“Good. What else?” Oaks asked.
“I’ve scrambled combat air patrols over each border and every major city. I also ordered the full fleet to sea.”
“You sure that’s the best move, General?” Oaks asked skeptically. “Shouldn’t we hold back some assets in reserve, at least until we figure out what’s happening and who our enemy is?”
“I considered that, sir, but we have to safeguard against another Pearl Harbor,” Briggs quickly replied. “We don’t know what else is coming, and we don’t want our naval assets concentrated and vulnerable. With your permission, sir, I’d also like to order two carrier battle groups off both coasts and order a series of navy ships armed with the Aegis ballistic missile defense system off both coastlines, as well as in the Gulf of Mexico. But we need to do this fast.”
“You have my authorization,” Oaks said without hesitation. “Now, where do you want me?”
“I’d like to bring you here, Mr. President,” Briggs replied, reminding Oaks that Peterson Air Force Base was not only home of USNORTHCOM but also the NORAD command center buried deep inside Cheyenne Mountain. “You’ll be safe here. We’ve got everything you’ll need on hand, or close by. My staff and I can help you begin to reassemble a government. And I think it’s better that you and I are in the same room, not separated by two thousand miles and a communications system that could still get knocked out. Is that okay, sir?”
“It is, General — I trust your judgment,” Oaks said. “Now, what about Congress?”
“Too soon to say, sir,” Briggs admitted. “We’re still trying to piece together that picture. At this point, I can tell you that we are operating under the assumption that all of the Republican leadership and more than two hundred GOP members of Congress are dead. They were all at the convention. At the moment, we’re simply not sure about the Democratic leadership or other members of the Democratic caucus. Many of them were converging on Manhattan to begin their convention in a few days. The rest are scattered all over the country and I assume were preparing to head to New York in the next few days. We’re trying to contact everyone, but much of the civilian communications grid is down, as are major segments of the national power grid.”
“Where’s the Speaker of the House?” Oaks asked.
“I don’t know,” Briggs conceded.
“How about the president pro tempore of the Senate?”
The general didn’t know that either.
“We’re looking for him,” he said, his tone betraying his lack of hope that they were going to find him any time soon.
“Are you expecting more attacks?” Oaks pressed.
Briggs said that was the most difficult question of all to answer. The CIA was gone. So was the Defense Intelligence Agency. As such, America’s intelligence-gathering systems had been badly disrupted. No one knew what was coming next or from where, much less when. They had no idea who was hitting them or where to strike back. All U.S. forces worldwide were now at DefCon One. But without a clearly defined enemy and clearly defined targets to strike, there wasn’t much the military could do. At least for now.
What’s more, they had a very serious succession crisis on their hands.
“So what happens if my plane’s taken down on the way to NORAD?” the new president asked his senior surviving military commander. “If I’m killed, who exactly is supposed to run the country?”
16
It was painful even to open her eyes.
And when she did, Erin Bennett had no idea where she was. It didn’t seem like the tent that had been her home for the past seven months. Then again, it didn’t smell as bad either. There was a distinct odor to the room, but she couldn’t place it.
Her temples throbbed. It hurt too much to think, too much to figure out where she was or why. So she began to drift away… back… back… to a simpler time than this.
Suddenly she found herself standing behind her desk in her penthouse office, high atop London, overlooking the Thames. In the window, she could see a reflection of herself in her black suit and black pumps, her hair back, her nails done. She turned and saw her team gathered around her in that high-tech financial war room she had once designed and run for Global Strategix. The satellite boxes. The shortwave radios. The bank of television monitors. The high-speed Internet access and fiber optic cables, streaming thirty million phone calls across the Atlantic and back in a single second. The little ceramic plaque sitting on her desk, the one that read, “Know well the condition of thy flocks.” And there was that smell again. Perfume? Cleaning supplies?
Whatever it was, it was stinging her throat, making her eyes water, and forcing her against her will back to some semblance of reality. She wasn’t in London, she realized, and the disappointment spread over her like a cloud.
Erin struggled to open her eyes again, and when she did, she noticed a clock on the wall. It was four thirty, though whether it was morning or night she had no idea. She tried to recall the past few hours, but it was all a blur. Slowly, and with great difficulty, she turned her head to the right, then to the left. Every muscle in her body ached. Her throat was on fire.
At first she felt like she was burning up. After a few moments, she found herself chilled. Her arms were covered with goose bumps. An IV needle was jammed in one of them, covered in tubing and tape. Even her eyes ached in their sockets. But the mental fog was lifting a bit. She was in the hospital. Jon had brought her here. But why? What was happening to her?
She groped around for a while and finally found a call button, which she pressed repeatedly. A few moments later, a tall, gentle-looking black man — probably in his late fifties or early sixties, she figured — opened the door. He had a warm, friendly smile and a cup of water and some pills in his hands. Erin squinted and tried to read his ID tag: “Francis P. Kwamee, MD.” It said he was from Accra, Ghana. It said he worked for the World Health Organization. All well and good, but where was Jon?
Erin tried to ask, but the pain was too much. The doctor spoke instead.
“How are you feeling, ma’am?”
Not well enough to answer. She just shook her head.
“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Bennett,” the doctor said. “We’re going to take care of you right. But first, I must say, you have a pretty eager visitor out there in the lobby. May I let him in? I don’t think he can wait much longer.”
Erin’s heart leaped and she smiled weakly.
“Very well,” Dr. Kwamee said. “But I do need you to take your medicine first.”
She nodded slowly and with his help took the pills, despite the pain of swallowing. When Dr. Kwamee stepped out of the room and she was alone again, Erin closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She thanked the Lord for being merciful to her, for keeping her safe, and she asked Him to bless Jon and hold him close to His heart. As she said amen, the door swung open and she quickly found herself in the arms of the man she loved, and all was well.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” Bennett asked as he sat beside her on the bed and gently stroked her hands.
Erin desperately wanted to tell him. She desperately wanted to talk to him, to catch up with him and find out how he was doing, but she winced as she tried.
“That’s okay; just rest,” he assured her with a soothing bedside manner that she sensed she was going to need a lot of over the next few days.