FIFTY-SIX

In the Situation Room of the White House, Secretary of Defense Roland Allenworth was using a red-dot laser pointer. He was aiming it at a digital wall map of the world, sending the iridescent dot to several points throughout Russia, over to its neighboring republics, across the Mediterranean, to points in the Middle East, and then to northern Africa.

President Tulrude had planned on devoting the majority of the national security meeting to the nuclear attacks on U.S. soil, both the New Jersey massacre and the foiled attempt in Virginia. She had a plan and a political “solution” she wanted to float once again as a cure for these terror attacks. If she could get her national security staff behind it, she could roll it out for America, and she would be viewed as its champion-in-chief. Now Allenworth’s report about this Russian thing was a distraction. Her tone was clipped. “So what’s the conclusion, Secretary Allenworth?”

“Madam President, we’re not sure yet. We are trying to locate a pattern to these large troop movements of Russia and its federation, as well as some of the Islamic nations. It’s a complicated picture. There are intense naval movements as well. We’re looking for some logical symmetry to them. Our agents are picking up Russian communiqués that indicate this is just a coordinated set of ‘war games,’ but the question is whether they’re giving us a false lead.”

“So, you have nothing definitive? Fine. Then keep us apprised …”

Admiral William Patch, the national security advisor to former president Corland, raised a finger to speak. Tulrude didn’t care for him, and she knew that the buzzer was about to sound on Patch’s tenure now that Corland was out of the picture. And Patch knew it as well. “I think,” Patch said, “that the secretary’s warnings are not just theoretical. This could be a major military engagement, possibly to expand the Russian Federation, maybe as a counterpunch against Israel now that it has fended off Iran’s attack …”

But the secretary of state threw a disgusted look at Patch. “What would Russia possibly have to gain by that? Russia would have to be concerned about our reaction to a military offensive like that. Besides, thanks to Madam President’s deft diplomacy, our relations with Russia are superb. They’ve increased oil allotments to the U.S. It’s all good …”

President Tulrude broke in. “Admiral Patch, our ambassador told me just yesterday that he believes Russia was probably going to flex its muscles in that region just to keep Israel and Iran from escalating an already nightmarish nuclear exchange that has occurred between those nations. Frankly, having Russia play policeman in that region is fine with me. The United States has enough problems of our own. We don’t need to do that job. In fact, right after the Natanz and Bushehr attacks, didn’t the EU Parliament even call for Russia to play — what was the wording — I think it was something like ‘the firmest possible security role to ensure peace in the Mediterranean.’ Along those lines. Am I right, people? This isn’t unusual. Russia’s been playing an increasing naval role in the Mediterranean over the last decade. Furthermore, two days ago, as a gesture of goodwill, the Russian prime minister pledged one half billion dollars in Russian aid to help rebuild the New Jersey area and outlying areas. Does that sound like a country that wants to offend us?”

“No,” Secretary of Defense Allenworth replied with a smooth-as-glass calm in his voice. “That sounds like a country who wants to bribe us.”

Tulrude exploded with a loud caterwaul. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

Admiral Patch started to speak, but Tulrude cut him off. “You people would be the first to criticize me if I ignored American interests in favor of some tiny nation in the Middle East. But here I am, saying that America has suffered a nuclear attack, so let’s look to our own interests and not waste our time on some tiny nation in the Middle East.”

“By that,” Admiral Patch said, “you’re referring to Israel? America’s long-standing ally in a hostile area of the world?”

“Wake up, Admiral!” Tulrude snapped. “We have other allies. Arab allies. Russian allies. Global allies. United Nations as an ally. Check your calendar. This isn’t the 1950s.”

The room fell quiet. Tulrude said, “Now for a very timely matter. I’m happy to report that Congress is getting close to being able to pass my key proposal, the National Security through Identification Act. And I want you all on board with this.”

Helen Brokested, the director of Homeland Security, jumped in. “This legislation is brilliant. It mandates a biological identification tag imprint on the body of every American citizen. The BIDTag. Madam President, you have extolled its virtues before — in this very room, as a matter of fact, when you were vice president. The BIDTag would have stopped those nuclear murderers who set off the bomb in Union Beach and the terror cell in the Shenandoah … and the Mall of America bombing, as well as the Chicago air disaster. We could have identified each of them when they passed through the airports and train stations and public buildings, because they wouldn’t have had their BIDTag imprints. Or if they did, then their backgrounds, criminal records, associations — all of it would have instantly shown up on our screens. This is an idea, Madam President, whose time has truly come.”

Tulrude basked in the accolade. “I really do believe this is going to revolutionize national security. By imprinting every lawful American citizen with a tiny laser tattoo, invisible to the eye, painless, that contains all of their biological and personal identification data, criminal record, international travel data, we can screen them, and then we can instantly weed out the bad eggs from the good. After all, people do that when they go grocery shopping don’t they?”

A few of her advisors laughed and nodded. Admiral Patch wasn’t one of them.

Tulrude put a finer, much more somber point on it. “Eight thousand Americans dead, ladies and gentlemen, in New Jersey. And the number is growing. Our citizens want some assurance of safety. And I am the President who is about to give it to them.”

At Hawk’s Nest, Abigail was finishing up a phone call with Harry Smythe, her attorney. “Any more news about Josh?” Harry asked.

“No, not since the last call from Rocky Bridger, when he confirmed that Josh had been rescued and was out of Iran, thank the Lord.”

“Abby, I’m so sorry all of this is falling down on your head.”

“I’m trying to focus on the positive … Josh is safe. Deborah is okay. I talked to her. She’s tucked away in a friendly condo outside of Jerusalem. We’re working on getting her out of Israel … but, well, Deb is just like her dad — strong-willed. She’s refusing to leave without her father. I guess I can’t blame her …”

“Well, I’ll let you know,” Harry said wrapping up the reason for the call, “the minute I find out anything about a criminal indictment against you on your involvement in the nuclear incident in New Jersey. Right now it’s hard to know where this thing is going.”

Abigail’s voice cracked. “All those thousands of people. Innocent people in that little town. Killed. And I can’t shake the feeling that I’m the one responsible. Harry the nightmares I have, every night, night after night …”

Harry got tough. “Look Abby. Two things are true. First, terrorists drove that bomb into New Jersey, not you. Get that straight in your head. If Josh were here he’d say the same thing. Brave men tried to stop it. You gave the order, but they volunteered. And brave men died trying. And it looks like the nuke would have gotten into the heart of New York City had it not been for you. And second, where was our government? Why does it take a semiretired lawyer in her log cabin in the Rockies to try to stop a nuclear attack?”

Harry’s tone softened just a little. “Abby, you’re putting up a brave front, but I can hear the anguish underneath.” But then the quintessential Harry Smythe came out. The ‘I told you so,’ coming from an attorney who never liked the idea of the Roundtable in the first place. “I just want you to recall, Abby, that you told me yourself that you knew the legal risks. You knew the Roundtable could be prosecuted by a hostile, motivated Department of Justice. Now it’s come home to roost. ”

She didn’t like to hear that, but Harry was right.

After she hung up, she noticed that Cal had slipped out onto the porch and was standing next to her.

“Any news?”

“No,” Abby said. “Harry’s waiting to see if the grand jury’s going to issue an indictment against me and the Roundtable.”

“You’re a hero, Mom. So is Dad. But I guess that doesn’t mean anything.”

But Abigail didn’t feel like a hero. She had blood on her hands. And the weight of that thought was almost too much to bear. “We do everything we can do. Even when it ends … in terrible disaster. Then all we can do is stand and wait on the Lord. No matter how difficult …” She had to choke back tears.

Cal put his hand on his mother’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Any news about Dad?”

She regained her composure. “Nothing new. Cal, where in the world is Josh right now? Where?”