construct American nuclear weapons systems that will survive a nuclear attack,” Sachs replied testily. “The point was to give the president — that’s me and not you — the luxury of determining his or her response after the shape of the battle is clear.”
Marshall said, “But you’re letting the enemy shape it.”
“No,” she insisted, summing up. “We’ve got conflicting signals about the reality of this incoming attack. Northern Command says DF-5 silo killers are coming our way. But our satellites show nothing. The best course of action is to ride this out and determine our response after the shape of the battle is clear.”
“With all due respect, Madam President,” he said, knowing the inflection in his voice sounded anything but respectful, “the shape of this battle looks pretty clear on my screens, and that looks like one big mushroom cloud over Cheyenne Mountain in 24 minutes and 53 seconds.”
“Then I suggest you prepare for impact,” she said. “General Marshall, please send me a prioritized target list for those Mavericks you talked to me about earlier. The bunker-busters we’ve got up in the air now that we can always recall. I think you called it the Tall option.”
She had to put that little tweak in the nose at the end, thought Block. Couldn’t leave well enough alone. But at least this was something.
“On its way,” Marshall said and cut out.
Sachs moved on to Carver. “General Carver, American citizens have to prepare themselves for any eventuality. Issue a national attack warning. Move our subs into attack position. I want every plane from Keneda and the USS George Washington airborne. We’ll reconvene five minutes before impact. Over.”
Sachs disappeared from the screen, leaving Block on the video conference with Carver at Strategic Command. If anything, Carver was the one most at risk here, as Block always considered Cheyenne Mountain a far more formidable fortress than Carver’s underground operations center beneath Offutt Air Force Base in Omaha.
Block said, “I say we go ahead and launch, sir.”
Carver frowned. “You can’t be serious!”
“Come on,” said Block. “What are we talking about here? A woman who can’t make up her mind. I say we remove her from the chain of command.”
Carver was adamant. “We can’t do that, Block.”
“Technically, the National Command Authorities are running the show now. That’s us. She’s only one vote out of four in the NCA.”
Carver said, “She
“What the hell kind of commander in chief is this, Carver?”
“The only one we’ve got, understand? Look, she’ll come around. It’s Colonel Kozlowski and Captain Li who are advising her.”
“The Pollock and the chink,” Block said. “She’s got a goddamn rainbow coalition behind her. All she needs now is a Vulcan.”
“Just prepare for impact,” said a stone-faced Carver, obliging him with the split-fingered Vulcan “live long and prosper” salute from the “Star Trek” TV series. “I’ll sound the National Attack Warning.”
33
Air raid sirens blared as Jennifer and her horse Punk rode beneath the frosty canopy of the Piney Woods Preserve. She feared she had only minutes to lose the Green Berets before they and every police unit in Westchester County converged on the area. She had to disappear, go somewhere nobody would ever consider, not even her mother.
There was Union Cemetery ad, or the Bedford Golf Club to her right. Either way, she’d have to emerge from the protection of the preserve to cross Clinton Road.
She dismounted Punk in the preserve and gave him a slap on the rump to make him move away from her. Then in one boot and one cold stocking foot, she ran across the narrow, unplowed road. She clamored over a tall, green chainlink fence on the other side and dropped along the 17th fairway of the very old Bedford Country Club. It dated back to 1892. It was practically Neolithic-era, she thought, as she ran toward the majestic clubhouse beyond the 18th hole.
She skirted the clubhouse and went around back to the small, decrepit caddyshack, where Robbie had taken her to make out twice. Well, maybe one-and-a-half times. Nobody would expect to find her here, she decided, because it’s the last place she expected herself to be right now.
She crunched through the snow to the freestanding mailbox in front of the caddyshack. She opened it to find dozens of score cards and pencils — and a key taped to the bottom. She pulled it out and looked back to make sure enough snow was falling to cover her tracks, but it would be a good half hour before that would happen. She realized she had no choice and quickly unlocked the door and went inside.
She locked the door behind her and shivered in the darkness. It was almost as cold inside the caddyshack as outside. She waited for her eyes to adjust in the dim light. First she had to find out what was going on in the world. Then she had to decide whether she should use Carla’s cell phone. She wanted to send her mom that picture of the Green Beret, but she didn’t want to risk giving her location away to the goon and die.
She walked over to a broom closet and opened the door. Etched into one wall were the words “R&J 4eVer.” Beneath the etching was an old AM/FM/CD boombox. She took out the boombox and put it on the floor, then wrapped herself with the dusty beach blanket she had stashed on the shelf weeks ago and sat down.
She said a quick prayer and hit the “on” switch. It still worked. Batteries and everything. She turned up the volume and adjusted the dial.
“This is the National Warning Center,” said the voice of God, or so it sounded. “Emergency. This is an attack warning. Repeat. This is an attack warning.”
A bleeping sound started to repeat itself, then her mom’s voice came on. Jennifer leaned closer to the box.
“This is President Sachs with a warning that another attack is imminent.”
Jennifer gasped. “Oh, God.”
“The threat appears aimed at U.S. military targets, not population centers. So there is little to gain in mass evacuations or hysteria. The best thing every American can do at this moment is to simply take cover in basements, schools, offices, churches, synagogues and mosques until the threat passes.”
Jennifer looked around the sorry interior of the caddyshack. It had no basement but was about as good as anywhere else at the moment.
“Local police departments and National Guard units will be patrolling streets to enforce safety and use deadly force against those who would see this crisis as an opportunity to break the law.”
What about those Green Berets chasing me? Jennifer wondered.
“Rest assured that the United States are standing by to unleash the full fury of their wrath upon those states that have financed, equipped or harbored those who have attacked us. Until then, fellow Americans, our prayers are with you and our children. Help them and help your neighbors.”
Jennifer pulled out Carla’s phone. She knew the government could track her even when it was off, but only if they knew what phone she had. As soon as she placed a call, they’d know.
The EAS announcer came back on. “This was a message of the Emergency Alert System. This is not a test. Repeat. This is not a test.”
That was enough to remind her that she could not be selfish in times like this. If there was anything she could report to her mom that would be helpful, she had to do it, even if it gave her away.
She turned the phone on, got a dial tone and punched in her mom’s number. “Mom, pick up,” she breathed.
Even as she heard the ringing on the other end, she saw a flash of light outside and ran to the window. There
