It took several hours to get the NSC assembled in the Situation Room, a windowless bunker deep under the White House. Because of prior travel arrangements, the only people in on the meeting were the vice president, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the secretary of defense, the secretary of state, and, by special invitation, the head of the NSA and of the CIA.
“Lady and Gentlemen,” the president started, “we have a crisis on our hands the likes of which this nation has never faced before.”
He passed out copies of the letter but continued speaking. “A little over two hours ago that fax was sent to Eunice Wosniak, my personal secretary. The authentication code on it is genuine. We will have to wait and see if the threat is genuine as well. As for the demands, they are something we might be forced to discuss.”
“Hold on a minute,” the commanding general of the NSA said. “This isn’t possible.”
“I know,” the president responded. “And yet here we are. The code comes from a random-number generator, and all personnel who handle the biscuit have gone through a Yankee White background check, right?”
“Yes, sir. It is totally secure. And no one other than you ever actually sees the numbers. I’ll check on the status of the courier. Was the seal on the biscuit broken?”
“Intact.”
“This is impossible,” the general repeated.
The vice president spoke up. “This psycho says he is going to shut down the power to Troy, New York, for one minute at noon. Shouldn’t we warn someone? And why Troy, of all places?”
“Because it’s close enough to New York City to get our attention but small enough that when he diverts that much electricity, it won’t overload the grid and cause a cascade shutdown like the blackout of ’03.” This came from Les Jackson, who had been a lobbyist for a utility umbrella organization. “And if we warn them, they’re going to want to know how we knew. If this is legit, do you want the administration facing questions like that?”
“Oh. Right.” The vice president had been brought on to balance the ticket and not for his keen intellect.
“This isn’t just some computer hacker,” said Fiona Katamora, the secretary of state. She’d been the national security adviser in the previous administration and had been tapped for this more public office because she was quite simply one of the most accomplished people on the planet. “The demands read like Osama bin Laden’s Christmas wish list.”
She read from the fax: “The United States will immediately announce a halt of all military and nonmilitary aid to the State of Israel and will henceforth provide the same amount of money to the Palestinian Authority and to the Hamas leaders on the Gaza Strip. All prisoners currently held at Guantánamo Bay will be released immediately. All U.S. and NATO troops must leave Iraq by the end of this June and be out of Afghanistan by the end of the year. All military aid to Pakistan will be immediately halted. American military bases in Kuwait and Qatar are to be dismantled by the end of the year. The president will formally condemn the building of Jewish settlements on the West Bank and will further condemn the banning of headscarves for Muslim women in France and any other European country which enacts such a ban. All Muslim groups currently listed internationally as terror groups will have that designation lifted. There will be no further sanctions against the nation of Iran, and all such sanctions currently in place will be lifted by the end of the year.
“What he’s telling us,” she said, “is that we are to cede the war on terror. I find it very telling that he mentions Iran.”
“Why’s that?”
“Sunni and Shi’a Muslims do not get along, and the one thing most Arab states agree on is that a bottled-up Iran, with its Shi’a brand of Islam, is in their best interest. But this guy wants our hands off everyone, as if to say whatever differences exist between the two groups is an internal thing and they will handle it themselves.”
“Obviously we can’t do any of these things,” the vice president said ponderously.
“What gets me too,” Fiona Katamora continued as though he hadn’t spoken, “are the time lines that are spelled out. This isn’t the rant of some deranged jihadi sitting in a Waziri cave. This has been carefully thought out. Each deadline is doable from a practical perspective and, while politically unpalatable, isn’t unfeasible.”
“We can’t stop giving aid to Israel,” the CIA director said.
“We can,” Fiona retorted evenly, not raising her voice the way her counterpart had. “We choose to continue funding them because it is in our best interest. If that were no longer the case, we can turn off the money taps anytime we want.”
“But . . .”
“Listen, if this is legitimate, the game’s changed completely. We are no longer in control. Some group out there appears to have unlimited access to our most guarded secrets. At the push of a button they can shut down power grids. Think about that. Think about a nationwide power outage that goes on for weeks or months. Or an air traffic control system that we no longer rely on. Every plane in the country grounded indefinitely. Could this person override the safeties at the nation’s nuclear power plants and cause them all to melt down? I think there are physical safeties in place for that ... But you get the idea.”
“Any suggestions on what do we do?” the president asked in a voice much quieter than he intended.
“We find the person responsible and crucify them,” the veep thundered.
“Where did the fax originate?” the man from the NSA asked.
“Gentlemen,” Fiona said sharply, “do you honestly think whoever masterminded the theft of the presidential authentication codes is going to be caught using traditional police techniques? This guy didn’t walk into a Kinko’s on Mass Ave. to send his message. That signal bounced around the planet for a couple of hours before it reached Eunice’s office. We’ll never trace it. We need to look at this from the other end. Who benefits from this?”
“Al-Qaeda tops the list,” the beribboned admiral from the Joint Chiefs replied.
“Does this feel like something they’d do?” Fiona shot back. “If they had this kind of power, they’d launch an all-out cyberattack that would drive us back into the Stone Age. There would be no demands or warning. No, it’s someone else. Someone new.”
“Any ideas?” asked the CIA director.
“I’m afraid that’s up to you.”
“My first instinct was al-Qaeda too, but you make a compelling argument against them. I’ll talk to my people to see if there is anyone else out there with the wherewithal to pull off something like this.”
“Let’s say they do kill the power in Troy, New York,” Les Jackson said. “What’s our response? What do we do? It’d be political suicide to cut off aid to Israel or even to announce such an intention. Same goes for just releasing the prisoners from Gitmo.”
Fiona Katamora raked her fingers through her raven hair in a sign of frustration. “This isn’t about politics, Les. We’ve been handed a demonstration that tells us we are at this person’s mercy. He has cracked the most secure code in the world and flaunted it in our faces. We either give in to the demands or face the consequences as a nation, not as a political party or as a presidential administration. Do we cave or do we all go down together?” She turned to face the commander in chief. “That’s the question, Mr. President.”
An aide knocked at the door and entered when the president called, “Come.”
“Sir, just to give you an update. The return number printed on the fax is bogus. No such number is listed anywhere in the world. And the White House switchboard has no record of the call ever coming in.”