Allen Reed, III, President of the United States, looked up from his reports spread out on the massive oval conference table and stifled a tired sigh. Irked that DHS hadn't made a full report yet, the President wondered when Hank Suthby would get around to interrupting the real work if he hadn't had Sheriqua schedule a meeting.
Around the well polished table sat the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Secretary of Defense, the National Security Advisor. The Vice President was nowhere to be seen.
The Secret Service man stepped out of the doorway behind the two visitors and shut the door quietly. The massive oak door was slightly curved to close flush with the wood paneled wall. It made a soft click as the latch caught, but otherwise was totally silent. The President could tell immediately that Suthby's undersecretary was impressed. Must be his first visit to the Underworld, the President told himself with an inner grin.
“Hank,” said the President with a sad smile as he stood to walk around the cluster of lesser officials quietly reviewing reports. The two men shook hands. A few of the Joint Chief’s nodded politely but offered silence as their greeting. The civilian department heads continued reading reports without so much as a glance up.
“Mr. President—“
“Hank, come on, now. You know the rules. It’s Allen.”
“Yes, sir. This is my Deputy, Daniel Jones.” .
“It’s an honor, sir,” said Daniel, with just a trace of too much enthusiasm.
The President flashed his most famous campaign smile. “Nice to meet you, too, son. Gentlemen, take a seat and let me know where we're at.” The President’s reassuring demeanor was a direct contradiction to the controlled chaos of the room around them. The last thing he needed was for his predecessor's head of the DHS to come in here and start trouble this early in the crises.
Everyone who was anyone in Washington knew Hank Suthby was prone to over-react. He was the favored media-fodder for his administration. It was commonly attributed to a side-effect of the mass layoffs resulting from Hurricane Joyce during the last year of the prior administration. He was so scared to be seen as doing nothing, a la Katrina, that he had over-reacted.
Joyce had been just as big a fiasco as Katrina in the minds of anyone who had the sense to pour piss out of a boot, but the Press lauded him as a savior. The clean up, the National Guard mobilization in three states, the supplies, the labor—it had cost the taxpayers nearly a trillion dollars.
The Press, for their part, had done everything in their power to smooth that little inconvenient truth over so that the administration could enjoy yet another crisis of opportunity. Through it all, Suthby somehow retained his grasp on power. The President secretly fumed at the man.
I'm going to find a way around that roadblock the House Leadership put up to protect your ass, you arrogant little prick. Then you're gone.
As the President-elect, Allen Reed, always an astute political observer who well knew the machinations of Washington post sea-change, had wanted all senior cabinet level officials fired when he took power. He succeeded in removing every single post that the last President had managed to appoint to repay political favors. There were exactly three people whom President Reed decided to keep, solely on their exemplary merits. It was no surprise that they had served in more than one administration.
Yet, somehow, for reasons no one in his party could explain, the House Leadership—unfortunately under control of the opposing party—had closed ranks around Hank Suthby. Perhaps it was a last ditch effort to thumb their noses at the incoming President. Perhaps it was just the final childish act of a childish party that was merely sulking in the wake of three back to back landslide victories for the President's party. President Reed dearly hoped it wasn't the case that Suthby was politically protected because he had dirt on someone. Those were the hardest people to get rid of. But, there was no telling with Suthby. That's what made him dangerous.
There was also no way to remove him as head of DHS without causing all kinds of trouble for just about every agenda the new President possessed. If he released Suthby, the House would block everything his party wanted to accomplish to fix the mess from 2011 that America was still trying to clean up. It was maddening.
But, being the suave politician that he was, there was absolutely no sign of this resentment towards the last holdover from the previous, failed administration. But Allen Reed was a patient man. He would win out in the end, just like he had on the campaign trail where he earned a reputation as a tenacious, relentless opponent. He never got excited, never lost his cool and never left his core values.
All in due time, you pompous ass. All in due time, the President told himself as Suthby began with simple pleasantries. He could tell the SecDHS was trying to work his way to a point of some kind, but the President was damned if he could figure out where Suthby was going. The commotion around them threatened to pull away the President's precious attention.
On the walls, displays showed views of different cities. Flames, darkness, mobs in the streets...scenes of the growing anarchy in America’s largest cities. Other displays showed the positions of America’s aircraft carrier battlegroups, nuclear subs, Army divisions and Marine Expeditionary Units. Air Force bombers and fighters had their own screen on the opposite wall. In this one room, sheltered deep below the White House complex, the Leader of the Free World could monitor just about everything at once.
President Reed watched closely his two visitors as he led them to a side room that was a bit more secluded. He tried not to grin as Hank and Daniel tried to take in all the sights and sounds. Barely controlled chaos was still chaos to the uninitiated. And there were several very good reasons why the President had never initialed Hank Suthby.
It was all nearly overwhelming and the President figured Suthby and his little lap dog were probably reaching the stimulus overload that so many bureaucrats attained in a full-up War Room. When the sliding glass door slid shut softly, the noise level dropped to normal and his visitors visibly relaxed.
There was coffee, tea, and sweets laid out on the low table in front of the seats the DHS men and the President took. Apparently, only the coffee had been touched by anyone in the room. President Reed could see Suthby wasn’t in the mood to drink and eat. He could tell Hank wanted to jump right in with both feet—exactly the attitude the President repeatedly said he wanted from his people.
“Sir—Allen. As you know, we have been hit by multiple terror cells that—,” Suthby began awkwardly.
“Hank, I know all about this kind of stuff from the military,” the President said with a tired smile. At least something had gone right. “What about it?”
“We have some information on that as well. Sir, this is very scary stuff. I think...” He glanced at Daniel. "I think the terrorists may be behind the riots, or at least involved in some way."
The President’s eyebrows went up. “Really? And how does DHS know this? I would think the FBI—”
“Sir, it's all circumstantial at this point, but nothing else makes since. They must have planned some sort of massive coordinated attack. Mr. President, this one’s too be big to be coincidence. We’re talking the wildfires, the riots, the attacks on our power grid, all going off within 12 hours of each other. They have to be tied together. Have to.”
Reluctantly, the President put all the pieces together and realized that Suthby made sense, in an awkward, bungling manner. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the leather chair. He hadn't gotten any sleep during the long night.
Why the hell did no one else put this all together? Why does it have to be Hank Suthby that gets the credit? Dammit! the President fumed. His face was a mask of concern that hid his inner rage that the little weasel from DHS would get the glory from putting it all together.
“God help us…how did they do all this? How did they get the information to pull it off? Another damn leak…” fumed the Commander in Chief.
Suthby nodded vigorously. “Someone has to be helping them. I see no way that the average Joe-Te
rrorist could get the kind of information necessary to bring down our power structure like they did. They way they hit the main grid hubs, the way that cascaded just right to knock out the lesser stations. This is just too detailed for anything else. This isn’t a leak, sir, this is treason.” Suthby sat back with a sigh, but a strangely contented face.
He knows he's got the upper hand on me on this one. You son of a bitch, the President's inner voice growled. The two men looked at one another in silence.
“I can’t imagine how this could happen…” mused the bewildered President. Then, “Hank, how the hell do you know about this? Why hasn’t anyone else found out? CIA should be all over this. Or NSA for cryin' out loud.”
“I have a…uh..." Suthby suddenly looked flummoxed. "Well, let's say I have a gift for conspiracy theories. You kind of have to, if you want to survive at DHS." Suthby shrugged.
“Conspiracy theories?” groaned the President, leaning back in his chair, hands going for his forehead. He sat there a moment, contemplating what the fallout from word of this conversation getting out would look like. The man's unstable. This is ridiculous. Leaning back in, he said, “Have the terrorists gone public with this?”
“No. I just put it all together about a half hour ago. So far we've received no confirmation of any attacks by any known terrorist organization."
“Sir, we need to assume everyone is suspect until proven clean, for the time being. We need to get the warning out to the Vice President and the members of Congress,” blurted Daniel. Suthby leveled a withering glare on his younger Deputy.
“No—Dan, right?" The President continued without waiting for the reply, hand up to forestall further comment from the undersecretary. "We can’t do that. My opponents in Congress will go right to the press. They’d cause a panic and make things ten times worse, all to score a few political points." He turned back to the head of the DHS.
"Hank, think about it—at the very least, my esteemed colleagues from across the aisle will have a field day with this. We figured out the details of the worst attack on American soil since 9-11 through a conspiracy theory?” The President rubbed the sides of his head and closed his eyes. He opened one eye and fixed it on Hank. "I know that won't keep you up at night, but it's a consideration I have to take in mind right now."
"But, sir, this is hardly the time to worry about politics," began Hank.
The President stood up, silencing further discussion. Hank and Daniel stood too. "Hank, I'm the President of the United States of America. Everything I do, say, and imply, is political whether I want it that way or not. However," he said and put a mollifying hand in the air. "I'll take this into consideration, but honestly, I'd like to see you focusing more on how to fix the situation. This is just like Joyce all over again, on a national scale." The more the words came out, the more angry became the President.
"Seriously, Hank, what the hell are you doing—conspiracy theories?" They walked out into the main War Room. Most commotion slowed. Whenever the President entered the room, people paused to see what would happen. When no pronouncements were made, the pace picked back up. More reports were called out, screens flashed with information, phones rang and people argued.
Hank Suthby looked crestfallen briefly and the President loved to see it. Then the wily appointee redoubled his efforts to impress his boss. He spoke up loud enough for everyone to hear. He was such an amateur at theatrics.
“I’ve got some more bad news, Allen," as if they were carrying on an important conversation from the private room. He paused to allow everyone to listen in on the details. "Rioting in the major cities is not slowing down. In fact, it’s getting worse in many places.” Hank opened his briefcase and handed over a printout.
The Chief of Staff of the Army, General Robert Stirling couldn't help but overhear and frowned. He stood up and joined the President. “Wait a minute—just wait one damn minute. General Hunt informed me not an hour ago that the California National Guard have successfully contained the riot in San Francisco.”
The Secretary of the Department of Homeland Defense continued, unabated. “General, the Governor of Georgia just informed me this morning that he’s ordered his National Guard forces and police to pull out of Atlanta.” He turned back to the President.
“It’s a total loss, Mr. President. Over half the city is already on fire. We’re talking upwards of a million of potential casualties, Allen. The people that tried to evacuate got stuck on the roads and…it's a nightmare. It’s still going on, and we can’t do anything about it. The manpower to tackle that kind of a event is simply not in place."
The President's shoulders slumped, ever so slightly. This was not the way to start day one of the recovery. "How long, Hank?"
"It'll take days, in the best of conditions to move the amount of personnel and resources into place that are going to be needed. This is not a regional event where we can simply pull from another state. Every state along the eastern seaboard has riots of the same magnitude. We have to pull from the mid-west. Without power and normal communications, it'll be at least a week. I'm afraid we won’t know the final tally for a long time…”
The President was visibly shaken. “My God.” His hands went out to steady himself on the table. An aide rushed to his side, but the President bravely waved him off.
“How in the hell could this have happened so God dammed quickly?” fumed the Secretary of Defense from a few feet away. He ripped off his glasses and tossed them on the stack of reports in front of him on the conference table. “Okay. Yesterday around ten o’clock in the morning the power goes out…”
“Closer to noon—“ offered the Secretary of the Navy.
“Ten, noon, do we even know for sure yet?” asked SecDef. “Someone get on that and find out exactly when power went out. Now, whatever time it was, by nightfall, we had riots—“
“Reported in some areas as race riots, sir,” interrupted one of the SecDef’s staffers.
“Race riots!” roared the Secretary of Defense, throwing his hands up in frustration. The War Room grew quiet after his outburst.
“Whatever! We got riots. We need to know why the hell we had riots—race riots,” he said pointedly looking at his chastised staffer, “In just about all our major cities, all within hours of each other and within hours of the initial blackout."
"And within hours of the wildfires in the southwest, which the Forestry Service believes were ignited at the same time that we have concluded the attacks on the power grid commenced," added SecDHS with a knowing look at the President. He looked around the War Room. "Gentlemen, something is rotten in Denmark.”
Now he thinks he's a Shakespearean actor. Jesus help me...prayed the President silently with eyes closed. He rubbed his temple and stared at Suthby in shock. The man had no self-respect. He had to know that the rest of the men and women in this room must think him an idiot and that was before his conspiracy theory.
"It makes sense," mused the National Security Advisor. "Al Qaeda has been promising for years to hit us harder than ever."
"Yeah, but could this be it? Wildfires, riots, the power grid, all at the same time? This feels different than Al Qaeda. Those chickenshits like to use suicide bombers," replied General Stirling.
The President tried to calm his heaving stomach. Suthby had managed to get his idea out into the open and they were all starting to fall for it. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Damn you, Suthby, I will destroy you for this.
“It doesn't fit their usual M.O., that's for sure," agreed NSA. "But, we did suffer the suicide attacks on the power grid. That was hallmark Al Qaeda tactics."
"And the wildfires?" asked SecDef. "That is definitely above the cognitive abilities of those animals." He picked up a sheet of paper and examined it, now that he had the room's attention.
Come on Ron, don't let me down, begged the President, watching the sparring match unfold.
"I find it hard to believe that the various groups responsible for the riots—says here in Seatt
le, it's mostly anarchists—would team up with the most dangerous terrorist organization in the world."
"Communications with the individual states are iffy right now, sir, but we’re working on it,” mentioned the National Security Advisor. She looked at a report and continued. “Some have localized power, some have backup generators, some don’t, and a few are too busy with riots to even get back to us.”
“What?” asked the President incredulously. Finally something solid. Maybe I can get him off the conspiracy thing. “Hank, get on the horn and tell the Governors to play ball,” the President ordered. “I want you to know that you have my full backing on this. We have got to know exactly what we’re dealing with here.”
“Yes, sir,” said Suthby. He was practically smiling.
President Reed turned to the massive, full wall display of the country. Pointing at the west coast, he said, "So, Ron, you're saying we've got anarchists running the show in Seattle." A quick staffer got to a keyboard and typed some commands. Over the location of Seattle, a little red Anarchist symbol appeared, glowing like an angry target reticle.
“Yes, sir."
"In this whole region—what, Arizona, New Mexico, California, Nevada and parts of Colorado and Wyoming, we have the forest fires."
"Sir, they've also started in Utah," added Suthby.
After a moment, the areas the wildfires were ravaging began to glow red.
The President didn't bother to turn from the screen. "Utah. We're talking some serious manpower just for the fires. Now, in places like Chicago, New York, and Atlanta, it's confirmed race rioting."
Little flames appeared over the big cities where rioting was occurring. Over Detroit and Atlanta, double sized flames appeared on the screen.
"Yet the last word out of Dallas was the rioting was over immigration," added NSA.
"The country is on it's knees and we've got immigration reform riots going on?" the President turned around to face his people. "As much as I hate to buy into the whole conspiracy theory idea," he said with a nod towards Suthby who flushed with anger. The President had to stifle a small smile.
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