Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 01 Read Online Free PDF Page A

stood at ramrod attention
as the President of the United States entered the White House Situation Room, the
emergency alternate conference center and shelter. The President was followed
closely by Marshall Brent, the Secretary of State, and Kenneth Mitchell,
Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Trailing behind them was a man in
civilian clothes but with a short military haircut. He carried a black leather
briefcase.
                 The
President, wearing a blue and red athletic warmup suit, glared at Curtis as he
sat down at the head of a large oblong table. His thick brown hair was tangled,
and beads of sweat dropped from the ends and trickled down his neck. Curtis
went over to the steel vaultlike door and checked that it was locked.
                 The
President unzipped the warmup suit half-way and picked up a telephone on the
table in front of him.
                 “Jeff?”
he said. “Have some coffee and croissants brought down to the Situation Room
right away. And see if you can move the morning Budget Committee meeting to
this afternoon. If you can’t, let me know and I’ll try to shake loose . . .
what? No, I don’t know how long this will be.” He slammed the receiver down on
its cradle.
                 The
man with the briefcase set it down at a console in a far corner of the room. He
put on a headset and punched a series of numbers into the keyboard. He spoke
briefly, then watched the indicators on the console. A few moments later, he
nodded and turned to the President.
                 “Full
connectivity, Mr. President,” the man said. “Sir, your helicopter is fifty
seconds from touchdown on the south lawn. Air Force One is ready for immediate
takeoff.”
                 The
President said nothing. The man at the communications console was in charge of
the “football,” a tiny transceiver and several sets of authentication and
coding documents packed inside the briefcase. That briefcase was always within
arm’s reach of the President. In case of a surprise attack or other emergency,
the President could instantly direct all of the United States ’ strategic forces by typing a series of
coded instructions into the miniature portable transceiver. Now, in the
emergency command post under the White House, the President had instant
communications capability with command centers all over the world.
                 “All
right, General,” the President said. “This seems to be your little party.
Another unscheduled emergency exercise? If so, it couldn’t have come at a worse
time. I was in the middle of my first workout in a week, and I’ve got a—”
                 “It
is no exercise, sir,” Curtis said. “Exactly fifteen minutes ago, we received
confirmation that an Alpha Omega Nine surveillance satellite was lost. It—”
                 “A
satellite?” the President said. “That’s all?”
                 “This
particular satellite,” Curtis went on, “was this nation’s primary
missile-launch detection vehicle for eastern Russia and the western Pacific areas. Currently,
Mr. President, we have absolutely no missile launch detection capability for an estimated one-fifth of the Soviet’s
ground- and sea-based intercontinental ballistic missiles.”
                 “Surely,
you’re exaggerating,” Kenneth Mitchell said. “We have dozens of surveillance
satellites—”
                 “But
only one over eastern Russia ,” Curtis interrupted, “specifically
designed to warn us of an ICBM launch from sea or land. Now we have none—at
least, until we can reposition another satellite over that area. That may take
some time.” Curtis turned back to the President. “Meanwhile, sir, we need to
have you available to evacuate Washington in less than ten minutes.”
                 “Why
ten minutes?” the President asked, not sure he wanted to hear the