Russell Moran - A Climate of Doubt

Ellen, Sarah, and I were having coffee in my office. Ellen had just returned from the studio after her show.

“At Homeland Security, we’re used to making things happen,” I said. “Make a phone call and stuff falls into place. But this storm makes it impossible to plan ahead. Thank God we have a tough, decisive president, but even Matt Blake is challenged by this monster storm.”

“Fortunately, we have apartments here at Federal Plaza,” Sarah said. “I don’t see any of us going anywhere tonight. Even though you and Ellen live just a few blocks from here, I don’t think you want to risk getting stuck in a snowdrift. I don’t know how Ellen is going to handle her show tomorrow.”

“The execs at NBC are pretty ingenious,” Ellen said. “They’ve taped a show where a video of the host was shown on the TV while the interviews were conducted by telephone. Based on what the mayor said, I don’t want to get stuck in a drift or risk a felony conviction by trying to get to the studio.”

“Well, I think it’s about time we break for dinner,” I said. “The kitchen is very well stocked with food for a situation like this.”

“How about booze?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, we have plenty,” I said as I walked over to a cabinet that also served as a makeshift bar. “Let’s toast to the meteorologists of the world. They’re going to need some luck after this mess is over.”

The three of us had a quiet dinner in my private dining room. The room overlooked the New York City Civic Center, normally a bustling area surrounded by government buildings. The strange view was pure white with the blizzard still swirling snow in every direction. The Beatles song, Hey Jude played in a nearby office, a song I always loved. Given our circumstances Helter Skelter would have been more appropriate.

My apartment at 26 Federal Plaza is far from unpleasant, even though it’s a government facility. At 1,250 square feet, with two bedrooms and two bathrooms, it’s a perfect size for Ellen and me. The walls were painted a soft taupe, not government gray, and the furniture included a plush leather couch and rich mahogany cabinets, giving the place a warm feeling. Maybe it was the weird excitement of being stuck in a blizzard in July, but Ellen and I both felt horny as hell. We showered together and forgot about the weather.

Tuesday, July 18 The alarm rang at 5:30 a.m. I like to get a jump on the day, especially on a day when I didn’t know what was about to jump on me. Adhering to Mayor Adams’ recommendation to conserve energy, we again showered together.

“You’re pretty frisky for a cabinet officer.”

“Hey, we’ve got work to do,” I said.

“Like what?” Ellen asked.

“Let’s save up some fun for later,” I said. “I want to see what your network has to say about the weather. I just looked out the window and I can’t distinguish one shape from another. The snow hasn’t let up a bit from what I can tell.”

My phone rang, and Ellen picked up.

“It’s the White House for you, honey.”

“Good morning, Mr. President,” I said.

“When I picked you to head up Homeland Security, Rick, I knew that one of your talents was your ability to communicate in front of a camera. Well, we need that talent right now. This snowstorm has gone from a curiosity to a danger in the past few hours. Don’t lie to people but let them know that we have a handle on this situation, which we do—sort of. An hour ago, I mobilized the National Guard, and I’m about to call up the Army, which will drive a lot of pundits crazy, but national security is my most important job—and yours. You have an excellent broadcast studio there at Federal Plaza. I’ll have the emergency management people email you an extensive list of talking points. Use it well, Rick.”

“I spoke to Lester Ballard, Director of the National Weather Service, Mr. President. I didn’t want to talk to Professor Peterson, the climate maven, but rather to a guy who looks at things objectively without hatching mad theories to attract grant money. Ballard had good news, or I should say as good as I can expect. He said that satellite data showed the storm was slowly moving from west to east, and the edge of the pattern was over Western Pennsylvania and slowly moving east. New York City could expect the snow to stop at around 11 p.m. tonight. He also said that temperatures should return to seasonal normal by tomorrow morning, normal being in the 70s and 80s. He didn’t have to tell me what would come next—massive flooding from the melting snow. I’ll call you later to give you an update, Mr. President.”

Ellen’s producer called and told her that NBC had lined up another climate change expert who also happens to be a meteorologist. The forecast called for the storm to intensify during the day before gradually stopping tonight. NBC requested that Ellen be able to use the TV studio at 26 Federal Plaza rather than trying to trudge uptown to NBC. It was my decision to make and I okayed it because I thought Ellen’s show would be important for the nation. But to avoid the appearance of impropriety that I loaned federal property to my wife, we charged NBC the same amount they would have to pay to rent any off-premise studio.

My address to the nation was scheduled for 12:30 p.m. to give networks enough lead time to shuffle around their current programming so they could air my talk. The program would be a modified press briefing, with reporters from the major news outlets allowed to call in.

Charlene Devitt, my press aide, stood before the camera to introduce me. Charlene, at a mere five feet, is articulate and photogenic, although she needs to stand on a platform to be seen by the camera. She has medium length blond hair, which she styles to look like Dana Perino, TV commentator and former press aide to President George W. Bush. Charlene’s a big fan of Ellen and would love to have her own show some day.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my privilege to introduce Rick Bellamy, Secretary of Homeland Security.”

“Good afternoon everyone,” I said. I never say ‘my fellow Americans’ because that’s a phrase that tradition reserves for the President of the United States.

“I never thought that the weather would be a subject for Homeland Security, but then I never imagined a weather system like the one we’re experiencing. Records the world over have been shattered by this amazing blast of arctic air in mid-July. We all remember as short a time ago as Sunday morning—just two days ago—when we were all complaining about an uncomfortable heat wave. The heat wave suddenly became a cold wave, and soon we had to endure the blizzard that’s still dumping snow across the nation and parts of the world as I speak. President Blake, as you’ve probably heard, has declared a National State of Emergency. As you’ve been hearing from local weather forecasters all morning, the National Weather Service predicts that an end is in sight, and we hope to see the blizzard stopping about 11 p.m. in the Eastern United States. So, what does this have to do with Homeland Security? The simple answer is that this unique weather has set up dangerous conditions across the nation. Besides the good news that the snow will finally stop falling tonight, we also hear that normal summer temperatures will resume, possibly tomorrow. I don’t have to tell you what that means—flooding like our country has never experienced before. I have a request, on behalf of the President of the United States, that we all pull together as a nation of individuals dedicated to seeing an end to this shock. Please don’t simply cooperate with law enforcement and first responders, but be ready to assist in any way you can. Together we can prevent this calamity from turning into a disaster.”