“Mr. President, that’s unconstitutional,” Pat Martin said at once.
“Explain,” Ryan ordered.
“Travel is a constitutionally protected right. Even inside states, any restriction of travel is a constitutional violation under the Lemuel Penn case–he was a black
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Army officer who was murdered by the Klan in the sixties. That’s a Supreme Court precedent,” the head of the Criminal Division reported.
“I understand that I–excuse me, just about everybody in the room–was sworn to uphold the Constitution. But if upholding it means killing off a few million citizens, what have we accomplished?” POTUS asked.
“We can’t do that!” HUD insisted.
“General, what happens if we don’t?” Martin asked, surprising Ryan.
“There is no precise answer. There cannot be, because we do not know the ease of transmission for this virus yet. If it is an aerosol, and there is reason to suspect that it is– well, we’ve got a hundred computer models we can use. Problem is deciding which one. Worst case? Twenty million deaths. At that point, what happens is that society breaks down. Doctors and nurses flee the hospitals, people lock themselves in their homes, and the epidemic burns out pretty much like the Black Death did in the fourteenth century. Human interactions cease, and because of that the disease stops spreading.”
“Twenty million? How bad was the Black Death?” Martin asked, his face somewhat ashen.
“Records are sketchy. There was no real census system back then. Best data is England,” Pickett replied. “It depopulated that country by half. The plague lasted about four years. Europe took about one hundred fifty years to return to the 1347 population level.”
“Shit,” breathed Interior.
“Is it really that dangerous, General?” Martin persisted.
“Potentially yes. The problem, sir, is that if you take no action at all, and then you find out that it is that virulent, then it’s just too late.”
“I see.” Martin turned. “Mr. President, I do not see that we have much of a choice here.”
“You just said it was against the law, damn it!” HUD shouted.
“Mr. Secretary, the Constitution is not a suicide pact, and although I think I know how the Supreme Court would rule on this, there has never been a case in point,
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and it could be argued, and the process would have to deal with it.”
“What changed your mind, Pat?” Ryan asked.
“Twenty million reasons, Mr. President.”
“If we flout our own laws, then what are we?” Cliff Rut-ledge asked.
“Alive,” Martin answered quietly. “Maybe.”
“I am willing to listen to arguments for fifteen minutes,” Ryan said. “Then we have to come to a decision.”
It was lively.
“If we violate our own Constitution,” Rutledge said, “then nobody in the world can trust us!” HUD and HHS agreed.
“What about the practical considerations?” Agriculture objected. “People have to eat.”
“What kind of country are we going to turn over to our children if we–”
“What do we turn over to them if they’re dead?” George Winston snapped back at HUD.
“Things like this don’t happen today!”
“Mr. Secretary, would you like to come up to my hospital and see, sir?” Alexandre asked from his seat in the corner.
“Thank you,” Ryan said, checking his watch. “I am calling the issue on the table.”
Defense, Treasury, Justice, and Commerce voted aye. All the rest voted no. Ryan looked at them for a long few seconds.
“The ayes have it,” the President said coldly. “Thank you for your support. Director Murray, the FBI will render all assistance required by CDC and USAMRIID to ascertain the focal centers of this epidemic. That has absolute and unconditional priority over any other matter.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Mr. Foley, every intelligence asset we have goes into this. You will also work in conjunction with the medical experts. This came from somewhere, and whoever did it has committed an act of war, using weapons of mass destruction against our country. We need to find out who that was, Ed. All the intelligence agencies will report di-
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rectly to you. You have statutory authority to coordinate all intelligence activities. Tell the other agencies that you have my order to exercise it.”
“We’ll do our best, sir.”
“Secretary Bretano, I am declaring a state of national emergency. All Reserve and National Guard formations are to be activated immediately and placed under federal command. You have this contingency plan in the Pentagon.” Ryan held the CURTAIN CALL folder up. “You will execute Option Four, SOLITARY, at the earliest possible moment.”
“I will do that, sir.”
Ryan looked down the table at the Secretary of Transportation. “Mr. Secretary, the air-traffic-control system belongs to you. When you get back to your office, you will order all aircraft in flight to proceed to their destinations and stop there. All aircraft on the ground will remain there, commencing at six o’clock this evening.”
“No.” SecTrans stood. “Mr. President, I will not do that. I believe it to be an illegal act, and I will not break the law.”
“Very well, sir. I will accept your resignation effective immediately. You’re the deputy?” Ryan said to the woman sitting behind him.
“Yes, Mr. President, I am.”
“Will you execute my order?”
She looked around the room without really knowing what to do. She’d heard it all, but she was a career civil servant, unaccustomed to making a hard call without political coverage.
“I don’t like it, either,” Ryan said. The room was invaded by the roar of jet engines, an aircraft taking off from Washington National. “What if that airplane’s carrying death somewhere? Do we just let it happen?” he asked so quietly she could barely hear.
“I will carry out your order, sir.”
“You know, Murray,” the former–he wasn’t sure yet–SecTrans said, “you could arrest the man right now. He’s breaking the law.”
“Not today, sir,” Murray replied, staring at his Presi-
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dent. “Somebody’s going to have to decide what the law is first.”
“If anyone else in the room feels the need to leave federal service over this issue, I will accept your resignations without prejudice–but please think what you are doing. If I’m wrong on this, fine, I’m wrong, and I’ll pay the price for that. But if the doctors are right and we do nothing, we’ve got more blood on our hands than Hitler ever did. I need your help and your support.” Ryan stood and walked out of the room as the others struggled to their feet. He moved fast. He had to. He entered the Oval Office, turned right to the presidential sitting room, and barely made it to the bathroom in time. Seconds later, Cathy found him there, flushing down a bowlful of vomit. “Am I doing the right thing?” he asked, still on his knees.
“You’ve got my vote, Jack,” SURGEON told him.
“You look great,” van Damm observed, catching POTUS in rather an undignified posture.
“Why didn’t you say anything, Arnie?”
“Because you didn’t need me to, Mr. President,” the chief of staff replied.
General Pickett and the other physicians were waiting when he came back into the office. “Sir, we just had a fax from CDC. There are two cases at Fort Stewart. That’s the 24th Mech’s home base.”
50
SPECIAL REPORT
IT STARTED WITH NA-tional Guard armories. Virtually every city and town in America had one, and in each was a duty sergeant, or perhaps an officer, sitting at a desk to answer the phone. When the phone rang, a voice from the Pentagon spoke a code word that designated an activation order. The duty person in the armory would then alert the unit commander, and more calls were made, branching out like the limbs of a tree, with every recipient detailed to call several others. It usually took an hour or so for everyone to get the word–or nearly everyone, as some were inevitably out of town, traveling for either work or vacation. Senior Guard commanders usually worked directly for the governors of the several states, as the National Guard is a hybrid institution, partly a state militia and partly United States Army (or Air Force, in the case of the Air National Guard, which gave many of the state governors access to state-of-the-art fighter aircraft). These senior Guard officers, surprised by the activation orders, reported the situation to their governors, asking for guidance which the state executives were as yet in no position to give, since mainly they didn’t know what was going on yet, either. But at the company and battalion level, officers and men (and women) hurried home from their civilian jobs, citizen soldiers that they were, donned their woodland-pattern BDU fatigues, buffed their boots, and drove to the local armory to form up with their squads and platoons. Once there they were startled to see that they were supposed to draw weapons and, more disturbingly, their MOPP gear. MOPP, for Mission-Oriented Protective Posture, was the chemical-warfare equipment in which they had all trained at one time or another, and which every person in uniform cordially detested. There were the usual jokes and good humor, stories of work, tales of spouses