John Birmingham - Without warning

‘I was lucky enough to be on holiday with my family,’ Culver explained. ‘My immediate family at least, thank God. Anyways, I saw the news this morning and figured I would lend a hand if they wanted. Lingle’s main press handler was Stateside.’

‘You’ve done a lot of press management then?’

‘Oh yes. Real press too. Hard men like Jimmy Breslin and Chip Brown, not like these pussies. That was a great speech before, you know. Really nailed a few heads to the wall. That’s what we need right now – a big goddamn hammer and a whole bucket o’ nails to get things secured ‘fore they start flying off all over.’

They pulled up outside a closed office door. There was an indefatigable energy to Culver that one couldn’t help liking. A lot of spare mass was expensively hidden away under that designer suit, but he looked like a man who could plough on for days at a time without a break. The island was probably lucky to have him. The heavy-set lawyer rapped on the door and waited half a beat before pushing on into an anteroom furnished with two desks, behind which sat a couple of very stressed-out young women. One had three phones clamped to her ears and was writing notes on multiple pads. The other woman was stabbing at her telephone’s keypad, listening for a second, slamming down the receiver, and repeating the process all over again.

‘Governor ready?’ asked Culver. ‘I got the admiral. Pulled him from the mouths of the lions by my own hand.’

The second receptionist, the one having so much trouble making her call, nodded at them. ‘Go on through, Mr Culver,’ she said tersely. ‘They’re waiting.’

As the big man led him through, a thought occurred to Ritchie. ‘Why pack the suit, if you’re on holidays, Mr Culver?’

The lawyer smiled back over his shoulder. ‘Ah, you’re a man who thinks like my good wife, sir,’ he replied. ‘Come on, meet the Governor.’

Culver seemed unnaturally assured of his place, given that he was little more than an interloper, but he’d obviously been of some help to the administration through the madness of the last twelve hours. There was any number of legitimate government officers trapped behind the velvet rope down the corridor who had more claim to be here than him. But here he was, and there they were, frozen out by a couple of state-sponsored bouncers. In a way, it gave Ritchie some hope. Perhaps things weren’t as shambolic as they seemed.

Governor Linda Lingle was waiting for them just inside the office, flanked by a couple of suits. Her eyes were framed by the same haunted appearance he was beginning to recognise on everyone. If he looked in the mirror he’d doubtless see the same expression staring back.

‘Admiral, thank you for coming down,’ said Lingle, sounding very tired. ‘I understand you must be very busy. Please, sit down. We’ll get on with this as quickly as we can.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Ritchie, shaking her hand and then those of the other people in the room, whom the governor introduced as heads of various departments.

‘How did the city look to you, Admiral, on your drive down here?’ she asked.

Ritchie didn’t see any point in using weasel words. ‘Your curfew isn’t holding, ma’am. It’s being widely ignored. The state troopers and police are using a very light hand. I wouldn’t say there was panic on the streets, but the shops will run empty very soon, and then you’ll see some real fear and probably some violence. There’s a lot of people trying to get out, tourists, I suppose – although, who knows. If you want my advice, do everything you can to get them on a plane with all dispatch.’

Lingle nodded and pursed her lips. Her staffers’ reactions were mixed. One bristled, two others nodded vigorously. Jed Culver remained impassive.

‘I don’t want to see any more troops on my streets. In fact, I’d prefer not to see any out there at all, Admiral, and I’m sure you’d rather not have to employ your people here either, but it might not be a bad idea to prepare for the worst anyway. I’m sure you must have a plan in some bottom drawer somewhere for this sort of thing.’

‘Not really,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘But there’ll be something somewhere about aid to the civil power in situations of extreme crisis – such as a mega-tsunami or super-volcano, or similar catastrophes. It shouldn’t be beyond our abilities to adapt. But, Madam Governor, if I may, there is a related issue I’d like to raise very briefly, that of executive authority.’

Culver and Lingle did an odd, unrehearsed double act. The lawyer leaned forward keenly on his chair, while the governor rubbed her eyes and sat back in her own.

‘Go on, Admiral,’ she said.

Ritchie snapped open his briefcase and handed over a sheaf of documents. ‘I had the JAG office here run up this brief for you, ma’am. It’s about the line of succession. Realistically, the President isn’t coming back. Nor any of the cabinet or other nominated successors. In terms of elected officials who can assume the office of Presidency, as best we can tell right now it’s you, the deputy governor in Anchorage, or maybe the Speaker of the state house in Washington.’

‘Oh,’ said Lingle, as an uncomfortable stillness wrapped itself around the room. ‘So, which one of us?’

Ritchie glanced over at Culver, who was now watching him like a rattler. ‘Frankly, ma’am, it could be any of you. There is no statute or precedent covering a disaster of this magnitude. Between you and me, we may have to make it up as we go.’

Jed Culver eased himself back a little. His shoulders, which had been noticeably hunched up, relaxed.

‘He’s right, Madam Governor,’ the lawyer offered, unbidden. ‘Elaine Chao, the Secretary of Labor, is in Geneva – I checked – but she is not a native-born citizen and so is specifically barred from the office. There is no procedure for dealing with this. Even a nuclear war would not have decapitated the government as cleanly and completely. The admiral is correct. We need to make it up as we go. And we do need to act. I’m sure Admiral Ritchie is thinking of his comrades in the Gulf, and that’s only reasonable, but there are still millions of US citizens who haven’t been taken up, or whatever, by this thing, and they need to be protected.’

‘But can we protect them from the Wave?’ she asked. ‘My understanding is that you have no idea what it is, Admiral.’

Before Ritchie could answer, Culver butted in again. ‘That may be so, ma’am, but that’s not what I mean. Maybe that thing will gobble us all up before breakfast. In which case, too bad. But the world is a cruel and unusual enough place, even without bad Star Trek episodes suddenly leaping off the screen at us.’

One of the younger aides couldn’t help himself. ‘There was a Star Trek episode…?’

Culver shrugged. ‘I’m extemporising.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

‘Gentlemen,’ said Lingle, raising the sheaf of papers. ‘I’ll read these tonight, I promise. But you’ve seen what’s happening out there. My immediate responsibility is to the people of Hawaii. That’s who I was elected to serve and protect, and, for now, that is the extent of my office. Admiral, I can understand, given the situation in Iraq, why you need to resolve this, but for now can I suggest that you simply use whatever chain of command has survived the day. You know what you have to do and how to do it. I presume you won’t be going ahead with any attack?’

Everyone in the room was suddenly staring at him, hard. Ritchie had spent decades in the military and every cell in his body rebelled at the idea of having to discuss operational issues in a forum such as this, but what choice did he have?

‘Madam Governor,’ he began, ‘given the circumstances, no, at this stage we are not intending to commence hostilities. For one thing, as I’ve made clear, we have no executive authority to begin a war.’