The sound grew louder, the trembling beneath them intensified and suddenly she felt warm-warmer than she should have felt under just the blanket and the mattress. After what seemed like a long time-though her watch showed that it had only been a minute or less-the noise started to die down and the trembling subsided.
She waited, realizing she’d been holding her breath. “Children, I think it’s passed.”
As she started to sit up, there was a whooshing noise and the sound of smashing glass from the house above them. She’d been on the fringe of a hurricane once, she recalled. And the sound she heard now was like that-a strong wind. The house began to shake, the sound of glass breaking from upstairs in the house grew louder. She could feel things failing on her back as she bent her body over the children. Ann was crying, and Michael was asking questions. Sarah Rourke wanted to scream, but she didn’t. “It will be all right,” she whispered. “Daddy will be here soon.” But in her mind, she realized that if her husband had been anywhere outside and unprotected, he was probably dead. Her heart forced her to dismiss the idea as soon as it came to her. Until she knew otherwise, she told herself, she would believe her husband was coming for them-however long it took him.
Sarah Rourke whispered to the children, “Daddy will come.”
Chapter Twenty
“My wife? The children?”
“They are fine, Mr. President. We’ll be perfectly safe here,” Thurston Potter said, walking over to the president and sitting down on the easy chair opposite the couch where the president sat.
“Is everyone here at Mt. Lincoln?”
“Your Chief of Staff, Paul Dorian is here, sir. Mr. Thorpe is here.”
Lieutenant Brightston is playing with your youngest son, running movies for him. Rear Admiral Corbin and his intelligence people made it.”
“What about Secretary Meeker?” the president said.
“As best as we can determine, he was going to get his wife-we don’t think he made it. Washington is all but gone. The vice-president, Mr. Sneed, didn’t make it either, sir. They couldn’t get him out of the hospital at Bethesda in time. The operation he was having was at the critical stage.”
“My God, Meeker, Sneed! How many millions, Potter? Any estimate yet?”
Before Potter could answer, there was a knock at the door.
“Yes-come in,” the president said, his voice high-pitched.
Rear Admiral Corbin stepped through the doorway. “Mr. President, I’ve got a preliminary situation report.”
“What about casualties?” the president said, lighting a cigarette.
“Well, too early to tell, Mr. President. It looks like they made a massive launch, but with the exception of a few strategically important cities, primary concentration was on our military targets-not on population centers. Some reports from the Midwest indicate that neutron devices might have been used-so the real estate up that way should at least be somewhat salvageable.”
“What sort of damage are we inflicting on them?”
“Major cities, major industrial complexes-but they got way too much of our stuff while it was on the ground. I think we lost this one, sir,” Corbin concluded.
“This one?” the president said, and he realized he was smiling absurdly. Then, quietly, he said, “Admiral Corbin, don’t you realize there isn’t going to be another one?”
***
Rourke shouted, “Everyone, look away from the windows and put your heads down-protect your faces, your eyes!” Staring out the window as the 747 had crossed beyond the Mississippi, Rourke had caught a glimpse of something in the air-pale white and crashing downward. As the 747 started rocking and bouncing, Rourke knew his guess hadn’t been wrong-it had been a missile with a nuclear warhead. What had been, seconds earlier, the city of St. Louis, Missouri was now gone. After a few minutes, the turbulence eased, and Rourke looked up. The moans and cries he’d heard were quieting now as he looked around the first-class cabin. People in the window seats-at least a dozen that Rourke was able to count quickly-had their hands pressed to their faces and were screaming or sobbing.
Rourke looked into the aisle as the stewardess who had helped him with the older women earlier came down the aisle. Her hands reached out to the seats to steady herself against the jet’s motion. Her face was white, her eyes wide. Rourke reached out and took her hand, leaning across the man next to him as he did. “What is it? You just came from the captain.”
“Nothing, Mr. Rourke. Nothing to worry-”
Rourke stood up, stepping past his seatmate and into the aisle. Reaching into his wallet, he fished out one of his identity cards and handed it to her. “You know what this is?”
“It says Central lntelligence-”
“Yeah,” Rourke whispered. “Now, unless your passenger list shows somebody else, I’m the closest thing to a government official you’ve got on this plane. Now, what’s up? Pilot and co-pilot were blinded, weren’t they?”
“How did you-”
Rourke cut her off. “Only makes sense. They couldn’t have looked away from the St. Louis blast in time, too much glass up there anyway. Did the cabin keep its integrity-none of the glass was broken or anything?”
“Yes, but you’re right. Neither of them can see. It’s on auto pilot now, but with this turbulence-”
“Exactly,” Rourke said. He made a quick decision to calm the passengers before he checked on the pilots. “Give me the microphone for the speaker system,” he said.
He followed her up the aisle toward the front of the cabin, and she handed him the microphone. He pushed the switch and began to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Rourke. I am a special employee of the government.” Mutterings and exclamations mixed with the cries and sobs. Everyone began shouting out questions at once. He looked toward the window nearest him. “Now, I want everybody to be quiet a minute and listen. First, haul down the curtains on the windows, and don’t look outside. Second, if you’ve got someone seated near you who appears to be having trouble with his eyes right now,” he lied, “that should be just temporary. After I’m through talking, get a pillow from the compartment above your seat and try to make the person comfortable. I’m also a qualified physician, so I will be coming around to check on you all. Take a blanket from the compartment and try to keep the injured person warm. Soon, we will come to you and make available whatever medical assistance is required.” He paused a moment, then added, “It looks like the United States is under a nuclear attack-”
Another burst of cries. Someone started to scream. Rourke shouted over the microphone. “Now, let’s be quiet and let’s keep calm! I wish I could say something encouraging about what’s going on below us on the ground, but I can’t. But for now, we are all reasonably safe,” he lied again. “Now-I’d like anyone with flight training of any sort to report to the front of the forward cabin as soon as I’m through talking. Don’t panic. The captain has the plane under control, but because of the turbulence from the heat on the ground, he can use some extra help on some of the instruments. Also, anyone with any sort of first-aid training or nursing experience, report up here, as well, as soon as I’m through. We’ll need your help to get everyone comfortable and start tending to their medical needs. The stewardesses will come around now with complimentary drinks. I suggest you have one. It’s going to be a long night.” Rourke handed the microphone to the stewardess. Several passengers started filtering up toward the front of the first-class cabin. When no more seemed to be coming, Rourke addressed them all, saying, “Okay, let’s crowd into the galley. Talk things over. You too,” he said to the stewardess.
Rourke walked into the galley and leaned against the counter top, waiting until everyone was inside. When they had gathered, he told the stewardess, “Close the curtains and keep ’em closed,” then turned to the six men and women. “Now, does anyone here have any kind of flight training?”
A woman of about thirty raised her hand.
“What kind of training?” Rourke asked.
“I started private pilot training three weeks ago-I’ve had four lessons in the air. That’s all.”
“Well,” Rourke said, smiling, “that’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” He bit on his lower lip, searched his jacket for a cigar, found one, and lit it with his Zippo. “Anybody else?”
There were no responses. Rourke said, slowly, “Then I assume the rest of you have had some medical training. Now, the stewardess here will coordinate with you on anything you need that we can get hold of to help. Anybody a nurse?”
There were no responses. “All right,” Rourke said, “the stewardess is going to get on the PA system and see who among the passengers has aspirin or any other kind of pain killers. Lay off the aspirin unless nothing else is available. We might find that some of these people have radiation sickness and the last thing they need is something else to irritate their stomachs. Flush the burned areas on their faces and eyes, use cold compresses, try to make everyone comfortable. Do what you can. I’m a doctor, so if you need any advice, have the stewardess check with me. Now, I don’t have a bag or any instruments or drugs or anything, but I can help.”