The Peacemaker's Code

by Deepak Malhotra

  The three of them walked out of Nielsen’s office, and Joana went to fetch the two Triad agents. Silla and Lane arrived just moments later, but they hung back while Kilmer, Nielsen, and Whitman finished chatting. Lane had never seen President Whitman in person, but his excitement faded a bit when he realized he couldn’t even tell his wife about it. Silla had met Whitman for the first time only three days earlier, when she accompanied Art Capella and Director Druckman to brief the president on Triad’s work, so this scene was only slightly less surreal for her than it was for Lane.

  Whitman noticed the two agents and walked over to them.

  “Agent… Silla. Is that right?” Whitman asked.

  “Yes, Madam President. We met at the Triad briefing.” Silla tried to shake off her amazement at the president knowing her name.

  “Of course. Your presentation was excellent. Please give Art my regards.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And who is this?”

  “I’m sorry. This is my colleague, Mark Lane—also with Triad.”

  “Nice to meet you, Agent Lane. Thank you for your work.”

  Lane almost froze, but then eked out a “Delighted to meet you, Madam President.” He also managed to avoid adding “I’m a big fan,” which he would have regretted later with absolute certainty.

  “Were the two of you assigned to accompany our guest today?” Whitman asked Silla.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Whitman turned to Nielsen’s chief of staff. “Joana, where is Professor Kilmer staying?”

  “Just down the street, Madam President. At the Willard InterContinental.”

  “Change of plans. He’s no longer Zack’s guest—he’s a guest of mine. Please arrange for the professor to stay at the White House tonight. I think a historian would much prefer staying in the Lincoln Bedroom than in the Willard.” She looked over at Kilmer and smiled. “Perhaps we can send a few extra cups for your morning coffee.”

  Kilmer and Nielsen both laughed, and Nielsen gave Kilmer a friendly pat on the back. Everyone else smiled, not quite understanding the joke.

  “Thank you for the invitation,” Kilmer replied. “I’d be delighted, of course. But if it’s an inconvenience for anyone, I’m more than happy staying at the Willard.”

  “It’s no problem at all, Professor. I’m really glad you’re here,” Whitman said, shaking his hand.

  Lane looked at Silla and gave her a goofy smile. He could still end up saving the planet…

  Silla just turned away. Shut up, Mark.

  ~ 28 ~

  President Whitman and VP Nielsen sat in the Oval Office.

  “We’ll move ahead with the 8 a.m. meeting as planned,” Whitman said. “What the professor had to say is important, but we still need a decision on the show-of-force proposal. I’ve asked Strauss and Allen to have two operational plans ready for me to evaluate by noon. I want to minimize delays in case I decide to move forward with the proposal.”

  “Understood.”

  “We’ll meet at 9:30 to evaluate where things stand. I want to keep it small. You, me, Salvo, General Allen, and Secretary Strauss. Let’s also invite Professor Kilmer. I want to hear what he has to say about the discussion. And to be perfectly frank, I want to mix things up around here. I have a feeling he can help with that.”

  “So… asking him to stay a while longer is not just about helping us make the right call.”

  “It’s never just about making the right call, Zack. You need more than the right answers to navigate a crisis like this. We might have the best people, but we also need to orchestrate the right dynamic. And I see Professor Kilmer playing a role in helping me do that.”

  “How so?”

  Whitman smiled. “Well, let’s see. He’s an outsider. An ‘East Coast elite.’ He lives in an ivory tower. He has no military background whatsoever. And he hasn’t done anything to deserve a seat at the table. It’s not exactly the kind of profile that commands a lot of respect around here, especially when we’re on the brink of war. It should be more than enough to mix things up.”

  Nielsen looked puzzled. “I understand the case for diversity of thought, but I don’t see how it improves the team dynamic if the rest of the group doesn’t even respect him. Maybe he’d be better off advising you separately.”

  “No. I want him in the room. It’s okay if they don’t respect him for those reasons. There’s always more to people than the things we can rattle off about them. I caught a glimpse of that tonight—and it’s what I’m counting on. If I’m wrong about that, we’ll find out soon enough. But I want him in this room for the 9:30.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I have a Triad briefing at nine, but I’ll keep it short. And I’ll make sure the professor is here on time.”

  “What’s the Triad meeting about?”

  “I don’t know—it was added late. I’ll let you know if I hear anything that warrants your attention.”

  They chatted for a few more minutes, and by the time Nielsen left the room, it was 2:30 a.m. Whitman walked to the windows overlooking the Resolute desk and gazed into the night.

  We will have to make history.

  Kilmer’s words drifted through her mind, as if looking for a place to settle. They landed on a memory—from the morning of her inauguration. Her husband, Jack, was there. He would pass away only three months later, but on that day, he looked as alive and handsome as she had ever known him. He wore a charcoal-gray suit that she had insisted on, and a navy-blue tie. His face registered only love, pride, and admiration—and none of the physical pain that she knew he was enduring every minute of every day. He held her hand and looked into her eyes. “People keep saying that you’ve just made history, Marianne. I keep having to tell them you didn’t come here to make history. You came here to make the future. I couldn’t be prouder of what you’ve accomplished already, sweetheart, but just remember—this is just the beginning. There are so many more tomorrows.”

  Whitman’s eyes welled up thinking of Jack, and she leaned her head back to make sure a tear didn’t materialize. He hadn’t received his fair share of tomorrows. In one of their last conversations, he made her promise that she would never look back at their time together in sadness—only to find strength and happiness. And so, standing in the Oval Office now, Whitman reminded herself that the person who had known her best would have wanted her to be the one leading the country at this pivotal moment in history.

  And Jack would have been the first to agree that she had to think about the dawning of a new era, not just the dawning of a new day. She couldn’t allow herself to be overwhelmed by the crisis at hand, no matter how existential it appeared to be. Humanity had to prepare for what came after.

  ~ 29 ~

  Whitman’s offer to Kilmer posed a problem for Silla and Lane. The agents weren’t supposed to leave Kilmer alone, so they had booked rooms for themselves at the Willard as well. But now, Kilmer was headed to the Lincoln Bedroom, and the agents could neither leave the White House nor ask for additional rooms. Joana seemed unaware of their dilemma. She told Kilmer that the Triad agents would coordinate with him for his morning pickup, and that she would show him to his bedroom when he was ready.

  Kilmer could tell that something was amiss by the way Lane and Silla were whispering. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, Professor,” answered Silla. “We’re just working out a few details. Sorry for the delay.”

  “No problem. Please take your time.”

  The agents decided that one of them would have to stay at the White House. Asking for a bedroom wasn’t appropriate but requesting a place to work seemed reasonable. Silla insisted that Lane go home to his wife. She would stay with Kilmer until seven, at which point Agent Liu would take her place. Silla would head home after attending her nine o’clock meeting with Art and the vice president.

  Silla walked over to Kilmer and Joana. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Joana, would it be possible for you to find me a place where I can get some work done for the nex
t few hours? Agent Lane is leaving, but I’d like to stick around, just in case something comes up that needs my attention. Any place that you can spare will be fine.”

  Joana assured Silla it would be no problem, and then she ducked into her office to make some arrangements. She returned a minute later with a smile that indicated good news. “If you’ll accompany us upstairs, Agent Silla, I’ll get you settled as well.”

  Joana, Kilmer, and Silla walked through a series of hallways, leaving the West Wing and entering the Executive Residence. Kilmer decided to use the time to get some more information.

  “Agent Silla, do you mind if I ask you something about the situation?”

  “Of course, Professor. And I’m sorry I couldn’t answer your questions earlier. I hope you understand why.”

  “Completely. And you were right—it’s worse than I had imagined.”

  “I don’t think anyone could have imagined this. So, what would you like to know?”

  “For one thing, I’m wondering if there’s any reason to assume that there are aliens on board the spacecraft.”

  “No,” Silla answered without hesitation. “It could be an autonomous spacecraft, like we might have sent.”

  Kilmer nodded, recognizing the point that he had also made just a short while ago.

  “But I’d offer two caveats,” Silla added. “First, we shouldn’t assume this is a challenging mission for them. Just because it seems magical to us doesn’t mean the aliens are pushing the frontiers of their capabilities. They might think of it like we think of driving between cities. We should avoid over-indexing on our own experience and abilities.”

  “Good point. And the second caveat?”

  “That my assessment could change based on what they do next. For example, if they were to land at Station Zero, I would consider it more likely that there is someone on the spacecraft.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because hovering above a planet is easy, safe, and a good way to obtain all sorts of information. Why land? And why land where humans have specifically asked you to land? It seems more consistent with an interest in engaging with your surroundings—with getting your hands dirty, so to speak. It would still be possible that they just want to collect soil samples, or test their landing gear, but the probability that someone is inside certainly goes up.”

  “So, if they land, you think that little green men might actually come out of the spaceship.”

  “It becomes more likely, anyway. As for how they’ll decide to play it, I don’t know. Even if there are aliens on board, we can’t be sure if they’ll come marching out, flying out, or decide to stay inside. But I’d be willing to bet you a fancy dinner they won’t be green.”

  Kilmer’s mind raced to find some basis on which such a conclusion could be drawn, but he came up with nothing that would hint at their pigmentation. “Why would you bet they’re not green?”

  “Because, Professor, there are many more colors that are not green. I’m just playing the odds.”

  Kilmer laughed. “No bet, Agent Silla. But point taken.”

  Kilmer had saved himself a few dollars but immediately regretted not taking the bet. Having dinner with Agent Silla sounded like a great idea no matter who paid for it.

  He was about to ask another question when they reached their destination: the second floor of the Executive Residence. On the west end of a long hallway was the president’s bedroom; on the opposite end was the Lincoln Bedroom, where Kilmer would be staying. As they walked eastward, they came to the room that Joana had requisitioned for Silla. It was spacious and elegantly decorated, with portraits on every wall, a large mirror over the fireplace, and a long baroque table sitting atop an ornate Persian rug. The papers scattered on the table, and the single chair beside it, suggested that the table was used as a desk. Across from the table-desk was a more comfortable sitting area. The full spectrum of what the room might have witnessed over the years was captured by two pieces of technology that sat facing one another: an old grandfather clock stood against one wall; a large flatscreen TV was mounted opposite it.

  “This is the Treaty Room,” explained Joana. “For two centuries, American presidents have used it as an office. The desk you see there is called the Treaty Table—it’s where the treaty to end the Spanish-American War was signed. President Whitman uses it almost daily. Agent Silla, would you be comfortable here for a few hours?”

  Kilmer turned toward Silla just in time to catch the look of wonder on her face. It quickly turned to propriety. “Joana,” said the agent, “I couldn’t possibly impose on the president’s personal space. You can just put me on a chair in a hallway somewhere.”

  “It’s no imposition. I called the president’s personal secretary before we came up here. She said the president will not be using the room until noon at the earliest. She also assured me there are no classified documents in here. She did ask, however, that you use the sitting area instead of the president’s desk, so as not to disturb the papers. I hope one of the couches or armchairs will be comfortable enough.”

  “Of course. And if you’re sure it’s no trouble, I’d be happy to use this room.”

  Silla glanced at Kilmer, only for him to realize he’d been staring at her for the last thirty seconds. He quickly turned away, though not as smoothly as he would have liked.

  “Professor Kilmer,” Silla said, allowing him to look back in her direction. “I’ll be in here while you get some rest. If you need anything, or if you have any more questions, just let me know. At seven, Agent Liu will take over for me; he’ll be the one who takes you to the meeting.” She paused. “So this is probably goodbye from me.” They shook hands. “It really was a pleasure to meet you, Professor. I wish it were under different circumstances.”

  “I think if different circumstances had prevailed, we might never have met,” Kilmer pointed out. “So maybe the alien threat isn’t all bad.” He quickly realized that, given the gravity of the situation, his words probably sounded more insensitive than charming. “Sorry. That was a bit off-key.”

  Joana came to the rescue. “A bit of dark humor is always welcome around here. I’d even say we’ve come to depend on it. It just means you’re one of us now.”

  “No apology necessary,” Silla added. “It was a nice thing to say.” She smiled—but then her expression changed, ever so slightly, from happy to bittersweet.

  Kilmer looked at her just long enough for it to be a measurable amount of time, and Silla didn’t look away. Then he gave a slight nod that seemed more formal than their interaction had been until that moment. “Good night, Agent Silla.”

  He picked up his bags. Joana took the lead, and he followed her out.

  “Good night,” Silla responded softly, but only after Kilmer had already reached the door.

  Kilmer and Joana stepped into the hallway and turned right. The Lincoln Bedroom was the next room over. Joana turned on the light and oriented him to the room. “I won’t give you the complete White House tour version of the speech, but there are two things every guest who stays here needs to know. First, no, this is not where Lincoln slept. He used this room as his office. Second, on January 1, 1863—”

  “The Emancipation Proclamation,” Kilmer said excitedly. “Is this where he signed it? I didn’t know that.”

  “That’s right. It really is amazing to think he was in this very room,” Joana reflected briefly. “Well, I hope you enjoy your stay. If you need anything, just press zero on the phone over there. You can also call or text me if needed.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Good night, Joana.”

  She said goodbye and walked out of the room. Kilmer didn’t move from where he was left standing for almost a minute. He just took it all in. The White House. The President. The Lincoln Bedroom.

  The aliens.

  That brought the delightful little highlight reel to an abrupt end. For the last few minutes—walking through the White House, hearing about the Treaty Room and the Linco
ln Bedroom—he had managed to avoid thinking about the reason he was here in the first place. He considered sitting down at the desk to organize his thoughts, but the idea didn’t survive long. He needed to sleep.

  Kilmer turned off the light, sat on the side of the bed, and took off his shoes. He was too tired to change his clothes or remove the covers, so he just crawled onto the bed and put his head on the pillow. When he closed his eyes, memories of what he had experienced that night flashed through his mind. Some frightening, some pleasant. And then he arrived at an image that gave him pause.

  It was Agent Silla—the smile on her face before he left the Treaty Room. Happy, but then bittersweet.

  It wouldn’t take anyone more than a glance to conclude that Agent Silla was extremely attractive. He had noticed it himself, right away, when he first saw her at the airfield. But she was suddenly taking up much more of his mindshare. Given how little time they had spent together, it wasn’t clear why. Was it her intellect, which he had glimpsed just moments ago? Her wit and sense of humor, which he had noticed since the car ride? The poise, confidence, and strength with which she carried herself? Maybe all of the above. Maybe something else entirely.

  These various qualities began to affix themselves to the picture he was holding of Silla in his mind. He studied the composite as it materialized—all the while getting drowsier. And when he saw the completed image, Kilmer realized that he had somehow missed the mark. Agent Silla wasn’t just attractive… she was beautiful.

  He couldn’t help but smile. He had solved the puzzle, and the answer was something quite wonderful. Whether or not he saw her again, Kilmer was happy that someone like her was out there, and that they had managed to cross paths.

  Still, the last thought Kilmer had before falling asleep was a tad more selfish—to put it mildly.

  I hope those damn aliens don’t blow everything up before I get a chance to see her again.