Code Word: Paternity, A Presidential Thriller

by Norton, Doug

  “Doctor, what do we say when survivors with radiation sickness and their families complain they’re being warehoused to die, and warehoused in terrible conditions at that? The average high this time of year must be around a hundred degrees,” said Guarini.

  “We tell the truth: that they’re going to die in any case and we need hospital beds for those who can live if they reach one. “

  “That’s a hell of a bedside manner you’ve got, doctor!”

  “What would you tell them, Mr. Guarini?”

  The chief of staff reddened as he formed a retort, but Eric Easterly was quicker.

  “Doctor,” said the secretary of defense, “Once we reach the period when most of the radiation deaths occur, how many can we expect a day?”

  “I don’t know how many received fatal doses . . . considering that about five hundred thousand were probably exposed . . . easily five to ten thousand deaths a day, beginning about a week after the explosion.”

  “Bart, I don’t know about our national hospital capacity, but I do know about airlift,” said Easterly. “Even with full mobilization of the civil reserve air fleet, I think moving that many bodies in addition to those with a chance to pull through, plus uninjured but homeless survivors, would overwhelm our capacity. And you’re right about the temperature, which makes it even more critical to quickly evacuate those who can survive.

  “We’re in a war, and we have to adopt wartime measures. We bury people where they die, like in World War II, and later return the remains to relatives for burial.”

  No, thought Rick, unconsciously shaking his head, we’re not going there! I am not calling this war. Once that horse is out of the barn, diplomacy is dead.

  “Eric, I take your point, but not the way you’ve expressed it. I want everyone clear on this: we are not at war. We’ve been the victims of a terrorist attack. Until we know who’s behind it, we have no country to go to war with.”

  The president’s gaze swept the table like a death ray as he said, “We have terrorists to identify and apprehend, not a war to fight!”

  Bruce Griffith kept his expression attentively neutral, but his mind shouted: Victims! I hate that word! It implies powerlessness, helplessness. We’ve been attacked; we’re going to find who did it and strip them of the power to attack us again. That’s how I would put it, how most Americans want to hear it. And, “Apprehend.” Apprehend? We should kill the bastards who did this!

  Chapter 8

  Martin shifted his gaze to Dorn, who said, “OK, let’s turn to what Homeland Security is doing. Then we’ll hear from Justice and National Intelligence.”

  Opening a folder, Zimmer began.

  “We’ve made some assumptions; we’ll adjust them as facts come in. First is that terrorists don’t have man-portable weapons, suitcase nukes. So, we’re concentrating on vehicles, rail, aircraft, and ships as possible means of delivery. The coast guard, with help from the other services, has the lead in searching all ships in our ports.

  “We’re assuming the next target is another large metro area. So, the FAA is diverting all flights to large cities or ordering them cancelled. We’ve banned freight trains from major metro areas but allowed passenger trains under heightened inspection. DOE deploys Nuclear Emergency Support Teams—NEST for short—to sweep for nukes whenever we find something suspicious.

  “Cars and trucks are of course the biggest challenge. A few big metro areas, like Manhattan, have limited ingress and egress anyway, plus highway radiation portal monitors already in place, but everywhere else we have to use cops with handheld equipment. Frankly, it’s a hell of a mess!”

  She scanned their faces without apology.

  “What’s the plan if you find a nuke or something that appears to be one?” said the secretary of energy.

  “It’s one recommended by your NEST people: We check for booby traps and then move it to the nearest airfield, where it goes aboard a cargo aircraft with a military crew and a team of nuclear weapon engineers. The plane climbs to high altitude and heads out over the ocean, where the engineers go to work. They take photographs and record everything they observe, especially anything indicating origin. It’s all immediately data-linked to your people at Sandia Labs and the Pantex plant. Then the engineers try to disarm it. If they are successful, the plane delivers it to Pantex. If not—assuming it doesn’t blow—they dump it in deep ocean before coming home.”

  Rick squirmed to ease his aching back and cut his glance to the secretary of defense. Obediently, Dorn said, “Anything more, Eric?”

  “Well, in addition to what Sara has already mentioned, we’re sending field hospitals to Vegas and putting two hospital ships in port LA, a forty-five minute flight from there. And since every non-military aircraft is a potential nuclear bomb, we’ve reinstated the measures used after Nine-eleven: If a flight leaves its route and heads for a major city, fighters shoot it down if it won’t turn away.”

  Easterly continued, but Rick’s thoughts stayed with those words. Somebody has to give that order. Should it be me? Whoever says shoot is ordering the immediate death of innocent passengers, maybe on a mistake. Could I do that? Is it the right thing to do? By what right do I take the lives of maybe a hundred people in order to prevent an attack that might or might not be happening? But by what right do I withhold permission to shoot and maybe sacrifice a city and many thousands of people who are just as innocent as those in the airplane?

  Martin held up a hand. “Eric, let’s go back to those fighters. Who’s going to make the decision to shoot?”

  “Sir, that’ll be the call of our general commanding the North American Air Defense Command or his deputy, a Canadian general. One or the other will always be in the command center.”

  “No!” The president made a stop gesture with his right hand. “I’m not gonna deal with the fallout of an American general ordering a Canadian airliner shot down, or vice versa. Find another way!”

  “OK, then I recommend each nation take responsibility for making that call within its own airspace. For us, it will be the flag officer on watch at the National Military Command Center.”

  “Agreed. What else?”

  “Mr. President, we’ve sent army and air force units to support customs and border protection patrols.”

  “What results?”

  “Well sir, they’ve located and stopped a number of four-wheel drive vehicles. They’ve all turned out to be what CBP calls the usual stuff: smugglers with Mexican illegals and lost hikers along the Canadian border. Unfortunately, a couple of vehicles coming from Mexico ignored halt orders and had to be stopped by fire. There’ve been three killed and about half a dozen wounded, all Mexicans.”

  Snapping his head leftward, Martin looked at Anne Battista, who shrugged. “Nothing yet from Mexico. I’m sure we’ll hear from them soon.”

  Rick was surprised, then had a rare spike of anger. Good God! We can’t go lurching around smashing things like some wounded Godzilla. That’s just what terrorists want us to do! He glared at the secretary of defense.

  “Eric, you and Sara have to find a better way! We can’t go on shooting harmless illegals or start winging wandering hunters. It seems to me that if the vehicles are away from populated areas it should be OK to pursue and stop them eventually, without shooting them up.”

  Easterly’s jaws worked as he absorbed the rebuke and then responded. “Yes, Mr. President. We’ll put together new rules of engagement immediately and bring them to you for review.” He glanced at MacAdoo, who nodded and left.

  Chapter 9

  “Moving right along!” said Dorn, attempting to lighten the mood. “Aaron, what are your trawls catching?”

  Looking, as always, like his valet had just finished knotting his tie, Director of National Intelligence Hendricks cleared his throat and began speaking. He seemed to swell, reminding Rick of one of Maryland’s red-winged blackbirds in mating season.

  “I believe the most significant matter right now is that no organization has claimed re
sponsibility. The chatter from low levels of al-Qaeda and Hezbollah is of course elation, but also puzzlement. Whoever did this is now the biggest dog on the block and must be bursting to strut. We’re pretty sure it will come out, but it hasn’t yet.”

  “What does Mossad think?” interjected Martin.

  Hendricks scowled. “They have no leads either! Mordacai’s hunch is that the longer there’s no claim, the more it points to Hezbollah, because they have tight discipline. He doesn’t think al-Qaeda or others could keep the secret very long.”

  “OK,” replied Martin. “But as for Mossad’s theory—remember, Israel would love to tie this can to Iran’s tail.”

  Because he knew Hendricks would never go beyond generalities in this large group, Rick wanted to move on. “So Ed, what can you tell us? Any odds that American terrorists did this?”

  Attorney General Ed McDonnell stiffened, struggling to appear cool. He was responsible for the FBI, whose job it was to find and thwart domestic terrorists. Although they had failed, the FBI director assured him they hadn’t missed something as glaring as flight lessons. McDonnell prayed he was right.

  He gulped and said, “Mr. President, the FBI, in close cooperation with the intelligence community, is reviewing the passenger list for every airline arrival in Las Vegas within the past thirty days, and the same with the backup copies of all hotel records. They are monitoring all Internet social media for chatter bearing on the bomber’s identity, such as a martyr’s farewell. They’re examining the recent activities of every extremist organization in the country, whatever their credo, and locating all their known members.

  “In addition—”

  The president held up his hand to end the man’s agony—it was clear he had no leads. “Ed, I have no doubt you and your team are doing absolutely everything to get a handle on the bomber! Keep at it and something will break our way.”

  Poor bastard! Ed doesn’t know about Paternity, and I’m not ready tell him. At least I can cut him down from the gallows.

  Dorn nodded to Secretary of State Anne Battista. In her official photo there is firmness in her expression that says “I’ve given up a lot to get here and now that I have, I’m going to make my mark.” Her blonde hair, just brushing her shoulders, had been carefully tended to eliminate gray, but she made no effort to disguise the beginning of neck sag or deep grooves that appeared in her lower cheeks when her face was animated.

  Speaking, Battista swept her eyes around the table. “There are widespread expressions of shock, sympathy, and support, with some pointed exceptions. We’re not hearing much out of the Middle East, except of course from the Israelis. It’s as if the Arabs and the Persians are waiting for another shoe to drop. NATO’s sympathetic but frightened.

  “As most of you know, President Volkov called President Martin on the Hotline, and they exchanged reassurances. The Russians and the Chinese have made statements condemning the attack. The Russian statement included the threat to retaliate—quote—with the full, repeat the full, resources of the state if terrorists should be so foolish as to attack Russia in this manner, unquote.”

  “If you nuke me, I’ll nuke you,” said the treasury secretary.

  “Obviously,” said Martin, glaring as if to say, you interrupted for that?

  He looked back to the secretary of state. “Anne, please give us a thumbnail of Asia and what you’re hearing from the UN.”

  “Well, the Chinese, as I said, condemned the attack, and I had a supportive call from my Chinese counterpart, Jia . . . something I thought was odd: he said he assumed we’d know who did it soon enough. I said I agreed, but, frankly, I don’t see how.” She shrugged.

  Paternity! Does Jia know about Paternity? The question speared Rick’s stomach.

  Chapter 10

  Martin locked eyes with Easterly, who understood the president’s glance and remained silent.

  Oblivious, Battista continued. “I’d say the Japanese government is very, very uneasy. Part of it is that some Japanese think this is karmic payback for Hiroshima and Nagasaki. But the heart of it is that they realize how we handle this determines whether our nuclear umbrella over Japan actually protects them. North Korea has nuclear weapons and missiles with plenty of range to reach Japan. If our pledge to protect Tokyo loses credibility in Pyongyang . . .”

  She paused, sipping water, then resumed: “Seoul of course has a similar worry but is unwilling to say so. The Indians and the Pakistanis say they’re shocked and horrified and will help us find the perpetrators. The Indians hint delicately that Pakistani extremists might have some connection. The Paks are clearly worried that they might be implicated, because of A. Q. Kahn and because al-Qaeda’s leadership is somewhere in Waziristan. Australia wants to know how to help. The Indonesians have said nothing official so far.”

  Nodding toward the image of the UN ambassador on the teleconference screen, she continued: “Oscar tells me that during this morning’s emergency meeting of the Security Council all members expressed sympathy and support. The council unanimously approved a resolution calling on all UN members to render what assistance they can.”

  “What would you add, Oscar?” said Martin.

  All looked at the video screen as Ambassador Neumann responded. “Among the member nations at large—and UN officials, including the secretary-general—I feel an atmosphere of watchful waiting. Will there be another bomb? What will the United States do? Is this the first domino in a rapid U.S. decline? What about countries allied with us—are they on the terrorists’ target list? What about countries we’ve flagged as sponsors of terrorism—are they on our target list? What are we going to ask the UN to do? And last but not least, how much danger are all of them in at the UN complex here in New York?”

  “Bottom line,” said Battista, “we should appear injured but unafraid and angry but controlled. A lot of people, including many Americans, now believe Bush didn’t really give diplomacy a chance after Nine-eleven, Mr. President. Your administration can do better.”

  Eric Easterly considered her words with invisible amusement. Right, Anne, he thought, and you just happen to be in charge of the cabinet department that will have the lead in ‘doing better.’ He saw her young aide scribbling furiously, making sure to record those words for her boss’ memoir and for her own buddies’ admiration.

  Suddenly, Rick felt overwhelmed, drowning in information. He kicked hard for shore. “Thanks, Anne and Oscar,” he said briskly. “The UN is going to be an important part of our response.”

  Catching the president’s mood, Dorn said, “OK, Vijay, bring us up to date on the economic impacts and what you’re doing.”

  Vijay Ramanna immediately began to speak. A former Federal Reserve governor, he had been a surprise choice, the first Indian-American to serve in a cabinet, and Martin had been pleased with the buzz.

  Leaning forward, Ramanna spoke more loudly than necessary. “Mr. President, the Fed chairman agrees with me that the stock markets and commodity exchanges should stay closed for a few days in order to prevent panic selling. There’s the Nine-eleven precedent, so we’re not getting too much pushback. But, obviously, we can’t keep the doors shut very long, because that would create an even bigger panic. We’re watching liquidity closely, but for now we believe it’s best to leave banks open.”

  Martin rubbed tired eyes, trying to relieve the gritty sensation signaling fatigue.

  Ramanna continued: “Right after your address last night, I took action! Treasury is reaching out to our international counterparts and also requesting that all major banking centers report large transactions in which the amounts are unusual. If the bombers bought that weapon, there may be a money trail leading to the seller or the terrorists.”

  “Vijay, how far back are you looking?” said Vice President Griffith.

  “First cut is six months, Mr. Vice President. That’s just my guess. We’ll adjust when we have more information. My hunch is that terrorists would use the bomb as soon as possible for their own securit
y reasons.”

  “What does Justice think, Ed?” said Martin.

  “That time window is as good a place to start as any. I agree with Vijay’s hunch. We’re working with CIA now to locate known bagmen for al-Qaeda or other terrorist groups. At some point renditions may make sense, so we can question them.”

  “Ed, that comes to the NSC before you grab anyone. I’m probably going to need a lot of convincing. This administration is not going to waterboard anybody, so I’m not sure that the gain from having them in custody would be worth the grief we’d get for snatching them.”

  Martin was watching the vice president’s reaction, but Griffith’s face remained neutral. His presence on the ticket was crucial to me in Pennsylvania and several other states, thought Rick, but he’s often wrong on civil liberties and national security. I’ll bet he’ll come to me on this before long.

  Three hours into the meeting, Rick was more than ready for a break. “Thanks, Vijay. He glanced at his watch.

  “John, are we done?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  Martin rose, then paused. “No, don’t get up. It’s too crowded in here for that.” The president examined their faces gravely before continuing: “This is going to take a long time. Pace yourselves and your people. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Once in awhile, go home in time to hug your kids and your spouses.

  Chapter 11

  After a one-hour break, Rick eased into his chair and looked around the room, less crowded this time. Returning his gaze, or fiddling with papers and smart phones, were the members of the National Security Council (NSC), plus CIA Director Scott Hitzleberger and National Security Advisor John Dorn.

  Martin spoke: “The purpose of this meeting is to discuss a CIA program, the Paternity Project, which only a few people know about.” Maybe that will fuzz it up enough to keep Bruce and Anne from knowing immediately that they’ve been kept out, he thought. “This is a technical program—something called nuclear forensics—which could reveal the origin of the Las Vegas bomb. Over to you, Aaron and Scott.”