Power Curve (38 page)

The gentle moan cut through Bender’s subconscious and jolted him awake. It was Nancy. She was talking in her sleep, meaningless words from a tortured dream, as her breath came in ragged bursts. He reached out to touch her, to tell her he was there and that everything was fine. “We were happy then,” she said, rolling over into a tight ball. He pulled his hand back and tried to sleep. But he was wide awake.

Finally, he got out of bed and pulled on one of the heavy terry cloth robes the inn provided. He stood by the window. The low, snow-covered hills were bathed in moonlight.
What a beautiful sight
, he thought. But it held no emotion, no passion for him. He moved across the room to the fireplace and quietly placed a log on the dying embers. He stood there and looked at his wife.
What’s the matter?
he thought.
What’s come between us?

The log caught fire and came to life. The glow flickered on his face as he stared into the fire.
Why am I losing my wife?
he raged to himself.
Why can’t I understand this?
Nancy’s words echoed through his mind and they were at Laurie’s funeral at Arlington. “We were happy then.” He felt the tears in his eyes. Slowly, he raised his chin, and his head came back. “We were happy then,” he said aloud. The tears flowed down his cheeks, and he knew. He had never cried for his daughter. He had turned away from his loss and carefully walled it in with work and intellectual conceit: words on an accident report, the demands of his profession, the commitment to duty. And he had abandoned Nancy, the woman he loved, to her own grief.

His tears dried as the fire warmed his face. Could he change and salvage his marriage? He didn’t know.

Mazie Kamigami Hazelton stood as the president left the Situation Room. The Sunday 1
P.M.
briefing on the Far East had lasted less than ten minutes and the room rapidly emptied. Only Elkins, the secretary of defense, remained behind. “Dr. Elkins,” she began, selecting her words with care, “I don’t share your confidence that the Chinese and Japanese have exhausted themselves and the fighting is over.”

He gave her the most patronizing look he could muster. “Mrs. Hazelton,” he sighed, “I choose to believe the CIA and the national intelligence officer. After all, threat assessments and issuing war warnings are their responsibility.”

“What is the National Military Intelligence Center’s assessment?” she asked.

Hazelton was probing too hard, and Elkins wanted to end the conversation. “The same as mine. May I suggest you stop chasing shadows?” He tilted his head and gave her a brief nod, the high official bestowing his benediction on a flunky. But Hazelton was not intimidated and waited until he had left before reviewing the mass of information flowing into the Situation Room. She agreed with them that there was no danger to either the United States or Okinawa. At least, none that she could see. Maybe Bender or Overmeyer might see something. But what she didn’t know.

Frustrated, she went to Shaw’s office and waited ten
minutes before Alice Fay escorted her in. She came right to the point. “We’re missing something and need to hear from the Pentagon.”

“That’s why Elkins is here,” Shaw said.

“He’s a civilian concerned with policy. The president needs to hear from the professionals.”

“I don’t think Maddy is putting much store in her generals these days,” he said. “Never seen a bunch who could cut and run like them.”

“Maybe they’re trying to send her a message,” Hazelton said.

“Are they now?” He twirled a letter opener between his fingers. “We got a game plan and we’re following it,” he said, dismissing her.

She walked quickly back to her new office. Only Norma, the senior secretary, was there. “Please contact General Bender,” she said. “I need to speak to him. It’s very urgent.”

“I’ll try,” Norma promised, “but he’s not answering his pager or cellular phone. I’ll have someone check his quarters again.”

Shaw checked his watch. It was 6:29
P.M.
Sunday evening. His hands were moist as he knocked at the door of the family room. He entered and paused. It was a scene of domestic tranquility: Turner was playing a board game with Sarah while Brian did his homework. Maura was knitting by the fire. He would never see it again. “Mizz President,” he said softly.

She looked at him, her face passive. “Any change?”

“No, ma’am.” Patrick Flannery Shaw closed his eyes for a second. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He hoped his voice wasn’t shaking. “Ma’am, a delegation from the Hill is waiting to speak to you in the Cabinet Room.”

“Really?” she replied. “This is most unusual.” Members of Congress did not barge into the White House uninvited. “Under the circumstances, perhaps it would be best if I didn’t meet—”

Shaw interrupted her. “Mizz President, you need to speak to them.”

She sighed. “It’s the ultimatum, isn’t it?”

Shaw tried to put a good face on it. “You need to do some hand holdin’, Mizz President.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She stood. “I’ll be right back, Mother.”

Shaw escorted her downstairs, held the door to the Cabinet Room, and stood back to let her enter alone. No one in the packed room stood up. “Gentlemen,” she said, taking her seat at the center of the long table. “How may I help you?”

Senator John Leland stood at the end of the table. “Mrs. Turner,” he began. Her right eyebrow arched at his obvious blunder in protocol. “We are here on a matter of national crisis.”

Her voice was ice. “Exactly what crisis are you referring to?”

“You are destroying the office of the presidency,” he replied.

She looked around the room, skewering each man with a hard look. “Gentlemen, this meeting is over.” She rose to leave.

“No, Mrs. Turner,” Leland thundered, “this meeting is not over until you hear what we have to say.”

“Listen to him,” Shaw urged.

Turner spun around and gave him a quizzical look. Then, to Leland, “Make it quick.”

“You have subverted the political process with your misguided attempts at tax reform,” Leland said. “Your actions in Lafayette Park violated the very constitutional rights of the demonstrators you are sworn to protect. You have abandoned a valuable ally who we have sworn to defend. You sacrificed ninety-four innocent women and children in your vain attempt to evacuate dependents from Okinawa, and they were devoured by sharks.” He drew himself up in righteous anger. “Now we have proof of illicit, outrageous, morally degenerate conduct on the part of your staff within the White House itself. How much more lies beneath the surface?”

“You left out the most serious charge,” she said. “I’m a woman.”

“For the good of the country,” Leland said, “before you totally destroy the presidency, you must resign.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you will be impeached and removed from office.”

“You’re an idiot, Leland, leading a pack of fools.”

My Gawd
, Shaw thought,
she’s standing up to them all alone
.

“Leave,” Turner snapped, “before I have the Secret Service throw you out.”

Shaw panicked. She would do it. “Mizz President, that would be a fatal mistake.”

“Yes, Mrs. Turner,” Leland bellowed, “please do that.”

For a brief moment, they glared at each other from across the table. A sharp rap at the door echoed between them, and every head turned to the sound. The Navy lieutenant commander on duty in the communications room burst through the door and halted at the scene frozen in place before him. “Madam President!” he blurted. He paused as words escaped him. “Madam President, the Chinese have detonated a nuclear weapon in the East China Sea.”

Leland reached for his pocket watch and snapped the lid open. The ultimatum had expired. “Mrs. Turner, you have brought the world to nuclear war. I can only repeat what Oliver Cromwell told the Long Parliament in 1653 when it was no longer fit to rule England.” He drew himself up, a biblical prophet raised in fury. “‘You have sat too long here for any good you have been doing…. In the name of God, go!’”

Washington, D.C.

M
adeline Turner closed her eyes as the first tremor swept through her. Only the sound of deep breathing reached her. Was it hers or the men surrounding her in the Cabinet Room? The words were seared in her mind: “a nuclear weapon”…“In the name of God, go!” How many people had died because of her? How many more had she sentenced to a certain death? She felt the tears course down her cheeks, etching paths of burning pain. She had failed.

“How many casualties?” she asked the stunned Navy lieutenant commander.

Before he could answer, Shaw waved him to silence. “Mizz President,” he said, “why don’t you sit down?” Shaw motioned for the Navy officer to leave.

“We demand an answer,” Leland said. His words were filled with triumph and vindication.

Turner didn’t move. “I don’t know what to say.”

Leland sensed victory and swelled with importance. “A simple note, Mrs. Turner. Similar to Nixon’s—”

Again, Shaw held up a hand. “We need a few moments alone gentlemen.” He gently held her elbow and guided her out of the room.

Behind her, the men exploded with shouts, and she heard demands for a retaliatory nuclear strike on Beijing. A uniformed Secret Service guard closed the door behind
them. The guard spoke into his whisper mike. “Magic is moving.” Then he muttered a few more words.

“It’s OK, Maddy,” Shaw soothed. “It’s OK.” He led her to the Oval Office, and she collapsed on a couch. Shaw rang the kitchen for tea and sat beside her. “It’ll be all right,” he said. The door swung open, and Maura O’Keith entered. “Not now,” Shaw said, “Not now.” He jerked his head for her to leave.

Maura ignored him and sat beside her daughter. “I knew something was wrong,” she said. “I just knew it.” It was a lie. A Secret Service agent on duty in the residence had overheard the whispered radio calls and told her. Maura listened as her daughter told her of Leland’s demands. “I’ll call Noreen and Richard,” Maura said, reaching for the phone.

“It’s too late for her kitchen cabinet,” Shaw said, taking the phone from her hand.

“She needs time and friends,” Maura snapped.

“There is no time left,” Shaw said.

Turner stood up. “I did nothing wrong, Patrick, nothing.”

Maura turned to her daughter. “Don’t do anything until I get back.” She rushed from the room and ran up to the Secret Service agent on guard. “Where’s Chuck Sanford?” she asked. The guard spoke into his mike and told her he was on duty at General Bender’s quarters. “I need to speak to him.” She ran downstairs to the Secret Service command post directly below the Oval Office. Within seconds, she was speaking to Sanford. “Tell the general his president is in trouble and needs him.”

Nancy Bender answered the knock at the rear door. “What now?” she asked. “We’re tired.”

“I need to speak to the general,” Chuck Sanford said. “It’s important.” She led him into the family room, where Bender was sitting by the fire. “General, Maura O’Keith called. The president is in trouble and needs your help.”

Bender shook his head. “You haven’t heard. She asked for my resignation. Now she wants my help? I’m not a Ping-Pong ball.” He looked into the fire. “What’s the problem.”

“Sorry, General. You know I can’t get involved. I’m just the messenger.”

“Thanks, Chuck,” Bender said, dismissing him.

Sanford had stood post for two presidents and guarded the ailing national security advisor, William Gibbons Carroll, when he was dying from ALS, Lou Gehrig’s disease. He had seen his partner, Wayne Adams, take the bullet for Bender and he had always been loyal to his oath.
Come on, General
, he thought,
do the right thing
. But Bender didn’t move. “General Bender,” he said, stepping over the line and getting involved, “she is your president.”

Nancy stood by the fire and folded her arms. “Do what you’re going to do,” she said. “Answer the goddamn call to duty. You always have. You always will.”

Bender stood up. He wanted to hold her. “I don’t have a choice,” he said.

“They’re using you,” she called to his back.

Okinawa, Japan

Every head in the command post was turned toward the tech sergeant in the disaster response cell. Even Martini could only wait as the sergeant plotted the winds. Once, the sergeant asked for confirmation that it was a fifty-kiloton weapon, an airburst, and located 120 nautical miles to the southwest over the East China Sea. Then he resumed work. Finally, he double-checked his calculations. “We’re seeing an unusual wind pattern for this time of year, and the winds are blowing out of the west,” he announced. “But most of the fallout will miss us. The footprint is downwind, to the east, and only the northern edge of the fallout will touch us. We can expect the first measurable traces to reach us in three hours and twenty minutes. With a little luck, the winds will veer to the south and we’ll be OK.”

“We’ll probably get nuked before that,” Major Bob Ryan groaned.

Martini snorted. “Not hardly. If we were going to get hit it would have happened by now.” He stood up and studied his staff. “That’s the only detonation we’re going
to see for a while. We’ve got three hours to hunker down and get our people undercover. Get decontamination centers set up and make sure everyone who goes outside has a dosimeter. Plan on burrowing in for a week, maybe two. It all depends on how dirty the bomb was and what the winds do. Go. Make it happen.” He motioned for Ryan to stay behind.

“Major, it’s OK to spout off in here. But you’re going to have to be positive as all hell when you talk to your people in the shelters. Thank God, we’ve already got them undercover. It’s not the end of the world and we’re going to make it. That’s your message, pure and simple. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Ryan said, eager to escape. He threw Martini a salute and scurried out of the command post.
How can Martini be so sure there won’t be any more?
he thought.
He had to know more than he was saying
. Another thought came to Ryan with such a clarity and force that it stopped him cold. He couldn’t move. It all made sense. They had dropped the bomb, not the Chinese.

Washington, D.C.

Shaw jerked the letter out of the typewriter and walked into the Oval Office. “This will do,” he said.

Turner looked up at him. Her eyes were filled with anger. “I’m not resigning.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Shaw replied. “Your political base—”

“Fuck my political base. I’m the president of the United States, and I’ve done nothing wrong.” She glared at him. “If you can’t support me on that, then—” She didn’t finish the sentence. “Call Noreen Coker and Richard Parrish. I want to see them now.”

“But Mizz President,” Shaw protested, “they’re still waiting in the Cabinet Room.”

“They can wait until hell freezes over.”

Shaw turned to Maura. “Can you reason with her? She’s going to be impeached if she doesn’t resign.”

“Then I guess she’s going to be impeached,” Maura answered.

The door opened, and Bender stood there, not entering.

Liz Gordon dropped a pillow over the phone and ignored its insistent ring. She reached down with both hands and guided Jeff Bissell’s head as his tongue flicked at her navel and worked lower. “Don’t stop,” she moaned. He reached for the phone and handed her the receiver, never missing a lick. “Liz Gordon,” she said, suddenly taking a sharp breath. She closed her eyes and listened. She reared up and bucked, knocking Bissell out of bed.

“What the—” he groaned, holding the left side of his head.

“Have Ben meet me at the east gate,” she told the caller. “I’m on my way.” She banged the receiver down and leaped out of bed. “Get dressed.”

“My head,” he moaned.

“Sorry,” she said. “Reuters broke a story that someone exploded a nuke near Okinawa.”

“Holy shit!” Bissell shouted as he reached for his trousers. They quickly dressed and ran for the elevator. Fortunately, Washington’s Sunday evening traffic was light and no police car saw them speeding toward the White House. Bissell pulled up to the east gate where Ben, Liz’s cameraman, was waiting. She jumped out of the car, and they processed through the gate. Bissell was a few steps behind them.

Ben handed her a computer printout as they hurried to the north side of the mansion. “That’s all we know,” he said.

“Look at all the staff cars,” she panted as they ran.

“The guard said they’ve been here since six this evening,” Ben told her. “General Bender arrived just before you did.”

“Oh, my God,” Liz said. “It must be true. Are we the first here?”

“As far as I know,” Ben said. He handed Liz a microphone and framed her in the lens, the North Portico with its lighted chandeliers glowing in the background.

“The White House is alive with activity,” she said, her
expression properly grave, “as unconfirmed reports of a nuclear explosion in the East China Sea keep growing. Staff cars and limousines from the Capitol have been streaming into the White House grounds since six this evening and General Robert Bender, President Turner’s national security advisor, arrived moments ago.”

She turned and looked at the White House. “It is ironic that the first president of this century and the first woman to hold this high office should be confronted with a nuclear Armageddon in the midst of her other political problems. This is truly a testing time for Madeline O’Keith Turner as the world shudders on the brink of war. This is Elizabeth Gordon, CNC-TV News, standing by at the White House.” She lowered her microphone and continued to stare at the North Portico. Ben kept the Betacam rolling and zoomed in on her face, catching her disheveled, flustered, worried expression. “Do this one right, Maddy,” she said, loud enough for the microphone to pick up.

“Perfect,” Ben whispered. “Absolutely perfect.” Then, more strongly, “You’ve never looked better. We’re talking Emmy here, folks.”

Jeff Bissell shook his head. “The well-laid look does it again.”

Shaw’s head twisted back and forth, first to Turner, then to Bender, then back again.
Sweet Jesus
, he thought,
what if he tells her I said she wanted him to resign? How do I get out of this one?
“General, we need you,” he said, trying for damage control. “Can we all let bygones be bygones and I’ll tear up that letter?”

“I do need you, Robert,” Turner said.

Bender hovered in the doorway. He wanted to put conditions on his help, to ask her to stop ignoring her generals and admirals, to stop punishing the men and women who defended their country. But he couldn’t. She was his commander in chief and like all the other superior officers he had served under, there were no conditions. “Please tear it up.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Patrick, please call Noreen and Richard and ask them to join me while I bring Robert up to date.” Shaw waddled out of the room, hopeful that the letter of resignation was
a dead issue, drowned in a sea of crisis. Turner quickly related how Leland’s delegation had arrived demanding her resignation as the Chinese ultimatum expired. The report of the nuclear detonation had only given Leland another weapon to use against her.

Bender paced the room. “Who was there?” he asked. She listed everyone she could remember, including John Weaver Elkins, the secretary of defense. “But no generals or admirals?” She confirmed his guess. “Was the DCI there?”

Again, she shook her head. “When I left, they were demanding I launch a ballistic missile at Beijing.”

“Those idiots,” he muttered. “When it comes to nukes, they don’t even know the right questions to ask. We don’t go crazy just because of one detonation someplace.”

“What are the right questions?”

“How many,” he answered, “who, where, how big, and what do they have left?”

“As far as I know,” she replied, “there was only one, somewhere over the ocean.”

“Those fucking bastards,” he growled, surprising her with his profanity. “A sel rel. The Chinese are using our own doctrine against us.” He picked up the phone. “May I?” he asked. She nodded, and he asked the operator to put him in contact with the DCI.

“What’s a sel rel?” she asked as they waited.

“A selective release. In a conflict where we’re losing, our doctrine calls for us to detonate one small nuclear weapon as a way to tell the enemy we intend to cross the firebreak to nuclear warfare unless they back off. The Chinese are sending us that message.”

A look of relief spread across her face. “Then I’m not committed to a nuclear war?”

“Not yet,” he told her. “But first, we got to be sure it’s a sel rel. That’s why you need to speak to the DCI.” He paused. “And the JCS.”

“Can I trust the Joint Chiefs?” she asked.

“It’s Elkins you can’t trust. Believe me, no general or admiral I know will ever betray his oath.” The DCI came on the line. “This is Bender. I take it you’ve heard. Why aren’t you here?” He listened for a moment. “They’re
cooling their heels in the Cabinet Room and the president’s name is Madeline O’Keith Turner. When can she expect you?” He listened to the answer and broke the connection. “The DCI is on his way.”

Turner came to her feet and lifted her chin as Shaw returned. “Patrick, call the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Tell them to meet me in the Situation Room immediately.”

Maura closed her eyes and breathed in relief as Shaw beat a quick exit. Her daughter was back. She didn’t know if she would survive as president, but she was her old self. Maura walked to the door. “I’ll check on the children,” she said.

“Robert, please contact General Overmeyer.” Bender did as she ordered and handed her the phone. “General Overmeyer,” she said, “I need you. Will you please reconsider your resignation?” She listened to his reply, never flinching. “Thank you for being so honest,” she finally said. “And I understand and appreciate your position. Who among the JCS do you recommend as your replacement?” Again, she listened. “Thank you, General, I will offer him the chairmanship this evening.” She dropped the phone into its cradle. “He said the Air Force was always the most screwed up of the lot and recommended General Charles.”