First Strike

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Tuesday, October 22

South Asia

Pakistan convened its National Command Authority in an undisclosed location many miles from any population centers. It quietly relocated its highest government officials and their immediate families into the wilderness near Tajikistan, as far away from India as possible. Its citizens were given a siren warning the moment after the launch sequence was triggered.

In Islamabad, the nation’s capital, residents had less than twenty minutes to rush into a fallout shelter that could hold less than eight percent of the population. Those with wealth were able to buy their way into a bunker. Others had to look for basements of buildings built on a rocky landscape.

On both sides of the Pakistan-India border, across the entire subcontinent of South Asia, home to nearly two billion people, nuclear war had broken out. Virtually all the residents of these two nations were on their own as the nuclear warheads flew.

India, with a population of one-point-four billion, had more to lose in terms of human life. Fifty of its cities had populations in excess of one million. Five had over five million. Across the country, because nuclear power formed an important part of India’s energy mix, Pakistani targets included nuclear reactors and atomic power plants in addition to missile launch sites.

Both nations relied upon a combination of medium- and long-range missile systems deployed close to their mutual border and in hardened silos within striking distance. Some of the targets included the silos, but the moving targets, the rail/road mobile launchers, were constantly relocated. History proved these strategic weapons to have been the deadliest. They were virtually unstoppable, especially at such close range.

Like Iran, and unlike Israel, both nations placed an emphasis on nuclear deterrence through an ever-growing arsenal. Following the twentieth-century model of mutually assured destruction, both governments presumed the other would show restraint. Recently, a reporter from the Washington Times had reached out to the Indian Home Affairs Minister and asked how his government was planning to protect its people from a nuclear strike. He laughed at the question, replied utter nonsense, and hung up the phone.

There was nothing nonsensical about the regional nuclear war between India and Pakistan. It made the Six-Hour War in the Middle East look like a short quarrel between lovers. The nuclear arsenals possessed by the South Asian nations might have been inferior to the nuclear stockpiles of Russia, China, and the U.S., but the sheer volume of weapons launched during the daylong war was astonishing.

Pakistan and India hosted some of the most densely populated cities on the planet. Calcutta, Karachi and Mumbai contained more than sixty-five thousand people per square mile. By comparison, New York City’s population density was less than half that.

Each of the two nations’ forty-kiloton nuclear warheads created a firestorm that covered fifty square miles. The immediate effects of the detonations—the fireball, the overpressure wave, and resulting radiation burns—killed hundreds of millions in the region. The larger, one-hundred-kiloton warheads had a greater blast radius, and the overpressure waves reduced hardened structures to rubble while increasing the death toll fourfold.

And that was just the beginning. Like Tehran and Tel Aviv, major cities in South Asia would suffer slow, lingering deaths due to radiation exposure. Their healthcare and other critical infrastructure had collapsed. The nuclear blasts triggered deadly firestorms far worse than the deadly napalm bombings had done during World War II in Tokyo.

As the rest of the world watched in horror, billions said prayers for the dead and begged for peace. Many in America were thankful the nuclear war hadn’t taken place in their country. They hugged their families and comforted one another in the thought that the nuclear exchange wouldn’t affect them.

Sadly, they were wrong.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Tuesday, October 22

Driftwood Key

“Let’s do this!” exclaimed Hank as he pressed the throttles down on his forty-five-foot Hatteras Sportfish yacht. He and Erin exchanged high fives at the state-of-the-art upper helm surrounded by next-generation electronics and comfortable seating. It was truly another beautiful day in paradise on the smooth coastal waters off Driftwood Key.

Earlier that morning, Hank, like always, made his way to the beach to find solace after a restless night. His mind raced to all of the possibilities raised by Peter’s phone call. With the help of a warm brandy and after reading several chapters from a new novel about a massive earthquake along the Mississippi River, he finally drifted off to sleep. He awoke refreshed and anxious to search out Erin, as he hadn’t seen her since Sunday.

The smile that broke across his face when he approached the water’s edge could’ve shattered glass. She stood alone, facing the main house, with a breakfast smoothie in each hand. He picked up the pace and was practically jogging toward her after he noticed her standing there.

“I have a special delivery from Phoebe!” she’d said loudly as he arrived. “She told me to give you a lecture on not taking care of yourself and chastise you for skipping your smoothie.”

“I’m not drinking both, mom,” Hank added jokingly.

“One’s for me,” she said as she tipped the cup to her mouth, leaving a creamy mustache above her lip.

Hank burst out laughing, and like his new friend, he pushed the straw aside and recreated the act. Only, his mustache was a little too runny, and he looked more like Cujo, the crazed dog in the Stephen King story.

They shyly admitted they’d missed one another yesterday, and without getting into serious subjects, Hank offered to take Erin fishing. Thirty minutes later, with Jimmy’s assistance in preparing the Hatteras to sail, the two kids were off for a day of sun and fun.

The Albright boat was in excellent condition because Hank, like his father, was meticulous about maintenance. The Hatteras was used by the resort to take its guests fishing, usually captained by Hank or Jimmy, plus a new captain who was used sporadically. Both of them treated it with care, and therefore one never knew it had plenty of hours on it.

“Where are we headed?” she asked as she sat on the raised seat next to him at the helm.

“It’s still warm, so reef fishing will probably be a little slow. I love grouper and snapper, but I don’t wanna sit around if the waters aren’t cool enough. This is a pretty good time to fish offshore for wahoo and blackfin tuna. If you’re up for a ride, I say we head out about a hundred fathoms and see how we do.” To landlubbers, one hundred fathoms was equal to about six hundred feet of water.

“Whatever you say, Captain!” she replied enthusiastically.

Hank, caught up in the moment, turned on the audio system to fire up his favorite playlist of beach and island songs. Bob Marley, Jimmy Buffett, Kenny Chesney and other artists randomly blared through the speakers. Caught up in the moment, they pumped up the volume and began to sing along.

Once they reached one of Hank’s favorite spots to fish, he set up the fighting chair on the aft deck and prepared the rods in their strategically placed holders. As he did, he explained to Erin his thought processes, and she eagerly soaked in the tutorial. Throughout, the two flirted, laughed, and became more physical with one another. Subtle touches of the arm and back. Occasional tender moments of moving Erin’s hair out of her face or allowing Hank to wrap his arms around her as she reeled in a fish. They had a mutual attraction to one another that seemed to move to another level each day.

Hank had just pulled out a picnic basket of food and wine packed by Phoebe, when he glanced toward the back of the boat. He startled Erin with his outburst, but then she joined in the excitement.

“Big fish on! Here we go!” He abruptly set down the basket and sprang across the fiberglass deck to the back of the boat. Erin was hot on his heels and set herself in the fighting chair. As Hank had taught her, she strapped in tight because, as he’d said, you never know what’s gonna take the bait.

A blackfin tuna could stretch to three feet and forty pounds. The wahoo was a more formidable adversary. Some of them have measured nearly eight feet and a hundred seventy pounds. Then there was the grand prize of them all, the blue marlin, although it was very late in the season for them.

Hank turned to Erin and asked, “Ready?”

She nodded eagerly with a bit of trepidation. She’d learned enough from their morning session that the line told the fisherman a lot about what was on the other end. The five-and-a-half-foot carbon-fiber rod bowed like a tall palm tree in a Cat 5 hurricane.

Hank studied Erin. Believing she was up to the task, he gripped the pole and heaved it from the rod holder. He placed it in the fighting chair’s solid stainless steel rod gimbal. Erin held on tight, her muscles protesting as the fish zipped out the line.

Hank hustled to reel in the other trolling lines as a large crested dorsal fin splashed out of the Gulf in the middle of the boat’s frothy wake.

Erin was glad she was all buckled up because the powerful fish would’ve certainly pulled her hundred-thirty-pound body overboard. “Hank! Is it what I think it is?”

“It’s a bluey, baby! Hang on. Keep the rod steady. Make sure the butt of the pole stays firm in the holder. It’s gonna be a helluva fight!”

“Maybe you should—?”

“Nope. You got this!” Hank dashed up to the flybridge to grab his binoculars. He cranked up the Jimmy Buffett song “Fins to the Left” to offer Erin encouragement. The song was ostensibly about shark fins, but the blue marlin’s zigzagged path from one side of the boat’s wake to the other called for some lively music. Erin was in for a real fight.

He arrived by her side and studied the marlin. He dropped the binoculars and then looked again. She noticed his movements.

“Is it big?” she said, readjusting her grip as her hands began to cramp.

“Two hundred. At least,” he said just loud enough to be heard over the music. “Let’s give it another hundred yards. Let it swim a little.”

Erin adjusted her grip and let out the line as Hank had taught her. The marlin was now tugging on four hundred feet of line in a primal war of man versus king of the sea. Blue marlin was one of the world’s most sought-after game fish. Hank could take a dozen trips during a season and not even see one. Yet here they were, at the most unlikely of times, with a relatively inexperienced angler in the chair battling a real beauty.

“Hank, my arms are on fire!”

“Okay, let me help while you relax.”

Hank wrapped his arms around Erin and gripped the rod. Frankly, he hadn’t expected to reel in a blue marlin in late October. He was not muscular by any means. Tanned and toned in an island sort of way would’ve better described his physique. Had he known what was on the other end of the line, he might’ve taken the lead on this. Reeling in a blue marlin was no easy task, even for a fit and experienced angler.

Hank began reeling the beast in. He fought the tension, reeling and pulling with everything he had. Erin relieved him with a vigor and sense of purpose that astonished Hank. Maybe it was the effort he made in assisting her? Maybe it was the fact the two worked as a team to bring in the mighty fish? Either way, she put the muscle to the task and set her jaw, with determination in her eyes.

“There is no answer on their cell phones either,” said Sonny as he nervously stood among the three men who’d suddenly appeared on the front porch of the main house. They were all dressed in dark suits, starched shirts, and blue ties. There was little doubt to the streetwise Sonny that they were from the government. Regardless, he insisted upon seeing their identification. They were with the Secret Service.

“The secretary knows better than being out of communication with her staff,” one of the men said. “Where are they?” he asked as he looked out into the Gulf. There wasn’t a boat in sight.

“I don’t know,” replied Sonny. “Hank has a number of spots that he prefers. He may have gone flats fishing up around Duck Key. If he wanted to take a nice ride, they might’ve gone offshore.”

“Good god,” the agent said with a huff. He tapped one of his agents on the arm. “Call the Coast Guard. Deploy a couple of choppers to sweep the inshore areas. The boat is a forty-five-foot Hatteras flybridge. Two passengers. Once identified, have them intercept with one of their Defender-class boats. There’s no time to waste.”

He turned to Sonny, who asked a question. “Can you tell me what this is about?”

The agent sighed and thought for a brief moment. “I guess you’ll see it on the news soon enough. Pakistan and India are at war.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Sonny asked, genuinely confused.

“Nuclear war.”

Sonny stood a little taller, and his eyes got wide. Prior to that statement, he’d been helpful but not the model of cooperativeness.

“Come with me, sir. Let’s take a look at the map. I can narrow down your search area.”

“Prepare to be boarded!”

The voice blared over a loudspeaker that practically muted Kenny Chesney’s singing and Hank’s encouragement of Erin’s efforts.

He spun around to find the source of the demand. Two Coast Guard vessels were easing up to the Hatteras on both sides of his bow. The twenty-five-foot boats abruptly slowed to a stop but brought their wake with them, causing the Hatteras to sway violently from side to side.

Erin turned her head to see what was happening. Her relaxed grip on the rod and loss of concentration ended the fight. The fish sensed a change in dynamic and cut toward the boat. It broke the plane of the water and launched itself into the air. The massive blue fish whipped its head back and forth in a flash, propelling the hook out of its mouth just before it splashed back down in the water.

The line went slack. Erin cursed loudly and then collapsed back into her chair, dejected. This’d better be good, she thought to herself as she immediately cast blame on the intrusion.

Hank helped one of the Coast Guard vessels pull alongside. He worked with the guardsman to place the fenders between the two boats before tying them together. The young man quickly boarded Hank’s boat and immediately approached Erin without so much as a glance in Hank’s direction.

“Ma’am,” he began with a tip of his cap, “we’ve been sent by the Secret Service. You’ve been requested to return to Washington.”

“Wait? Secret Service. Why?”

The young guardsman glanced at Hank. “I can only speculate, ma’am. There have been some developments between India and Pakistan. Um, similar to the Middle East, only worse, ma’am.”

“Shit,” Erin muttered. She closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. She walked past the guardsman and hugged Hank.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered in her ear, not sure what else to say. His mind was also racing, as the information given to him by Peter was deadly accurate.

“Hank, I’m so sorry to leave you. All of this. You’re an incredible man.”

“I feel the same way, Erin. Please keep in touch.”

“I will,” she said as she kissed him on the cheek. Then she leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Be ready. Protect yourself and your family. You never know, okay?”

She pulled away, and Hank saw the tears begin to flow out of her eyes. She tried to wipe them away and shield her emotions from the guardsman who stood dutifully nearby. Without another word, she crossed over into the Coast Guard Defender. As they uncoupled and raced off, she never stopped looking at Hank, nor did he stop looking at her as the boat disappeared from sight.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Tuesday, October 22

Presidential Emergency Operations Center

The White House

For the second time in a week, the president had been ushered through the corridors beneath the East Wing of the White House into the PEOC. Unlike the moments following the Iran-Israel nuclear exchange, during which the attendees were relatively calm, the military and intelligence personnel didn’t bother acknowledging President Helton as he entered. The nuclear war between Pakistan and India was far more serious and was still ongoing.

“Mr. President, thus far, all indications lead us to believe this conflict is regional in nature,” began the president’s chief of staff. “State has spoken with their counterparts in Moscow and Beijing, who both agree all three nuclear powers should remain neutral.”

“That’s easy for them to say,” shot back the president. “They’re responsible for arming Iran and Pakistan in the first place. Everyone might note who the aggressors are in all of this. It’s not our allies.”

Harrison Chandler, who as the president’s chief of staff was anything but a yes-man, provided some context. “Sir, I’m not defending their actions. That said, both Israeli and Indian provocations caused tensions to escalate. Do I believe the Pakistanis and Iranians are blameless? Absolutely not. Now we have to be prepared for the aftermath.”

The president turned to the secretary of defense, who was present in the PEOC’s large conference room. He was on the phone, but President Helton interrupted him.

“You’ve raised the defense readiness condition?”

In the event of a national emergency, a series of seven different alert conditions, known as LERTCONs, can be issued. The seven alerts include two emergency conditions, or EMERGCONs, that are national-level reactions in response to an attack on the U.S. mainland from foreign intercontinental ballistic missiles. In the event of a major attack on American or allied forces overseas, the defense emergency levels are elevated under EMERGCON. Likewise, if an air defense emergency exists, such as hostile aircraft or inbound conventional missiles were considered imminent, then the EMERGCON levels were raised.

The other five alert levels fall under national defense readiness conditions, or DEFCONs, a term more widely known among the general public. These levels start at DEFCON 5, which is normal peacetime conditions, up to DEFCON 1, the maximum force readiness that coincides with EMERGCON alerts.

In the history of the United States, DEFCON 1 had never been initiated. During the Cuban missile crisis, the U.S. Strategic Air Command was placed on DEFCON 2 for the first time, without President Kennedy’s authority. The action almost triggered a nuclear war that October.

With each passing day during that crisis, the U.S. military inched toward war as it prepared to strike targets within the former Soviet Union. The world held its collective breath during those days in October 1962.

“Mr. President, at the moment, we have no indication of a direct threat to the U.S. or our military installations abroad. Therefore, we have remained at DEFCON 3, as you instructed following the Iranian attack on Israel and their counterattack.”

The president turned toward the undersecretary of state. “Are you able to contact either government? I assume both capitals were targeted.”

“Yes, sir,” the undersecretary responded. “Devastatingly so. We’ve reached out to our counterparts in China and Russia, as you know, seeking a means of gathering information about the Pakistani government. The Russians are close to the New Delhi government, as are the French. Nobody has received confirmation as to the status of either heads of state or their parliaments.”

“I might add, Mr. President,” began the defense secretary, “someone must be in charge because there are continuing targeted strikes on both sides of the border. It appears, incredibly, that they intend to empty their respective nuclear vaults.”

The president remained standing throughout. He dropped his chin to his chest as he contemplated the deaths of millions of innocent people, none of whom asked to be embroiled in all-out nuclear war. He finally looked up to his advisors.

“Have they all gone batshit crazy?”

His question was crassly worded but clearly understood.

“Mr. President, tensions have been festering—” began the undersecretary of state before the president cut him off.

“No, I get that. I’m talking about all of these rogue nations who have their fingers on the nuclear triggers. Who’s next? Is it like a damned lunacy epidemic? Is Kim Jong Un the next maniacal despot to fire off nukes?”

The undersecretary of state really didn’t want to answer the question, but the president’s stare had him locked in his sights. “Well, sir, the only rogue nation by U.S. diplomatic definition is North Korea. If you are looking for some kind of pattern from these two events, there’s no indication either South Korea or our allies in Tokyo would dare initiate military hostilities with the DPRK, especially under these circumstances.”

The president, who was generally forthcoming about his weaknesses, especially as it related to foreign policy, repeated the criticisms by the war hawks of his response to the Iranian-Israeli conflict.

“Let’s say my friends across the aisle were right, and my failure to stand by Israel was seen as a sign of weakness across the globe. Might this have emboldened India to launch the airstrikes and Pakistan to counter with nukes? Maybe. Both sides have seen us as all talk and no action, standing down when our allies were in need. Therefore, they took advantage of the chaos in the Middle East to make their move.”

The undersecretary of state squirmed in his chair, but to his credit, he continued in an honest assessment of the president’s stance, how it was perceived, and how it might relate to North Korea.

“Sir, I’m going to respond this way with a caveat. I don’t speak for the secretary of state. However, I believe our assessment of the North Korea situation is closely aligned.”

“Understood,” said the president, who took his seat at the head of the table for the first time.

The undersecretary explained, “When North Korea reneged on its promise to forgo nuclear weapons in the early 1990s, the Clinton administration put together an accord deemed the Agreed Framework that paved Pyongyang’s path to nuclearization. Kim Jong-il withdrew from this Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty in 2003, confirming that he intended to build a nuclear weapon.

“President George W. Bush pushed for the China-led six-party talks with North Korea that yielded no agreement. When North Korea tested its second nuclear weapon in 2009, President Obama opted for a strategic patience approach. This policy led to an expansion of the North Korean nuclear program, and three subsequent tests showed just how misguided these approaches have been.”

The undersecretary paused and caught his breath. He gulped before he stated his opinion. “Mr. President, it’s time to acknowledge that North Korea has never been interested in negotiating away its nuclear deterrent. Their goals have always been to bide time, get sanctions removed, or even secure humanitarian aid from the West.

“Of course, we should continue to leave the door open for serious discussions if the situation changes. However, sir, in my opinion, our government does our citizens and the world a disservice if we continually discount the central threat of the DPRK’s nuclear weapons to the stability of the Korean Peninsula, Japan, and our western shores.”

President Helton studied the undersecretary, a young man compared to the elderly military personnel in the room. He was anxious to learn more from him, but an aide had rushed into the room.

“We’ve made contact with the prime minister of India.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Tuesday, October 22

U.S. State Department

Washington, DC

Peter had been rushing up and down the halls of the State Department since the news broke about ballistic missiles sailing across the South Asia subcontinent. He raced out of his condo and made it to Foggy Bottom in record time, faster than other journalists assigned to State could ride their subway trains.

The story, and the administration’s response, was certainly foremost on his mind. However, he’d begun to get a nagging feeling that the president, and even the secretary of state, were focused on another nuclear-equipped bad actor, North Korea.

Amidst the chaos in the corridors of the Harry S. Truman Building, Peter hoped to catch a State Department official with his guard down. With the right set of loose lips, they might provide some insight into the Helton administration’s North Korea policy. His ploy worked.

He’d cornered a harried aide to the undersecretary for Arms Control and International Security. The two retreated to her office, where she began to reveal everything she knew. As the conversation began, Peter learned the president had set up a secret task force designed to bypass the intelligence watchdogs and the media. Their purpose was to study the means and justification for attacking North Korea with a first strike.

A preemptive nuclear first strike meant a lot more than being equated with the first ballistic missile to be launched, as had been the case in Iran and Pakistan. Both of those nuclear attacks were ostensibly in response to prior provocations, although most would argue a nuclear response was quite an overreaction.

A first strike was designed to apply overwhelming force against a nuclear-capable enemy with the goal of defeating them by destroying their nuclear arsenal. By doing so, the enemy would be unable to continue with nuclear threats of their own. Targets would focus on missile silos, submarine bases, and other military installations like command-and-control sites. The counterforce strategy had never been employed using nuclear warfare.

No nation had undertaken a first strike although some argue the U.S. attack on Hiroshima fell under the definition. Contrarians argued the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki were designed to end a war, not to avoid or start one. President Kennedy had been urged to initiate a first strike at the Soviet Union during the Cuban Missile Crisis, but cooler heads prevailed.

Peter’s conversation with the analyst provided him tremendous insight. He probed further with his questioning after his initial success. “Where do they meet?”

“The building where I used to work before coming on board at State. The one with five sides.” She was referring to the Pentagon.

“And the president used an executive order to set it up?”

“Yes. It’s kept hidden from public view on national security grounds. That’s not unusual. What is unusual is the task force’s lack of normal procedures and accountability. They don’t even have to report to Congress.”

“Wow,” muttered Peter. He thought for a moment, and then he asked, “Have they issued any suggestions?”

“Oh yeah,” she replied. “That’s why all of this business in South Asia and the Middle East has me concerned. Even before today’s attack, they’d made up their minds, and they’ve advised the president on their recommended course of action.”

“Which is?”

“A nuclear first strike on the DPRK.”

Peter sat back in his chair. The rumors were true. There was something between the president and North Korea, an issue that might never be made public. Regardless, he’d established a task force to give him political cover.

He asked a pointed question. “Are they creating intelligence to justify nuking Kim?” It was the kind of conspiratorial question that would get him thrown out of a press briefing. He doubted the aide would answer.

“Yes.”

So much for that. He leaned forward.

“Even though the Chicoms might fire back?”

She nodded in response. “The task force believes it can strategically pinpoint targets to take out Kim’s capabilities while minimizing loss of life to the North Korean people. The task force, and the president, I’m told, firmly believes the surgical first strike will be palatable to Beijing, who has been fed up with Kim’s independence of late.”

“What will be the justification?” asked Peter.

“They will manufacture intelligence, with the assistance of our Far East allies, proving Kim’s intentions to fire upon Seoul and Tokyo.”

Peter sighed. He shook his head in disbelief as he imagined the political machinations that took place in the dark recesses of DC.

While Peter paused, she added another thought. “There’s more. The task force believes the North Korean people would be better off.”

“Of course,” said Peter. “With the Kim dynasty taken out, South and North can unify.”

“That’s not what I mean. China wants the territory. Supposedly, just rumor, a back channel has been established between Beijing and the task force, indicating they might be on board with such an operation. It solves a problem for both sides.”

“Can they be trusted? Think about it for a moment. We’re revealing our plans to nuke North Korea to their biggest ally and one of our deadliest enemies.”

She shrugged.

Peter continued with his questioning. “How far along are these discussions? I mean, is something imminent in light of what’s happening in South Asia?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. The president is reportedly warming to the concept of a first strike. He wants to believe the Chinese are on board.”

Peter sat in amazement as to the aide’s blunt honesty. He also contemplated what all of this meant. He had one more question. “What if the task force is wrong?”

“About…?” she asked, her voice trailing off, as she was unsure what part of the conversation he was referring to.”

“The Chinese. What if they aren’t on board and retaliate?”

Her response was blunt, and her calm demeanor was chilling. “Now, that would suck for us, wouldn’t it?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Tuesday, October 22

Hayward, California

“So do you guys have the Disaster Alert app installed on your phones?” asked Tucker as they gathered in the kitchen. Each member of the McDowell family had a different way to kick-start their day. Owen needed his coffee, black with a couple of sugars. Lacey wasn’t a coffee drinker, opting instead for a healthy, fruit-filled smoothie. Tucker ate whatever leftovers existed in the refrigerator, or an energy bar. “Everybody at school got a text blast from the school, encouraging us to download it. It covers all kinds of stuff like bad weather, active-shooter situations, and nuclear attacks. I think that’s the real reason.”

“It came pre-installed on my phone,” replied his dad. He glanced over at Lacey, who was preoccupied with the imagery displayed on the television. The ongoing nuclear attacks between Pakistan and India seemed to affect her more than the exchange in the Middle East. “What about you, sweetheart?”

“What?” Owen’s question grabbed her attention away from the news reports.

“The disaster app, Mom. The government is urging everyone to download it. The school messaged me about it.”

“Oh,” she mumbled. She walked over to her phone and mindlessly studied it. After a moment, she handed it to her son. “Will you do it for me, Tucker?”

As Tucker went to the App Store and located the download, Lacey wandered out of the kitchen into the family room. She located the remote and turned up the volume.

Owen talked to his son in a lowered voice. “Your mom said she planned on keeping you out of school today. All of this seems to have hit her hard, and I get her concern. However, I don’t like unexcused absences.”

Tucker completed the download and placed her phone back on the counter where it had been previously. “Dad, I’m way ahead this semester. It’s the middle of the week, so there aren’t any quizzes or anything. I can get one of the guys to fill me in on what I might’ve missed.”

“Will you keep a close eye on her today? You know, stay with her.”

“Sure, okay. But, Dad, she’s not going crazy. Uncle Peter seems to think this is the start of something bigger. Don’t you agree?”

“Your uncle Peter knows a lot more than I do about these things, but I try to apply common sense. The last thing our country needs is a nuclear war. I can’t imagine any president getting us involved in one.”

“Did anyone imagine they’d drop those bombs on Japan during World War Two?” asked Tucker.

Owen grimaced. His son had made a good point. “No, but times are different. We know the devastating effects of these things. Listen, I’m not saying your mom is overreacting. Just, you know, text me if you feel she needs my support. Okay?”

Tucker smiled. “Sure, Dad.”

“What does she have planned for the day?” asked Owen.

Tucker responded with a question of his own. He wondered if the family’s plans had changed in light of what was going on. “We’re still going to Tahoe Thursday, right?”

“You betcha,” said Owen, reaching up to scruff the long, sandy blond locks of his son. He styled it like a surf bum who’d just rolled out of a hammock for the day. “We’ll get loaded up tomorrow afternoon. I’m gonna bug out of the office as early as I can.”

“That’s lit, Dad. Mom has us running errands all day. She has to stop by the store, and then we’re going to Costco.”

“More stocking up?” asked Owen.

“I guess so. Hey, I’m along for the ride. We’re gonna have In-N-Out burgers for lunch. Works for me, you know?”

Owen rubbed his son’s hair again and then made his way into the family room. “Hey, babe. I gotta roll. You guys have fun today.”

Lacey had switched stations to the Weather Channel. They were discussing past record-breaking winters in the Sierra Nevada Mountains and how this early-October snowfall had followed a similar timeline as the others.

“Are we still good to go?” asked Owen, startling Lacey, who was deep in thought. She flinched, and he immediately felt bad. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Lacey turned around and spontaneously kissed her husband. It was a meaningful kiss. The kind longtime married couples share less and less often over the years.

“I love you, Owen,” she said in a serious tone.

He hugged her. He tried to use humor to break her out of her melancholy mood. “What’s not to love? Smart. Handsome. I still have all my hair and teeth. See?” He provided her a Cheshire cat grin.

“Now I hate you,” she said with a laugh. She playfully slugged him on the chest.

He laughed with her. “Good, that’s better. Now, is makeup sex an option?”

She pounded him in earnest this time. “Get out of my house!”

They embraced again, and she sighed. After a moment, she pulled away and wiped a solitary tear that escaped her eye.

“Part of me is upset about Peter’s call. Then the other side, the wife and mother side, wants to do everything I can to prepare for my family. I don’t know if any of this crap is gonna come our way, but I feel the need to do something.”

She pointed over her shoulder toward the television, which was still showing scenes of snow in Nevada. Owen knew she was referring to the nuclear devastation that had occurred between the two warring nations.

“Listen, I admire you for taking care of us. I know you’re not gonna go shopping for Humvees and shipping containers to bury in the ground like those people in Idaho.”

“Too much rock.”

“Rock?” asked a confused Owen.

“Because we sit up on this ridge, our backyard has too much rock for a shipping container.”

Owen furrowed his brow as he studied her face. “Seriously? You’ve thought about this.”

“Yes. After you fell asleep watching the news, I did a bunch of research. The shipping container won’t work for us, so we need to find out where the nuclear fallout shelters are.”

Owen glanced past Lacey and saw that she had her iPad sitting on the table next to several stacks of paper. Each one had a yellow Post-it note stuck on the front, identifying the purpose of the stack.

“Is this part of your research?” he asked, pointing at the table.

“Yes.”

“Geez, Lacey. Did you sleep at all?”

“A couple of hours,” she replied. “Here’s the thing, Owen. There is no man-made scenario worse than a nuclear war. Sure, large asteroid strikes and supervolcanos are extinction-level events, but man doesn’t control those things. Nuclear weapons can kill a lot of people all at once. Exhibit A…” Her voice trailed off as she grabbed the remote and switched back to the cable news network. The video footage was beginning to emerge out of the war-torn region in South Asia. It was Tehran all over again, times fifty.

Owen tried to tamp down her concerns. “I really don’t think that’ll happen here, but if you wanna do some things, I’m all for it.”

“I’m not going crazy, Owen. Nor will I empty the bank accounts on this stuff. I’d just feel better knowing we had some semblance of a plan. You know?”

He embraced his wife. “Now it’s my turn. I love you, Lacey McDowell.” Then he gave her a meaningful kiss.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Tuesday, October 22

Driftwood Key

Hank had spent the day with Sonny, walking every square foot of Driftwood Key’s twenty-eight acres. His mind was too cluttered to work from memory as to what aspects of the resort’s operations needed to be analyzed for backup mechanical parts or maintenance supplies. They had an extensive produce-growing operation on the key, which included greenhouses and hydroponics. Sonny was, in addition to virtually everything else, the man with the green thumb. Hank prided himself on his fishing skills, and Sonny carried the burden of growing fruits and vegetables. The division of responsibilities had served them well over the years.

With a new list in hand and half a dozen stops, Sonny set out for the day to purchase backup supplies and fertilizers for the gardening aspect of Driftwood Key. He also bought backup parts, fluids, and more shells for the marine shotguns he owned.

Hank took a few hours that morning to drive to Sea Tek Marine in Marathon, a local supplier of solar energy equipment. He bought additional panels to be mounted with their existing array that provided power to the bungalows. He also purchased their entire supply of charge controllers, batteries and power inverters that were compatible with their existing setup.

Then he stopped by the True Value in Marathon and purchased several medium-sized galvanized trash cans. He had been up late the night before studying the effects of an EMP on electronics. Erin had cautioned him that electronics would be unable to function if America was attacked with an electromagnetic pulse weapon, so Hank had decided to do a little research on the concept.

The complex subject gave him a wicked headache, so he took the last of his Advil to overcome it. That simple task, one that he did several times a week when his muscles were sore, reminded him that over-the-counter medicines and first aid were of vital importance. He searched for a checklist of commonly used medical supplies and provided it to Jimmy, who headed over to Walgreens to fill the order.

His research into EMPs revealed a method of protecting small electronics from the highly charged particles generated by a massive burst of energy. By placing these electronics, whether it be related to his solar array or communications devices, into the galvanized cans, he could protect them from the effects of an EMP.

The instructions were remarkably simple. Line the inside of the galvanized trash can with cardboard and Styrofoam, if available. Then wrap the electronics in heavy-duty aluminum foil. Secure the lid and wrap the rim with aluminum tape used by HVAC contractors. The result was an impenetrable place to store electronics known as a Faraday cage.

All of his research led him down a rabbit hole of preparedness websites that seemed to contradict one another at times. He applied his own logic and common sense and formulated a plan for the day.

After Phoebe served breakfast, Hank met with her in the kitchen. Their food suppliers had delivered early that morning, and cases of supplies were stacked in every available square foot of the kitchen and all along the back porch of the main house. They discussed a storage plan, and then Phoebe brought up the issue of their guests.

“Mr. Hank, you know I’m not one to question your decisions,” she began before Hank started laughing.

“Since when?”

“Okay, only once in a while,” she said with a tinge of guilt. “The thing is, I don’t know anything about politics or wars and don’t want to know about nuclear missiles. If you think something is gonna happen, you know, because your lady friend said so or Peter, then we need to make a decision about our guests.”

“They need to go, Phoebe.”

“Yes, Mr. Hank. If you believe this in your heart, you owe it to them to send them home. Some of these folks are from Colorado. That would be a long walk, if you know what I mean.”

His mind immediately shifted to Lacey. California was even longer. He had to convince her to come here. And soon.

“I agree. I’m thinking about telling them the water main between here and the mainland broke. They’ll have to evacuate because we don’t have any fresh water. I can have Laura cancel the incoming reservations.”

“If that’s what you think is necessary,” she added. “I just don’t know, Mr. Hank. It’s kinda like the chicken screamin’ the sky is falling.”

Hank sighed and shifted his feet as he rubbed his heels along the perpetually sand-covered wood floors. “Financially, we could close for more than a month and everything would be fine. It’s just, um, if I wait too long, we’ll be in a mess. I’m in a situation where we can’t support these people. But I feel obligated to take care of them. Every meal we serve them is a meal we won’t have for ourselves.”

Phoebe nodded in agreement. “You sound like you’ve thought it through.”

Hank laughed nervously. “I did last night. A lot, in fact, until I got a headache. To be honest, the nuclear attack this morning just sealed the decision. I’m gonna need to tell everyone in the morning that we can’t refill the water tower because of the water main break, and they have to check out. I’ll start Laura on cancelling the new reservations for the rest of the month right now.”

“Um, Mr. Hank. Are you gonna bring Lacey and Peter home? Family should stick together in troubling times.”

“That’s the next order of business. I’m calling Mike, Peter, and Lacey next. I just hope they’ll listen to me.”

Hank touched base with Peter first to get the latest news. Peter relayed most of the conversation he’d had with the State Department aide as well as a few additional tidbits. Earlier in the day, as the missiles were still flying in South Asia, North Korean president-for-life Kim Jong Un spoke to the DPRK’s 13th Party Congress, the Hermit Kingdom’s highest legislative event. In addition to his usual chest-puffing, he was intent on sending a message to his citizens and the rest of the world as to how dangerous he was capable of being.

Kim spent most of the speech reciting a list of advances in their missile and nuclear programs. He also outlined his plans for expanding them even more regardless of international sanctions. Then he immediately targeted South Korea and Japan with his threatening rhetoric.

His outlaw-like behavior was so convincing that both of the neighboring nations immediately raised their threat-assessment levels and placed their military defenses on a war footing. He then proceeded to attack President Helton. He pointed out the United States, and the new administration in particular, was full of empty threats and hollow promises. Specifically, he echoed what American political pundits and many within in the Department of Defense were saying. President Helton’s failure to act in defense of Israel, especially, was a sign of geopolitical impotence.

Peter cautioned his father that he was more concerned now than in their prior conversation. Hank, in turn, insisted Peter should come home. That was where the two men disagreed. Peter saw this as the biggest news story of his lifetime, at least thus far. He wanted to stick it out in the DC area so he could use his sources to bring the behind-the-scenes dealings into the public eye.

He made a hollow promise to heed the warnings and be prepared to leave the Washington area as soon as possible. From Newport News to the south, all the way up the East Coast, nuclear targets were abundant. He’d already mapped out a bug-out strategy that took him away from the city and the potential fallout resulting from a direct hit. And he honestly promised to act on it when he got a chance.

With this new information in hand, Hank touched base with Mike and Jessica. He convinced them to come to the inn for a late dinner and drinks. Mike had a break in his case and looked forward to discussing it with his brother.

Finally, the toughest nut to crack, because she had her mother’s somewhat stubborn, independent streak, was Lacey. Hank spoke to her for thirty minutes and hung up pleasantly surprised. He was relieved that Lacey was taking the threat seriously. He applauded her two-day-long effort to be ready for a possible nuclear attack.

He was disappointed by her lack of commitment to hop on a plane with her family and head for Miami, where he promised to greet them. Owen had one more day in the office, and then they’d promised Tucker a four-day vacation in the mountains. She promised to think about it and, like Peter, claimed to have a plan in case they were warned of an impending attack.

The sun was beginning to drop over the horizon when Mike and Jessica arrived. The three of them pulled cigars out of the humidor and stopped by the bar for their favorite adult beverages. This, of course, reminded Hank that cigars needed to be stocked as well. Simple pleasures during the apocalypse might help him keep his sanity. He made a note on his iPhone.

“Let’s talk about your case first,” began Hank after the trio was settled in their chairs, with their toes buried in the sand.

“Yeah, it’s a break in the case although it raises a number of questions,” began Mike. “On the most recently discovered victim, the kids retrieved a fairly new model of Omega’s dive watch line. In addition to our detectives looking through missing persons reports and trying to cross-reference the watch, we were able to make out the serial number. It was laser-etched in very small type on the back of the lug closest to the eleven o’clock position. It’s a titanium model, so cleaning off the effects of sitting under water for over a week was a little easier.

“Anyway, the serial number was connected to a New York man who’d flown into Miami on business. He and a lady companion were seen leaving a bar in Coconut Grove early that evening. His rental car was found abandoned nearby.”

“How did he get to the Keys?” asked Hank.

“We believe the woman—who was described as tall, as women go, nearly six feet—helped the guy out of the bar. The man was apparently inebriated although the bartender claimed he only had a couple of scotches. Anyway, drugs might be involved, and I’m still waiting on the toxicology report.”

“That’s something,” said Hank.

“We caught a second break. After getting the vic’s photo from family, our people began canvassing hotels, restaurants and bars in the Upper Keys. We got a hit at WaterLOO, the gay bar in Key Largo.”

“Maybe they didn’t know—” Hank said as his voice trailed off.

“He didn’t, but she, or shall I say, the other he, did.”

“Wait. What? The dead guy was picked up by a—?”

Mike interrupted his question. “Quite possibly. Yes. We might be onto something here. We have a working theory, anyway. The only issue is motive.”

“The watch is high end,” observed Hank. “Robbery doesn’t make sense. Are you thinking a crime of passion? Or just an accident gone bad?”

Mike winced as he finished a sip of his drink. “Not an accident. The next two victims, if connected, rule that out. Crime of passion is a possibility. But again, how does that connect the three killings?”

“I have a theory,” interjected Jessica.

“Whadya think?” asked Hank.

“Okay, this sounds very Netflix or Hulu-worthy, but what if our suspect is a frustrated male who is trying to find himself in an LGBTQ world. Especially the Q part. I saw a documentary once about a guy who killed gay men in Toronto a while back. He thought he was gay but tried to deny it. He apparently grew angry with himself and took it out on other gay men.”

Hank turned to Mike. “Viable?”

“Absolutely. Listen, serial killers come in all shapes, sizes, and sexual orientations. To kill like this, they must have a serious screw loose. Anyway, I have our people taking the Key Largo vic’s photo around to all known LGBT hangouts in the Keys.”

“You might have to go beyond that,” added Jessica. “If he is dressing as a woman, he may be trolling all the bars. Especially the late-night ones.”

Mike finished his Jack on the rocks and hoisted himself out of his chair. “We don’t have enough people for this. I’m gonna have to ask Tallahassee for more help.”

He walked away to the bar, allowing Hank and Jessica to talk.

Hank finished his drink but kept his seat. “He’s taking this hard, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Mike loves his job, and he’s driven to solve these murders. The break in the case helps, but it also concerns him. He didn’t mention this, but the witness who works at the Coconut Grove bar vaguely remembered the couple. The woman was described as very attractive, and the grainy image pulled from security footage bears that out. Hank, he’s looking for a person who’s capable of morphing from man to woman easily. It’s a helluva challenge.”

Hank glanced toward the bar and saw that Mike was chatting with the bartender. “Well, I have another challenge. However, this one is for you. I need you and Mike to agree to move back to Driftwood Key for a while. And I’m talking about tomorrow, if not tonight.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Tuesday, October 22

Oval Office

The White House

The White House was bustling with activity as panicked staffers raced around carrying sealed banker’s boxes with files destined for an undisclosed location. Outside the West Wing, white unmarked box trucks were lined up to accept the cargo. The vast majority of the staffers would be furloughed until further notice as the president prepared to be removed to a safer location, one whose floors, walls and ceilings were impenetrable to a nuclear blast.

While the National Security Agency was not prepared to affirmatively state the U.S. was under an immediate nuclear threat, the combination of the events of the last three days and the saber rattling by the North Koreans was enough to evacuate the Helton administration to a more secure facility.

Since President Truman had been in office, U.S. presidents have had access to fortified bunkers to ride out a nuclear war. If the missiles were in the air, the president would be hustled back into the PEOC. However, it was designed to house only a few people for a very limited time. Another option was Greenbrier in the Blue Ridge Mountains of West Virginia. Formerly a nuclear bunker for Congress, it’s now a tourist attraction but can immediately be repurposed in a state of emergency.

To the north of Washington was Raven Rock in the hills of Southern Pennsylvania. It is mostly dedicated for the military. Peters Mountain, also known as Spy Mountain, was a fortified bunker north of Charlottesville, Virginia, dedicated to America’s intelligence agencies.

The Cheyenne Mountain Complex in Colorado was the most well-known of them all. Built deep within a mountain, it housed NORAD, the North American Aerospace Defense Command, charged with the responsibility of defending America from a nuclear attack.

Today, the president was going to be evacuated as part of the U.S. continuity of government readiness condition known as COGCON 1. In the event of a credible threat of nuclear attack, the Administration and the U.S. government would be relocated to a secure, fully staffed bunker.

His destination was Mount Weather, a mountain peak near Bluemont, Virginia, just fifty miles outside Washington. Run by FEMA, Doomsday City, as it was known, had been activated and kept in a constant state of readiness since the terrorist attacks of 9/11. Mount Weather was built during the throes of the Cold War and was capable of taking a direct hit. It housed the president, his aides, and hundreds of others necessary to operate the government during a time of war.

All of these facilities were designed to ensure continuity of government during an anticipated foreign invasion, nuclear war, electromagnetic pulse attack, or a natural catastrophe of enormous magnitude.

The evacuation was not the president’s idea. He had to defer to the defense department. However, the decision aligned with one that he’d made. He was tired of America living under the thumb of her enemies. Namely, North Korea. If Israel and India could take the bold step of beating back their archenemies, so could he. However, there was more to his decision-making process.

President Helton’s family had experienced the horrors of the Kim regime. In fact, he was surprised nosy reporters or opposition researchers for his political opponents had never picked up on it.

His uncle, the brother of his deceased mother, had joined a humanitarian contingent to visit a disease-stricken village in the western regions of North Korea. Part of Doctors Without Borders, the beloved uncle of the president had been like a father to him growing up. He’d paired with another medical provider, an epidemiologist who happened to be the mother of Secretary of State Carolyn Sanders.

While examining and treating patients in a remote village away from their assigned areas, the two encountered a North Korean security patrol. They were brutally beaten simply because they were Americans. Their mauled corpses were returned to the Doctors Without Borders camp. It was explained to the director of the contingent that criminals had attacked the two and were immediately killed by brave North Korean soldiers.

Nobody ever believed the story. Days later, the group was expelled from the country, and any chance of learning the truth was lost.

President Helton had discovered the commonality with Secretary Sanders many years ago at a political fundraising dinner. They compared notes, comforted one another, and became longtime friends. They also shared a solemn promise. To avenge their loved ones.

When he was elected, the president never imagined he’d have the opportunity to exact his revenge on the murderous regime. He’d laid the groundwork to gain the opportunity by bringing Sanders into his cabinet. Once in office, he learned how the U.S. government worked. In secret. He established a commission of loyalists to find an opportunity, as well as a justification, for wiping Kim Jong Un off the face of the planet.

That opportunity was now.

After clearing the Oval Office, the president retrieved a celebratory cigar he’d planned on smoking following his inauguration. He’d gotten caught up in the moment, and the opportunity, or just the right occasion, never presented itself.

He rolled the glass tube containing the Gurkha Churchill in his fingers. The top was sealed with green wax reminiscent of a Maker’s Mark whisky bottle. The cigar, known as His Majesty’s Reserve, sold for $750 each. A hefty price for a smoke but preferred by elites inside the Beltway and considered one of the most expensive cigars ever made.

He peeled off the seal and retrieved his butane lighter. Earliest man had a fascination with fire. It represented life as well as destruction, the president thought to himself as the hot flame hissed out of the lighter. He became mesmerized by its various hues of red, orange, and blue where it was the hottest.

He lit the end, rotating the cigar in his fingers to provide an even burn. With each puff of the cigar, the fire created by his lighter rose several inches. His mind deceived him as the fire morphed to a tower of flame stretching thousands of feet skyward until it formed a billowing, ever-expanding mushroom.

As he puffed on the cigar, the flame continued to dance up and down as it was fed and deprived of oxygen. His mind continued to play tricks on him. He saw a fireball spread across the nation he was elected to protect, incinerating large cities and rural towns, scorching the heartland while reducing to ash the bodies of millions of Americans. All of it floated into the clouds and beyond, swept up by the jet stream and carried for thousands of miles, leaving the remains of America around the globe.

With one final draw, the burning cherry glowed bright red, and he exhaled, sending smoke spiraling upward. And, within the smoke, there was a set of eyes looking back at him. Evil. Lifeless. Unblinking. Narrowing with scorn. Piercing his psyche. Leaving the words to float through his mind.

First strike.

In that moment, President Helton, a sly smile on his face, confirmed his decision. Once he was settled into the bunker at Mount Weather, he was going to make the case for a preemptive first strike against North Korea.

Do unto others before they do unto you, or something like that, he thought to himself, drawing a slight laugh from deep within him. His mind continued. Screw me? No, screw you! He could go on, but he’d settled on his decision.

Yes, he would exact his revenge while eliminating a despot at the same time. The world would be a better place for his efforts. He was convinced of it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Tuesday, October 22

Hayward, California

It was late that evening, and Owen was tied up at the office. By the time he broke away, a torrential rain swept down San Francisco Bay toward Palo Alto. Owen was on the Dumbarton Bridge, crossing the lower end of the bay, when a multi-car accident half a mile ahead of him occurred, effectively locking him down on the bridge in the midst of a multilane, thousand-car parking lot. He sat there, frustrated, waiting for emergency vehicles to clear the wreckage. And growing increasingly apprehensive as he listened to news stations on his satellite radio.

After thirty-six hours, the nuclear war between Pakistan and India had finally come to an end. It was being called the worst humanitarian and environmental disaster in history. Countless millions had perished in a blink of an eye as one nuclear warhead was detonated after another. Wildfires raged out of control across both countries, consuming millions of acres of farmland, destroying buildings, and sending noxious materials into the stratosphere.

It was during one roundtable discussion on NPR that Owen learned about the concept of nuclear winter. When these nuclear warheads struck the earth, not only did they propel millions of cubic yards of debris and radioactive material into the sky, but they spawned widespread firestorms across the landscape of both nations.

The fires were not quite as prevalent in the brief Iranian-Israeli exchange due to the geography surrounding the primary targets, Tel Aviv and Tehran. South Asia was a different matter.

The multitude of targets in both nations were located in fertile valleys used for growing food for the enormous populations in the region, especially India. The blasts created a mushroom cloud, but they also spread incredible heat and fire outward from the detonation site. The soot from the burning cities and plant material following the nuclear blasts entered the atmosphere and immediately began to spread around the globe.

Scientists interviewed by NPR claimed the soot, radioactive debris, and other materials could circumnavigate the globe within four to five days. As they did, sunlight would be blocked from reaching the Earth’s surface, resulting in a significant drop in global temperatures. In addition, rainfall would decrease substantially, thus increasing ultraviolet radiation levels due to the badly damaged atmosphere.

That was how nuclear winter began, a term of art dating back to the early eighties when Carl Sagan and a team of scientists brought the concept to the attention of the world. Their studies, as refined by present-day scientists, talked of unfathomable loss in agriculture productions and massive global starvation.

Owen’s pulse raced as those interviewed made their case. He changed the station to CNN. More of the same. FoxNews? Ditto.

The consensus was that the direct death and destruction was the obvious result of a nuclear war between nations. The widespread firestorms following the bombings would burn out of control for months in some locations, or longer. The millions of tons of soot and ash would absorb sunlight for a minimum of five years as the ability to grow the world’s four main cereal crops—corn, wheat, soybeans, and rice—would plummet for nearly ten years. It would be the single largest famine in documented human history.

Owen switched his radio to ESPN, hoping for a respite from the doomsday discussions. He would soon be disappointed.

It had been a long but productive day for Lacey and Tucker. She monitored the news but didn’t obsess over it. There were too many things on her to-do list for hand-wringing. She and her family were resolved to get ready for the worst-case scenario. Tucker had spent time on the internet and revealed a horrifying fact. The San Francisco Bay Area was a high-value target for the three nuclear-powered enemies of the U.S.—Russia, China, and North Korea.

Silicon Valley, the area where Owen worked, was the high-tech capital of the world. It was home to over two thousand companies, including Apple, Microsoft, Google, Yahoo!, and the social media giants. As the military pundits pointed out earlier in the day, a strike against the Bay Area would devastate the American economy and its high-tech dominance for a decade.

After Lacey heard that report, she stepped up her preparations. Tucker’s innocent proposal to get out of town for a family vacay suddenly took on a new meaning. That morning, she replayed Peter’s warning in her mind and felt the urge to run away from home as fast as she could. However, first, there was work to be done.

Lacey knew they’d have a twenty-to-thirty-minute warning in the event a nuclear missile was launched toward the West Coast. That would require fast action on the family’s part. Living on the east side of Hayward on the ridge was a plus. They wouldn’t have to battle traffic like the millions who lived in the Bay Area. In minutes, they could be on I-580 heading east, and thirty minutes later, they’d be past Stockton, roughly sixty miles away from San Francisco.

The first order of business was to prepare to leave on a moment’s notice. Staying was not an option in the event of a nuclear attack. After consulting with Owen, they agreed to use their Ford Expedition to tow their vintage Ford Bronco, nicknamed Black & Blue. The 1967 classic had been a purchase made by the family after Lacey’s first hugely successful year with her new business, Jefferson Outfitters. The family vowed to spend more time exploring the outdoors in Northern California and Nevada. They enjoyed watching the Paramount television series Yellowstone, starring Kevin Costner. One of the beloved characters drove a classic Bronco. That was how the choice had been made.

She focused on all of the things the government harped on—water, batteries, candles, etcetera. Lacey spent the better part of the morning focusing on food that was easily transportable. She purchased all of the high-calorie MRE bars at Bass Pro Shops to supplement her own store’s inventory. MRE was an acronym for meals-ready-to-eat. Her store sold a wide variety of easily transportable, long-lasting food products designed for campers and hikers. As of noon that day, she was completely out of stock. Every case of anything edible was sitting in her living room.

She doubled the quantity of her camping and hiking gear. The same was true of their clothing. If the time came, they’d be heading into the Sierra Nevadas as an early snowstorm arrived. If Peter’s warnings were correct, they might not be able to return home, a reality that hadn’t quite set in yet.

By nightfall, when the deluge of rain had invaded the coastal areas, Lacey and Tucker had filled the living room with gear, supplies, food, and water. Their focus on the basic necessities was a success. However, it was Tucker who was the first to point out a potential shortfall.

“Hey, Mom, why don’t we have a gun?”

Lacey, who was exhausted as she sat on the only seat on the sofa not covered with piles of clothing, responded, “Well, frankly, we never found the use for one. We’re not against guns like a lot of people around here. It’s just that we aren’t hunters, and because we live in a safe gated community, we’re not afraid of break-ins.”

Tucker just stood there for a moment, and then he, too, surveyed all of the items they’d amassed over the last twenty-four hours. He glanced back toward the hallway leading to the garage where the Expedition awaited.

“Mom, this is a lot of stuff. Is it all gonna fit?”

Lacey pushed herself off the couch and stood in the middle of the room, slowly rotating in a complete circle to take it all in. They’d need to go back to U-Haul to rent a box truck, she thought to herself half-jokingly.

Owen was listening to the ESPN hosts discuss the ongoing World Series when the inside of the car exploded in a cacophony of warning signs and computer-generated voices.

The ESPN programming was interrupted to issue an ominous alert. The screen on his SiriusXM radio changed to read:

Owen received a text message from the California State Warning Center, known as Cal OES, which issued a push alert to all cell phones and handheld tablet computers located within the state’s IP address locations.

Cal OES: The U.S. Pacific Command has detected a missile threat to California. A missile may impact on land or sea within minutes.

If you are indoors, stay indoors. If you are outdoors, seek immediate shelter in a building. Remain indoors well away from windows. If you are driving, pull safely to the side of the road and seek shelter in a building or lie on the floor. We will announce when the threat has ended.

The disaster app began to wail. Outside the car, through the driving rain, California’s siren warning system, which had been tested just weeks before as part of a missile preparedness exercise, had been activated, emitting a high-pitched wail.

Owen, like many other motorists, froze for a moment, unsure what to do. Then, as if prompted by an invisible cattle prod, they reacted.

Some jumped out of their cars, leaving their doors open and engines running. They raced away toward the east, logically trying to get away from the coastline. Others calculated the shorter distance to land was back toward the west. Large groups of people collided with one another, resulting in a massive human scrum on the bridge.

Owen pushed his way in between the three lanes of stalled vehicles toward home. Behind him, horns were blaring and tires were screeching as motorists tried to force their back way off the bridge. Several panicked motorists tried to jump over the concrete barrier separating the east- and westbound lanes of the causeway. They were plowed down by speeding traffic as drivers raced to perceived safety somewhere in East Palo Alto.

It was mayhem, and San Franciscans weren’t handling the threat very well. As Owen ran, he tried to call Lacey and Tucker. Cell towers were overwhelmed with millions of others doing the same. His mind raced as he thought of the buildings and facilities on the east side of the Dumbarton Bridge. He’d passed by there twice a day, five days a week, for years, yet his mind drew a blank.

Was there a nuclear fallout shelter over there? Was there even a building with a basement considering its close proximity to the bay? How much time did he have before the bombs hit?

Owen wanted to throw up, but he kept moving. He focused on his love for Lacey and Tucker. He prayed they’d taken off to the east like they’d discussed. He wanted them to live, even if he couldn’t. He refused to let despair overtake him. So he pressed forward. He abandoned all sense of decorum or politeness. Like so many others were doing, he knocked anyone down who prevented him from reaching safety.

Lacey had been marshalling their assets. Picking and choosing what was a priority based upon the survival rule of threes. A person can only live three hours in extreme weather without adequate shelter. Without hydration, the human body begins to deteriorate rapidly without water after three days. Without food and adequate nutrition, the body begins to cannibalize itself after three weeks.

With that being her focus, she started giving things to Tucker to pack into the back of the Expedition. After the Bronco was affixed to the tow dolly and the hitch of the Expedition, they’d fill it with their most essential gear.

“Mom!” yelled Tucker from the garage. His disaster app had issued an incoming ballistic missile alert.

Lacey heard it as well, and the television screen was filled with the warning. She ran down the hallway toward him as he raced back inside. They nearly collided but spontaneously hugged one another instead. She gripped her son by the shoulders and looked up to the taller young man.

“No panicking. Okay.”

Tucker nodded. “What about Dad?”

“Let’s see where he is. Try calling him on both your cell and our landline in case you can’t get through. Let me check the app.”

The McDowells’ cell plan enabled them to link their locations together. At any given time, they could check on each other. Lacey thought that was an essential feature with a teenage boy in the house. She opened the map and searched for Owen. It showed him on the Dumbarton Bridge, moving slowly in the direction of the Nimitz Freeway.

“Anything?” she hollered at Tucker in the kitchen.

“Circuits are busy!” he yelled his response. “I’ll try to text!”

Lacey ran into the living room and located her laptop. In all her preparations, with the assumption they’d immediately be leaving town when the warnings were issued, she hadn’t bothered to locate the nearest fallout shelter.

She searched nuclear fallout shelters near me and viewed the results.

Besides Ready.gov, which was essentially worthless because the advice it gave was to hide under your bed, the other results were survivalist websites trying to sell products or backyard buried shelters.

She drilled down in her search, using fallout shelters near San Francisco. Her mouth fell open as she viewed the results. The words abandoned, thing of the past, and no plan were common. She shook her head in disgust as she ran her fingers through her hair.

Tucker joined her in the living room. “Mom, what are we gonna do? We have to wait for Dad.”

Lacey closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe the words that came out of her mouth. “It’ll be too late.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Tuesday, October 22

Driftwood Key

Although Hank was exhausted by the end of the day, he was having difficulty finding sleep. He’d started before dawn at just after five that morning, resulting in a fast-paced, seventeen-hour day. He tossed and turned as a myriad of scenarios ran through his head. He questioned himself several times as he tried to determine whether he was overreacting. However, Peter had been so convincing, and when the nuclear skirmish in the Middle East transitioned into an all-out war between India and Pakistan, Hank began to believe the potential threat to the U.S. was real.

But which threat should he prepare for? Would America be subjected to a nuclear detonation on her soil? Or would it simply be subjected to the aftermath of these other conflicts—nuclear winter?

The best-case scenario, of course, was that nothing happened. Certainly, the concept of nuclear winter was largely theoretical, based upon the works of Carl Sagan many decades ago. Comparing the global environmental implications to the eruption of the Yellowstone supervolcano, he thought, might be a little too much. Then again, would it have to be that bad to throw the world into a period of rapid cooling and famine as plant material died off?

If nothing happened, then he’d sent his guests home for no reason and he’d cancelled reservations that would have to be rebooked. It would cost the inn revenue, but he had sufficient savings to cover the losses.

In his restless state, his mind chased several scenarios. When would it be safe to say all clear? Or the threat has passed. The modern-day equivalent of the Cuban Missile Crisis is over.

Hank’s planning had relied on Peter’s inside information and judgment. He would not take the advice of the talking heads on the news networks. They’d lost his trust and confidence years ago.

He worried about Peter, who was a headstrong risk-taker. Peter was not one to shy away from a fight or danger, as his career had proven. His son was prepared to stay in Washington, an obvious nuclear target, until the end so he could cover the story. While Hank admired his dedication, he’d feel a whole lot better if Peter were settled in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs.

Then there was Lacey. His adorable baby girl who’d grown up, left the nest for college, and was hustled off to Northern California to start a family. He didn’t begrudge her choices in life. In fact, Hank truly admired Owen and enjoyed his company on the rare occasions they traveled back to the Keys. And Tucker was a heckuva young man. Polite. Smart. Head screwed on right. A model teen, if that was possible nowadays.

It was impossible to ask a parent who their favorite child was. Their intense feeling of guilt in choosing one or the other would result in a response full of equivocation and caveats. The same was true for Hank although there was a special bond he’d had with Lacey.

From the beginning, he could look into his baby girl’s eyes and see his wife, Megan. Megan created a mini-me as she raised Lacey, something that thrilled Hank. He loved his wife, and the thought of Lacey growing up in her image comforted him. When Megan died, Lacey had been there for Hank more than anyone else that summer in between her junior and senior years.

When she was a child, the two had a classic hero dad–princess daughter relationship. Hank included her in all of his activities, and Lacey found a love for the outdoors just like Hank. To be sure, she was the darling little princess although she was more Ariel, the Little Mermaid, than she was Cinderella.

Hank was there for her, teaching her to be self-reliant and a problem-solver. Megan believed Hank’s time spent with Lacey as a young child boosted her self-confidence and encouraged her to overcome her inhibitions. She was fearless, much like her brother, Peter.

Lacey’s teen years were different. Well, they actually started at twelve. The eye roll became a commonly used response to Hank’s attempts to employ the same parenting tactics he’d used when she was younger.

Hank hung in there and persevered. The phase passed, and Lacey’s relationship with her dad grew, especially after the death of Megan. They helped one another through it, and now the bond between the two of them was as strong as ever.

It was for that reason that Hank bolted upright in his bed that evening as he struggled for sleep. Something sent chills up his spine, and his forehead broke out in a cold sweat. He fumbled to turn the light on, and he retrieved his cell phone from its charger. In the moment, Hank was incredibly lucid, and worried.

He tried to dial Lacey’s number first and got no answer. He moved on to the home phone and received a fast-busy signal. When he tried again, the fast-busy signal was replaced in the earpiece by dead, staticky silence. He checked his watch. It was barely seven o’clock on the west coast. He navigated through his address book to call Owen’s and Tucker’s cell phones.

No answer.

Hank cursed himself as his mind went there. The worst-case scenario. A nuclear strike on American soil, with the West Coast being the first of many targets. He jerked open the nightstand drawer to find the television remote that was rarely used. The entire drawer and its contents spilled out onto the floor. Hank rolled out of bed and searched for the remote, which had found its way under the bed.

The expletives were being hurled at this point. He took a deep breath to regain his composure. He powered on the monitor and struggled to switch from the Weather Channel to any of the cable news networks.

He finally found CNN. His eyes grew wide as the words BREAKING NEWS were splattered across the screen together with a graphic depicting California, Oregon, and Washington, with several red dots flashing on the screen. Along the chyron, the words Ballistic Missile Alert issued.

Tears poured out of Hank’s eyes as he turned up the volume.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Tuesday, October 22

Falls Church, Virginia

Peter had flopped on the sofa with a beer. He’d spent the bulk of the afternoon at the State Department, attempting to confirm the information he’d received from his sources. He didn’t have sufficient corroboration to satisfy his editor, so a story for the print edition of the Times didn’t have a chance. Their journalistic standards also applied to the digital edition online. Peter planned on settling in with his MacBook to review statements made by the president during past electoral campaigns to determine if he’d tipped his hand unknowingly. As was his practice, he watched his television with the volume muted and the closed captioning turned on so he could monitor events around the world.

Fox News was airing a commercial, so he perused his social media accounts before getting started. He moved from the new platforms, MeWe and Gab, to the dinosaurs, Facebook and then Twitter. By the time he scrolled through his Twitter feed, the digital media world had exploded.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed as he jumped off the sofa, spilling his beer in the process. He grabbed the bottle off the floor and set it on the coffee table as the foamy head spilled out. He quickly turned his laptop sideways so the droplets of beer slid off the screen.

Peter grabbed the remote and turned up the volume on the television. Breaking News was emblazoned across the screen. He turned up the volume to listen as he studied the tweets. The news opinion host stuttered at first. She was normally level-headed, but the magnitude of the event had clearly rattled her.

Laura Ingram read from a printed page instead of a teleprompter. “We have received reports from KTTV, the Fox affiliate in Los Angeles, that the California State Warning Center, Office of Emergency Services in Sacramento has issued a digital warning to all residents of California that an incoming ballistic missile has been detected. This is unconfirmed as of yet.”

Ingram paused as someone spoke to her off camera. Then she continued. “I’ve also been told that as is their protocol, Oregon and Washington state have issued similar warnings. According to this, the alerts took place in the last seven minutes. From my recollection, America’s west coast is thirty to thirty-five minutes away from a nuclear strike from our nearest adversaries, North Korea and China.”

She took a deep breath and looked into the camera. “Everyone needs to seek shelter immediately. Don’t hesitate. Go now. Your life depends on it.”

Peter’s first instinct was to call Lacey. He tried twice on her cell phone and got no answer. He scowled as he paced the floor. He called Jess. She’d been at the Pentagon late that evening and had bailed on a previously scheduled dinner with him.

Her phone rang and rang.

“Come on, Jess, pick up.”

Peter paced the floor, glancing twice at the beer as he resisted the urge to drink it. He needed to keep his head clear.

He returned to his phone and tried Lacey again. No answer. He was mad at himself for not having Owen’s number, or Tucker’s, for that matter.

The Fox coverage switched to live shots of panicked partiers in West Hollywood and motorists who were rushing away from the city. A traffic helicopter hovered over Interstate 210 through Pasadena as cars traveling east away from the city had taken over one of the westbound lanes.

He called Jess again. It rang twice, and she picked up.

“Peter! We’ve got nothing inbound.”

“What? Say that again.”

“Initially, they went into a full-blown panic over here. There are no missiles inbound. They’ve called USCENTCOM and confirmed with Pacific Command. There are no ballistic missiles in the air. I know for a fact they reached out to the governor of California and his OES people to shut the damn warning alerts off.”

Peter said nothing for a long moment. Fox was still reporting on the mayhem and had done nothing to retract their initial reporting.

“Jess, I’m watching reaction on the news. They’ve got to tell people. There are reports of people jumping from high-rise balconies to commit suicide. Cars are crashing head-on into one another along the freeways coming out of LA.”

Jess was on edge and agitated. “The Pentagon is on it. We’re preparing a press release and a nationwide text alert now. It should go out any second.”

The federal government had established a program to notify every cell phone user in the nation of emergency alerts sent by state and local public officials regarding severe weather, missing or abducted children, and silver alerts related to senior citizens who might suffer from deteriorating mental faculties. Through the Emergency Alert System, or EAS, the president can address the American people within ten minutes of a national emergency.

“What about POTUS?” he asked.

“They hustled him off to Mount Weather already in light of the South Asian conflict,” Jess responded.

“He, or someone, needs to issue a retraction. Every second that goes by could mean hundreds of people dying unnecessarily.”

“They know, Peter. Listen, I gotta go.”

“Okay, call me when you can,” he insisted, but she’d already disconnected the call.

Peter’s hands were shaking when he reached down for his beer. It had become warm, but he didn’t care. He drained the bottle in three hard gulps.

He tried to open SFGate.com, a well-known Bay Area website for local news, sports, and weather. The servers had crashed. His palms were sweaty as he dialed Lacey’s number again. He prayed they were home at this hour.

The phone rang, and finally, Lacey picked up the phone. He could hear the blaring of car horns in the background. Lacey dropped the phone.

“Watch out, Mom!” Tucker shouted in the background. Lacey slammed on her own horn in response to whatever Tucker had warned about. She finally came to the phone.

“Owen? Are you okay?”

“Lacey!” Peter shouted so she could hear him. “Listen to me. It’s a false alarm. Do you hear me? It’s a false alarm!”

“What? Peter? They’ve been sending out these—”

“Lacey, I know. I talked to the Pentagon. It’s a mistake. Somebody made a mistake.”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Lacey shouted at the phone, her incredulity obvious in her tone of voice.

“I confirmed it. The president will be issuing an emergency alert notification withdrawing what California started. Get home. Get to safety. There is no missile threat.”

“I’m gonna hand you off to Tucker.”

“Uncle Peter?”

“Yeah, big guy. Listen, I’m gonna hang up. Help your mom. There is no missile, okay?”

“Stupid idiots,” Tucker groaned.

“Yeah, for sure. Listen, I take it Owen isn’t with you?”

“Right. We think he’s on the Dumbarton crossing the bay. I’d better try to call him again.”

“Do that. Be careful and call me later.”

Tucker hung up, and Peter collapsed onto his sofa. Seconds later, the president’s text message was disseminated through the emergency alert system, cancelling the alert.

The nation breathed a collective sigh of relief.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Tuesday, October 22

California State Warning Center

Office of Emergency Services (Cal OES)

Sacramento, California

Alix Adams was a loyal soldier. She’d been hand-selected to join the Cal OES about six months ago. Prior to that, she’d worked on the president’s election campaign in the state. Her experience procuring signatures to initiate ballot referendums had landed her a lucrative position in Sacramento within the California State Warning Center.

At first, she didn’t understand why she was offered the full-time position at just over fifty thousand a year but also given a consultant contract by the president’s campaign team that doubled that annual salary.

The prior evening near the end of her shift, she’d received a text message to meet a campaign coworker at the Thai Bistro restaurant nearby for drinks. Adams hadn’t heard from the man she’d casually dated during the campaign since the inauguration. She liked him and was willing to let him buy her a few drinks.

Upon arrival, he got right down to business. He slid her an envelope with five thousand dollars in cash enclosed. His request was a simple one. Accidentally hit the wrong button. Nothing more. Nothing less. Afterwards, apologize profusely. Cry, if she felt compelled to do so. “Don’t worry about your job or your side gig,” he’d said to her. “Just push the wrong button when the time comes.”

They shared one drink and made small talk about the new administration. He abruptly left, and she went home. The next night, as her shift was in its last hour, her supervisor advised her that during the shift change, he wanted to run an unscheduled drill to make sure everyone was on their toes, as he put it. He advised Adams that he was going to contact the emergency management team, pretending to be with U.S. Pacific Command. He just wanted to give Adams a heads-up so she would do the right thing when she was instructed by the team to act.

Adams was thoroughly confused. Was her supervisor part of the subterfuge? When he said do the right thing, was he actually referring to pushing the wrong button, as she’d been instructed?

Minutes later, as the emergency workers began filing out of their offices and cubicles, Adams remained at her post. About the time the room was cleared, she received a call.

“This is not a drill. Activate incoming ballistic missile alert received via USPACOM. Exercise. Exercise. Exercise.”

Adams froze. The first sentence indicated the instructions were valid and to be followed. The last three words were agency code to indicate a test rather than an actual emergency. She’d been paid to push the wrong button and given a heads-up about the drill by her supervisor. But which command should she follow?

She did her duty. Push the wrong button.

Adams sent out an actual notification that triggered the state’s ballistic missile preparations computer program. She even clicked through on a second screen, per safeguard protocols, to confirm the directive. Instantaneously, the alert message interrupted radio, television, and satellite broadcasts in California and, moments later, in Oregon and Washington, too.

Once the false alarm was rescinded and the panic subsided, Adams told the head of Cal OES that the directive from her superiors had been confusing, and out of an abundance of caution, she’d issued the alert. She never revealed the payment she’d received or the brief conversation with her supervisor. She claimed to be one hundred percent certain issuing the alert was the right thing to do, and if anyone was to blame, it was the government for their system and process failures.

It took the Cal OES twenty-three minutes to override the alert and notify its citizens of the false alarm. Fear and panic spread across the West Coast like wildfire as residents were gripped with confusion. With no warning and little in the way of instructions, most people were unsure of what to do.

The next day, the death toll was in the hundreds from accidents, suicides, and heart attacks. Criticism was directed toward the governor of California and Cal OES. The governor immediately called on the legislature to form a commission to study the cause of the incident and the aftermath when it came back into session next week. Congress vowed to start hearings to assess the nation’s emergency alert protocols to coincide with California’s investigation.

The state and national politicians were unified in their statements condemning the mistake. They also agreed that hearings beginning on Monday would focus on the fact it was time to prepare the nation for the types of nuclear strikes endured by the people of the four countries on the other side of the world.

Next week, the politicians promised, they would tackle this very important issue.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Tuesday, October 22

Dumbarton Bridge

San Francisco Bay

Owen ran like the wind after he’d reached the end of Dumbarton Bridge and hit terra firma. Word had spread amongst the pedestrians fleeing to the east that Patterson Elementary School near the Nimitz Freeway had a fallout shelter. Thousands of people from the surrounding neighborhood coupled with stranded motorists attempted to cram into the closed school. They broke through windows and doors only to run helter-skelter in search of the basement facility that didn’t exist. About the time Owen gave up on the quest for safety and exited the school into the driving rain, the notification came through the alert system advising Californians of the false alarm.

Relief turned to anger. People whipped each other into an angry mob that vowed to march on Sacramento the next day to voice their displeasure. Things have to change, they yelled. Recall the governor was shouted by some.

Owen ignored the rancor and focused on how he was going to get his car off the bridge. Hundreds of motorists had fled their vehicles, looking for safety. Some had perished as they’d crossed the concrete dividers into oncoming westbound traffic. The bridge was littered with mauled and mangled bodies that had been run over repeatedly. Owen suspected many of those who’d died drove cars abandoned ahead of his.

He was at least twenty miles from the house. In the rain, and wearing Johnston & Murphy dress shoes, he’d be lucky to make it there in seven to eight hours unless Lacey could meet him somewhere in between.

Then there was the matter of Lacey’s car, which he’d driven so she could pack the Expedition. The four-door Nissan sedan would probably be towed to an impound lot somewhere. It would be aggravating trying to find out, and he suspected a fee might be charged. But the prospect of waiting for hours that might even stretch into daytime tomorrow to fix the mess didn’t appeal to Owen.

He tried to call Lacey and Tucker. The call wouldn’t go through, as everyone else in the state at the time was doing the same thing. Owen thought of what was left in the car. He didn’t bring his work home at night, so there was no briefcase or laptop. There were no valuables in the glove box. He felt his pockets for the keys and realized, in his panic, he’d left them in the ignition. If it was stolen, he had insurance.

He loosened his tie, set his jaw, and started the trek home, doing his best to avoid the angry motorists who couldn’t decide if the traffic jams or the overall predicament should be the target of their ire. The streets were clogged with debris, vehicles, and pedestrian refugees. A continuous downpour from the sky added to the aggravation.

In that moment, barely a mile into his walk home, he decided the family should start their vacation a day early.

CHAPTER FORTY

Tuesday, October 22

Hayward, California

“Where are they all going, Mom?” asked Tucker, not expecting his mother to have a definitive answer. “I thought they always said to shelter in place. Maybe they think there are actual shelters somewhere when there aren’t.” Tucker shook his head in dismay when seconds later the alert cancelling the prior notification was transmitted to their cell phones and through the Expedition’s satellite radio.

“Finally, right?” asked Lacey facetiously. She’d questioned leaving the house during those frantic few minutes when she’d unsuccessfully tried to reach Owen by phone. She’d made the decision to load up Tucker and some supplies into the truck so they could flee toward the east. It was what she would’ve instructed Owen to do.

“Yeah,” muttered Tucker as he tried to call his dad again. They were both amazed at how overloaded the cell phone network was. “Look on the bright side, Mom.”

Lacey chuckled. The windshield wipers were whipping back and forth as the heavens were bringing a lot of rainfall to the Bay Area but not inland where the farmers needed it. It was an odd weather anomaly caused by Pacific Ocean currents and the Santa Ana winds.

“There’s a bright side?” she asked.

“Yeah. We got to do a practice run.”

“And failed miserably,” she added.

“Maybe so, but at least we’ll be ready if it does happen someday. You know, I’ve got a friend in school whose dad is into ham radios. I wonder if they’d work instead of cell phones right now.”

Lacey shrugged and then nodded her head. “You know, I’ve got the Garmin two-ways that we use when we go hiking, but they have a limited range.”

Tucker laughed. “For sure. The box says fifty miles, but that’s if nothing is in the way. Heck, pine trees block the signal sometimes. I think ham radios, even those portable ones, might work better.”

“We had marine band radios at Driftwood Key,” Lacey recalled. “Granddaddy taught me how to use them. He said they were like two-ways except stronger.”

“I’ve seen them at Walmart. We should get a few. You know, just in case.”

Lacey turned the truck down the winding road that led back to their neighborhood. Traffic began to dissipate. They’d arrived at the wrought-iron security gates and entered the subdivision. Their neighbors were standing on their covered porches, commiserating with each other. A couple waved to her in an effort to have her join the conversation, but she continued home. Lacey had a single focus, and that was to make sure her husband was safe.

As soon as she parked the truck and began to open the garage door, Tucker jumped out and raced underneath the half-open door. She followed him shortly thereafter, and by the time he entered the hallway through the garage, he was shouting to her.

“Dad left a voicemail. He’s okay. He’s walking home. He got stuck on the bridge and just left the car. He thinks it might take him seven hours or so.”

“What time did he call?”

“Twenty minutes ago,” replied Tucker as his mom joined him in the kitchen.

She walked over to the junk drawer, as they called it. It was in the far end of their expansive kitchen counter. The junk drawer was the least useful for purposes of cooking but was ideal for filling up with notepads, pens, rubber bands, and just about anything else that didn’t have a regular, family-approved storage location. She pulled out a pen and paper.

“I’m gonna write him a note to let him know we’re safe. We’ll head down the ridge toward the Dumbarton to find him. I’m hoping we can connect by phone in the meantime, but just in case, he’ll know to stay here.”

Tucker grabbed a Red Bull for himself and a Cherry Coke Zero for his mom while she wrote out the note. Lacey was full of emotion as she wrote the final words—we love you. She wiped the tears off her face and nervously laughed at herself.

Tucker was leaning against the counter. He took a swig of Red Bull and stifled a belch.

“You’re such a girl, Mom.”

“Brilliant observation, son,” she said with a chuckle. “I’m just glad your dad is okay. Now, let’s go find him.”

Tucker handed his mom the can of soda. “Should we bring him some clothes?”

Lacey beamed. Tucker had more common sense and empathy than she’d had when she was a teen. Hank had taught her to be a boy, but her mom had raised her as a young woman. Tucker was all boy, yet he had flashes of maturity she hadn’t had growing up. She gave him a smile and darted up to their master bedroom to retrieve a gym bag, which she filled with jeans, a sweatshirt, socks and sneakers.

“Hey, Mom! Text messaging between phones is working again. It’s Dad. He’s at the Safeway on Decoto Road.”

“Tell him we’re on our way!”

Lacey raced down the stairs, two at a time, just like a boy.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Tuesday, October 22

Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center

Northern Virginia

The Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center was hidden away in the small community of Bluefield, Virginia, near the state’s border with West Virginia. It was one of America’s best-kept secrets as an unacknowledged continuity-of-government facility operated under the auspices of FEMA.

The two-hundred-thousand-square-foot facility, with multiple structures both above and below ground, encompassed a four-hundred-thirty-four-acre mountain site. Two hundred forty employees kept the lines of communication open between the high-level government officials buried deep underground and their counterparts around the world.

Based on a favorable evaluation of the hardness and integrity of the mountain’s rock by the Bureau of Mines in the 1930s, construction began on the facility’s tunnels in 1954, which was completed by the Army Corps of Engineers under the code name Operation High Point.

The billion-dollar facility included a system of tunnels with roofs shored up by iron bolts driven eight to ten feet into the overhead rock. The entrance was protected by a guillotine-style gate and a ten-foot-tall by twenty-foot-wide thirty-four-ton blast door that was five feet thick. It took almost fifteen minutes to open or close.

The underground bunker included a hospital, crematorium, dining and recreation areas, sleeping quarters, reservoirs of drinking and cooling water, an emergency power plant, and a radio and television studio, which was part of the Emergency Broadcasting System. A series of side tunnels connected with a total of twenty belowground office complexes, some of which were three stories tall. The East Tunnel included a computer complex for directing emergency simulations and wartime operations.

An on-site sewage treatment plant capable of processing ninety thousand gallons a day was coupled with two quarter-million-gallon aboveground storage tanks designed to support a population of two hundred for more than a month.

Although the facility was designed to accommodate several thousand people with sleeping cots, only the president, members of the cabinet, high-ranking military commanders, and Supreme Court justices were provided private sleeping quarters.

The president was told this might be an intermediary holdover until after the threat had passed. Based upon confirmed, active intelligence, he’d either return to the White House or be sent to Cheyenne Mountain, where he could better interact with his military commanders.

The planning of the president and the staffers who made up the White House operations team was timely, although complicated by the ballistic missile alert issued on the West Coast. The human side of the administration was safely tucked inside the bombproof bunker. However, the computers and files necessary to operate the government hadn’t arrived before the blast doors were forced to shut. The delivery trucks had been redirected to secure locations, and it wouldn’t be until the next day before their contents were delivered.

For the first time late that evening as midnight approached, the former Pennsylvanian who grew up in a coal-mining family got settled into the former Bureau of Mines property. He wasn’t sure if the false alarm was intentional or truly human error, as the young woman had professed to investigators. He tried to think through the events, especially the timing, to determine if there was a connection to the activities of his secret task force.

He couldn’t discern what the purpose might be. Why instigate a panic now when the possibility of actual nuclear retaliation by North Korea or China could come very soon? He shrugged off his own questions. He’d been assured by those he’d hand-selected for this job that their experience immersed in the inner workings of the DC bureaucracy would yield the result he sought.

The president insisted upon plausible deniability. When the time came to cross the Rubicon and pull the nuclear trigger, he needed to be shocked and disturbed that he, as president of the most powerful nation on earth, was forced to take such a dangerous, hostile action.

The term crossing the Rubicon was based upon an ancient event. In 49 BC, Julius Caesar prepared to cross the Rubicon River in present-day northeastern Italy during his quest to conquer Rome. To cross the Rubicon was a metaphor that meant to take an irrevocable step toward a risky or even revolutionary course of action. Many equate it with the more modern phrase passing the point of no return.

President Helton understood the risks and ramifications of his plan. It was calculated, to be sure, but also predicated on the counsel of the men and women who’d worked in Washington most of their adult lives. He felt certain their advice was sound, and because it comported with one of his unstated goals to accomplish as president, he likely downplayed the risks to suit his purpose.

The hour was fast approaching. He, like Julius Caesar, stood on the precipice of greatness or an abyss that would resemble Hell on Earth.