The Secret Service SUVs came to a quick stop on the tarmac, forming an outward-facing shield, while the president and his party marched onto Air Force One. The behemoth frame of the jet loomed above them, looking menacing with most of its lights off. The VC-25A (the Air Force’s designation for the presidential 747) already had its engines running. The president stepped out onto the concrete flight line, the whine of jet engines spinning up. Dozens of security personnel surrounded him, looking more tense than usual. The outside air had a cool bite to it.
“Why the hell are the lights off?”
“I believe they’re trying to be covert, sir.”
Almost nothing was lit up save for the stairway up to the cabin. “Son of a bitch. Is someone really going to shoot at me on my way onto the plane? I should be so lucky.”
They hurried the president up the stairs. He snuck a glance out over the D.C. skyline, wondering if it would be the last time he saw the white monuments in the distance. Then he was inside the aircraft, the cabin door closed behind him, and the sounds of the world grew muffled. The president and his staff were shown into the Air Force One conference room.
The train of cabinet members and senior staff crammed in. There were only eight seats at the table. Thick, cushiony leather. A single flat-screen on the far wall, and multiple speakerphone devices on the table. A communications compartment in the next room was filled with technology and experts who worked feverishly to connect Air Force One with those who could provide accurate information.
Senior staffers who normally would be competing for the president’s time were white-faced and silent. And these were the “lucky” ones. Most had been left behind. Getting the president evacuated even a few seconds sooner was worth more than the life of some staffers. Choices had to be made. Missiles were airborne.
President Griffin rubbed his temples. He looked at the Air Force steward standing in the room. “Cup of coffee, please.” The enlisted woman nodded and headed to the coffeemaker.
Around the conference table were several of the men he had just been speaking to on the phone. The Pentagon’s deputy director for operations, General Rice, the national security advisor, and the secretary of defense. They conversed in short, tense sentences filled with acronyms and military lingo.
“…but we still can’t rule out a Russian response…”
“…a handful of the Chinese air transports may have landed in Canada or the US…”
“…more cyberattacks too — bad ones. Utilities, water purification systems, and transportation servers have all been affected. We just received an alert that several undersea cables have been disrupted.”
“Undersea cables?” the president asked.
“Undersea fiberoptic cables connecting North American communications and data networks with Europe and Asia. Sir, this appears to be a full-scale coordinated attack, originating from the Pacific Theater.”
The room went silent. The president stared at the general. “What’s the status of our military response in the Pacific?”
“In Korea, Japan, and Guam, commanders have informed us that combat operations have begun. Chinese Air Force and Naval forces, as well as North Korean military forces, have commenced military operations directed against the United States and its allies. We have begun fighting back with our forces in theater. However, communications with most assets have been disrupted, and we’re not completely clear on what the current status is.”
A voice emanating from the speaker in the middle of the table said, “Mr. President, STRATCOM has just received indications of multiple nuclear detonations in North Korea…”
A few gasps around the room.
The president leaned forward in his seat. “In North Korea? Who fired the nuclear weapons, General?”
“We don’t know the answer to that, sir.”
“Well, find out! Were those the Chinese missiles that launched? Maybe we misread the Chinese missile launch intentions. Maybe they aren’t working in concert with North Korea. Maybe they—”
From the speakerphone, a voice said, “Mr. President, this is Homeland Security. Uh, sir, the emergency alert message just went out nationally.”
“Fine. Thank you—”
“Yes, sir. But it seems that there were some abnormalities…”
“What abnormalities?”
“You see, sir, Homeland Security never issued the EAM.”
Heads turned toward the president. Confused looks.
“What the hell are you saying?”
“We were about to send one out, sir. But… it just went out automatically right before we were going to send it. And, well, considering that we are under cyberattack, we wondered if—”
General Rice said, “Mr. Secretary, what did the message say?”
“It was a standard EAM for this scenario. It read, ‘Remain indoors and stand by for further instructions.’”
General Rice narrowed his eyes. “Why would someone—”
The president said, “Fine. Fine. Whatever. What’s the update on the missile threat? I want to…”
The president’s voice trailed off. His eyes were fixated on the TV screen on the wall.
“What the hell am I looking at?” All eyes turned to the president and then followed his finger to the TV.
It was a live cable news broadcast. They were showing video feed of the Oval Office. The banner underneath said, “Live emergency address from the president expected soon.”
The national security advisor said, “Cyberattacks didn’t affect the TV broadcast?”
“This is part of the emergency broadcast.”
“How could—”
“Everyone be quiet. Someone turn the volume up.”
One of the military aides standing against the wall grabbed a remote control and increased the volume.
“This is live?” the president’s chief of staff asked.
“Yes, it is,” someone answered.
The president felt his body shift as the aircraft began taxiing.
He was looking at himself, on the TV screen.
“But that’s not me. I’m here.”
Yet there he was. Sitting at his desk in the Oval Office. About to make an address to the country on national TV.
“What in the Sam Hill is going on?”
2
The end of the world was announced just like everything else these days. With a mobile phone notification.
It was just after 2 a.m. when the phones started their screeching. The Emergency Alert System. Those terrifying dashes of ugly noise that every American who lived during the Cold War remembers.
David Manning shot up in bed. Groggy and confused, he peered into the dark, looking for the source of the noise.
“What is that?” his wife, Lindsay, asked. David fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, silencing it. But his wife’s phone continued making the same terrible noise from the kitchen.
Lindsay put her pillow over her head, her muffled voice saying, “Turn it off.”
Then the baby began crying from down the hall, and Lindsay let out the curse of a tired mother. “Oh, good Lord, you’ve got to be effing kidding me.” She threw on her robe and headed to the nursery.
David got up and headed to the kitchen to silence his wife’s phone. He squinted, trying to read the alert message as he walked, the text on the bright screen still blurry while his eyes were adjusting.
He reached the kitchen counter, silenced the alert noise on Lindsay’s phone and turned on the light by the sink. David could see the display on his phone clearly now. There was a red outline surrounding a white triangle, with a black exclamation point inside. The message read:
Emergency Alert
Remain indoors. DO NOT DRIVE. Call 9-1-1 for emergencies only. Stand by for further instructions.