Tim Washburn - Powerless

The White House Situation Room

After several hours of briefings, arguments, and petty power plays, they are no closer to a consensus on what to do about Iran. In addition to the regular participants—secretary of defense, chairman of Joint Chiefs, NSA, CIA, and the rest of the alphabet soup—the Israeli ambassador has recently joined the group. Contact with his home country is spotty, other than through his embassy. They need to rely on him for responses from his government to their many questions.

Israel is in the same desperate situation as the United States. But the Israelis, ever prepared, are already working to restore power with several backup transformers they had stockpiled. Living in a country surrounded by hostile enemies on three sides tends to make them better prepared.

“Power should be restored to most of Jerusalem within the next two weeks,” Ambassador Har-Even says.

“What about the air defenses?” Admiral Hickerson says.

“The missile batteries are a priority and they are being powered round the clock by generators. We have one fairly good intelligence source placed in the Iranian government, but we haven’t been able to contact this person. But my government believes strongly that Iran is poised to attack.” He pauses for a drink of water. “We are massing troops along the borders of Syria and Jordan, but the prime minister wants to unleash an immediate air attack on Iran.”

President Harris rubs the back of his neck. “What assets are currently in the area, Admiral?”

“Carrier Strike Group One, the USS Carl Vinson , is just now sailing through the Strait of Gibraltar. They’re still a couple of days from the coast of Israel. Carrier Strike Group Seven is in the Gulf of Aden, and Carrier Strike Group Nine is sailing just outside the Persian Gulf. But that’s a fairly large area and they’re spread thin, not to mention our trouble with resupply. I ordered the 7th Fleet out of Japan to make ready upon your command. Even if they sailed immediately it’ll still take them the better part of a week to get there.”

“I think whatever is going to happen will happen soon. Order them to sail at best possible speed, Admiral,” President Harris orders.

Admiral Hickerson reaches for the phone on the table and gives the command to launch the 7th Fleet.

After the admiral hangs up the phone, President Harris says, “Admiral, how much firepower can we bring to bear?”

“Nearly two hundred aircraft and a good number of cruise missiles. Enough to pound the hell out of them, sir. But I don’t know if it’s enough to make them turn tail back home.”

President Harris turns to the Israeli ambassador. “Is your country ready to go?”

“Yes, Mr. President. Our aircraft are fueled and are on standby. But the prime minister has some concerns about the possibility of an extended ground war. Are there any American ground troops available that can be rushed to the battlefield?”

“No,” Admiral Hickerson replies. “If all goes as planned there will be no need for boots on the ground.”

President Harris drains his water glass. “Ambassador, we’re relying on what troops you have for now. As Admiral Hickerson suggested, we can hope we bloody them enough to send them running home.” The President takes a moment to survey the faces around the table before asking the million-dollar question. “Does Iran have nuclear capability? Yes or no?”

Silence.

“C’mon, people, I need an answer,” President Harris says.

“I don’t believe they do, Mr. President,” the secretary of defense says.

“I hope like hell you’re right, Martin. Ambassador Har-Even, what are your thoughts?”

“My country believes they are still several months away from developing a viable nuclear warhead, Mr. President. But they are sneaky bastards.”

“Well said, Ambassador. So everyone agrees Iran does not have the ability to launch a nuke?” He turns to each person in the room. Each offers a nod of his or her head.

“What about our allies?” the President says.

Secretary of State Allison Moore leans forward in her chair. “Sir, the lack of communications is severely hampering our ability to contact them. But we are working to bring them all on board.”

“That’s your job, Allison. You need to build a consensus, and you need to do it yesterday. I don’t want the damn Iranians to encroach another hundred miles while we dither around with politics.” President Harris stands from the table. “Let’s meet back here in one hour. Ambassador Har-Even, inform your country we will reach a decision within the next hour or so. Make damn sure they’re ready. Janice, when you get a few moments I’d like to meet with you in the Oval Office.”

“I’ll be right up, Mr. President,” the director of homeland security says.

President Harris exits the situation room, Scott Alexander following closely behind.

“You’re going to start a shooting war with Iran now?” Alexander whispers a little too loudly.

President Harris stops on the stair landing and turns to face his old friend. “If we don’t, Scott, we may never stop them. We need to teach those sons of bitches a lesson.”

Alexander starts to interrupt, but the President raises his hand to stop him.

“I know we’re in the shit here at home, Scott. Believe me, I know. But if we allow Iran to march into Israel without lifting a hand, we may never recover our place in the world. We may be down, but we’re damn sure not out.”

The President turns away and takes the stairs two at a time. He strides down the hallway and enters the Oval Office. “Scott, would you get Prime Minister Williams on the line?”

Scott moves over to the sofa and calls the White House switchboard. Normally, the President would pick up the phone and place the call directly through a scrambled satellite connection. But things are far from normal. All transcontinental calls are patched through a cable laid in the ocean over fifty years ago. “The prime minister is on line one, sir. But please remember the line is not secure.”

President Harris picks up the handset. “Hello, Wells.”

On the line is Wellington Williams, the British prime minster.

For the magnitude of the situation, the phone call is brief.

“So you’re with us?” President Harris asks, pausing for the answer. “Great. I’ll make sure our ambassador is at 10 Downing within the hour. We’ll need to relay information through the embassy.” Another pause, “Good luck to you, too.”

The President hangs up and leans back in his chair.

“So they’re on board?” Scott says.

“Yes. They’re as tired of dealing with them as we are. Once we finalize the plan, we’ll bring Ambassador Nelson up to speed and send him over to meet with the prime minister.”

The intercom buzzes. “Mr. President, Mrs. Baker is here.”

“Send her in.”

Secretary of Homeland Security Janice Baker steps through the door of the Oval Office and stops dead in her tracks. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Did you hire a new decorator?”

President Harris waves at the thick steel panels covering the windows. “Nope. Same decorator but with a little help from the Secret Service. You don’t like the modern industrial look?”

“If you’re going for a modern dungeon design, you’ve nailed it. But it’s a tad dark for my taste.” All three laugh as Baker steps across the carpet and comes to a stop in front of the desk.

“Have a seat for a minute, Janice,” the President says, waving to a chair flanking his desk. Alexander moseys over and takes the seat on the opposite side.

“Bring me up to speed on how martial law is working.”

“Well, sir, it’s somewhat better. Reports of looting are fewer, probably because everything worth looting is already gone. Not much you can do with a sixty-inch television. But we have another problem we’re dealing with. The people in the larger cities are trying to migrate away from their homes. Unfortunately, they’re meeting armed resistance from residents in the less-populated areas. New York City and Boston are hot spots, with intense fighting.”