Madam President (19 page)

The deputy national security advisor addressed the group next: “Folks, if you need to be in touch with your agencies, please use the next fifteen minutes to do so. The line will remain open, and most of us are going to be assembled in here until the Secret Service advises against it. The Cabinet secretaries who are here will relocate down to the PEOC with the president and vice president. As the president indicated, we’ll do a formal update in twenty minutes.”

Melanie directed her aide to monitor the videoconference. She moved out of the camera shot and called Brian. He picked up immediately.

“I can’t believe this is happening again,” he said.

“I know.”

“Are you feeling OK?”

“I’m fine. We’re going to try to get back by nine. I assume I’ll go straight to the Pentagon. Where are you?”

“I’m stuck at the Women’s Museum. All of the networks have gone to wall-to-wall live coverage, so I haven’t been able to get off the air for long enough to move back to the White House. Everyone seems to have been left here.”

“The press office should be moving you all back.”

“They’re working on it. There’s an unconfirmed report of an attack on the Mall, so I’m not sure we’ll be moving anytime soon.”

“I think that report is real.”

“Do you have anything on it that I can use?”

“No, but between us, they just moved Charlotte down to the PEOC.”

“Jesus. They haven’t done that since September eleventh, right?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“Listen, they’re coming back to me in about thirty seconds, and now I have no idea what I’m going to say.”

“Don’t report anything I just told you.”

“I never do, Mel.”

Next, Melanie dialed Annie to ask her to place a call to her parents. She didn’t really have time to talk to them, but one call would spare them a day of anxiety. Her dad picked up on the first ring.

“Are you and Mom watching the news?” She knew they were. Her father slept with the remote in one hand and usually turned on Fox News before his eyes opened. He was on a first-name basis with all of the anchors, and one of his favorite conversation starters was to quiz Melanie about the college education of the various female Fox News anchors and pundits. Melanie always failed his quizzes.

“Where are you, Mel? Are you safe? Did you get out of that godforsaken country?” Her father’s politics were an odd mix of libertarian isolationism and right-wing lunacy, but he was staunchly opposed to any war that would place his daughter in harm’s way.

“Yes, Dad. I’m fine. I’m on my way back to Washington.”

“Thank God. Marion, she’s on her way back to D.C.,” he yelled to her mom.

“Is Mom there?”

“She’s just getting out of the shower.”

“Tell her I’m fine and that I’ll call her later.”

“Do we know who the sons of bitches are who did this?”

“Not yet, Dad. We’re working on it.”

“Tell the president to bomb the entire Middle East to pieces.”

“I’m pretty sure that isn’t on her menu of options, but I will pass it along.”

“It’s the only way to protect ourselves at this point.”

“Dad, I want you and Mom to stay home today.”

“Mom just canceled her book club, and I canceled my golf game. Those bastards targeted innocent families and children. When are we going to realize that they exist on this planet for the sole purpose of doing us harm? It doesn’t matter what we do. We should stop trying to rebuild their goddamned schools, and we should stop pouring money we don’t have into their corrupt economies. Do you think it’s done us any good? All the money we spend?”

“Listen, I’ve got to go, but if you need to reach me, you can call Annie.”

“What am I going to call Annie for? Fox News knows what’s happening before the goddamned government.”

“Just tell Mom that she can call Annie if she needs anything or if she wants to talk to me.”

“Darren, stop harassing your daughter.” Melanie could hear her mother yelling.

“Tell your mother that you are safe.” Her father handed the phone to Melanie’s mother.

“Where are you, honey?”

“I’m on my way back. I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry.”

Melanie had waved in her press aide while she was talking to her parents.

“How’s our press?” she asked him as soon as she hung up.

“They want to file from the plane about your meetings and calls. Can I read out anything from your videoconference?”

“Only read out the call if the White House is doing the same thing. It’s easy to get ahead of the White House on a day like this. Be sure that Dale is reading out the same meetings to her press, so that it doesn’t feel like we’re all on different pages.”

“Got it.”

“And tell the press to thank you for insisting that the plane has Wi-Fi. You should sit in for the next videoconference and make sure you and Dale are talking to all of your counterparts at CIA, FBI, State, and DOJ. Tell Dale she needs to set up an hourly interagency press call.”

He took down Melanie’s orders and excused himself.

Next, Melanie placed a call to the chairman of the joint chiefs and confirmed that NORAD had taken over North American air space as they had done on September 11. Then she pulled out her laptop and started typing a few notes for the president’s speech. She knew exactly what Charlotte would need to communicate that night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Dale

S
hould I stay here, or do you need me in the PEOC?” Dale asked.

“You are going to have to read out the president’s meetings and phone calls to our press,” Craig noted.

“I know, but I figured you’d want to keep it very small in the PEOC.”

“I have room for you. Come on,” Craig urged.

Dale wished she’d attended one of the half dozen emergency drills that had taken place since she’d joined the White House staff. She didn’t even know where the PEOC was. She always sent Marguerite to the Saturday disaster drills. She never thought she would witness something so dire that it required the Secret Service to evacuate the president to the PEOC. Dale followed Craig up the stairs from the Situation Room. He stopped in his office and told his assistant to heed the evacuation orders.

“Yes, sir,” his assistant, Ben, replied nervously. Half a dozen executive assistants from the West Wing were hovering around the television on Ben’s desk, which was normally on mute if it was on at all.

“There’s a rumor that the State Department was attacked. Is that true?” Ben asked.

Dale glanced at the TV. They were airing a shot of the street that ran alongside the Old Executive Office Building. The OEOB was the
largest building in the White House complex. It housed all but the most senior presidential advisors and their staffs. Smoke was billowing up the street from the direction of the Washington Monument.

“As far as we know, the explosion was down on the Mall. We’re not hearing anything about an attack or evacuation at the State Department,” Craig reassured him.

The administrative assistants were mesmerized by the coverage.

“Do you know that people are jumping off the burning ships in Miami and into the water?” one of them remarked.

Craig was quiet for a second and then nodded. Dale couldn’t tell if any of them had even looked away from the TV for long enough to notice.

Dale moved closer and stared at the image of the black cloud moving toward the White House complex. The day had taken a surreal turn. When they were dealing with attacks in New York, Miami, L.A., and Chicago, they were doing what they always did: managing a crisis. Once the report had come in about an explosion in D.C., the sense of security that Dale had always felt as a senior staffer with a hard pin and easy access to armed Secret Service agents evaporated. She was on her way to an underground bunker, but she still felt vulnerable.

“Where does everyone else go if the entire White House gets evacuated? Is there an office building or a safe house downtown or something?” Dale asked Craig.

Craig shook his head and picked up the phone on Ben’s desk. He punched in a number that Dale didn’t recognize.

“Hey, listen, I’m going to give your address to my assistant and some of his colleagues. If they evacuate the West Wing, I’m going to send them to your offices to work. You’ll set them up with phones and computers and some lunch, right? Thanks, man. I’ll call when I can.” He hung up. “Listen up, everyone. If you get evacuated, I want you to head to Main Street Strategies. Ben has the address,” Craig ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

As Craig started to move toward the door, Dale wondered how her own staff was faring. Dale and Craig hadn’t taken two steps toward the East Wing when they encountered the CBS crew that was supposed to be embedded with Dale all day. The light on the camera was
on, and Dale recognized the associate producer who had driven in with her that morning.

“Here we are with the White House press secretary and chief of staff. What can you tell us about what’s happening? Can you confirm the D.C. attack? Has the president been relocated to an undisclosed location, or is she still on the premises? When will she address the nation?”

The producer was holding a microphone two inches from Dale’s face. She held her arm out to push the microphone a little farther away, and then she stood squarely in front of the camera and tried to project calm.

“We’ll have a statement for you shortly. We appreciate all of your questions, and we’re working on answers. Obviously, there are things we can’t share with you for security reasons, but we’ll get you all of the information we can. Now, can you guys please wait in the briefing room with the rest of the press?”

“We were supposed to be embedded with you all day, ma’am.”

“That was before the country was attacked, and you’re going to have to stop calling me ma’am.”

The camera was about ten inches from Dale’s face, and she was certain that her “ma’am” comment was snippy enough to make the highlight reel. She silently cursed herself for losing her cool. There was no news that spread faster than a sense of panic exhibited by a senior White House official, and there was no mission more critical for someone in Dale’s position than exhibiting otherworldly tranquillity in the midst of a national security event.

“I’m sorry about that, guys. It’s a tense time. As I said, the nation has been attacked.”

“A terrorist attack?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Is there a reason no one in the government has called it a terrorist attack yet?”

Dale didn’t want to get ahead of the president, but she felt boxed in by the question. She understood why celebrities punched paparazzi in the face and smashed their cameras. “I’m really sorry, but we are rushing to a national security briefing. I’ll ask Marguerite to walk you through everything we know.”

“Can we remain embedded with you?” they yelled after her.

“I’ll be in touch after this next briefing,” she replied.

Dale squirmed past the crew and stormed away. Craig held the door to the colonnade open for her. Once it had closed behind her, she exploded. “Those little pieces of shit.”

Craig put an arm on her shoulder to calm her down. “Let it go. You know better than I do that the minute we start restricting press access, they start broadcasting that the end of the world is upon us, and the public really freaks out. We can’t do that to the president. She needs more time to get her arms around the situation. We all need more time. Just go through the motions with the press. We can always limit access as the day goes on, but I’m guessing it wouldn’t be worth it. The press has a way of making everything about them.”

“You’re right. What a bunch of jerks,” Dale complained.

Craig and Dale had barely made it halfway down the colonnade toward the East Wing when Marguerite came running after them.

“Whoa, hold up. I need you for two seconds before you disappear underground not to be heard from for hours.”

Craig glanced at his watch. “We have a briefing in two minutes.”

“I’m dealing with total chaos at the moment. Our press is scattered everywhere. Most of them are stuck at the Women’s Museum,” Marguerite reported.

“Can we send the staff vans back for them? They will kill us if they can’t be on the air from here,” Dale asked.

“I’m working on it.”

“We just got ambushed by CBS. Can you send someone to round up all of the crews? They are literally wandering around the East Wing.”

“I don’t have anyone to spare, but as soon as Molly gets back from the museum, I’ll have her park them in your office.”

“Thanks, Marguerite. I’ll call you as soon as there’s something to read out from the president’s meetings.”

“Wait, wait. I need to give them something now. Can I say that the president has been in meetings with her national security team since she returned from the museum?”

“Yes. Tell them she’s met with the entire national security team in the Situation Room and via videoconference. She’s been briefed
on all five of the attacks, and her prayers are with the victims of this senseless violence.”

“Senseless violence sounds like a mass shooting. Can we call it a terrorist attack?”

“I just danced on that myself with CBS. Craig?”

“I think so. Let me just check with Tim.”

“We have to check with the national security advisor to find out if five bombings constitute a terrorist attack? Seriously?” Marguerite put one hand on her hip and glared at her colleagues.

“Marguerite is right. We should be able to tell them that the president condemns today’s act of terror and her prayers are with the victims,” Dale corrected.

“You’d better let me run it by the president,” Craig warned.

“For Christ’s sake,” Marguerite muttered.

“I’ll settle it right now. Come downstairs with us,” Craig ordered.

As they marched toward the East Wing, Dale took out her iPhone and sent off a quick text to Warren. “I’m heading underground. If I don’t have service, will call you in a couple of hours.”

He wrote back immediately: “Stay in PEOC and be tough for POTUS.”

She didn’t bother to ask him if he could see the smoke from his office, which was just a couple of blocks from the D.C. blast site.