staff car at 0700, fighting the traffic and arriving at the Pentagon by 0750. Up in the General’s office, the pervasive concern of the military had been heightened by the arrival of a new communication from the Middle East. E-mail. Traceable only to either Syria, Jordan, Iraq, or Iran. Useless.
It had arrived at 0415, and it was formal in its tone…
Admiral Morgan was already in his place at the head of General Scannell’s conference table. He was flanked by General Bart Boyce and the CJC himself. General Hudson was also in attendance, with Admiral Dickson and the Atlantic Fleet’s Commander in Chief, Admiral Frank Doran, former Commanding Officer of the
The other newcomer was General Kenneth Clark, Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, and Admiral Dickson said he had the Commander of Submarine Force (Atlantic Fleet) on standby to fly in from Norfolk, if required.
Admiral Morgan opened the discussions by saying, “Gentlemen, it is perfectly clear now that Hamas have exploded their second volcano. We were 99 percent sure they had erupted Mount St. Helens, and I think we can now make that 100 percent.
“Last night, precisely as they had promised, they blew up Montserrat. I guess that’s game set and match to Hamas. With one match still to play…I need hardly remind you of the peril we are all in…It’s a scenario that once seemed remote, then much more likely…Now it’s a goddamned certainty. Are we broadly agreed on that summation?”
Everyone at the table nodded.
“So that leaves us with three essential tasks — the first of which is to begin the evacuation of Washington, Boston, and New York. The second is to nail the
“Is there no chance of evacuating the Military in time to make any difference?” asked Admiral Morris, wanting to explore all options.
“Not in the few days we have left,” answered General Scannell firmly. “Not many enough to convince Hamas. And in any case, they want the Israeli peace plan signed and settled by then, with the State of Palestine recognized. We simply cannot get that done. For a start, the Israelis have indicated that they will not cooperate, so it’s out of the question, even if we had more time.”
“Especially with a President who is not involved in the discussions,” said General Scannell.
“And not interested in the defensive measures we must take to avoid this attack taking place on our shores,” added Admiral Morgan. “I am therefore proposing that we see him today, explain our aims, and why we believe he should now face up to the problem.”
“And if he refuses?”
“Then we will have to remove him from office,” replied General Scannell. “I see no alternative. Under the Constitution of the United States, there is no provision for a state of Martial Law being declared without the whole rigmarole going through Congress. And we don’t have time for that. I did ask Arnold a few days ago to check out our options. And although I sincerely hope we do not need to realize them, I’m sure he would be glad to outline the alternatives.”
Every eye in the room turned towards Admiral Morgan, who said, with neither sentiment nor emotion, “In accordance with Article II, Section I, of the Constitution of the United States of America, the President may be removed from office. It states the reasons for this as his death, resignation, or ‘
“It also says that his powers and duties shall devolve on the Vice President. It’s very clear on that, and if both of them need to be unloaded, the Congress has to make a choice.”
“Did James Madison actually use the word
“No. He stuck with
“Thank you, Admiral,” said George Morris. “Just checking.”
“That’s what you’re good at, George. Stay with it.”
Even at a moment of such national gravity, Arnold Morgan could still set precisely the tone he wished.
“And, gentlemen,” he said. “We have no choice but to get this man out of that damned Oval Office. Since it would plainly suit our purposes to have Vice President Paul Bedford onside, and ready to do as we ask, I have asked him to attend this meeting and he’ll be here at any moment. You’ll understand, I have undertaken this purely because we have only one week to make our moves effectively to put the East Coast under direct Martial Law with regard to the evacuation — and we don’t have time to sit and wait while those damn Congressmen twitter around like a bunch of schoolgirls.
“It’s my view that if these Hamas guys fire a couple of nuclear-headed missiles at Cumbre Vieja, the mountain will collapse into the sea and the mega-tsunami will happen. And that’s the view of every darned scientist we have consulted. We have to either destroy our enemy or be ready to cope with whatever he throws at us.
“And remember, he’s not asking us to
Everyone knew that the President had selected a Democratic Senator from the right of the party to help him in the South. It had not done much good, all in all, but Paul Bedford still remained a far less radical liberal than any of Charlie McBride’s other acolytes. And he had served as an officer in the U.S. Navy for a five-year term that included the first Gulf War.
He was a fairly worldly man, and was already being sidelined by the strong liberal mainstream of McBride’s White House. In the editorial offices of the
His presence in the Pentagon was announced by a young Marine Lieutenant on guard duty outside the CJC’s headquarters. And everyone stood up to greet the Vice President when he made his entrance. General Scannell introduced him, then moved back to the long antique sideboard that ran half the length of the main table and poured coffee for everyone. There were no lower ranks in this meeting, no one to take care of menial tasks, except, perhaps, for Lieutenant Commander Ramshawe, who was too busy to even look up from his charts and notes.
When Arnold Morgan inquired exactly how much the VP knew about the problem that faced them, Paul Bedford said flatly, “Nothing.” It was a tacit admission that this capable former navigation officer in a guided missile frigate had already slipped out of the Presidential loop.
Admiral Morgan took it upon himself to bring the VP up to speed on the phantom volcano blaster from the Middle East. The men around the table watched Mr. Bedford’s eyes grow wider with every sentence. Arnold walked him through the voyage of the missing
“Are you with us?” asked Admiral Morgan.
“If you mean, do I understand, Admiral, the answer is plainly, yes. But you have not informed me of the reaction of the President of the United States. Does he know?”
“Of course, he knows,” said Arnold, without even cracking a smile. “He’s now rejected each of three pleas by the highest military officers in the country — pleas to listen, to take some precautions, to make some preparations, or even organize our defenses. He says the letters are from a nutcase, and the whole thing is a figment of our imagination. Needless to say, we did not, do not, and will not agree with that.”
“Of course not,” replied Vice President Bedford, who was already displaying the built-in respect of a former Navy Lieutenant in the presence of the mighty.
“Have you offered him yet the opportunity to read the latest communication from Hamas?”
“No, sir. We have not,” said Arnold. “He sincerely believes that we are all crazy — and if you would like to step up here next to me, I’ll show you just how crazy we are.”
Paul Bedford moved next to the Admiral. Arnold traced a circle of about eight inches in radius on the Navy chart in front of him. “Somewhere in there, Paul,” he said, “is a big nuclear submarine. Russian-built, with one, or probably two, cruise missiles on board containing nuclear warheads, which, as you know, pack a wallop one
