You can play in the big leagues. Stay on the field.
She took a deep breath and appreciated the morning chill in the air. As she walked back to her office to get some rest before the seven a.m. meeting, she remembered she’d left Mamie and the kids asleep and alone.
“Dammit,” she muttered as she scrambled with her cell phone and called Ryan. She hoped he was home from his night shift at the hospital.
“Jesus, honey, it’s five in the morning,” he said. “Where the hell are you?”
“Work emergency,” Andrea said. “I’m downtown at the White House.”
“Who’s going to get the kids ready for school and onto the bus? Who’s going to feed your mother? I’ve been working all night and need to get some sleep.”
“Listen, honey, I don’t make it a habit to come in to work at two a.m. Believe me, I’d rather be home and getting them ready for school.”
“Really? Because lately you’ve been spending all your time in the office,” Ryan said. “Your mother is practically an invalid. I have to do everything for her—cook her meals, walk her around, even give her baths. I don’t have a moment for the kids. They’re eating fast food for every meal and zoning out on video games. Social Services is going to haul me in for neglect. I’ve damn near had enough. If you don’t start spending more time at home, this family is going to fall apart.”
Enough of this. Tell him the whole thing straight and shut him up.
“Listen, Ryan, I came down here because the Chinese have started a war in Taiwan, okay? A war. I’m not sure I could have found Taiwan on a map two days ago.” Andrea’s voice cracked. “All I wanted to do was run numbers and balance the budget. I’m completely in over my head. When I say I’d rather be home, believe me, I mean it.”
The phone went silent.
“Are you there?” Andrea asked.
“Yeah, I’m here,” said Ryan. “I had no idea that was happening.”
“Of course you didn’t. One of the things about working in the White House is that you find out about things before anyone else. When I say something’s a work emergency, it’s a work emergency.”
Tears began welling in her eyes. Where was that confidence she felt a few moments ago?
“Sometimes I think the president made a mistake appointing me to this position,” she said, surprised that she was voicing her doubt.
“I think the president makes lots of mistakes,” said Ryan, “but hiring you wasn’t one of them. I’m no politico, but even I know the Pentagon budget is full of waste. Don’t let them roll you, honey. You know what you are doing. You wouldn’t be there if you didn’t.”
“I guess we’ll see,” said Andrea. She took a deep breath. “But thank you for helping me get through this. I needed to talk to someone. Just make sure the kids get on the bus on time, okay?”
Ryan sighed. “Okay, fine, but we’re getting close to the red line here at home.”
“Ryan, I can only handle one crisis at a time. I’ll be home when I can.”
Exhausted, Andrea made it back to her office in the EEOB. She only had a couple of hours before the team reconvened in the Situation Room. She laid down on the couch to get as much sleep as she could.
The Capitol building was a shadowy hulk filling the window behind Mason’s desk. The west front glowed eerily in the moon’s illumination. The usual red-and-blue lights of Capitol Police squad cars patrolling the streets were absent.
Alone in his office in the small hours of the morning, Mason was sitting at his desk with this tableau behind him quietly reading the decrypted message on his personal laptop.
“The fire has begun burning in the lake,” it read.
He scoured the internet for news of events in Asia. The South China Morning Post had news of the events unfolding a world away. “The Liberation Has Begun” read the headline. The subhead read, “China Officially Reasserts Sovereignty Over South China Sea and Taiwan.” Below the headlines were pictures of Chinese Navy ships patrolling the South China Sea and Chinese troops storming the beaches of Taiwan.
Mason stared at the screen and rubbed his chin with his hand. As deeply as he had been involved with the Chinese, it still was a shock to read these words and see those pictures. After a few moments’ reflection, he quietly opened his desk drawer and took out a small notepad with the congressional seal and “Lewis Mason, Member of Congress” embossed at the top. He placed it on his desk.
Mason then reached toward the back of the drawer and pulled out a dull black handgun. He checked the magazine well to be sure it was empty, clicked the safety off, and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked and Mason smiled. It still worked. He slid the gun into the very back of the drawer and felt around until he found the gun’s magazine. He nodded and closed the drawer.
Leaning back in his leather chair, Mason glanced at the flags and photographs from his political career that festooned his office. He laughed as he looked at decades’ worth of awards on his desk and wall. “Congressman of the Year” from a defense contractor lobby. “American Patriot Award” from a hawkish foreign policy lobby. “Champion of Freedom” from a human rights organization. How he’d fooled them all!
He picked up a small Lucite globe from his desk. The inscription on its surface read “Son of Kansas, Friend to the World.” His favorite professor at the University of Kansas Law School had given it to him when he was first elected to Congress. Mason thought back wistfully to those early days. He’d come to enjoy the adulation, the awards, and the attention that came with being a member of Congress. The feeling that he was needed, wanted, important. And all the work he’d put in to get where he was! He hadn’t gotten the powerful chairmanship of the Appropriations Committee by waiting in line. He’d thrown some sharp elbows and pushed others aside to get there.
None of that mattered now. All of it was about to become a vestige of his past. He had come to Capitol Hill on a mission, and no amount of perks, power, and comfort was going to stop him from completing it.
Just then, he noticed the picture on the shelf of the House Debt Rebel Gang on the steps of the Capitol. There, in the back, stood Earl Murray. Tall and handsome, his perfectly coiffed silver mane standing out from the crowd. In the front stood Mason, stocky and rumpled, his bloated nose his most noticeable feature.
Goddammit, I created the Debt Rebel Gang. I was supposed to ride the Debt Rebel Gang to power, not Earl-fucking-Murray. I did all the work to make the Debt Rebel Gang a force in Congress and that son of a bitch backbencher glides into the presidency on his looks and his charm. I make the debt a path to power, Murray never does one goddamned thing to build the Debt Rebel Gang, and he’s the one who gets ahead? One more reason to destroy American democracy.
His jaw clenched as he strained to overcome the urge to throw the globe at the photo. Murray thinks he’s got power over me? That bastard doesn’t know the half of what’s about to hit him. He’s about to find out who’s running this show. In the new era, pretty-boy show ponies like Murray won’t stand a chance. When I’m through, the last thing he’ll see before I ship him off to the gulag is me moving into the White House.
Mason picked up his pen and scribbled the words “the guns are about to fire” on his notepad. Then, below it, he wrote: “CUT THEM OFF.” He grinned as he imagined the humiliation he had in store for Murray.
The clock was ticking now. It was now only a matter of time before America came to know the real Lewis Mason.
President Murray, Vice President Campbell, General Ogden, Admiral Wilkerson, their staffers, and Andrea reassembled in the Situation Room at seven a.m. Andrea had gone to the refrigerator in the rear of the Situation Room and pulled out two Diet Pepsis. She was exhausted and wanted to be prepared for another round of everyone ganging up on her again.
“What’s the status?” President Murray asked.
Admiral Wilkerson gave Murray a quick briefing. “The Reagan carrier group is in position and launching the blockade running flotilla momentarily.”
A st
affer in the rear of the room tuned the monitors to special video feeds from the flotilla’s escorts and overhead Air Force drones monitoring the flotilla. Live shots of the South China Sea and the Reagan carrier group greeted the assembled national security team.
The American blockade runners entered the South China Sea. The digital wall clock read 07:23 Washington time.
Within minutes a white trail appeared in the video from one of the airborne drones monitoring the artificial islands China had built in the South China Sea.
“What the hell is that?” Murray asked.
Admiral Wilkerson squinted into the television. Then he turned to the president. “It’s the contrail of an anti-ship missile,” he said. “Jesus H. Christ. The Chinese are shooting at the flotilla.”
“Goddamn, Trey, what can those things do?”
“Mr. President, China’s anti-ship missiles are big enough to take out a carrier.”
Andrea couldn’t believe how calmly Admiral Wilkerson announced what seemed like a deadly attack.
“Are you serious?” the president roared. “Are the Chinese trying to start World War III? Get those ships out of there!”
“Those missiles will be at the flotilla in two minutes,” said Admiral Wilkerson. “The flotilla won’t have time to maneuver out of the line of fire. We were banking on the Chinese not firing.”
“What do we do?” Murray barked.
“There’s nothing we can do.” Admiral Wilkerson shook his head in disbelief.
“There are missiles flying toward our ships and we can’t do a damn thing to warn them?” Murray asked.
“They’re seeing what we’re seeing,” responded Admiral Wilkerson. “They know what’s happening and how to respond. Their Aegis anti-missile systems should kick into action.”
“What will that do?” Andrea blurted, terrified she was watching a war begin.
Admiral Wilkerson looked at her condescendingly, clearly annoyed by her ignorance. “The Aegis can take a shot at the missiles. Or throw up some chaff and force them off course.”
“Will that work?” she asked.
“Maybe,” said Admiral Wilkerson, frowning.
Images from another Air Force drone, this one monitoring the coast of mainland China, captured flashes of light.
“Anti-ship missile batteries on mainland China firing,” Admiral Wilkerson declared.
“What do we do? What do we do?” Andrea exclaimed in a panic.
Admiral Wilkerson was blunt. “Hope and pray that the Aegis works.”
“Jesus Christ,” said President Murray, running his hands through his hair.
Footage from the Air Force drones showed a smoke contrail getting closer and closer to the Reagan.
“No!” Andrea gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
The smoke contrail met the Reagan, and an enormous fireball erupted from her side. Fuel tanks and fueled aircraft began exploding, creating multiple secondary fireballs.
“Good lord,” said Admiral Wilkerson, stunned.
The president watched stone-faced, muttering “Jesus” to himself.
The Reagan began listing badly. Aircraft spilled off the flight deck into the sea. The overhead drones caught sailors leaping into the water, some with life vests, some without. Sailors desperately fought the flames on the carrier’s deck.
“She’s gone,” Admiral Wilkerson said. “She can’t survive that.”
“Those goddamned sons of bitches,” President Murray fumed.
The drones then captured missiles striking three of the escort destroyers. One split in half immediately. Another sank within two minutes of the strike. The third was ablaze.
“We are at war, Mr. President,” General Ogden said.
In the blazing and sinking American vessels, Andrea saw her carefully crafted emergency budget going up in smoke as well. She was terrified President Murray was about to jump into a shooting war he couldn’t finish.
“Mr. President, we can’t fight a sustained war without being able to borrow money,” she offered.
The generals ignored Andrea and pushed ahead.
“We need to take out those Chinese missile batteries now.” Admiral Wilkerson was so angry he seemed capable of destroying them himself. “A barrage of cruise missiles should do the trick. The ships we have approaching Taiwan are loaded with Tomahawks.”
Andrea froze. Balancing a budget was one thing, but this was war. Not only war, but a clash with the world’s only other superpower. How could she possibly tell the president and the military not to fight? How could she tell Americans they could not avenge China’s brutality? Americans would see the same images of sailors leaping overboard and flaming ships sinking. Who was she to tell Americans they couldn’t fight back? She wanted to fight back just as badly. A real political pro might know what to do, but she had no idea. The feeling she had in the Situation Room, of being out of her depth among titans of state, overtook her. What on God’s green earth am I doing here?
Still, she had to say something. If she didn’t, the country would run out of money to fight anyway. And then she’d have no choice but to say something.
“Just remember, each one of those cruise missiles costs one million dollars,” she told the group, almost apologetically. “Once you fire them, we can’t buy more.”
“Goddammit, are you watching this? American sailors just got blown into the goddamned sea. You find the goddamned money for this war, you hear me?” Admiral Wilkerson yelled. Her budgetary bleating had pushed him to the edge.
Too tense to think of a reply, Andrea could only repeat herself. “Mr. President, if you want more money, we need to make more cuts.”
Admiral Wilkerson pointed at Andrea, his finger shaking in fury. “We have American sailors trapped in Taiwan on those two ships tied up in Taipei Harbor. If we can’t get them out because you can’t fucking pay for it, that’s on you, and we’ll be sure to make sure everyone knows it’s on you.”
“Oh, cut the ‘blame the accountant’ crap,” Andrea snapped. Your procurement system is so screwed up you spend billions buying the wrong stuff just to keep jobs in some congressman’s district. Your next-generation warships have cost tens of billions dollars so far, and one of them doesn’t even have working guns. And don’t get me started on your next-generation fighter jet.”
Admiral Wilkerson’s face hardened into a scowl.
Andrea continued undeterred. “Yeah, that’s right, Little Miss Washington Rookie Accountant knows all about that. If you hadn’t pissed all that money away on your hopelessly expensive warships and jets, maybe I could pay for a real war now instead of keeping your contractors fat, happy, and voting in some damned key district!”
“Enough of this!” President Murray regained control of the meeting. “Andrea, you said we have enough funds to fight four weeks of war? Fine. That’s what we do. Then we see where we stand. If we decide to keep going and need to make cuts, we make the cuts.”
In four weeks, the American treasury would truly be empty. Andrea imagined herself standing in front of an empty bank vault explaining to the country how it had no money to fight the war. And what if things went badly? What if the country ran out of money in less than four weeks? Her natural pessimism was in overdrive.
General Ogden remained ready to go to war. “What now, Mr. President? We need orders.”
President Murray left no doubt he had made up his mind. “Four weeks of war. Provide me plans. We fight the Chinese for as long as we can.”
“Yes sir,” General Ogden and Admiral Wilkerson said in unison. They got up and made their way to the exit.
Something was still on Andrea’s mind.
“Before you go—”
President Murray turned to Andrea. “What is it?”
Admiral Wilkerson and General Ogden stopped just short of the door and turned to Andrea. Both appeared ready to strangle Andrea and get on with drafting their war plans.
“Isn’t anyone wondering what a coincidence it is that China started
a war just as we were implementing our emergency budget?”
President Murray threw up his hands in exasperation. “All I know for sure is this: China is blockading Taiwan, holding American ships hostage, and shooting at our ships in the South China Sea. Right now, I don’t care if Martians are responsible for the debt crisis. We need money to fight the Chinese. And I need you to find it.” He pointed at her.
“We’re going to have to go back to Congress, which means we’re going to have to ask Congressman Mason for the money,” said Andrea. “After that hearing a few weeks ago, I doubt he’ll give me the time of day.”
“I’ve got no use for Mason, but we’re stuck,” the president said. “I’m not about to bring a war to a halt in four weeks because we ran out of money. Go meet with him. Bring Brooks Powell with you. Let Mason know this is serious, not political bullshit he can screw around with. This is life or death. If he won’t appropriate money, he can explain to the American public why we can’t fight back after the Chinese started sinking American ships.”
Asking Mason for money seemed a dubious proposition, but after watching the Reagan go down, she was sure General Ogden and Admiral Wilkerson would spend America’s last nickel to defeat the Chinese. And President Murray, for now, agreed with them. So back to Mason it would be.
Andrea had lost most of her staff under the emergency budget, which meant Rachel was now doing the jobs of three staffers, including getting the morning papers ready along with the daily pile of mail. Every morning she made sure copies of the Washington Post, the New York Times, and the Wall Street Journal were on Andrea’s desk when she arrived for work. Although Andrea got most of her news online, she still liked to see the morning papers in the flesh.
But this morning Rachel was nervously waiting for her in the small waiting area outside their offices. Today was already going to be bad enough having to meet with Mason.
“Morning, Rachel. How bad is it?”
“You’d better take a look at the headlines.” Rachel pointed to the stack of newspapers on Andrea’s desk. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
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