understanding. We cannot sit here and allow this clown in the Oval Office to stand and watch while our cities are destroyed. We cannot. And will not.”
“I understand,” said the Virginian. “And I, in turn, am grateful for your foresight, and your confidence in me. Especially Admiral Morgan, of whom, I should confess, I have long been terrified.”
“C’mon, Paul,” rasped Arnold. “You never even met me before today.”
“I assure you, Admiral, your reputation precedes you. And I look forward to working with you…er…I think.”
Everyone laughed, the kind of restrained laughter born of high tension and trepidation. But it would not be long now. And when the Vice President left the room to return to the White House, they all instinctively checked the time. Four minutes past ten, on Tuesday morning, September 29, 2009. It was at this moment that Adm. Arnold Morgan became the de facto leader of the United States of America.
General Rashood and the Commander in Chief of the Iranian Navy, Adm. Mohammed Badr, were trying to decide whether another communication to Washington was necessary. Did the Americans think that the Hamas high command would not carry out their threat because world opinion would most likely turn against them?
In which case, someone needed to put the Pentagon right. Sometime on October 9, young Ben Badr would fire those two Scimitar SL-2s straight at the Cumbre Vieja, no ifs, ands, or buts.
Ravi was working on a draft, and he was nearly through with it. The wording was as follows…
To: The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, The Pentagon, Washington, D.C.:
There is nothing you can do to stop us now. We regret that you have ignored our instructions. You will still be under water when our brothers in Palestine rise again.
They agreed to transmit the letter sometime the following day, Wednesday, September 30.
A minute after Paul Bedford left the office, General Scannell excused himself from the meeting and returned next door to his office. He picked up his private line to the White House and asked to be connected to the President.
“No, you may not,” replied the General. “Put him on the line now.”
One minute later, the unmistakable voice of President McBride said quietly, “General, I am getting slightly tired of these unannounced interruptions during my working day. However, I understand the priority which your position in the Military grants you, and I am able to give you five minutes…”
“Thank you, Mr. President. You will doubtless have noticed that Hamas have carried out their threat, and that at around midnight they did indeed blow up another volcano?”
“Well, I have been told that there was an eruption of Montserrat, if that’s what you’re referring to, but so far as I can see, it erupts on a kind of monthly basis…”
“Not like it did last night, sir. Trust me. That was one of the biggest volcano blasts we’ve seen for years. Almost as damaging as Mount St. Helens—”
The president interrupted him impatiently. “Well, what do you want me to do about it? It was obviously in no relation to us. It took place 4,000 miles away from here, in a foreign country. I think I advised you when we last spoke on the subject that your theories were a complete waste of time, and there was absolutely no reason to place the Pentagon and the White House on a State of Alert—”
Now it was Scannell who broke in. He could see where this conversation was headed and he wasn’t about to waste his breath much longer.
“You did indeed, sir. But they did not threaten to attack us directly, only to show us what they could do, in the hope that we would change our minds and get out of the Middle East. I would say, for the second time in too short a time, they have shown us what they are capable of doing.”
“Well, I remain unconvinced. I think that the Mount St. Helens eruption gave some crank the idea to write threatening letters to the U.S. military and by some off chance, they managed to coincide a threat with a very volatile volcano that erupts on a regular basis somewhere down in the Caribbean.
“That is not reason to ask the President of the United States to activate an oceanwide search by the entire U.S. Navy at vast expense, to withdraw all of our forces from the Middle East at even greater expense, and then tell Israel they must evacuate their settlements in the Holy Land by next week.
“Can’t you see, General, that these are the actions of a hysteric? They are issues so great, almost impossible, and without any reasonable grounds — no President could possibly tackle them without becoming a laughingstock.”
“Sir, I must inform you for the final time that your military high command regards the threat from Hamas as serious. We think they can, and will, explode that volcano in the Canary Islands, which, not for the first time, will unleash a tidal wave. Only this one will flood our entire East Coast.
“I have not spoken to one volcanologist who disagrees with the theory. All these guys need to do is to hit the crater of the Cumbre Vieja with a big missile, probably nuclear, and it will happen. The ensuing landslide is a certainty. And nothing could then stop the tsunami from developing.”
“Please,” the President said scornfully. “Preserve me from Admirals, Generals, and scientists. Collectively you guys cause more unnecessary trouble than everyone else on this planet combined. You asked me a final question. I give you my final answer. I believe your theories are fairy tales. I have been proved right so far, and I have no doubt I will continue to be right.”
He was finished with the discussion, his mind clearly already occupied with other, most important, matters of state.
“As for the overwhelming actions you ask me to take, I must say again, No, General. I deny my permission to sweep the Atlantic for a nonexistent submarine at a cost of about a billion dollars an hour. I will not evacuate our armed forces from the Middle East. And neither will I call the Prime Minister of Israel and demand the creation of an instant independent Palestinian State. Do I make myself clear?”
“I’m afraid you do, sir. I’m afraid you do.”
General Scannell replaced his telephone and walked back into the conference room. “I have spoken to the President again. His position has not altered.”
Admiral Morgan looked grave but unsurprised. “Then our plan for a transfer of power will have to be put into action. This day,” he said. “Gentlemen, I know we must prepare for an evacuation of these cities, but what we
“Arnold,” said Admiral Dickson, “do you have a preliminary plan for the Atlantic deployment? I mean this is a huge step involving possibly a hundred ships.”
“Alan, I have been giving this a great amount of thought. If this ship is carrying regular cruise missiles, top- of-the-line Russian-built, they have a range of 1,200 nautical miles. In my view, he stands well off, perhaps launching 500 miles, or maybe even 1,000 miles, from his target.
“So let’s assume a missile range of 1,000 nautical miles. Initially I suppose we’d have to use SSNs or TAFFs on an area search/patrol.”
Admiral Morgan, like all senior Naval officers, spoke to the entire room as if everyone habitually spoke in service jargon. It never occurred to him that not everyone knew an SSN was an attack submarine, or a TAFF was a towed-array frigate, or that the mysteries of the long, sensitive electronic listening device, trailing behind the ship, might not be clearly comprehended by every single person in Washington. Time was too short for explanations, though.
“And remember,” he added, “the TA will pick up nothing, unless
“Now, the Naval commanders at this table will know that the towed-arrays are highly variable. But working
