by Bobby Akart
“You stand here, Captain America.” She smiled and sent him a wink. He eagerly stepped into the circle.
She stood to the side and made a circle representing China. Then she walked around Hank to create another one for Russia.
“China and Russia, okay?” She furrowed her brow as she identified the circles. Hank gave her a thumbs-up.
Then, below China toward the left, near the water’s edge, she drew another circle and looked up to Hank.
“This is Pakistan and India. Now, they’ve been in their own gasoline-soaked room for a while now. They don’t have a thousand matches, but they have more than enough to incinerate the room. If they were to light their matches, the billowing smoke and ash would flow upwards into the atmosphere and, within four days, spread around the globe.
“We would experience nuclear winter, albeit on a lesser scale at first. This will gradually become worse as the days go on. Naturally, if the nukes were dropped on top of us, the results would be immediate.”
“I see,” said Hank. He began to step toward her, and she raised her hand, indicating she wasn’t finished.
She walked to the opposite side of the China circle, closer to Hank, and drew an oblong shape from the water’s edge to the upper side of China. She stood off to the side and put her hands on her hips to survey her work.
“This represents the Korean peninsula. Now, there’s a whole lot of gasoline here, but only one side has matches, and they’re held by a ruthless dictator.”
Hank chuckled. “I call him Little Un.”
Erin laughed with him but cautioned, “Short on stature but tall on threat. You see, if the balance of power between you, China, and Russia over there were to stay the same, Little Un, as you call him, might do something stupid because these big guns have his back. Likewise, these guys who are facing off in their own gas-filled room might decide to have at it.” She walked across China and pointed to India and Pakistan.
“What would trigger all of this?” asked Hank, sweeping his arm across the map in the sand. “Surely that whole mutually assured destruction thing would apply, right?”
“One would hope,” she replied. “But if it doesn’t, the consequences would be dire for all of us regardless of whether we were at ground zero of the nuclear strike.”
Hank shook his head in disbelief. He wondered how politicians could sleep at night knowing that nuclear Armageddon hung over us all like a mighty sword. He stepped out of his circle and motioned for Erin to walk back to the hotel. They shared casual conversation in an effort to get their minds off the prospect of somebody else striking a match in a gasoline-filled room that could result in their extinction.
Chapter Nineteen
Sunday, October 20
Oval Office
The White House
“Clear the room, everyone. Please.” President Helton had spent the entire day with advisors and analysts and staffers chirping in his ear for one reason or another. He needed some peace and quiet. Especially the peace half of the equation.
After the Oval Office was empty, he removed his jacket and loosened his tie. He made his way to a small cabinet located to the right of the Resolute Desk. It was perched below a painting of Lady Liberty holding the torch high above her head.
He retrieved a leaded crystal glass and the bottle of Glenfiddich scotch whisky. After pouring his glass half full, he returned to his desk and flopped in the chair. He mindlessly spun back and forth, taking in his surroundings.
He realized how rare it was for him to be left alone in his sanctuary. As president, he was afforded precious little free time. Once in a while, he was left alone to peruse briefing documents for a meeting before the ever-present Chandler would have a need to return to his office.
In addition to the briefings he received from all parts of government, he had figurehead functions to perform, ranging from meeting with world leaders to hosting the Little League World champions. As of this morning, his entire schedule had been cleared for the next several days as the nation’s vast intelligence apparatus kept him apprised of events in the Middle East.
It was nice, for a change, to set other matters aside to focus on one thing and make sure he got it right. As a former senator, he hadn’t run a government like a governor runs a state. Governors, like presidents, were the chief executive officer of a massive financial operation that dealt directly with the well-being of its citizens. Matters of health, finance, and national defense all had to be taken into account.
The Oval Office had hosted seventeen presidents before him since it was constructed by President Franklin Roosevelt in 1934. The president turned in his chair and stared into the darkness that had engulfed the District as nightfall set in. Lights twinkled off in the distance. He stood from the chair and casually strolled up to the three eleven-foot-tall windows overlooking the South Lawn.
The president was philosophical as he spoke to the empty room. In his mind, he was speaking to the American people. “This office comes with great responsibility. There is no perfect decision on any subject. I can support Israel, but I cannot fight their battles.
“I refuse to go to war over the free flow of oil. Past administrations have done that already. Any decision I make is gonna be met with criticism. That comes with the job.”
He stopped speaking, but his thoughts continued. So let the media pitch a fit. We’re gonna sit on the sidelines for now.
These were similar to the words he’d just spoken to his chief of staff, with instructions to forward them to Pentagon officials. He was certain to receive pushback, but he was firm in his resolve.
Their argument was that their failure to defend their ally Israel, and engage Iran, forcing them to open the Strait of Hormuz, was a sign of weakness. It would embolden their enemies and create doubt in the minds of their allies as to whether the U.S. would back them up in a similar conflict as had been pledged in the past.
Maybe those arguments were valid, but the president didn’t believe any nation was going to test his mettle based upon a limited nuclear strike in the Middle East. For now, he’d continue to study his intelligence briefings and allow the military to keep him abreast. If, and when, a threat of this type directly impacted the U.S., then he’d act accordingly.
Chapter Twenty
Sunday, October 20
Zen Bistro & Wine Bar
Pentagon Row
Arlington, Virginia
Peter called Jenna and invited her to a late lunch at their favorite Asian restaurant, Zen Bistro. Located at Pentagon Row, it was a blend of unique retail stores and restaurants on the south side of the Henry Shirley Memorial Highway across from the Pentagon. He also called upon another acquaintance of theirs, Brian Stephens, an assistant to the White House director of political affairs, or DPA.
Peter felt guilty about failing to disclose the real purpose of calling the three friends together. He actually missed Jenna and could tell in her voice during the phone call that she was under considerable stress. Brian dealt with foreign policy matters on behalf of the DPA and might have some insight into the president’s opinion of North Korea.
Zen was referred to in the restaurant business as Asian fusion, a mix of several different Asian dishes and ingredients. Chefs served up sushi, Korean cuisine, Thai foods, and Chinese delicacies. The trio, who’d been frequenting Zen for years during happy hour, opted for sushi. After their tea was served and each of them snatched a piece of the red dragon roll, their favorite, the conversation turned to the president’s response to the nuclear attack.
“We’re all off the record, pinky sworn to secrecy and all of that, right?” asked Brian.
“Of course, man,” replied Peter. He might pinky swear, but he certainly would second-source whatever was about to be shared if he planned on revealing it to Beasley. “What are you thinkin’?”
“There’s a real concern in the White House that this thing could expand to a much larger, extra-regional conflict.”
“I can echo that,” added Jenna as she munched on a
piece from her crunchy shrimp roll. “The Pentagon believes the president needs to act decisively to show the world America won’t stand down to despot rulers.”
Peter turned to Brian. “Whadya mean by extra-regional? Are you saying beyond the Middle East? Like Europe?”
Brian shook his head vigorously from side to side as he swallowed the hot tea. “No. South Asia. There’s chatter.”
Peter’s eyes darted from Jenna to Brian. He then fixed his gaze on his friend with benefits, although they hadn’t been friendly in a few weeks due to Peter’s travel schedule. “Do you know about this?”
She shrugged and looked guilty. “Vaguely. Echoes of conversations in the halls. You know how that goes. The Pentagon is a big place with a lot of conversations, if you know what I mean.”
Peter shook his head in disbelief. “Why would Pakistan and India go at it now? In the midst of what just happened? Didn’t they see the visuals out of Tehran and Tel Aviv. Nuclear war sucks.”
When he woke up that morning, he’d hungrily, yet with trepidation, scoured the internet for video clips and photographs of the devastation. Human beings, if not obliterated altogether, were left maimed and twisted. Buildings were incinerated. The entire landscape was covered with gray soot and ash. The sun was blocked out by the debris floating overhead. It was as if the world had turned whitish gray except for the raging fires all around.
“It’s complicated,” replied Brian.
Peter pressed them. “Pakistan and India seemed to have a working, albeit tenuous peace, for decades. Sure, their nuclear programs have advanced greatly during that time, but they’re next-door neighbors, for God’s sake. They’re not gonna shoot at each other, right?”
Jenna replied, “I never thought the Iranians would have the balls to fire on Israel.”
Peter chuckled. He liked when Jenna used locker-room talk. His mom had been the same way.
He shook his head and used his chopsticks to pluck a piece of sushi. “Well, it was stupid. Look how it turned out for those fools. I just can’t imagine Pakistan and India going after each other.”
Brian felt the need to defend the information he’d shared. “Actually, Peter, it isn’t that surprising. Listen, there’s a war going on in the White House between the Helton faction, who is adamantly opposed to war, and the longtime advisors to administrations, who see it as a necessary evil. The president sees America’s defense of its ally Israel as initiating an act of war on Iran. Others see it as a promise kept, one that has endured for decades.”
Peter looked over his drink to Jenna. “Is the Pentagon thinking this way as well?”
She nodded. “From what I’m hearing, the defense secretary firmly believes that bad actors like Pakistan will see the president’s inaction as a sign of weakness. They’re willing to take their chances on a head-to-head war with India if they believe Washington will stand down.”
Here was Peter’s opening. “Well, hell. If the administration’s opinion is to stand down in a nuclear conflict between two equally matched adversaries, what’ll they do if Kim fires off nukes at Seoul and Tokyo, two nations with no nukes of their own?”
Brian leaned back and sighed. “Personal opinion?” he said inquisitively.
“Sure,” replied Peter.
“That’s a different scenario. He’d defend South Korea and Japan.”
“With nukes?”
Jenna and Brian replied simultaneously, “Yes.”
Peter continued with his questions. “And this is because of the balance of nuclear power differential?”
“I think so,” replied Jenna. “At least from the Pentagon’s perspective.”
Peter looked to Brian. “Same from the White House?” He intently studied his friend’s facial expression, searching for clues.
Brian squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow. He looked around at the mostly empty restaurant. Most people were home tuned into the cable news stations. The nuclear showdown in the Middle East was high drama for most Americans. He leaned in to reply.
“Okay. This is totally water cooler talk, understand? This has never come out of the mouth of my boss and is strictly passed around the Eisenhower and EOB cafeterias.” There were two cafeterias open to White House staff. One was located in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, and the other was in the New Executive Office Building, both of which were part of the White House complex.
Brian continued after both Jenna and Peter nodded in agreement. “There is something personal between the president and Kim. Nobody knows what it is and where it originated. Did you notice during the campaign the subject of North Korea rarely came up?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” replied Jenna.
“Are you saying he and Kim are best pals or something?” asked Peter.
“I don’t know,” Brian quickly answered. “There is some kind of unwritten understanding between the two that none of us can put our finger on. It isn’t discussed much because, frankly, Kim has toned down his rhetoric since the election, and the president hasn’t found a need to address this particular foreign policy matter.”
“Well, I’m gonna throw this out there,” began Jenna. “Regardless of what the North Koreans are up to, I can say that Pakistanis are certainly on a war footing. That didn’t come from me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sunday, October 20
McDowell Residence
Hayward, California
Lacey, Owen, and their son, Tucker, were not unlike millions of other American families gathered around the dinner table that night as they discussed the nuclear attack. They’d grimaced when, despite the warnings of the media that the following images were graphic in nature, they couldn’t look away from the devastation wrought by the nuclear bombs.
Lacey cried when she saw orphaned children, maimed and burned, crying for their parents while they clutched a doll or toy. Owen set his jaw in anger as the pundits explained why Iran thought they had a right to attack Israel. Tucker scowled in disbelief when some reporters warned a nuclear war could be brought to American soil.
The solemn news overshadowed what should’ve been a celebration for the family when Owen broke the news that he got the promotion together with a substantial raise. He was even rewarded with a few days off at the end of the upcoming week.
“Okay. Enough of this,” began Lacey as she turned off the television that had been playing in the background as they ate. “We’ve heard it all, and now they’re just regurgitating and speculating, their favorite pastime.” She and Peter had vastly different opinions of the role of the media in America. Lacey’s was more closely aligned with her father—why can’t they just tell the truth from all sides. Peter’s perspective was different since it was his passion and job.
“I agree, Mom. I’ve been thinking about a way to spend Dad’s extra days off besides him doing chores around the house.”
“How do you know that’s what I had in mind?” asked Owen.
“’Cause that’s what you do lately, Dad. The three of us haven’t been hiking and camping since last spring.”
“You and your mom have gone,” said Owen with a tinge of guilt in his voice. He knew his son was right. He’d been far too focused on his career at Yahoo, promotion and raise notwithstanding. He needed to live in the present with his family.
“As luck would have it,” interjected Lacey, “there are no honey-dos on the hubby’s to-do list. We can all just chillax or—”
“You can pull me out of school for a few days, and we can head to the mountains,” said Tucker, finishing his mom’s sentence in a manner she hadn’t planned. “I’ve got it all planned out.”
Owen chuckled and leaned back in his chair. He and Lacey exchanged subtle smiles and encouraged their son to continue.
“Have you guys checked out the weather forecast for the Sierra Nevadas?”
Lacey started to laugh and shrugged. “Um, can’t say that I have. How about you, Owen?”
“Nope. What did I miss?”
�
��Snow, you guys. No cap. The forecast is calling for snow at the end of next week.”
Owen and Lacey burst out laughing. They tried not to show their age when talking with their fifteen-year-old son, especially since they were in their late thirties and hardly ancient. Phrases like no cap, the new-and-improved version of for real or no lie used often in their younger years, required evening internet research sessions to decipher.
Once Tucker had entered high school, new words were introduced into his vocabulary. While playing football one afternoon, Lacey heard Tucker and his buddies shout yeet from time to time. She learned yeet was an expression used by teens instead of bam or boom, with the presumed accompanying explanation point, of course.
Lacey recalled laughing so hard she was in tears that evening as she relayed her observations to Owen. Without a word, he’d hustled off to the kitchen, returning with a stockpot and a wooden spoon. Then he retrieved a white dinner jacket out of his closet and a pair of tighty-whitey underwear. He pulled the drawers on top of his head and adjusted them just so in the mirror. Then he put on the white jacket and turned to Lacey with pot and spoon in hand.
“Who am I?” he asked nonchalantly, starting the guessing game they played often, along with would you rather?
“More clues, please,” asked Lacey as she laughed, already amused by his antics.
Owen smacked the pot with the wooden spoon, held it high over his head, and yelled, “Yeet!”
Lacey immediately picked up on the reference to Chef Emeril Lagasse, who was known to throw out the word bam during his food presentations. She laughed and cried so hard she couldn’t manage to get out the words.
This did not deter Owen from beginning round two of the who am I? game. He dropped all of his props and rustled through the closet. He located an orange and black soft-shelled jacket bearing the San Francisco Giants logo on the back. Then he retrieved a wooden baseball bat out of the closet that had been autographed by Barry Bonds at a Yahoo corporate event he’d attended.