no one was leaving. Not until the Presidential Address was completed and on television. A small pile of surrendered cell phones occupied a desk behind the principal Marine detail.
Arnold Morgan and Admiral Doran made their way into the soundproof teak-paneled conference room that, aside from its central table, was filled with secretarial desks, computers, and video-conferencing telephones. None of this was currently active, though staff members were hurriedly claiming the desks, since the packed gathering could plainly not fit around the main table.
Admiral Morgan moved into the big chair once occupied by President Reagan. He dragged another seat next to him for the C in C Atlantic Fleet and called the meeting to order by banging his open palm down on the polished surface of the conference table.
“For a very few of you, this may seem a bit like old times. For the rest of you, my name is Arnold Morgan, former Admiral in the United States Navy, former Director of the National Security Agency, former National Security Adviser to the President.
“I’m not precisely sure how fast rumors move around here these days, but I would like you all to know that President Charles McBride resigned within the last hour for health reasons. According to the Constitution, the Vice President has instantly assumed the Oval Office, and he was sworn in by the man appointed to do so by the Supreme Court of the United States, Judge Moore. The ceremony took place in the Old Executive Building, and President Paul Bedford swore to uphold the Constitution of the United States.
“The witnesses present were Senator Edward Kennedy…the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Scannell… the Chief of Naval Operations, Adm. Alan Dickson…the Commander in Chief of the Atlantic Fleet, Adm. Frank Doran, who is seated here beside me…the Supreme Allied Commander of NATO, Gen. Bart Boyce…the Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, Gen. Kenneth Clark…and myself.
“The press will learn of the change in Government inside the next ten minutes, and you will all see President Bedford’s address on the screen in this room shortly.
“There will of course be changes in staff, but none where we are able to rely on the old order. The most important thing that I must tell you, though, is that the East Coast of this country is at present under the most terrible terrorist threat in U.S. history. Worse, immeasurably, than 9/11.
“It was this threat that caused Charles McBride to suffer what his doctors consider to be a nervous breakdown. He willingly and selflessly stepped aside as the pressures on him mounted, aware that he has no military experience and that his Vice President Paul Bedford, who served as a Navigation Officer in a guided missile frigate during a five-year term in the United States Navy, might be a better leader for the U.S. in this time of crisis.
“The former President is resting under medical supervision at Camp David right now. The First Lady is with him and they will not be returning to the White House.
“As to the threat we face, in the simplest terms, there is a Russian-built nuclear submarine, loose in the North Atlantic crewed by a group of Hamas terrorists.”
The Situation Room was absolutely silent as Admiral Morgan briefly outlined the situation. He shook his head. “And we know from the events of the last few months,” he said, “that Hamas has this capability. They exploded Mount St. Helens, and last night they carried out their second threat, accurate to the minute, by exploding Montserrat down in the Caribbean. Their latest communique says they will hit La Palma on October 9.
“We need to find that submarine, most importantly, but we have already started the preliminary stages of an evacuation of the entire East Coast to high ground, just in case we don’t find it. By the end of the day, the U.S. Army, National Guard, and the various metropolitan police forces will unobtrusively control the streets to prevent a panic after the President’s TV address. From the moment the Cumbre Vieja erupts, it will take nine hours for the tsunami to hit New York Harbor. And those tidal waves don’t break…They’ll just keep rolling.
“Your new President has appointed me Supreme Commander of all the United States forces engaged in this operation for the next two weeks. During this time we will begin evacuating the nation’s treasures, its museums, its historic papers, its Stock Exchange in New York, and its schools. I shall be working closely with President Bedford, from the Oval Office, and with the five senior commanders who witnessed the inauguration ceremony an hour ago.
“Right now, I will not be taking questions, and I would like someone to turn on the television sets around the walls and tune in to one of the networks to hear the Presidential Address…Admiral Doran and I will remain here to listen with you.”
The “Sit Room” remained stunned. No one spoke, but people moved quietly, finding places in front of the television screens.
Meanwhile, upstairs in the Briefing Room, the fifty or sixty members of the White House Press Corps — the journalists Marlin Fitzwater referred to as “The Lions”—were growing more restless by the minute. None of them had a clue what was taking place, and although a few photographers were plainly bored senseless by the whole procedure, dozing in the fourth row, there was an unmistakable growling at the back of the room, where the wire service reporters operated.
This was a most unusual call to a briefing, issued out of the blue at twenty minutes’ notice. The reporters were huddled together, discussing possibilities. The favorite forecast was that President McBride had recognized the state of emergency on the island of Montserrat and was sending aid. Big deal.
However, journalists of a more thoughtful nature had noticed the
A few more minutes slipped by and the level of restlessness grew. It was always the same at feeding time. The Lions began to lose their cool if the keeper was late. Actually, it wasn’t his lateness that was relevant. It was the pack’s perception of lateness that mattered.
By 1625, the room was buzzing. And the sudden appearance of Lee Mitchell, Vice President Bedford’s spokesman, had no effect on the noise level whatsoever. But when he walked up to the dais, turned on the microphone, and asked for their attention, they gave it reluctantly.
Mr. Mitchell, a tall young former political reporter for the
The entire room exploded with the shrill, desperate, near-panic-stricken sound of fifty-odd reporters flailing between the quest for more detail and the overriding desire to speak to their newsrooms.
It took a full two minutes for the row to subside, and only then because it was obvious that Lee Mitchell had not the slightest intention of uttering a single word until there was silence once more from The Lions he was supposed to feed.
“Thank you,” he said, carefully. “There will be no questions at this briefing. But I will tell you that former President McBride is resting under medical supervision at Camp David. He has suffered an apparent nervous breakdown and may not recover fully for some weeks. The First Lady is with him. Under the circumstances, he felt he had no options but to resign.”
Again, the suppressed pandemonium of The Lions was let loose. Regardless of the “no questions” edict, they stood and roared…
The journalists did have some power, and some of them had more than a few brains, but nothing to match the shrewd orchestration masterminded by Morgan, Scannell, and Bedford. And at this point the scene shifted. Lee Mitchell moved aside to formally greet the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, then in quick succession appeared the Head of the Navy, the military Supreme Commander of NATO, and the Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, who all took up the positions allotted to them by Arnold Morgan, port and starboard quarters to the dais.
And as they did so, the noise from The Lions subsided, to be replaced by a more dignified sound. Through the
