The sound of the telephone ringing caused the President and Butler to nearly jump from their seats. The “hotline,” actually several direct telephone lines between the White House and other world leaders, had originally been set up for direct talks to forestall a nuclear war. In some cases a translator was included on the line to make sure there were no misinterpretations. In this case the telephone from the United Kingdom was ringing and no translator was needed. The president lifted the receiver.
“Good evening, Mister President. This is Prime Minister Nickolson calling,” said the voice through the headset.
“Mister Prime Minister, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice,” the President answered. The relief in his voice was obvious. A slight chuckle came from the other end.
“I dare say. We have monitored the wanton attack against your nation, and I have called to offer the complete support of the United Kingdom to assist you in any way we can,” he said earnestly. “I have been asked by His Majesty to relay his personal shock and support.”
“Thank you, Prime Minister. There is no doubt in my mind of your support and your kindness. Please pass along the appreciation of my nation to His Majesty.”
“I am happy to do so. I take it you are in a shelter of some kind?” the Prime Minister asked.
“Yes, Prime Minister, we are waiting out the effects of the blasts. Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing the extent of the damage to my nation since all my communications except for this one seem to have been disrupted for the present.”
“My ministers have informed me this might be the case. I have with me my Minister of Defense and First Sea Lord. If you like, I will conference us all together to give you as much information as we currently have.”
Captain Butler jumped from his seat and hurried to the door. “Get hold of some stenographers and my staff and get them here right now!” he anxiously whispered to the agent guarding the hallway. The agent nodded and picked up a telephone as the Captain returned to his seat.
“We are getting a few people here to take it all down. I have my naval attaché here at present. Captain Jim Butler has my complete confidence. I believe he met your Defense Minister and First Sea Lord last month at our summit.” The president motioned to the little box on his desk that made it a speakerphone. The box was pushed and the regular receiver returned to its cradle.
“Good evening Prime Minister, ministers,” Butler said a little anxiously. He had never really cared for politics or speaking to political animals, but at least two of these men he had met and they were military types like himself.
“Glad you are there, Captain Butler, good to have our navies well represented.” It was the voice of the First Sea Lord. They had instantly liked each other when they met at a reception just the month before. It resulted in an invitation to the First Sea Lord’s manor just outside London and a discovery that both enjoyed, among other things, an evening playing poker. When the bombs had gone off, Butler had been the first person he had thought of.
“Thanks, sir. I hope you can shed some light on all this.” Butler briefed on what he knew. By the time he finished, the small office was filled with people, paper in hand, taking down every word. Two stenographers were there to complete the process.
“I believe we can add a little more,” said the Defense Minister. “It seems that the weapons were set to explode between altitudes of 75 to 100 miles. Except for two of them, they were within that range. There were two ground explosions on the cities of Memphis, Tennessee, and Dallas, Texas. The other cities were….” He began listing all of the cities where an explosion occurred and the number of devices used if more than one had been targeted in one place. But Captain Butler reacted after the information about the altitude. He quickly stepped from the room and grabbed one of the Secret Service agents.
“Come on, slick, let’s get topside,” he said taking the man by the arm.
“But sir, what about the damage — or the radiation,” the man stammered. It was clear he didn’t have any problem taking a bullet for the President, but the idea of turning bright green from radiation exposure was something else.
Butler smiled at the man. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he winked. “But if it’s what I think, there won’t be either damage or radiation.” He stopped at a closet outside the elevator. Inside he grabbed a small instrument and flipped a switch. Luckily, the activation light came on. Then both men entered the elevator and pressed the button to ascend.
When the elevator approached the top both men held their breath. The door opened to the lower level of the White House. Several people were using it as a shelter. Everyone began talking at once. Butler motioned for them to keep quiet.
“Just wait here. I’ll be right back,” he told them, as he rushed to the stairs. Two flights later he entered the main reception area of the White House. A few more steps and he was standing under the portico looking out over Washington. There were no cars moving, and it seemed a peaceful night.
EMP. They used the EMP, he thought.
The agent appeared beside him. There was a bewildered look on his face. “But there was no explosion,” the agent slowly said.
One of the security guards ambled over. “You missed all the fireworks Captain,” he said with a grin. “Just a while ago the whole sky lit up. We even heard the rumble and felt a little heat.” Then the man got quite serious. “Captain, are we dead?”
Captain Butler turned on the Geiger counter and held it out. There was nothing except for the usual readings. He ran it over the guard’s clothes. Again there was no change. “Well Jack,” he said reading the name from the guard’s badge, “I don’t know what initial radiation you might have picked up, but from what I’m seeing, you’ll live to be 100,” he said, a slow smile widening on his face.
The guard extended his hand and Butler took it. “Makes me feel a lot better, Captain.” There was a look of relief on his face.
“Hang tight out here. We will probably be getting a lot of people coming to the White House tonight,” Butler said.
“I figured so after that,” the guard said pointing toward the sky. “I was on a carrier back in ’84 so I have a feelin’ you guys are up to your asses in alligators right now. Cabinet and Pentagon types?” he asked.
“That’s it. Be a little while since the phones are out, but just be ready.”
“I’ll pass the word.” The guard said turning with a wave and heading toward the guardhouse near the street.
Butler looked at the Secret Service agent. He was nervous and still confused. “In answer to your question, there has been a nuclear explosion, just not the kind we all thought.” He shook his head in disgust. It was perfect, he thought. They knocked us out without killing everyone. Brilliant. He looked at the agent again. “We need to find out what’s working. Get some people down in the underground garage and see what vehicles will start. Then get them up here to run messages to all the offices. I’m going back down,” he said to the agent as he went back into the White House.
Captain Tien Sohn was staring into the face of death. More precisely, into the barrel of a Russian made pistol aimed directly between his eyes. His political officer — an obnoxious, arrogant toad who made his life miserable — was holding the pistol. He recently replaced Sanh Fing, the political officer who had been aboard for the past ten years. Fing had become a good friend and loyal ally. The crew learned to respect the man and to listen to his political teachings, simply because he made the politics make sense. On several occasions Fing stepped in on behalf of the crew when something from the central government or local leaders caused problems. Fing had common sense and could explain why changes in political decisions were necessary. The crew missed the man.