The War Cloud

18

It wasn’t long before the chopper was skimming the white trees of the Hudson Valley and Sachs could see the hills of White Plains rising ahead. They must be going to the local airport. She thought of Jennifer on the run from the very people sent to help her, and worried that in her haste her daughter would have an accident or hurt herself someway.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.

Colonel Kyle of the Green Berets said nothing, but Special Agent Raghav of the Secret Service told her, “Nearest presidential emergency facility.”

“Emergency?” Her brushes in the past with Washington security types had taught her a general rule of thumb: the less the inflection in the monotone voice, the worse the situation. “What kind of emergency?”

“There was an explosion in Washington a few minutes ago.”

Her mind raced through the multiple-choice scenarios: a) an Oklahoma City-style bombing of the Internal Revenue Service headquarters, b) a plane crash into the White House, or c) the Capitol Building. My God, she thought, I was supposed to be there tonight for the State of the Union address.

“Tell me the worst,” she said, and closed her eyes.

“It was nuclear.”

The answer was: d) all of the above. Sachs snapped her eyes open and stared at the deadpan Secret Service agent. “How many casualties?” she heard herself ask hoarsely.

Raghav said, “Less than four thousand.”

Sachs blinked. She could feel her throat catch. “That’s how many died?”

“So far,” Raghav said matter-of-factly. “The National Weather Service hasn’t given us any updates on wind shifts. And fires are still burning. Should have been more than a million dead. But snow kept hundreds of thousands of federal workers home. And the nuke was small and exploded underground. Very clean. Minimal damage to civilians, maximum destruction to the federal government. Total decapitation.”

“Decapitation,” Sachs repeated, unsure what the jargon meant, although she had an idea. She suddenly felt very lightheaded, her heart thumping beyond control. “Terrorists?”

“Nobody’s claimed responsibility,” Raghav said. “We think it’s connected to what’s happening in the Far East.”

“Where’s the president?”

“Dead.”

Sachs took a deep breath. “And the vice president?”

“Nobody survived,” Raghav informed her. “All designated presidential successors are being taken secure facilities.”

Sachs leaned back in her seat and stared out the window. America was at war, its leadership attacked. And Jennifer, her baby, was on the run. Sachs wanted to go back for her. But the hardened faces of the agents and Green Berets told her there was no turning back now.

Sachs asked, “So how many designated successors are there?”

Raghav was evasive. “I can’t say for sure, ma’am.”

“Something like fifteen or sixteen?”

Sachs suddenly felt something cold touch her temple. The barrel of an M-16 came into view. Pointing it at her was a grim Colonel Kyle with hate-filled eyes.

“One too many,” he said.