Kolikov. He, too, tossed and turned. These last days on the ship with the bomb ready to detonate had been a condition of his employment five years earlier. He’d known they were coming, but he had never imagined the excruciating tension he would feel. He was almost sick with worry. He hoped the Americans would not be foolish enough to attack, for he had no doubt that Sadim would detonate the bomb without a moment’s hesitation. His only consolation was his Swiss bank account, which he knew would take care of his wi
fe and two children. But he nevertheless wanted to grow old with his grandchildren, and knowing he was only several feet from an armed nuclear bomb didn’t help him relax.
William tried to sleep, but couldn’t. He regularly checked with the Situation Room, twice with the Israeli prime minister, and twice with Carrie. He also called Jennifer when Carrie told him Hugh had never called; William said nothing about the Fortson’s presence in New York but encouraged his sister-in-law not to worry.
With Carrie he talked for almost an hour about the days when the kids had been young and they had scraped by on his small salary, remembering old times together that he had all but forgotten. They had even laughed once or twice. But behind it all was the knowledge that this might be his last night on earth—that they might never be together again in this world. Carrie tried to be upbeat, but once or twice she found tears in her eyes as they spoke. As they hung up at a little before three, she said, “William, I love you. And I’m so proud of you. May God watch over you.”
Hugh was also turning in his bunk, wishing that he could call Jennifer, knowing that she was worried. He looked at his clock. It read 3:10. There was a knock at his door.
“Come in.”
“Hugh, it’s me,” Teri said.
He sat up in the bunk and turned on the light. He was fully clothed, except that his shirt was unbuttoned. “What’s up?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
She came in and shut his door. “I think I may have figured something out.”
“What do you mean?”
“A way to attack the Bright Star without triggering a detonation. At least not right at first. To give us time to destroy the command and control mechanisms, or maybe the bomb, too, before they retaliate.”
The President Page 65
