It sounded like Mrs. Barslosky across the street.
The minivan started up without incident. The sedan was a different story. He tried four times, but the engine wouldn’t turn. He went back into the minivan and turned the ignition switch to the first indent so that the radio came on. He scanned through the channels but only heard static.
Lindsay stuck her head into the garage. “Did they start?”
“The Honda did.”
“What should we do now?”
David looked at her. “I don’t know.”
3
The president slammed his fist down on the table. “That wasn’t me on the TV!”
“Sir, I believe we just witnessed what is known as a deep fake. That was information warfare. Someone designed that video to make it look like an official presidential communication.”
“What do you mean? It was computer-generated?”
“Possibly, Mr. President. There are a variety of techniques.”
“And they can really do that?” The president swore. “How many people did that broadcast go out to?”
The DHS secretary’s voice on the speakerphone said, “Sir… all of them. That was put out on every TV network. It was also live-streamed over many websites and news services, and relayed on social media.”
The national security advisor said, “Sir, I think the more important thing to look at is what their intentions were within that particular communication. Why would the Chinese want to say that we fired our missiles? And why would they want to alert our nation that they have ballistic missiles inbound from—”
The conversation came to a halt as a daylight-bright flash ignited the sky, coming in through the cabin windows.
The Secret Service agents rushed to the president, making sure his seat strap was secure and telling him to crouch down into the crash position. The others present in the room followed suit, convinced of the worst, waiting for a nuclear shockwave that never came. After a moment, they stopped ducking, and the Secret Service men went back to their original sentry positions.
The aircraft had come to a halt on the runway numbers. Both of the pilots had been blinded by looking directly at the flash. They were replaced by a backup crew and sent to the medical bay. Furthering the delay was the need for some of the aircraft systems to be reset. There would be an additional two minutes before takeoff, the president was told.
Inside the presidential conference room, the TV and many of the electronics had ceased working. But many of the systems on Air Force One had been hardened to resist just such an attack. This included the majority of the communications devices on board, allowing the Pentagon and STRATCOM to remain on the line.
New information arrived in spurts. General Rice was getting updates from a phone at his ear. He said, “Sir, we have indications of multiple nuclear detonations over the continental United States. Very high altitude. There are also incoming reports of communications and electronics outages over the same area. Sir, this is consistent with an electromagnetic pulse weapon.”
From the speakerphone, “Mr. President, STRATCOM recommends setting DEFCON 1. We now have high confidence that China is responsible for this strike. We should be prepared for a follow-on attack. Sir, we need to execute an immediate response.”
The officer with the nuclear football laid the black leather satchel on the conference table and began unsnapping the straps. He removed a metal briefcase. The president watched his mechanical motions. He had asked the officer about the case during one of their training sessions. The metal case was made by Zero Halliburton, a Japanese luggage manufacturer. Ironic, considering the history of nuclear warfare. Now the officer flipped open the metal briefcase to reveal a computer screen and keyboard. He extended a single antenna, and then his fingers danced over the keypad as the computer screen came to life. From a cutout in the suitcase, he removed a laminated card with a series of challenge codes.
“Mr. President, if you’re ready—”
The president frowned. “Everyone weigh in, quickly.” He looked around the table.
The national security advisor, sitting across the conference table, said, “Mr. President, I have to agree with the NMCC here.”
“General Rice?”
General Rice had a phone to his ear, speaking with his team at the Pentagon. “Mr. President, if we launch our missiles, we risk escalating the situation. China could then launch more missiles at us—”
General Sprague said over the speakerphone, “Which is precisely why we need to launch. We need to neutralize their ability to escalate, Mr. President. They’re attacking our military bases throughout the Pacific. They’ve launched EMP weapons at us. Hell, our sensors are down right now. For all we know, there could be more incoming nuclear weapons headed this way right now. Sir, this is our job right now. We have to execute.”
The president leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished wood of the table. He massaged his own scalp and temples, trying to think clearly. The late hour and his raging headache made that almost impossible.
The officer manning the Football said, “Sir, do you have the Biscuit?” The Biscuit was the laminated card that the president had on his person at all times — his ID verification for just this very moment.
The president looked up at the officer. He dug his hand into his breast pocket, pulling out the card holder. He held it in his hands, studying the men in the room.
The president looked at the speakerphone in the middle of the table. “General Sprague, are you one hundred percent certain that it was China who fired this latest group of ballistic missiles?”
“Mr. President, we can’t be one hundred percent certain of anything, sir. Both Russia and China have this capability. But from looking at the real-time intel we’ve seen coming in, it appears that there is now a kinetic environment in the Pacific. Guam, Japan, Korea. At least one aircraft carrier has been attacked by Chinese conventional missiles. There’s fighting near Hawaii—”
“Hawaii?”
General Rice said, “Yes, Mr. President. We are at war with China. Looking at the macro picture, I believe we should operate under the assumption that the Chinese have launched nuclear weapons at us.”
The president could feel the sweat in his armpits and on his forehead. He didn’t want to make the decision. Tonight was the culmination of a career of military studies and training for these men in uniform. A part of him suspected they almost enjoyed this moment. That it was some sort of glorious climax to end their military careers. The president was annoyed by their eagerness, and by the ease with which they navigated through the heavy jargon and complicated subjects. It was all so unfamiliar to him. But at the same time, he needed their expertise.
“What’s your recommendation, General?”
General Rice said, “A limited strike on their strategic capability. We need to make sure the Chinese can’t escalate. We need to neutralize their ability to launch further nuclear attacks on the US.”
The president shot a glance to his chief of staff. He knew him better than these other men and trusted his judgment.
“Paul?”
“The missiles headed this way could be more EMPs.”
“Unlikely, sir,” said the STRATCOM general on the phone.
The national security advisor said, “Mr. President, EMPs are nuclear weapons. We would be within our rights to respond with our own nukes. Not only that, but EMP weapons are considered first strike weapons. They are meant to mask further strategic attacks.”
The president looked at the NSA with annoyance. “I know that much, for God’s sake.”
The national security advisor said, “Mr. President, I disagree with the general. We need a full-throated response. You could end the war today. We now have information that our military is under attack by Chinese forces in the Pacific, our homeland has been attacked via cyber and EMPs, and there are Chinese military attacks going on within the boundaries of the US. I recommend a full-scale nuclear strike on the Chinese military. No restrictions.”