A great many of the people who received these messages or read the Facebook posts didn’t stop to ask themselves or anyone else if any of this might be true. They hustled the kids into the car when they got home from school — some went to schools to get their kids and told the school authorities why — threw in whatever duffel their car would hold, and headed for the roads out. Within an hour the roads were clogged. Traffic accidents began to slow the exodus.
The news reached the local television and radio stations at about the same time, which was lightning fast. Some producers just put the rumors on the air. Others called the public affairs office at the naval base to get their reaction. They were going to do a story about the rumors anyway, but would be delighted to give someone in uniform fifteen seconds to deny everything.
The public affairs officer, or PAO, at Naval Base Norfolk was Lieutenant Commander Heidi Fritzsche, and she was winding up the day’s business when the first call came in. She listened, incredulous, and asked the television station dude to hold the line.
She rushed down the hallway to the CO’s office and asked the civilian receptionist if Captain Spiers was still there. Informed he was, she rapped on his doorframe once, opened the door and rushed into his office.
“Captain, you aren’t going to believe this, but WNOF just called. They say the news is all over the Internet that the Chinese are going to bomb the base. Their phones are ringing off the hooks. They want a comment from us.”
Captain Spiers’ face went dead white. He had to swallow twice to get enough composure to say, “If they are, they haven’t told us about it.”
“The Internet!” Heidi Fritzsche declared bitterly, and trotted back toward her office and the waiting telephone.
Butler Spiers buried his face in his hands.
Two minutes later, when he felt a bit more composed, he checked his Rolodex, picked up his telephone and called Washington.
Back in her office, Heidi Fritzsche’s phones were ringing constantly. As quickly as her yeomen could field a call on one line, explain about the security exercise and hang up, the phone rang again. Heidi took a call from a man who said he was the manager of a large hotel — he named it — in Virginia Beach. “We’re hosting a convention of Vietnam vets. They’re lined up at the desk ten deep trying to check out. What the hell is going on out there at the base?”
“A routine security exercise.”
“Not according to the Internet.”
“We don’t run the Internet. We’re just trying to run our little corner of the navy.” She hung up and fielded the next call, which was from the PAO at Naval Air Station Oceana.
“Heidi, the phones are ringing off the hook over here. Some of my staff have received e-mails saying that the naval base is preparing for a nuclear attack from the Chinese.”
“For God’s sake!”
“They say it’s Pearl Harbor all over again.”
Involuntarily Heidi looked out her window. Sunlight and shadow were marching across the lawn. The flag flapped vigorously on its pole. Beyond the roof of the next building, she could see superstructures and masts festooned with radars and antennae of ships at the carrier piers. A helicopter went by overhead. Cars and trucks on the streets.
“No one is bombing anything here,” she shouted into the phone. “We’re having a routine security exercise that’s been planned for two months and announced to the public. Read your damn messages! And get a goddamn grip!” She slammed the phone down.
Anastasia Roberts broke the news to Jake Grafton. “We’ve received a call from the Pentagon. They’re fielding inquiries from various networks and newspapers. It seems the Internet is full of messages saying that the Chinese are about to attack the Norfolk naval base. ICBMs are in the air, there are bombs hidden on the base, it’s Pearl Harbor all over again. The stuff has gone viral on Facebook and Twitter and presumably every other Internet site on the planet.”
Jake Grafton just stared at her. So she went on. “The public in the area around the base has panicked. Massive traffic jams of people trying to get the hell out. Cell phone towers are overloaded. People are driving the wrong way on the interstate lanes. Lots of accidents. Some of the hospitals and nursing homes are demanding help to evacuate their patients.”
He made a face.
“The Pentagon has told everyone that the base is having a routine security exercise that’s been planned for months. Maybe some people believe that, but a lot of people don’t.”
I wonder if the watcher will? he thought.
“And Sal Molina is on line one.” Anastasia Roberts wheeled and left the office.
Jake picked up his phone and pushed the button for line one. “Yes, Sal.”
“Have you heard the latest from Norfolk?”
“Yes.”
“The president told the press officer to try to calm the media. He told me to call you and ask, ‘What the fuck, over?’”
Anastasia stuck her head back through the door. She mouthed, “CNO on line two.”
“I have another call, Sal. I’ll get right back to you.”
“Okay.”
Cart McKiernan said, “Norfolk is in meltdown. The news got out, somehow. Maybe not — but rumors are flying thick and fast. They’re on the Internet, and now television and radio. I’m going down there on a chopper from the Pentagon in about an hour. You want to go?”
“Yes. I’ll bring Sal Molina.”
So he called Molina back, cut him short and said, “Admiral McKiernan and I are going to Norfolk. You want to go?”
Molina didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“See you at the Pentagon helipad in an hour. Bring a toothbrush.”
Jake called Harley Merritt and gave him a quick brief, told his secretary to alert his driver and security team, then went into his office bathroom and threw some things into his overnight bag. When he was in the limo on the way to the Pentagon, he called his wife and told her he wouldn’t be home tonight.
“I’ve been watching television, Jake. Are you going to Norfolk?”
“Yes.”
“Dear God Almighty,” Callie said.
Although she was certainly no Internet junkie and didn’t own a cell phone, Sally Chan heard about the panic in midafternoon from the television set above the bar in her father’s restaurant. The place was unusually empty. She had the place settings on all the tables; her father was cooking in the kitchen; her mother was behind the bar inventorying the liquor, wine and beer. Mrs. Chan had turned on the television for the company.
Sally happened to glance at it, saw the news ribbon scrolling across the bottom and paused to read it. An afternoon soap opera was playing. “U.S. Navy spokesmen at Naval Base Norfolk and in the Pentagon have denied that the security exercise at the base is in any way related to the Internet rumor that a Chinese nuclear weapon is hidden on the naval base.” There was more …
Within sixty seconds the network interrupted the program to air a live interview with the White House press secretary. Sally stepped behind the bar and turned up the volume. He was loose, smiling, as if all this were a big joke. “Debunking Internet rumors will be a new career for me—”
Sally changed channels, got a local station, which was airing footage shot from a helicopter of massive traffic jams on the interstates leading to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel and the tunnel under Hampton Roads. She and her mother stood mesmerized watching the camera pan from a height of perhaps five hundred feet.