Secret Service agents helped them out of the elevator, ushered the family to their suite of rooms and the President to his office. Though the walls were wallpapered and looked like any other room in the White House, the facilities were dated and clearly showed that, except for the basics, they hadn’t really been updated in more than a decade. At first, the only thing the President knew for certain was that missiles were incoming. Now he was in his office, in his pajamas, sitting in front of a tan colored rotary telephone, waiting for the end. He was twisting a wooden #2 pencil he found on his desk — anything to take off some of the stress. He squeezed it hard enough to leave indentations in the wood.
O’Bannon expected the telephone to ring — if for no other reason than to begin a retaliatory strike. But the instrument remained silent. He picked up the receiver and tried to get a line. That was when he discovered his very sophisticated telephone system could call anyone he wished — within the bunker. There was no working outside line. That realization brought on a torrent of curses which might have alerted the staff if the place hadn’t been soundproofed. He rang for a Secret Service agent.
“Ross here, sir,” came the reply.
“Ross, I need you to get hold of whoever you have to and get me a line to somewhere outside these walls. I don’t care where it is. I would prefer the Pentagon, but I’ll take anything right now,” he sputtered in anger.
“I’ll do what I can, sir,” came the reply.
For a moment, the President stared at the other three telephones in his office. He was very tempted to pick one up and ask what the hell was going on, but knew he shouldn’t. So for all practical purposes, he was alone — something a President never needed to be in a crisis.
The President sat staring at his desk in a slow simmer until he heard a tapping at his door. “Come in!” he shouted, much louder than he had meant to.
Captain Jim Butler stuck his head around the door. Captain Butler was a 25-year naval officer assigned to the White House during the closing days of the previous administration. President O’Bannon kept him on because he liked his no-nonsense style, frankness and professionalism. Butler wasn’t like the other advisor “weenies” that prowled the White House corridors more into politics than getting their jobs done. On a number of occasions he had been called into the Oval Office to give his advice. In every case, the advice Butler gave was 100 percent on the mark. President O’Bannon was never happier to see anyone in his life.
“Jim! Get your ass in here,” the President said with some visible relief on his face. “I hope to God you have some information on all this.”
Butler smiled at his boss. They had hit it off almost immediately and even shared an interest in fishing and basketball. Butler couldn’t have cared less for the political job, but he liked the guy and would do anything to help out. Butler also didn’t care about promotion or sucking up to the admirals in the Pentagon. So he just did his job and let the chips fall. At least this President was a good one.
Butler stepped into the office and walked up to the desk. “Mister President, I think we’re in a shooting war. Too bad we don’t know who’s shooting at us,” he said.
The President looked puzzled. “You mean we have no clue?” When the realization struck him he threw down the pencil and sat back in his seat, disgusted.
Captain Butler shook his head. “Not a one, sir. I had just come on watch when it started. Just before I put out the alert we saw multiple launches from about 50 miles off both coasts. Looked just like submarine launched ballistic missiles, but there’s only one thing wrong. Nobody has that many, sir.”
“What do you mean they don’t have that many?”
“Just that. The Russians have only two missile subs at sea, the Brits have about four, the French, one. On the other side of the world, the Chinese have three of those kinds of boats, but they’re in port. No one else has any worth mentioning,” he briefed. “There’s nothing on the threat board right now, yet we counted over thirty missiles coming in from each of five launch points. That’s more missiles than a Trident carries, so that leaves us with a big goose egg for information,” he said a little disgusted and frustrated himself. “I guess whoever it was could have multiple boats launching from the same point, but like I said nobody’s got that many underway,” he said almost with a sigh. “I wish I could tell you more boss, but they dragged me down here right after you. I’ve been trying to get hold of anyone I could but … nothing. My fear is the bombs have dropped and no one is up there to answer, sir. Even the direct lines to the Pentagon and NORAD are dead.”
The President shook his head as if to wake up from a bad dream. “Shit,” he said in disgust. “So now we sit it out a few weeks before trying to pick things up. By then, our country will be practically dead.”
Butler nodded. “Whoever thought of this did a good job. We didn’t have any time to react,” he said, “and we don’t know who to react to.”
The President could tell Butler was pissed off. He could tell it in his voice and the way Butler’s eyes seemed to flash when he spoke. The man didn’t know — and he told him he didn’t know. Not knowing made it worse. The President motioned to a chair.
“Sit down, Jim. It’s just us for now and I know we’ll work something out in all this.”
Butler appeared to sag a little. The black and gold shoulder boards inched downward slightly and he eased himself into the wooden chair in front of the President’s desk.
“What do you think happened to our phones and the other comms?” the President asked.
Butler grunted, “You can blame your esteemed predecessor. You remember all the changes he ordered early in his term?”
“Sure.”
“Well, he said the military should not have anything better than what the general population had in its operations. He said it would save lots of money. When Bob Nichols over at Systems Command tried to remind the President about the problems in a nuclear confrontation, he got laughed out of his office. Bob told me the President said nuclear war was a thing of the past,” Butler almost spat. “Now we’ve got one and the EMP knocked out everything electronic including our off-the-shelf phone system.”
“I thought the lines between here and the Pentagon were dedicated lines buried deep,” the President said.
“Oh the lines are deep, but they bought a civilian phone system. They replaced the equipment at NORAD at about the same time. Hell, even I said something when it was installed on this end. But who listens to a captain when a truck load of admirals is giving orders.”
The President looked at his desk and the old equipment there. “Well, don’t feel bad, look what I’m stuck with.”
Butler chuckled. “At least that will work. The electromagnetic pulse doesn’t bother that old stuff in the least. It only goes after the high tech gizmos,” he said.
The President sighed. “So what do we do?”
Butler looked up at the President and straightened up a little. “About the only thing we can do for now is to sit tight and wait till the initial effects are over. I got guys trying to reestablish comms now. In a couple of hours, we might try and go topside and see how bad it really is. A lot depends on the radiation levels and how much is still standing. Our forces have probably already put themselves on high alert. I know what the plans are in a case like this. Everyone protects our shorelines and our interests until the command structure comes back online. Local commanders are in charge for now. As far as the rockets go, they are grounded until someone with authority puts out the word. Since we don’t know who did it, they are probably sitting safe and snug in their shelters deep underground,” he said almost from memory. “So Boss, it looks like it’s just you and me until we get more word.”