But, thats not
Just tell him.
Shall I put you on the phone to him, sir?
Kassian weighed it up. Instinct told him it would not work. The President would not take it, not from him. Military officers neutral, anonymous stood a better chance: there was a possibility he would hear their words as the response of a system, a machine, with no inherent hostility to him, no feelings either way. So far that had proved the best way to stop him.
No, Ill talk to him when I get there.
But you may not get here in time.
Kassian remembered what the Presidents daughter had said about her father in a TV interview during the campaign. You never say No. You say, Yes, but maybe not right now. The interviewer had laughed, joking that it was kind of like dealing with a toddler. The daughter had laughed back, saying, Whatever works, right?
All right. Tell him, youve spoken to us. We support him and want to be with him on this one. And the best way to ensure this decision goes well for him is if he waits for me and Secretary Bruton.
There was a banging sound. It could have been a fist pounding the desk or a door being slammed, Kassian could not be sure. He hoped it was the latter. Maybe the President had stormed out of the Situation Room in frustration, his will thwarted. Perhaps he would just go to bed or watch TV. The man hardly ever slept.
But then the officer spoke again. Hes been put through, sir. Hes talking to the War Room at the Pentagon right now.
Kassian felt a heave in his guts. Good God, what was this man about to do?
He killed the call and moved to make another, dialling Jim Brutons cell. It was hard to press the buttons; his hands were trembling. And as he put the phone to his ear, all he could think of were the words from that briefing, perhaps three days before the President was sworn in. At your command, sir, will be thousands of weapons, each one ten or twenty times more lethal than the bomb dropped on Hiroshima Retaliation by the enemy will be automatic, swift and devastating. The combination of an initial US strike and the enemys counter-strike will lead to the deaths of hundreds of millions of people within a matter of hours Yes, sir, we have gamed that out: our most conservative scenario projects a global catastrophe that would end civilization itself, sir On your command, eight hundred and fifty missile warheads will take flight within no more than fifteen minutes No, sir. Once the order is given, there can be no stopping, no recall and no turning back.
Busy signal. He tried again. And then again. Until at last he heard that trademark, Louisiana drawl, the one voice in Washington he truly trusted, the voice hed heard in countless moments of mortal danger though none as terrifying as this.
Bob, is that you?
Jim, thank God. Listen, you have to get hold of the War Room right now, before he does. You have to tell them
I already did. I told them they have to stall.
How?
Theyre telling him theres a malfunction in satellite comms. They cant reach the subs.
Hell never believe that.
What else have we got? Hes mad as a snake, raging and squawking. Brutons voice dropped. Hes going to fucking kill us all, Bob. You do realize that? He says he wants Option B.
Which one is that? Kassian remembered how could he forget the black book, carried by the Presidents personal military aide, the aide who was with him at all times, setting out the menu of options, the different target lists. He just couldnt remember which one was B.
North Korea and China.
Mother of God.
And hes going to do it in the next sixty seconds. Just as soon as that poor bastard in the War Room runs out of excuses.
You have to tell him its an illegal order.
Whats that?
Call the War Room. Tell them they are required to disobey an illegal order.
But thats bullshit. You know he has total and absolute authority. He can do whatever the fuck he wants. I cant stop him, Joint Chiefs cant stop him, Congress cant stop him. This is his show. One hundred per cent.
Yes, but they only have to obey an order that is constitutional.
Meaning?
Meaning, the Commander in Chief must believe that he is defending the country against an actual or imminent attack.
Well, maybe he does believe that.
Its a war of words, Jim. Five days of words. No reasonable person could say were under threat of an attack.
But thats the point. Hes not a
Well, tell your men that is the test they must apply. In fact they dont need to make any decision. Youre telling them. This is an illegal order.
It doesnt work like that. Hes the Commander in Chief, hes
We dont have time for a fucking debate, Jim. Tell them. Its that or were all dead.
He hung up. And, as his car turned into Pennsylvania Avenue, Bob Kassian closed his eyes and, for the first time since he was a child, he prayed.
2
The White House, Monday, 8.45am
What in fucks name is that?
Maggie Costello was in the outer office, where her bosss PA and two others sat. She had only just spotted that on a back wall, just behind the secretarys head, alongside the portraits of previous holders of this grand office the White House Counsel was a calendar. Not the usual one found in Washington government buildings, showing spectacular landscapes of the great American outdoors, but the kind youd see in a car repair shop. The image for this month, May, depicted a woman on all fours, facing the camera, wearing nothing but tiny bikini bottoms, her mouth gaping open, her tongue visible.
The PA, a black woman in her fifties, gave a resigned shrug.
Seriously, Eleanor, who put that up there?
The PA scowled at Maggie, a look that said, Dont get me into trouble.
Maggie leaned forward, letting her voice drop to a whisper. I wont tell anyone.
Eleanor looked over her shoulder and said, Mr McNamaras orders. Hes put them up all over the West Wing. He said it was about time this place got in touch with the working people of America. About time it looked like a regular American workplace.
Youre not even joking, are you?
The woman shook her head.
Maggie leaned across, stretching over Eleanors shoulder and, in one move, ripped the calendar clean off. Then, she tore through the thick, glossy paper once, twice, and headed towards the trash. Habit made her look for the green bin for paper.
No more recycling, Maggie. Hes got rid of that too. Its not called the Green Faggot House. Its called the White House.
Thats what he said?
Uh-huh.
Maggie dumped the remnants of the swimsuit calendar in the sole trash can and marched into her office, slamming the door behind her.
She would have complained to her nominal boss, the man who carried the title of Counsel, but he was an absentee holder of the post, a pal of the President who served as his personal bankruptcy lawyer and been rewarded with a White House sinecure. Maggie had met him only once, at a cocktail party to celebrate his appointment; he hadnt been seen at the White House since.
She would have complained to her nominal boss, the man who carried the title of Counsel, but he was an absentee holder of the post, a pal of the President who served as his personal bankruptcy lawyer and been rewarded with a White House sinecure. Maggie had met him only once, at a cocktail party to celebrate his appointment; he hadnt been seen at the White House since.
She reached for her phone and sent a text message to Richard.
What the hell are we doing here?
In the old days, there would have been scores of women, at all levels, who would have done what she had just done, or backed her up. But now, in this department, it was just her and Eleanor. The rest were all men, almost all of them white. And that pattern held across the White House.
A few seconds later, he replied. Am in with Commerce folks. Talk later tonight?
She shoved the phone across the desk, letting it collide with the picture she kept of herself with the previous President a tiny gesture of rebellion in this new era. Right now, she felt like cursing that man. It was partly his fault she was still here.
Listen, Maggie, he had said. I know how you feel about my successor, but she didnt let him finish.
You see, even that, I cant stomach. My successor. How can you say that, like this is normal? This is not normal. Hes a liar and a cheat and a bigot and should be nowhere near this place.
The outgoing President had indulged her, the way he always did. Maggie, youre a woman of great passion. Its why youve served this administration and me so well. But the people have spoken. Hell be my President and he should be yours.
But no ones telling you to stay and bloody work here.
Im not sure Im the right demographic, he smiled.
Exactly. Thats another thing. Its all white men. Hundreds of them. Every appointment hes made. Its like there are millions and millions of people he doesnt even see.
So, if you stay, you can even up the score a little. Woman, native Dubliner. Thats two boxes you check, right there.
But
This isnt just about him, Maggie. Just like it was never about me. Its about the country. You need to make sure the train stays on the tracks.
Sure, so that he can ram it into the buffers. Besides, what would I even do for him? Former UN aid worker, former peace negotiator, woman Im not exactly his cup of tea, am I?
You could do for him the same thing you did for me. Troubleshooter in chief. The woman who knows how to get to the bottom of any crisis and solve it.
But that requires trust.
I know, Maggie.
You trusted me and I trusted you. Totally.
I know and I cherish that. But youll find a way. You always do.
Maggie looked at the photograph, marvelling at the naiveté of her earlier self. Even a year ago she would never have believed this was possible. Mind you, nor would anyone else.
And then she felt it, that familiar stab of guilt and with it the attendant nausea. It seemed to rise from a specific place, a site of revulsion deep in her guts. If only she hadnt
In an attempt to push that dread thought out of her mind, she thumbed out another message to Richard.
How early can you leave tonight?
Lets eat at my place. Really need
But before she had finished, her office door flung open. She heard him before she saw him. Are you decent?
Crawford Mac McNamara, senior counsellor to the President. If Maggie and all the other non-partisans who had stayed on were dedicated to keeping the train on the tracks, McNamara was the man who decided the destination. Even Bob Kassian, the nominal Chief of Staff, was a mere bureaucrat compared to McNamara. In the White House solar system, only one star burned more brightly.
Of course, Maggie was several moons below him even under the previous president, her official title never reflected her true status which under the old Washington rules meant a man of his rank would never deign to say so much as two words to her, let alone make the journey to come see her in her office. But McNamara was the self-styled outlaw, the sorcerer who had shredded the Washington rulebook to get his man elected President. Protocol could go hang. Memos were for dweebs, minuted meetings were for assholes. Instead he patrolled the West Wing each day, strolling into whichever office he wanted to whenever he wanted to. The Oval was no exception. McNamara saw the President first thing in the morning and last thing at night; he was the all-powerful voice in his ear.
Nor was this the first time he had made the journey to see Maggie. Isnt it obvious? Richard had said, when they discussed it over Chinese takeout the other night. Youre the most attractive woman in the office and hes intrigued. Id be flattered.
Maggies reply had been concise: Ugh. And now here he was again, middle-aged but wearing cargo-style shorts, with square, capacious pockets, and a Linkin Park T-shirt. He wore socks, but no shoes. His head was almost completely bald.
You seen the paper today, Costello? He threw over a copy of the Washington Post, landing it just in front of her. It was folded open on a story about a new poll, confirming the country was more divided than at any time since the civil war.
Why are you showing me this, Mr McNamara?
Ooh, did someone just let my father in the building? Mister McNamara? Whos that? Its Mac, Maggie. Mac. Thought all you liberals dug that informality thing in the workplace. He made a mincing gesture and raised the pitch of his voice. Oh, were all equal. Treat me equally.
She reminded herself of what she and Richard had agreed. That perhaps they could mitigate the effects of this presidency, even in a small way, by being here, on the inside. They had a duty to make a difference, if they could. She took that vow again now. How can I help you, Mister Mac.
Look at the paper, Maggie.
First states roll out registry of Muslim citizens. Arizona, Texas, pilot new scheme.
Not that story. The one Ive marked, next to it. Look where we are with eighteen to twenty-four-year-olds.
Twenty-three per cent approve, seventy-four per cent disapprove, three per cent dont know.
Exactly. Twenty-two last month, now up to twenty-three. The young are coming round to us, Maggie. I can feel it. And with that he threw his head back and burst into song, his own version of a David Bowie classic.
Allllllt-Right, we are the young Americans! As he repeated the line, he did a slow turn, his eyes closed, head nodding a middle-aged rocker on stage in a nostalgia tour.
Maggie said nothing.
OK, you got me. Thats not why I came in here.
If its about that calendar, theres no way thats going back up.
I noticed the lovely Miss May was missing in action. Are you to blame for that? Are we still doing that, the student protest thing?
Under the legal definition of sexual harassment, just putting that on the wall counts as creating a hostile environment.
He smiled and shook his head. None of you get it, do you? Not even a little bit. Dont you realize thats why the folks elected the big guy last November? I mean, sure it helped that his opponent had endangered national security by using an unsecured phone.