on the ground at Andrews and back at the White House shortly.”
“I…all right, Robert,” the President said hesitantly. “I plan to address the American people immediately as soon as I arrive back at the White House, Robert,” he went on a moment later, “and I want a full situation briefing and intel dump as soon as I get off the plane.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Is there any information on who did this? Anyone claim responsibility yet?”
“No, Mr. President,” Chamberlain said. “We hope to have more by the time you return. We’ll transmit a complete casualty and damage report, defense status report, and up-to-the-moment world situation report to the chief of staff so he can have Communications draft an address for you.”
There was silence for a few moments; then: “I want to hunt them down and slaughter them, Robert,” he said angrily. “I want every resource of the United States of America mobilized to find those responsible and eliminate them. I’m not interested in bringing them to justice. I want them gone.”
“Everything will be done that can be done, sir…”
“That’s not good enough, Robert,” the President said acidly. “I’m tired of America being the target, the hunted—I want America to be the hunter.” He paused, then went on, his shaking voice evident even over the secure telephone connection: “Robert, I want to declare war on terrorism. And I don’t mean a ‘war’ like our ‘war on drugs’ or our current ‘war on terrorism’…” He paused again, and Chamberlain could hear a slow uptake of breath before he said, “I propose to go before Congress and ask for a declaration of war against terrorism.”
“A…say again, sir?” Chamberlain responded in shock and confusion. “Mr. President, I…I don’t know…”
“Robert, I intend to ask Congress for a declaration of war against terrorism,” the President said firmly. “The attack on Kingman City may or may not be state-sponsored; it may be radical fundamentalist Islam or some other fanatical group—it doesn’t matter. I want the full and unfettered resources of the nation to find who did this unspeakable act, hunt them down like the sick cowardly dogs they are, and destroy them. I want a congressional declaration of war. I don’t care how we get it, I just want it done.”
There was silence on the line for several long moments; then: “Mr. President, I am behind you all the way on that idea,” Robert Chamberlain said. “We should discuss this as soon as you land. It will take an enormous amount of courage and tenacity to pull it off; undoubtedly your political opponents will call it a grandstanding gesture that will throw the world into chaos. But I believe the American people will be behind you one hundred and ten percent.”
“I’m not going to sit around and wait for Congress or the Supreme Court to wring their hands and debate this,” the President retorted. “Robert, I’m tasking you with implementing this idea. Get together with Justice, Defense, and the congressional leadership and draft me a proposal that I can present to a joint session of Congress within thirty days. I want a plan of action set into motion immediately. Military, Central Intelligence, FBI, Homeland Security, every branch of the government—everyone’s going to work together on this to find the bastards who attacked us.”
Chamberlain swallowed, nervously looking around the Situation Room at the faces looking worriedly at him. “Yes, Mr. President. I’ll get right on it,” he said finally. “I’ll have some suggestions for you as soon as you return.”
“Thank you, Robert,” the President said. “You’re my go-to guy, Robert. I’m relying on you to push this, hard. The entire world watched me run in fear from my own capital, and I’m not going to let that happen ever again on my watch. I want to take the fight to the enemy. Whatever it takes, whatever we’ve got—I want the terrorists who did this to suffer. I’m going to stake my entire political career on this. I need a strong hand on the wheel. I’m counting on you, Robert.”
“I understand, Mr. President,” Chamberlain said. “I’ll see you when you get back. Thank you, Mr. President.” The connection went dead, and Chamberlain returned the phone to its cradle with a stunned expression on his face.
“What’s going on, Robert?” Donna Calhoun asked.
“The President will be back in Washington within the hour,” he said, quickly composing himself. “He wants to address the nation as soon as he returns. I want a complete report on Kingman City, our defense status, and the world situation in twenty minutes. I’ll transmit it to Air Force One so the President’s communications staff can draft a speech.” He paused, his mind racing furiously; then he added: “He wants it to be a tough, no-nonsense, decisive speech. He wants blood. He doesn’t want to reassure the nation, or offer his condolences—he wants action, and he wants heads to roll.” He paused again, thinking hard, until he realized that the National Security Council staff members present were looking rather concerned. “On my desk in twenty minutes.”
“Is there something else, Robert…?”
At that instant the phone rang again, and Chamberlain snatched it up as if it had electrocuted him. He listened for a moment; then his eyes widened in surprise, and he motioned excitedly to a staffer. “Turn on the damned news,” he shouted, “now!”
Another computer screen came to life, and all heads turned to watch. It showed a person in a silver radiation protection suit inside a helicopter, talking into a handheld video camera. The captions read KRISTEN SKYY, SATCOM ONE SENIOR CORRESPONDENT and LIVE OVER KINGMAN CITY, TEXAS.
“Holy shit,” someone murmured. “It looks like Kristen Skyy is going to fly over ground zero!” No one had to ask who Kristen Skyy was: she was by far the most well-known, popular, and trusted foreign affairs journalist on television since Barbara Walters. Her beauty, on-camera ease, and charm would have been enough to get her international attention, but it was without a doubt her drive, ambition, determination, and sheer courage that made her a media superstar.
No one, therefore, was that surprised to see her in the middle of a nuclear death zone.
“I thought the airspace over the entire nation was closed down!” Chamberlain thundered. “What in hell is she doing up there?”
“She’s on the ground in five minutes, sir,” Hanratty said, picking up a telephone in front of him.
The sound was gradually turned up, and they heard, “…assured repeatedly that it was safe at this point to fly near the blast site, the danger from radioactive fallout has subsided, my cameraman Paul Delgado has a radiation counter with him and as you can see the needle is hardly moving so I think we’re all right…”
“The radiation will be the least of her problems once I get done with her,” Hanratty murmured angrily. Into the mouthpiece, he shouted, “I told you, Sergeant Major, I’m watching her right now. She’s broadcasting live from a helicopter right over the damned blast area. I want an Apache up there to force her away and back down on the ground in five minutes, and if she doesn’t comply I want a broadcast warning her that she’ll be shot down. And when they land, arrest all of them. And I want the persons producing her news program to be arrested as well right now.”
“…been told that the FAA is ordering us to land,” the correspondent went on. “It’s an order apparently from the Departments of Defense and Homeland Security, but we think this story is just too important to simply fly away. We’ve been told that there are injured people at a park on Swan Lake, about a mile and a half from ground zero. Emergency responders are ordering everyone away from the blast area, so no help has arrived from Galveston or League City.”
“Are there any rescue units heading toward that area?” Chamberlain asked.
“All traffic for five miles around ground zero is being stopped, and that includes traffic on Galveston Bay,” Calhoun responded. “Radiation levels hit the danger mark at two miles out. No one can get close enough to the area to attempt any kind of rescue.”
“So what in hell is that reporter doing out there?” Chamberlain asked. “And why isn’t her radiation meter picking up anything?”
“Either she doesn’t have it on or she’s got it set up incorrectly,” Hanratty said. “Our detectors definitely picked up danger levels of radiation out to three kilometers. Kristen Skyy is going to get hurt if she stays out there —I don’t care what kind of suit she’s got on. And if that pilot and cameraman don’t have suits on, or if they’re not fitted or sealed-up properly, they’re dead—they just don’t know it yet.”
“Get them out of there, General!” Chamberlain shouted. But they could do nothing else but watch in horrified fascination as the report continued:
“We can see the blast area, ground zero,” the reporter in the radiation suit went on. “It looks like a forest after a huge fire, with nothing but blackened sticks sticking out of lumpy rocky black soil. The fires look like they’ve gone out, but we see what used to be the refinery and petroleum storage tanks still smoking. Here and there we
