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of this right now,” he muttered and headed rapidly for the door. George saw him slump over as he stepped outside the control van, nauseated from the sights on the display screen.
    “We’re over Capitol Hill, Lieutenant,” George quickly briefed the replacement pilot as he sat down at the controls. “Let’s head over to the White House.”
    “Yes, sir.” The pilot flew the Predator back down the mall as he typed in the coordinates for the White House. The GPS navigation system directed them to the right, and the pilot made a right turn near ground zero, across the Ellipse, to the area where the White House had once stood.
    “Sorry about the circuitous route, sir. I would have flown straight down Pennsylvania Avenue, but I couldn’t make it out on the video. There aren’t any landmarks left.”
    “That’s all right,” George answered understandingly. “Are you telling me we’re there?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    George studied the screen carefully. “There’s nothing here.”
    “No, sir.”
    “Nothing at all. From my understanding, the president, vice president, secretary of state, and cabinet members were all working in the White House at the time of the attack.”
    “Yes, sir. There’s an underground nuke-proof bunker, but apparently they didn’t have enough warning to get in there in time.”
    “How can that be?” George asked incredulously. “The report I read said the cops reported there was a nuke on the mall at least ten minutes before it detonated.”
    “That’s correct, sir.”
    “Well those of us in strategic forces studied depressedtrajectory ballistic missiles and figured there would be about ten minutes warning if a Soviet boomer in the Atlantic fired one at the East Coast. So the president’s emergency system was designed to get him to safety in less time than that.”
    “Uh, a Soviet what?” asked the lieutenant.
    “What?” George was puzzled. He wasn’t following the lieutenant’s question.
    “You said something like a Soviet bomber firing a ballistic missile. I didn’t think that was possible.”
    “Oh, sorry,” answered George, realizing the army lieutenant was probably not familiar with navy slang. “That’s “boomer”, not bomber. In the submarine community, we refer to ballistic missile submarines as boomers. It’s easier to say, and descriptive as well!”
    “Oh, okay. That makes a lot more sense,” said the lieutenant.
    “Anyway, with ten minutes warning, why weren’t the president and his staff in the bunker?”
    “I don’t know, sir. I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure.”
    “This doesn’t make sense.”
    “Well, I heard some people saying there was some sort of miscommunication between the Park Police, the DC Police, the Secret Service, and the White House staff. I guess the president just didn’t get the word in time.”
    “That’s just unbelievable!” George exclaimed. “They can round up several hundred people on the mall and cram them into a Metro station, but they forgot to warn the president?!”
    “I don’t think anyone forgot , sir. It’s just that the president’s emergency communication system is designed so that he gets immediate warnings from NORAD of a nuclear missile or bomber attack. But there wasn’t, you know, a hotline kind of connection with the police. They had to call in through regular channels, and I guess the call just didn’t get through in time.”
    George buried his face in his hands and shook his head in disbelief. Tears of sorrow and anger welled up in his eyes. The sudden realization that, by all rights, the president and his cabinet should have survived this attack was too much to bear. The brave policemen who stayed on the mall and got the word out with more than ten minutes to spare shouldn’t have died in vain. They should have the legacy of a living president. What a tremendous boost it would be for the country if the president had emerged safely from the attack. And what a message it would send to the