Authors: Patrick Robinson
When Arnold Morgan inquired exactly how much the VP knew about the problem that faced them, Paul Bedford said flatly, “Nothing.” It was a tacit admission that this capable former navigation officer in a guided missile frigate had already slipped out of the Presidential loop.
Admiral Morgan took it upon himself to bring the VP up to speed on the phantom volcano blaster from the Middle East. The men around the table watched Mr. Bedford’s eyes grow wider with every sentence. Arnold walked him through the voyage of the missing
Barracuda
submarine, the obvious attack on Mount St. Helens, the threats and demands, the blasting of Montserrat, and the communication that had arrived in the Pentagon a few hours before.
“Are you with us?” asked Admiral Morgan.
“If you mean, do I understand, Admiral, the answer is plainly, yes. But you have not informed me of the reaction of the President of the United States. Does he know?”
“Of course, he knows,” said Arnold, without even cracking a smile. “He’s now rejected each of three pleas by the highest military officers in the country—pleas to listen, to take some precautions, to make some preparations, or even organize our defenses. He says the letters are from a nutcase, and the whole thing is a figment of our imagination. Needless to say, we did not, do not, and will not agree with that.”
“Of course not,” replied Vice President Bedford, who was already displaying the built-in respect of a former Navy Lieutenant in the presence of the mighty.
“Have you offered him yet the opportunity to read the latest communication from Hamas?”
“No, sir. We have not,” said Arnold. “He sincerely believes that we are all crazy—and if you would like to step up here next to me, I’ll show you just how crazy we are.”
Paul Bedford moved next to the Admiral. Arnold traced a circle of about eight inches in radius on the Navy chart in front of him. “Somewhere in there, Paul,” he said, “is a big nuclear submarine. Russian-built, with one, or probably two, cruise missiles on board containing nuclear warheads, which, as you know, pack a wallop one thousand times bigger than any conventional bomb ever dropped on anyone.
“Eleven days from now, they are going to launch those babies at this range of mountains, right here on this next chart…here…La Palma in the Canary Islands…probably from close range. And that will cause, from a huge height, the biggest landslide this world has seen for around ten thousand years. Straight into the Atlantic.
“The resulting tidal wave, or tsunami, as it is called, will develop into a succession of waves, 150 feet high, which will hit the East Coast of the United States nine hours later.”
“How big will the waves be at the point of coastal impact?”
“About 120 to 150 feet.”
“You mean, straight over New York?”
“Correct.”
“Will the waves break onto the city?”
“No sir. Tsunamis keep right on going. Probably break about ten to fifteen miles inland.”
Paul Bedford drew in his breath sharply. “Have you asked top scientists their opinion on this likelihood?”
“Of course.”
“How many did you ask?”
“About twenty.”
“And how many of them agreed, conclusively, that this will happen?”
“All of ’em.”
“Jesus Christ,” said the Vice President. “This is going to happen. Unless we can stop it?”
“Precisely. And we cannot stop it by negotiation, or by compliance, because we have two noncooperative parties—Israel and the President of the United States. Anyway, we don’t have much more time. Which leaves us with two essential tasks—to evacuate the big East Coast cities and attempt to destroy either the incoming missiles or the submarine, or both.”
“And you anticipate having to sideline the President?”
“No. We anticipate the removal of the President.”
Bedford looked up abruptly.
“When?”
“This afternoon. Right after lunch.”
“You realize I am in office as the Vice President, and I am sworn to support Charles McBride so long as he shall continue to faithfully execute the office of the President, and to the best of his ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution.”
Paul Bedford was quoting from the President’s sworn oath on the day of his inauguration.
“I guess allowing the Constitution of the United States to go under 50 feet of tidal wave might contravene that preserve-and-protect clause,” replied Admiral Morgan.
“Admiral, the whole scenario adds up to a total dereliction of duty. But you have to give President McBride one last opportunity to take this matter seriously. And you have to remember that I am in no position to play any role in the removal of the President from office.”
“We understand that, sir,” said the CJC. “However, we may have to put you on notice to stand by to
become
the President of the United States, sometime this afternoon.” General Scannell at times filled the office of Chairman of the Joint Chiefs with immense dignity, and this was surely one of those moments.
And he added, “No one in this room wants this to happen. We
don’t want to be involved in some kind of a Third World junta, removing the President. But this is deadly serious, and only the United States armed forces can avert it, or, in the event of a successful Hamas attack, prepare the populace to deal with it. Remember, the President has already refused, flatly, to grant permission to lay out a Navy submarine trap in the Eastern Atlantic.”
“And are you working on that? Moving ships into the area?” Bedford looked from one to the other.
“Of course we are, sir. But we cannot go on like this, operating in defiance of our own Commander in Chief.”
“No, you cannot. I understand that.” The Vice President was beginning to look more worried than Arnold Morgan, who was frowning right now like General Custer at Little Bighorn.
The former National Security Adviser concluded the outline of the massive task that the military faced. “Paul,” he said, “we have to evacuate not only millions of citizens, but also the treasures of this nation, our entire systems of government and business. Right here in Washington, we need to move great works of art, much of the contents of the Smithsonian, not to mention historical papers from the Library of Congress, the White House, and God knows where else.
“In New York, we have to move the art from the great museums. We have to get the entire Stock Exchange—hardware and software—out of range of the ocean. We have to evacuate hospitals, schools, universities, and, most important, people. And we need a strong military presence to prevent looting.”
“I understand that,” replied the Vice President.
“This operation will involve the military commandeering railroad trains, the New York subway, buses, maybe trucks, and even private cars. This is a national emergency, and we have to be prepared. If this bastard gets those missiles under way, we have to accept the possibility of New York, Boston, and Washington being wrecked as comprehensively as Berlin in World War II.”
Paul Bedford was thoughtful, and the room fell silent for a few seconds. “Only the United States military could possibly take
care of such a situation,” he said at last. “Have you thought of a chain of command?”
General Scannell looked up. “Sir, I am proposing to appoint Admiral Morgan to head up the entire operation. He first alerted us to the problem and, in the course of things, identified the threat as serious. In company with Admiral Morris and Lieutenant Commander Ramshawe, Arnold Morgan has made all the running.
“He is an experienced Naval officer, vastly experienced in politics, and capable of masterminding a plan that may allow us to nail the aggressor. I have no hesitation in appointing him Commander in Chief of Special Op High Tide. And Special Adviser to the President. Above all, every branch of the military, the Intelligence community, and politicians will listen to him.
“Any other course of action would be unacceptable.”
“And where do you suggest he works from?” already knowing the answer.
“Oh, the White House, most definitely, since he will have to call the shots.
“Bear in mind—this situation will probably last for only a couple of weeks,
If
we get our act together and catch the
Barracuda
. During that time, speed is of the essence. There can be no arguments, no debates, no reluctance. Everyone must move fast and without hesitation. Admiral Morgan will need instant obedience, and, to tell you the truth, I think he has a better chance of getting it if he’s sitting in the Oval Office, as a kind of acting President, before you were to move in, once the operation is complete.”
This, more than anything, revealed to Paul Bedford the gravity of the situation—Military Command in the Oval Office. It couldn’t be done any other way. He saw that.
“Will you require me to fulfill any duties during the transition period early this afternoon?” he asked simply. A general sigh of relief went through the room. The main hurdle had been passed.
“Better not,” said General Scannell. “We intend to ask just once for the President’s cooperation, then remove him from
office. At which point we shall have an announcement prepared, to the effect that the President has suffered a serious nervous breakdown and has retired, with his family, temporarily, to Camp David. Of course he will be under ‘house arrest,’ without contact to the outside world whatsoever.
“Right then, we’ll have the Judge, appointed by the Supreme Court, to swear you into office in the White House.”
“And the great offices of State? Who will you be getting rid of?”
“Not really,” replied General Scannell. “Though that idiot Defense Secretary and the National Security Adviser will have to go immediately, before Arnold throttles them both. And you’ll probably want to appoint your own Chief of Staff. So that buffoon Hatchard will have to go.”
Paul Bedford said, softly, words he never expected to utter: “Correct. Romney and Schlemmer must go immediately. I’ll explain to Hatchard that with his boss gone, this is the end of his West Wing tenure.”
Scannell spoke for everyone in the room when he said, “Sir, everyone at this table is very grateful for your understanding. We cannot sit here and allow this clown in the Oval Office to stand and watch while our cities are destroyed. We cannot. And will not.”
“I understand,” said the Virginian. “And I, in turn, am grateful for your foresight, and your confidence in me. Especially Admiral Morgan, of whom, I should confess, I have long been terrified.”
“C’mon, Paul,” rasped Arnold. “You never even met me before today.”
“I assure you, Admiral, your reputation precedes you. And I look forward to working with you…er…I think.”
Everyone laughed, the kind of restrained laughter born of high tension and trepidation. But it would not be long now. And when the Vice President left the room to return to the White House, they all instinctively checked the time. Four minutes past ten, on Tuesday morning, September 29, 2009. It was at this moment that Adm. Arnold Morgan became the de facto leader of the United States of America.
1934 (Local), Same Day, Same Time
Bandar Abbas Navy HQ.
General Rashood and the Commander in Chief of the Iranian Navy, Adm. Mohammed Badr, were trying to decide whether another communication to Washington was necessary. Did the Americans think that the Hamas high command would not carry out their threat because world opinion would most likely turn against them?
In which case, someone needed to put the Pentagon right. Sometime on October 9, young Ben Badr would fire those two Scimitar SL-2s straight at the Cumbre Vieja, no ifs, ands, or buts.
Ravi was working on a draft, and he was nearly through with it. The wording was as follows…
To: The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, The Pentagon, Washington, D.C.:
There is nothing you can do to stop us now. We regret that you have ignored our instructions. You will still be under water when our brothers in Palestine rise again.
They agreed to transmit the letter sometime the following day, Wednesday, September 30.
1005, Tuesday, September 29
The Pentagon.
A minute after Paul Bedford left the office, General Scannell excused himself from the meeting and returned next door to his office. He picked up his private line to the White House and asked to be connected to the President.
“I’m sorry, General. The President is extremely tied up right now. Can I have him call you back?”
“No, you may not,” replied the General. “Put him on the line now.”
One minute later, the unmistakable voice of President McBride said quietly, “General, I am getting slightly tired of these unannounced interruptions during my working day. However, I understand the priority which your position in the Military grants you, and I am able to give you five minutes…”
“Thank you, Mr. President. You will doubtless have noticed that Hamas have carried out their threat, and that at around midnight they did indeed blow up another volcano?”
“Well, I have been told that there was an eruption of Montserrat, if that’s what you’re referring to, but so far as I can see, it erupts on a kind of monthly basis…”
“Not like it did last night, sir. Trust me. That was one of the biggest volcano blasts we’ve seen for years. Almost as damaging as Mount St. Helens—”
The president interrupted him impatiently. “Well, what do you want me to do about it? It was obviously in no relation to us. It took place 4,000 miles away from here, in a foreign country. I think I advised you when we last spoke on the subject that your theories were a complete waste of time, and there was absolutely no reason to place the Pentagon and the White House on a State of Alert—”
Now it was Scannell who broke in. He could see where this conversation was headed and he wasn’t about to waste his breath much longer.
“You did indeed, sir. But they did not threaten to attack us directly, only to show us what they could do, in the hope that we would change our minds and get out of the Middle East. I would say, for the second time in too short a time, they have shown us what they are capable of doing.”