her feet first, and walked to the door. The corridor was full of agents. Trenton Kelly was holding Kyle Daniel—the lionesses were nowhere in sight—and the principal agents for all the other kids were there. In a moment, they saw that there was not enough room in the elevator. The Ryan family rode. The agents mainly ran down the wide, white marble steps to the ground level.
“Wait!” another agent called, holding his left hand up. His pistol was in his right hand, and none of them had seen that very often. They halted as commanded—even the President doesn’t often argue with a person holding a gun.
Ryan was thinking as fast as he knew how: “Andrea, where do I go?”
“You go to KNEECAP. Vice President Jackson will join you there. The family goes to Air Force One.”
At Andrews Air Force base, just outside Washington, the pilots of First Heli, the USAF 1st Helicopter Squadron, were sprinting to their Bell Hueys. Each had an assignment, and each knew where his Principal was, because the security detail of each was reporting in constantly. Their job was to collect the cabinet members and spirit them away from Washington to preselected places of supposed safety. Their choppers were off the ground in less than three minutes, scattering off to different preselected pickup points.
Jack, what is this?” It took a lot to make his wife afraid, but this one had done it.
“Honey, we have a report that a ballistic missile is flying toward America, and the safest place for us to be is in the air. So, they’re getting you and the kids to Air Force One. Robby and I will be on KNEECAP. Okay?”
“Okay? Okay? What is this?” “It’s bad, but that’s all I know.”
On the Aleutian island of Shemya, the huge Cobra Dane radar scanned the sky to the north and west. It frequently detected satellites, which mainly fly lower than ICBM warheads, but the computer that analyzed the tracks of everything that came into the system’s view categorized this contact as exactly what it was, too high to be a low-orbit satellite, and too slow to be a launch vehicle.
“What’s the track?” a major asked a sergeant.
“Computer says East Coast of the United States. In a few minutes we’ll know more... for now, somewhere between Buffalo and Atlanta.” That information was relayed automatically to NORAD and the Pentagon.
The entire structure of the United States military went into hyperdrive, one segment at a time, as the information reached it. That included USS Gettysburg, alongside the pier in the Washington Navy Yard.
Captain Blandy was in his in-port cabin when the growler phone went off. “Captain speaking... go to general quarters, Mr. Gibson,” he ordered, far more calmly than he felt.
Throughout the ship, the electronic gonging started, followed by a human voice: “General Quarters—General Quarters—all hands man your battle stations.”
Gregory was in CIC, running another simulation. “What’s that mean?”
Senior Chief Leek shook his head. “Sir, that means something ain’t no simulation no more.” Battle stations alongside the fucking pier? “Okay, people, let’s start lighting it all up!” he ordered his sailors.
The regular presidential helicopter muttered down on the South Lawn, and the Secret Service agent at the door turned and yelled: “COME ON!”
Cathy turned. “Jack, you coming with us?”
“No, Cath, I have to go to KNEECAP. Now, get along. I’ll see you later tonight, okay?” He gave her a kiss, and all the kids got a hug, except for Kyle, whom the President took from Kelley’s arms for a quick hold before giving him back. “Take care of him,” he told the agent.
“Yes, sir. Good luck.” Ryan watched his family run up the steps into the chopper, and the Sikorsky lurched off before they could have had a chance to sit and strap down.
Then another Marine helicopter appeared, this one with Colonel Dan Malloy at the controls. This one was a VH-60, whose doors slid open. Ryan walked quickly to it, with Andrea Price-O’Day at his side. They sat and strapped down before it lumbered back into the air.
“What about everybody else?” Ryan asked.
“There’s a shelter under the East Wing for some...” she said. Then her voice trailed off and she shrugged.
“Oh, shit, what about everybody else?” Ryan demanded.
“Sir, I have to look after you.”
“But—what—”
Then Special Agent Price-O’Day started retching. Ryan saw and pulled out a barf bag, one with a very nice Presidential logo printed on it, and handed it to her. They were over the Mall now, just passing the George Washington Monument. Off