XI
The congressional debate started on July 29, and raged for six days. The western politicians were willing to adopt a wait-and-see posture, while some of those from the east had constituents who were understandably frantic for someone to do something. No further word was forthcoming from the people wielding the space weapon. Television talk shows were counting down the hours until the threatened calamity—milking viewer fear to increase audience share.
The repeated assurances of government leaders had swayed the majority of citizens in the designated disaster zone and most were staying put, but no amount of assurances and scoffing could allay the fears of everyone, and some were leaving, taking household effects and all. The two-lane roads throughout much of the rural northeast were choked with overburdened cars and U-Haul trailers, kids and pets hanging out the windows, the roofs bending under the weight of furniture and appliances.
The fact that public officials from the “zone” suddenly seemed as rare as winter corn helped to convince the more astute that this wasn’t just a drill. Some reasoned, and justifiably so, that if even the con men were leaving, then the threat might not really be just a terrorist bluff, as Washington insisted.
If it takes one to know one, it was understandable that many in Congress and state government had learned not to put too much faith in anything that came out of the Vanderbilt White House. As the deadline drew near, many of the politicians and the well-to-do were finding it a good time to vacation, or take a business trip to Europe, Hawaii or points west, with the family. The President and most of his cabinet just happened to be out of town on various and sundry missions before the scheduled date arrived.
Congressman Harford put on a defiant show, stating that he would not alter his schedule in the least, and would laugh at the “yellow-bellied reactionaries” among his colleagues after the thing had blown over.
Sporadic fights erupted in a few communities as angry citizens tried, some successfully, to evict stubborn civil officeholders from their nests. Some citizens and a few law-enforcement personnel were killed or wounded. National Guard units, and strategic and tactical military bases were on alert everywhere. Some states had called up National Guardsmen to protect government offices from rioters.
Many of the smaller cities and towns in the rural areas tried to comply with the conditions set forth in the taped message, at least as far as setting up adult education curriculums in their schools, striking victimless crimes off the books, and adjusting their payrolls and administrative budgets. Small-town politicians and civil servants tended to be closer to the people they served, and did not put up the arrogant resistance to eviction that their career brethren in the larger cities did.
Within the federal government, the executive and judicial branches refused to consider meeting any demands whatsoever. Congressional committees debated endlessly, and every representative that took the floor offered some provisional willingness to “look into” some of the terrorists’ stipulations, which “might be possible if substantially amended.”
Government agencies downplayed the warning, following the administration’s lead, trying to get the public back into a calm and tractable state of mind. The official word was that if anything did happen, and that was considered doubtful, the military, the FBI and the other federal authorities were ready for it and would make short work of the terrorists. None of the demanded actions were taken at the federal level, and the few small-town attempts to comply were not consequential enough to merit serious media coverage. All in all, it was a wash. Unknown to the public, terrestrial and orbital eyes were scanning the heavens incessantly, looking for any clue to the location of the weapon that the President had all but denied existed.
###
On August 6, five days before the threatened destruction, at 2:15 a.m., a tremor ran up the length of the east coast of North America like a giant, rumbling freight train passing in the night. The jarring vibrations were accompanied by staccato claps of thunder that wakened sleeping neighborhoods and knocked out power in isolated utility substations at approximately twenty-mile intervals, from Washington to Maine.
That evening, the news reported that an overload had caused power outages up and down the east coast, and that power grids were rerouting trunk lines as quickly as possible. Local news stations warned that further short interruptions might occur as workers made repairs. Utility company public-relations people and police went door-to-door in the affected areas, distributing hurricane lanterns and explaining that residents should buy ice and Styrofoam coolers to preserve perishable foods, because the power might be off for another twenty-four hours or so.
No one told the public that all the electrical substations affected had been reduced to smoking slag. No one mentioned the taped message that expressed one last plea, and a final warning. The Vanderbilt administration had decided to take direct control of the dissemination of information to the public, and by doing so, draw the fang from the terrorist’s mouth.
###
Harold Tanner sat at a breakfast table in the presidential suite with President Vanderbilt and Vice President Miller. Vanderbilt was eating breakfast while the others drank coffee. It was the morning of August 8.
“They knocked out twenty-two electrical distribution stations,” Tanner was saying, “along an almost straight line from Washington to Boston. Nobody hurt that we know of. The stations were mostly minor residential distribution points that could be easily rerouted. Nothing was hit that would seriously impact anything; no hospitals were deprived of critical power—nothing major at all.”
Vanderbilt smiled. “And why do you think that is, Harold?” he asked, his eyes crinkling in merriment as he cut his eggs.
“Obviously, they didn’t want to hurt anyone,” he said, “but they did demonstrate that they have the capability to fire again, Mr. President. In light of this, I think we had better assume they can do what they say.”
“You’re missing the most obvious point, Harold,” Vanderbilt said while spreading lemon marmalade on toasted English muffins. “They demonstrated two things. They demonstrated that they can fire, and they also showed me that they haven’t got the guts to make good on their threat.
“If they wanted to really throw a scare into the government, they would have obliterated Washington, or Hackensack, or Newport News. We’ve got the idealistic bastards by the short hairs, now. Ha! Mark my words, on the eleventh, those simpering, gutless patriots will chew up some more unoccupied turf somewhere, if they do anything at all, then their bluff will fizzle. It’s a standoff, Harold, and we’re holding all the cards worth having. A weapon is worthless if you haven’t got the balls to use it.”
“I take it you’re going to stay here and defy them,” said Tanner.
“Not on your tintype,” said Vanderbilt. “The one target they might hit, if they can work up the gumption, is the capitol.”
“What about warning the public?” Tanner asked.
Vanderbilt paused with a strip of bacon halfway to his mouth and looked hard at Tanner. “Don’t be a damned fool. What have I been saying, Tanner? If you start a panic, they’ve won. We can’t encourage them. As long as we ignore them, they’re impotent. The presence of the public is what insures that they won’t fire on a city.”
Vanderbilt resumed his ministrations with his food and said, more calmly, “No! They’ve just about run out of gas, both literally and figuratively,” he chuckled. “Now, if you will excuse me . . . Oh, on your way out, tell Dahner to come in. I’m going to leave for Palm Beach this evening. You boys can do as you like. Just no public leaks. I’ll be back on the fifteenth.”
Tanner exchanged a look with Miller. Miller’s face was as passive as ever, but Tanner noted a hard glint in his eyes. They got up and left together. When they reached the outer foyer at the end of the wing, Tanner stopped a moment and looked at Miller.
“Well, Joe, what happens now?”
Miller returned the look for a long moment, as if weighing his next words. “Don’t be in Washington on the eleventh,” he said. He turned and left.