The previous evening he’d been working late into the night to get the State Guard deployed when Morris had called. She’d skirted around the issue at first, until she’d finally swallowed her pride and asked him what more could be done. It was the moment Richard had been waiting for. They’d talked for an hour about the possible contingencies and he imagined that her speech notes for this morning had been changed significantly after their conversation.
Morris gripped the lectern. “The atrocity at the Hoover Dam was the final straw for me. That attack looks to have killed thousands and is the latest sign that nothing we’re trying is working. Given that, I’ve consulted with my advisors and searched deep into my soul to look for new ways, new ideas, to keep our people safe. We think we’ve come up with something, but it was a hard decision to make.”
Richard snorted. Morris had been speaking to her advisors for weeks, since the commencement of the attacks. They’d come up blank and their inexperience and lack of imagination had cost the country dearly. In truth, he knew that he was the only one she’d consulted the previous evening, and was glad that his experience was finally being taken into serious consideration. He’d been available to her from the very start, but she’d neglected to seek out his advice. He’d served America for decades and only wanted it to be great.
He sighed. It was a shame so few Presidents were up to the challenge. Most floated through their time in office like so much driftwood on the high seas, achieving nothing except in occasional, deferential nods to the Constitution, the Bill of Rights and the founding fathers. They told Americans what they deserved, but not what was necessary for them to have it, or to keep the country safe and prosperous. They ignored the fact that, sometimes, foul-tasting medicine was needed to fix the body. Occasionally, a President was forced to face this fact.
Morris shifted her gaze and stared straight down the cameras. “Prior to entering this room, I signed orders declaring a state of emergency across America and executed a number of executive orders pertaining to our government, legal system, economy, media and critical infrastructure. The current situation necessitates this action and I don’t take this step lightly. Actually, please come up here and join me, Richard.”
Richard was surprised at the invitation, but composed himself quickly. He stood and walked to the front of the Briefing Room, going over their conversation from the previous night in his head. They’d discussed the mobilization of the State Guard and the extra options Richard had hinted at in the NSC meeting. He’d told her about a number of long standing executive orders that were on the books, ready to be activated in an emergency but an afterthought to nearly everyone in America. Nearly.
In the time it took him to reach the President, she had given the assembled media the highlights of his career. He was surprised with how gushing she was in her praise, but perhaps shouldn’t have been, given he offered her a life raft to save her administration. The advisors she’d hand picked to be part of her inner circle had failed so she’d turned to him, a career bureaucrat with decades of service to a half-dozen presidents. He smiled. If he was her chance at absolution, she was the key to his legacy. If she could be persuaded.
“Thank you, Madam President.” He stood beside Morris, adjusting his eyes to the lights and mentally preparing – for the first time – for the spotlight. “Good morning.”
Morris smiled. “Richard is a colleague and friend with immense experience in disaster management. Commencing immediately, he’s in charge of a coordinated response to these attacks. He’s in charge of the basics – transportation, power supply, food distribution – as well as security and the investigation.”
The assembled members of the press corps looked up from their notepads and tablets and just stared. Every set of eyes bored into him like a drill, as the realization of what they were witnessing sank in. He’d never actively sought the limelight, but to achieve his goals it was a necessary next step. Others had proven incapable of such responsibility, but he was up to the job.
Hands shot into the air and questions started to fly. Richard looked to the President, who smiled slightly and waited. She’d done this before. It was a process that Richard didn’t quite understand, but it seemed to work. Morris waited patiently for the initial boilover to calm down to a low simmer before one journalist drowned out the others. Morris pointed to the man.
“Tim Gossinge, Washington Post. Madam President, you’re handing over the reins to FEMA? How will it work and why are you taking action of such severity?”
The President smiled. “Thanks, Tim. The orders that allow me to place much of the administration of our country under the control of FEMA have been on the books for years. After much thought, I’ve decided that we need a new approach. We need everyone singing from the same sheet, and Richard is the finest conductor in the country. All arms of federal and state government will report to him.”
Richard swallowed, shifted forward slightly and waited for the President’s nod to speak. “If I could just add, coordinating all parts of our campaign against these terrorists will take a huge effort – from security to first response to disaster relief to investigation to arrest to prosecution. FEMA’s involvement will get everyone pointed in the same direction and, when that happens, we can’t be stopped.”
Gossinge persisted. “That doesn’t explain the need to take over things completely unrelated to the attacks though, does it?”
Morris frowned. “Come on, Tim, you’re not that stupid. These attacks target our way of life and we must protect that way of life. Americans expect the lights to turn on, food on their supermarket shelves and gas in the pump. This reality is under threat. It’s Richard’s job to protect it. I don’t back away from my decision.”
”Madam President. Elena Winston, Chicago Tribune.” Another reporter cut in, as she tapped a pencil against her leg. “What resources will FEMA have to do this job?”
“Whatever they need.” Morris’s reply was blunt. “Pretty much the entirety of the federal government will be at Richard’s disposal, except the military.”
Winston scribbled furiously as she spoke. “Without the military, how do you expect to protect anything? Beat cops and private security too fat to chase anybody?”
Richard stayed silent. It was best for the President to fend away the shots at his authority, including questions that dealt with the extent of the new powers that FEMA had been granted. Given the enormity of the job, bringing the entire country under the administration of FEMA and the protection of the State Guard, he’d have enough threats and challenges in the coming days. He didn’t need to step into the line of fire unnecessarily.
“The state defense forces will also be providing security at our most critical infrastructure and rapid response to any attacks that occur.” Morris glanced at Richard and then continued. “These forces were recently beefed up following the war with China. It gives us the force we need at the right time.”
“The right time?” Winston leaned forward in her chair. “And how long will these controls be in place? Isn’t this a breach of our democracy?”
“No. I was elected to solve problems, and that’s what I’m doing. As for how long? These orders are effective immediately. It’s possible we may quickly reach a point where things can return to normal, but after a year of operation, the executive orders will be reviewed. You’ll be briefed accordingly throughout this period.”
The room erupted.
Morris held up her hands. “The orders also cover control of the news media. We’re keen to ensure terrorists don’t gain exposure for the attacks, so we must take this step.”
The President’s press secretary, clearly unhappy with the uproar, stepped forward. “That’s all for today, ladies and gentleman. Thanks.”
Morris started to step away from the lectern and put a hand on Richard’s back. He went with her, the Secret Service agent in tow. As they approached the exit, Richard heard the press secretary deliver the final zinger – that the press briefing packs would de
tail the changes and how they would work, but that all reports from now on needed to be cleared by the Press Office before printing or publication on the internet.
The roar that filled the room was only silenced once the door closed behind them. Richard took a deep breath. He didn’t like the chaos of the mass media and it would be one of the first things he’d get under control. It still amazed him that America could shift to virtual totalitarianism with a signed document and a press conference. The changes gave him the opportunity to bring order and stability back to America. It would be his lasting legacy.
He turned to the President. “Well, I think that went alright?”
***
Jack cursed as the amber light switched to red just as he drove through it, causing a camera to flash. Though he was in no hurry, he’d been sucked into what he was listening to on the radio and hadn’t been paying attention. He didn’t look forward to a traffic fine from the good state of Illinois, though he did wonder how the executive orders applied to such things. He’d just have to wait and see if FEMA were as efficient at stamping out traffic offences as they were at taking control of society.
The more detail he heard about exactly what FEMA would be in charge of, the more worried he became. Worse, he suspected the stale reports were being read straight from approved media releases. He’d flown out of Las Vegas early after publishing his story on the Hoover Dam, so he had been in the air when the bombshell from the White House had dropped. By the time he’d landed, the screws were already starting to tighten.
Now, as he drove down West Adams Street toward his hotel, it was clear that FEMA had been prepared for kick-off. He tooted his horn as a black Illinois State Guard Humvee cut him off. The vehicle held four uniformed troopers with their weapons clearly visible, but Jack had seen enough men with guns in recent months to not be intimidated. It was for naught anyway – they didn’t acknowledge his presence as they continued down the street. So much for courtesy among motorists.
He sighed and pulled the vehicle to the side of the road, right out the front of the Club Quarters Hotel. It had been his home away from home in Chicago since his return from Syria. It wasn’t palatial, but it was cheap and comfortable until he found a place of his own. He’d thought about returning to New York to live, but there were too many memories there. Too much pain. He killed the engine, reached into the back seat for his duffel bag and climbed out of the car.
A valet rushed over to him. “Welcome back, Mr Emery. Good to see you, sir. Can I take your bag?”
“No need, Mo.” Jack smiled at the familiar routine and handed over his keys. “Take care of the car though?”
“You got it.” Mo took the keys and started toward the car. “Unlucky for you that you’re so late. We’ve had issues with check-ins since noon.”
Jack hefted the duffel bag over his shoulder, confused by Mo’s words, and crossed the sidewalk to the hotel entrance. Once inside he slowed and then stopped entirely. A uniformed Illinois State Guardsman stood in the foyer sporting a bored expression. He didn’t even look at Jack when he entered. Jack swallowed hard and approached the reception desk, behind which sat a cute brunette he knew well.
“How’s it going, Maggie?” Jack rummaged around in his pocket. He pulled out a cigarette lighter and placed it on the counter. “I got you that lighter.”
“Oh, thanks! I didn’t think you’d remember.” Her eyes lit up. “Did you have a good time in Vegas?”
“It was great until the Hoover Dam got attacked.” Jack pulled out his wallet and extracted his credit card.
“Yeah, isn’t it terrible? Those poor people.” Her expression darkened. “I’ve organized your normal room, but I’m going to need to register you.”
Jack frowned. “What do you mean?”
She jerked her head toward the guardsman and then lifted a piece of paper. “New rules. Everyone on this list has to go through enhanced check-in. You’re on the list. I’m sorry.”
Jack looked at the list. It contained names, occupations and contact details. He laughed at the simplicity of it all. On the back of the huge data trawl that the National Security Agency had been conducting over the past few decades, FEMA had clearly been able to produce a list of people it was interested in keeping track of. As a prominent journalist, he was a prime target for such treatment, though he did wonder how far the list extended.
“Okay, let’s get on with it.” He gave her a small smile. It wasn’t her fault. “What do I need to do to be able to park my head on the pillow?”
Maggie smiled. “Oh, just the usual. But we’ve also been instructed to take copies of your license and all of your credit cards.”
It took about ten minutes for Jack to fill in the paperwork and hand over every piece of ID he possessed. He shook his head as he took the elevator up – he had a bad feeling about where this was all heading. When society started to muzzle and track journalists, bad things tended to follow. He’d seen it in conflict zones overseas, but he’d never expected to see it in the United States.
Once he reached his room, he tossed the duffel bag onto the bed and pulled out his cell phone. He searched through his contacts until he found the name he was after: Celeste. He stared at it for a few long seconds, not sure that he wanted to make the call, and then pressed the green button. He put the phone to his ear and waited for what seemed like an eternity for her to answer.
“Hi Jack.” Her voice was cold. “I think I hear from my dead grandmother more than you.”
“I deserve that, but it’s good to hear your voice.” During the time he’d spent dealing with Erin’s funeral, setting up the website and working in Syria, they’d barely spoken. He’d hoped she’d understand his need for distance, but clearly she’d taken it personally. He couldn’t blame her. They’d gone through hell together, and as much as he’d needed space, it wasn’t hard to imagine her needing something different. And he’d left her out in the cold.
Her sigh was drawn out. “What do you want, Jack?”
“I’ve just checked into my hotel and it seems there’s a whole lot of shit that comes attached to being a journalist now. I wanted to make sure you’re okay and let you know.”
“It’s happening here too, Jack.” There was a pause. “There’s New York State Guard troops on the streets. They’re at Penn Station, Central Park, Yankee Stadium – you name it.”
So it was happening all over America. It was amazing how quickly the executive orders were being implemented. The announcement had only been made four hours ago but already the troops were in the streets, the monitoring was in place and the tendrils of FEMA were expanding to embrace all of society.
“I reckon they’ve had this drawn up for a while.” He sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “It’s low key for the moment – dudes with rifles – but I wonder what comes next.”
“It gets worse, Jack. The Standard offices got a visit from some FEMA employees an hour or so ago, explaining our place in the new world order.”
“Oh?” He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes and did his best to imagine that she was in the room with him. He didn’t dare say that though.
“Yeah. They basically told us to continue working, but that all stories must be submitted for approval prior to publication.”
Jack was appalled. “Did Peter go for it?”
“Don’t know. We haven’t got a response from the company yet, but it’s hard to see them resisting.”
Jack couldn’t picture it either – the company was likely to toe the line even with Peter Weston in charge. EMCorp had been through too much in the past few years to put up much of a fight. The company was traumatized and the shareholders were jumpy. Any journalists that strayed from the strict conditions were probably on their own.
“Just keep your head down, Celeste. This is a dangerous situation. Stay out of it.”
“Oh, I plan to.” She laughed softly. “I’ve had my turn at the hero game.”
Jack felt the same way, deep down. A year ago he’d have
been outraged by all of this, but he’d rocked the system enough and had the scars to prove it. The trauma both Celeste and Jack had suffered during the war with China and at the hands of Michelle Dominique would be a long time healing. It probably also gave them a free pass to sit out of this battle.
“How are you doing, Celeste?”
“Alright. Busy. You should be here, Jack.”
“I can’t.” He ended the call.
***
Mariposa felt strange, seated on a plastic chair on the grass of a high school football field while, in the bleachers, a few thousand people were gathered for a FEMA briefing about the executive orders. The same briefing was taking place in thousands of locations across the country. They were also being broadcast on television, radio and the internet. She wondered if the other briefings had the same feeling of tension as this one. She could feel the silent fury emanating from the mass of people as a Chicago Police Department lieutenant finished his briefing on the changes to law and order in the city. As he sat, there was silence from the crowd.
Mariposa tapped her lapel microphone to make sure it was on, then stood up and walked around the table. She wanted to project an air of calm and impress on these people that FEMA wasn’t the enemy, talking from behind a desk. Following the police officer who’d laid down the law about curfew and potential punishments was a tough gig, but she needed to show them that FEMA were the guarantors of security, prosperity and order during this extraordinary time. As she moved toward the crowd, the State Guard troops and Chicago PD officers providing security tensed up, apparently uncomfortable with her proximity to the crowd.
She raised her hands, palms up. “Our final briefing concerns the impact on business. In short, we need to balance the maintenance of private enterprise with protecting essential services, social order and consumers. For the vast majority of you this will mean no change. You’ll be able to run your businesses and make a profit.”
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