Code Word: Paternity, A Presidential Thriller

by Norton, Doug

  From somewhere, thoughts came. Rick stopped pacing, sat at the desk, and wrote. He paused, then added, “deal with them under international law.”

  But this is about more than recovery, accountability, and defense against another attack, he thought. It’s also an opportunity, a huge opportunity, to lead the world to a safer place! Nuclear terrorism is a game-changer.

  Martin paused again, then wrote furiously.

  That’s better; now it sets a new direction.

  But I need some unifying theme. We’re no more solidly united now than we were after Nine-eleven. Despite the United We Stand bumper stickers, solidarity dissolved within a year. I need something that will make people feel committed to each other, united by more than just shock and fear.

  Then it came to him.

  This’ll be tricky! It’s either going to work well or fall flat. Hitting the intercom, he asked for his lead speechwriter and for Samantha Yu, his press secretary.

  ***

  Everyone scrambled to get the technology and the president ready in the dank, sixties-era burrow. The broadcast crew snaked thick cables through the corridors and open blast doors, heavy on their hinges, to reach their satellite truck. Somebody realized about three hours before air time that the president didn’t have a suit. His valet choppered in with it. Sam Yu and others hurriedly disguised the concrete bunker with a blue backdrop, skillful lighting, and the familiar flags left and right of the most substantial desk they could round up.

  Air time rushed toward them. Rick’s stomach was jumping, and he was sweating from TV lighting. He hurtled through space, flung by the explosion in Las Vegas, out of control, dreading the thought of another attack while he spoke. And still he had to get this right, must strike the perfect note, establish his leadership of the wounded nation, set the stage for seizing the great opportunity. He wiped his sweaty palms futilely.

  At 10:12 p.m., the technicians having missed the announced air time, the networks, CNN, and Fox News cut to President Martin, seated at a desk. Viewers saw a man who looked slightly askew, slightly off-stride, but competent and determined despite that. Gripping his text, the president began speaking in a voice woven of outrage, sadness, and confidence.

  “Good evening, fellow Americans of all ages, men and women, girls and boys. I come before you tonight in shock and sadness—and in anger and determination!

  “We have suffered a terrible loss. We do not yet know the toll, but certainly tens of thousands of our fellow citizens and visitors from other countries were murdered today in Las Vegas, and many more were injured.”

  Martin put down the text and looked into the camera.

  “I addressed you a moment ago as men and women, girls and boys. That’s because this was an attack by enemies as intent on killing our children, our parents, and grandparents as they are on killing those of us leading active, adult lives. For these enemies, it was enough that their victims simply be at the place chosen for their attack.

  “I don’t know, yet”—stabbing the air with his finger—“who planned and carried out the nuclear destruction of Las Vegas. What those unidentified murderers did is something long and clearly urged by al-Qaeda and other extremist groups: the calculated murder of people who do not espouse their hate-filled views. But we will not rush to judgment; we are gathering evidence with open minds, recalling that terrorist attacks in our country have also been made by Americans.”

  Pausing, Martin willed beads of perspiration not to succumb to gravity and slide from temples to jaw.

  Grasping his text again, he resumed: “This evening there isn’t anything I want to say to you that goes beyond common sense and common decency. But although these words and the feelings that accompany them are just plain American common sense, it’s important for Americans and for others—whether they wish us well or ill or are indifferent—to hear them from the president of the United States.”

  A camera tightened to a close-up, and Martin’s voice strengthened, hammering each sentence.

  “We will bury our dead with honor, succor our wounded, and be partners in rebuilding the hundreds of thousands of lives affected by this outrage.

  “We will find the individuals who planned and carried out this attack. We will capture them for trial under international law. We will kill those we are unable to capture.

  “We will find out how they got that bomb. We take it as a given that the terrorists did not make that nuclear weapon unassisted. One of the nations with whom we share this earth enabled them to get it, either as a deliberate decision or through failing to exercise the necessary safeguards.

  “We will make it much, much harder for terrorists to attack us again with such weapons of mass destruction. As you have experienced since shortly after the attack, major sections of our transportation network have been shut down, and entry to many cities has been restricted. This will not continue long but is necessary to help us thwart any potential follow-on attacks.

  “On the advice of the surgeon general, the governor of Nevada and I have isolated the Las Vegas disaster area. For their own protection, nobody will be allowed to enter the quarantined area. We are continuously monitoring radiation levels in all areas potentially at risk from nuclear fallout. At present that risk is not enough to require other evacuations.

  “Although this is the worst attack upon the nation in history and has undeniably caused great suffering and loss, our nation—our citizens and our economy—have the resilience and determination to carry on and to recover from this blow! I will ask you for, and I am confident that you will make, the sacrifices necessary to protect our country and enable survivors to recover.”

  The president’s voice changed in volume and pitch, dropping a notch from the driving force he had been using. The camera backed off and showed him turning a page, then putting his text aside. He folded his hands on the desk, leaned forward, and looked directly into the camera.

  “Although this atrocity may have been committed by al-Qaeda, I acknowledge and I urge you to acknowledge that the murder visited upon Las Vegas was not by the hand of Islam itself. We will not hold one of the world’s largest and greatest faiths responsible for the act of a splinter faction. As your president I will judge—and I ask you to judge—everyone by their words and actions, not just by the religion or philosophy they follow. I can assure all that every person in the United States will receive the full protection of our laws. I ask, and I expect, each of you to treat Muslims with respect and tolerance.”

  The president straightened, placing his palms flat on the desk.

  “While we will”—Martin’s right palm slapped the desk—“hold to account each individual and nation that struck us, or enabled that strike, we will not stop there! Those actions are a necessary, but not sufficient, response. We will not be content with them alone because this event shows so clearly that all nations are at risk from those filled with terrible hatred and in possession of terrible weapons.

  “The United States will do more than it has in the past to lead the world in reducing the numbers of nuclear weapons and fissionable materials, and to obtain reliable safeguards on those that remain, wherever they may be. At the same time, we will join more vigorously in the search for equitable resolution of disputes that give rise to the hatreds of terrorists.”

  Rick decided this was as good a moment as he was going to get to blot his perspiring face, where a drop was preparing to dangle from the tip of his nose.

  He gave a quick swipe with his pocket handkerchief and resumed: “I have just told you our situation, as I see it right now. You have heard my initial plan. With one hand the United States will pluck from hiding those who did this and those who enabled it—and deal with them. With the other we will reach out to all nations, seeking their ideas, cooperation, and actions to reduce the dangers to us all from hatred mixed with weapons of mass destruction.”

  To his surprise, Rick felt no trepidation about his risky closing. He could don sincerity as effortlessly as a favorite jacket, but
this was genuine. He possessed a voice as supple and evocative as a violin, and now it seemed to become for his listeners that of every respected coach, every favorite teacher, every wise and loving grandparent.

  “In the final moments of this broadcast I ask you to join me and the other leaders of your government—the government of, by, and for the people of the United States—as we each rededicate ourselves to the ideals of our country and to meeting the challenges ahead.

  “I ask you to join us in the Pledge of Allegiance to our flag, but on this occasion honoring not only that flag, but each other. I’ll pause a moment for you to gather and, if you are somewhere with windows, to open those windows.”

  Martin disappeared from the world’s television and video screens as the camera cut to images of people purposefully striding along crowded city sidewalks, of children in classrooms, of family cook-outs, of a football team crowding together dedicating themselves to the challenge ahead, and, finally, of a huge, billowing American flag.

  The president reappeared with the secretaries of state and defense, the speaker of the house, the chief justice, and General MacAdoo, hands linked.

  “I ask you to join hands with those around you, as you see us doing.

  “OK. Look at each other! This is for all those who died today and for all those we will, by our shared sacrifices, protect. I want all of us—and the entire world—to hear these words rising from the lips and hearts of three hundred million free and determined people. Shout them out those windows you opened!

  “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

  The camera closed in, offering the president’s confident, determined features as a shield against the dangerous, uncertain universe.

  “Tonight and for many nights ahead, we have far to go before we sleep, and promises to keep.” Martin paused, gazing intensely into the camera, and said, with slower cadence and a harder tone, “And promises to keep.”

  Chapter 3

  As video from a Predator drone out of Creech air base streamed before them, Graciela Dominguez Martin, “Ella,” squeezed Rick’s hand as if in physical pain. The president’s eyes, which had been drooping, opened wide. Ella saw him hunch, as if the sights were weights piling on his back. A few floors of some casinos were still standing, but mostly the view was of debris. Portions of the street grid cross-hatched endless views of rubble. As the aerial camera swept farther from ground zero, they saw the remains of automobiles.

  People near ground zero had been vaporized or burned to wind-scattered ash. The bodies of others farther away looked like most other debris, mercifully disguised as scorched chunks of concrete or the charred beams of demolished buildings. But with distance from the explosion, shapes became human bodies. Rick and Ella turned toward each other. He opened his mouth, but before words came Ella nodded and he remained silent.

  Farther out they saw survivors, figures that moved like people but didn’t look like people, clothing, skin, and hair burned off. They’re like pulpy store manikins, thought Rick, his gorge rising at the sight of their raw tissue. How can they be alive?

  One manikin walked slowly toward the camera. In its arms were two small bodies, children’s legs dangling and swinging as the adult tottered along.

  “Oh my God!” he said, thinking about their own two kids. Then he thought, get a grip! You can’t personalize this; you’ll do something dumb if you do. Anger is a distraction, a weakness. Ella read her husband’s mind, his character being as familiar to her as his appearance.

  It was early in the morning, and they were on the couch in their cramped, underground quarters. Ella was near Rick but not touching him. As by unspoken agreement they gave each other space to process the video feed, but their hands crossed the gap, left holding right.

  Ella’s face was framed by shoulder-length black hair that appeared sable at times. She usually offered the world a friendly but earnest expression; an especially keen observer would sense that her earnestness was the tip of an iceberg of determination.

  Rick punched off the parade of horrors and looked at his wife. “How’re you doing, Ella?”

  Her reply surprised him, the words darting at him like sparks from a fire: “It was murder! Murder! Those men, women, and children were killed for no reason other than that they happened to be in Las Vegas yesterday. They didn’t die in a tsunami or a hurricane or an earthquake. They were murdered—by people who planned very carefully for a long time and who rejoiced when it was done. I want to kill the bastards who did this! I want to kill them personally and very painfully.”

  She means it, thought Rick, recalling her stories of childhood amidst the violence and vendettas of Mexico’s drug wars. Is that where we’re headed now? Revenge? Will we ignore the rule of law and snarl off into the jungle, mauling every creature that crosses our path?

  After a moment he said, “What would you do if you were me?”

  “I think I’d become a remorseless killing machine. Spend every waking hour pushing the FBI, the CIA, and the military to find the people who set off that bomb and the people who gave it to them.”

  “Would you hold both of them equally responsible?”

  “Yes! After all, people hiding in caves in Afghanistan and Pakistan and Yemen couldn’t have built that bomb from scratch. Some government gave it to them or failed to ensure it couldn’t be stolen.”

  Rick looked sharply at her.

  “Ella, we don’t know that people hiding in caves did this. For all we know right now it could have been an American extremist group, using a stolen American nuke. It’s too soon for me to become a remorseless killing machine! I don’t know who to go after. Yesterday’s NSC meeting was full of people pounding on the table without a clue what to do, except threaten. It was all heat and no light. There’s no one to punch in the nose, yet, and nothing I can do to bring back Las Vegas or the people whose bodies we just saw!”

  Ella looked thoughtfully at her husband of twenty-six years. He was optimistic by nature and believed compromise was always possible, although sometimes painful. Rick had both the instinct and the ability to defuse conflict, and she had seen him build consensus where none had seemed possible. Rick’s world-view did not admit of undying hatred. He had never encountered a purely malevolent human being.

  Ella shivered, because she had experienced both in the Mexican state of Sinaloa, in the person of drug lord “Chapo” Guzman. Guzman vowed to kill not only her father, Colonel Dominguez, but the entire family. Before his own death by assassination, Guzman did indeed kill her father, after torturing him for a long time.

  She knew the world held some who were powerful, cruel, fearless, unmoved by reason or suffering, and utterly unwilling to compromise. Guzman and others like him were evil itself. Facing such demons, others either did as they were told or accepted a fight to the death.

  Ella wondered if Rick would be able to find and harness the visceral force he needed now.

  “Rick, what you said to the country a few hours ago was carefully reasoned and balanced. It was right for now. But within a few weeks Americans won’t want a president who speaks in careful nuances. They’ll want Winston Churchill, or maybe General Patton. You can’t do what you have to do by your usual balanced, obscenely rational approach!”

  She grabbed his forearm and challenged him, eyes vivid with outrage: “Rick, you’ve got to do whatever it takes to get the people who did this and keep it from happening again!”

  “Ella, you can be certain that when the facts are in, I’ll be Winston Patton.”

  Ella shuddered, recalling the awful scenes of Las Vegas and of her childhood. Churchill and Patton were fierce. Her father was fierce. Guzman was fierce. She didn’t know if Rick was.

  Chapter 4

  Shoulders sagging despite his sky-high caffeine level, Director of National Intelligence (DNI) Aaron Hendricks sat in an office near the ops room at the Na
tional Counterterrorism Center. He had appropriated it the day before and not left since, except to go to the bathroom or one of the conference rooms. Looking at his watch, he decided that the New York Times had posted the day’s edition. He clicked his mouse and began to read the editorial:

  THERE ARE NO WORDS

  Just when we thought we had put 9/11 behind us, at a time when there are no U.S. troops engaged in questionable wars, just when we had eagerly embraced long-overdue social and economic reforms in the United States, comes the horror of Las Vegas. The irony and cosmic unfairness of it leave one breathless, as does the scope and scale of the suffering visited on the citizens of Las Vegas.

  There are no words. But words are what a newspaper has, so we’ll try to make the best of them. We offer a half dozen.

  Wisdom. May we have the wisdom to reject preconceptions and instant answers from those who will uncritically blame the usual suspects and offer easy, comfortable answers and neat solutions.

  Compassion. For the victims and their families, but also for those who, by their appearance or dress, embody the stereotypical bogeyman that some will see on every street.

  Focus. Focus on aiding the stricken of a disaster that far exceeds Katrina, and on learning who attacked us and why.

  Tolerance. For those who don’t look or think as we do, who would otherwise be easy targets for the rage that will seek expression now.

  Inquiring. Asking the hard questions. Rejecting the easy answers. Leaving no stone unturned, no assumption unexamined. We must know who and what failed to give warning of the plot.

  Inclusive. Uniting the nation and the world to resist terrorism and to address and ultimately eliminate its causes.

  President Martin’s first words to the nation and the initial, even instinctive, reactions of his administration demonstrate that he knows these words and embraces them.

  It’s not going to take as long this time around, Hendricks thought. One day after the explosion and the Times is already building the gallows. Despite the pious call not to reach for easy answers, the DNI knew the intelligence community would be blamed.