Fly by Wire

Chapter FOURTEEN

The White House Situation Room was living up to its moniker. There was indeed a situation.

The president had been awakened at two-thirty in the morning, as soon as word of the third refinery disaster registered at the FBI's Strategic Information and Operations Center, the country's one-stop repository for bad news. Given that the attacks came within minutes of one another, the tsunami hit shortly thereafter.

Twenty-one attacks, clearly synchronized, had occurred on oil refineries across America. Details were still filtering in, but the newest reports were little more than battle damage assessments — casualty counts, fire containment estimates, and bulletins detailing a handful of small-scale evacuations that had been ordered for hazardous material contamination.

The atmosphere in the Situation Room was chaotic. The National Security Council had been called into emergency session. Staffers came and went in a constant flow, delivering spectacular details of the attacks. The reactions in the room were a predictable mix — shock, outrage, calls for defensive action. The offense would come later. High on one wall, an array of televisions showed the major news networks. The volumes were muted, but each screen blazed with rotating video clips of smoking wreckage. CNN had a running casualty graph. The present score: twenty-one dead, forty injured. The televisions, in fact, were for more than visual affirmation of the scope of the strikes — if anything further happened, this was where the national command structure would likely see it first.

President Truett Townsend was trying to make sense of a Department of Homeland Security report in front of him. It was a load of bureaucratic gibberish explaining the legal ramifications of raising the national threat level. The noise in the room was deafening, and he had difficulty concentrating.

"Mr. President—"

Townsend looked up to see his chief of staff, Martin Spector. "Martin, this is chaos."

"I realize that, sir, but this is the first crisis of our administration. In light of that, your address to the nation is critical. I have the first draft of your speech." He slid a six-page document in front of Townsend. "You're scheduled to come on at eight a. M. eastern. That's just over an hour from now. You'll have to edit—"

"Not now!" Townsend shoved the draft aside. He looked up to see no fewer than thirty people. Half were yelling into cell phones, and the rest were arguing. This was not going well. He'd had all he could take. Townsend stood and yelled at the top of his lungs, "Enough!"

It did the job.

The room went silent and everyone fell still — Townsend thought they looked like a bunch of kids playing freeze tag. He pointed distinctly to the ones he wanted. "Martin. DNI. CIA. Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Homeland Security. Everybody else, out!"

The room parted, rearranged before him, and Truett Townsend took his seat at the head of the conference table. His five advisors followed suit without asking. It didn't show often, but Truett Townsend had a temper, and nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of it.

"All right, everyone," the president said slowly, consciously trying to lighten his tone, "let's establish our priorities. Homeland Security, give me your best overview. How were these attacks undertaken?"

A beleaguered director of Homeland Security said, "It seems to have been a painfully simple operation, sir. Some of these refineries had a respectable level of physical security — motion sensors, vehicle barriers, low-light cameras. I expect we'll find that most of the security operation centers recognized the perimeter breach. Unfortunately, we are talking about tremendous facilities. The response times simply weren't fast enough. For the suicide bombers, once they'd breached a simple chain-link fence, all they were looking at was a hundred-yard dash with all the explosives they could carry. Twenty, thirty seconds. Maybe a minute at a few of the biggest targets."

General Banks said, "This doesn't surprise me one bit. The more we rely on laser guided bombs, satellites, and unmanned aerial vehicles, the more our enemies rely on simple bullets, suicide attacks, and messages delivered by hand. Pretty soon they'll be using a match and a length of fuse cord like goddamn Wile E. Coyote."

"And the problem," Darlene Graham fretted, "is that it'll work. At least for a time."

Townsend said, "Let's move on. Has the immediate threat ended?"

Homeland Security again, "We think so, Mr. President. All the attacks occurred within a window of no more than ten minutes. Chances are, they were supposed to be simultaneous. The news wires have reported subsequent explosions, but these are likely secondary — at least half of the facilities struck are still battling uncontrolled fires. There's been the usual spree of copycat bomb threats, reports of suspicious packages and vehicles. So far it's all turned out to be spurious."

"All right," said the president, "then let's assume the threat has ended for today. What can we do going forward?"

Homeland Security said, "Our emergency response plan has been put into effect. The command center is fully staffed, coordinating with the first responders."

Townsend gently pushed the six-page speech back toward his chief of staff. "All right, ladies and gentlemen. In a short time, I am going to talk to the American people. I will speak from my heart, tell them we've been attacked, but that the situation is under control. I'll briefly cover our response plan and make myself personally accountable for the nation's recovery. Having said that—" Truett Townsend paused for effect, "there is one very important question to be answered." The president let his words hang.

General Banks piped in, "It has to be Caliph, Mr. President. Our intelligence told us something was coming."

Graham added, "We've been able to track three of the rental cars so far. All were contracted to men with Arabic names, two of them here on student visas. We'll get more soon, but Caliph's fingerprints are all over this."

Townsend looked to each of his advisors in turn. One by one, they nodded in agreement. He was convinced. "All right. We are going to make this guy the new Osama Bin Laden. That means you all need to clear the decks at your respective organizations. We have one mission." Townsend smacked his palm hard on the table. "Find this bastard!"

The president got up and began to leave, but as he passed his director of national intelligence, he tapped her on the shoulder and motioned for her to follow with a crook of his finger. When they hit the hallway he began to talk.

"Darlene, I want a briefing this afternoon."

"On what, sir?"

"Oil. Refineries. These were not blind, random attacks. Caliph had something very specific in mind. I need to know how this will affect our country. What other threats do we face? What could be next? You find me the biggest egghead out there, somebody who knows oil inside and out. I want to know exactly what's going on here."

Darlene Graham nodded confidently."! know just the guy."