TIME ELAPSED SINCE LAUNCH: 00:03:00 — 00:3:59
TIME LEFT TO RETALIATE: 00:07:00 — 00:06:01
Within the forth minute of missile launch the President of the former Soviet Union, would confer by telephone with his Chiefs and early warning centers to confirm that the missiles are heading for Russia.
“What do you mean, ‘too late’?” Quinn whispered aghast.
“I have ordered nuclear strikes on Florida; three F-18s are speeding towards Florida as we speak.”
“Three?”
“We’ve calculated that two spineless cowards are expected to chicken-out and not fire on their own countrymen. It’s pathetic. Our military personnel are an embarrassment.” He scratched furiously at his crotch.
The significance of the scratching and the sweating of the armpits finally dawned on Quinn. “Have you — have you been to Florida recently…?”
“Not me, no.”
“The Secret Service arrived at the door and drew their weapons alerted to trouble by the sound of gunshot. They saw that the President held a pistol. Quinn held up a hand for them to stay where they were.
“Have you been in contact with anyone who has visited Florida recently?”
“No, I swear.”
“Not interacted with anyone other than staff and family?”
“Nope. Cross my heart,” he teased.
The young guard coughed. “That’s not completely true…,” he said. He felt himself backing away from the President as if he radiated death. “There was that young blonde.”
“Hey, what’s the point being the President, if you can’t have a mistress?” he joked. “I’m hardly up there with Kennedy, on that score. It’s only the one…” He spread his arms wide as if to say, ‘come on guys’.
“I recognized her from Sports Illustrated. She was April’s center spread,” said the guard nervously. “And a former Miss Miami?”
Hamilton Parker grinned. “So what if she was? I sneaked my mistress out of the zone. She was checked over first and given a clean bill of health.”
“Open your shirt,” said Quinn.
“No way!”
The surgeon general went to grab the President’s shirt when Hamilton Parker pointed his pistol at him. “I don’t think so.”
When the President fully extended his arm towards him, Quinn could see the tell-tale signs, his finger-tips had blackened. “My God, you’ve got the Bubonic Plague… you’ve brought the Black Death into the White House…” he gasped as his blood ran cold.
The guard backed further away and pulled his decorative neckerchief up over his nose, and hoped the thin piece of silk cloth would help.
“Back away,” Quinn waved the staff in the doorway back. “Seal the office off,” he said, but the Secret Service would not leave there posts.
Hamilton grinned, hoping to win them over. “I’m fine, seriously. You don’t—” His eyes flipped open in shock, as a bullet from the guard’s sidearm pierced his heart. He dropped to his knees. “What the f—” then fell forward.
Hamilton Parker III, the 46th President of the United States of America for all of forty-eight hours was dead before his face hit the floor. A cacophony of sound erupted as the Secret service men emptied their chambers into the young guard as if the sheer number of bullets would make up for their lack of action which resulted in the President’s assassination on their watch.
TIME ELAPSED SINCE LAUNCH: 00:04:00 — 00:04:59
TIME LEFT TO RETALIATE: 00:07:00 — 00:06:01
During the fifth minute of launch, the incoming missiles are now in reach of ground-based radar centers. These centers confirm the satellite reports.
Submariner Pete Williams opened his eyes, and through blurred vision saw the three jets on the radar screen converge and move down from the north of Florida. Ha! Got you first, he thought and slumped to the floor and sucked in a lungful of foul tasting air. He smiled to himself as he thought through the minutes left until detonation and the frantic Commies running around the missile silos preparing to retaliate, hoping to send their rockets before their own destruction. They would not doubt for a moment that the Americans’ knew the location of every one of their nuclear missile silos and that they’d be knocked out in the first wave of missile launches in an attempt to prevent them from responding to the unprovoked attack.
“You sure this will work?” Sophie asked Luke from the dockside of Miami Beach. He sat in his wheelchair holding the control-bar of a motorized hang-glider, the small engine puttered as they faced the ocean.
“Nope. But it’s our only chance.” He looked along the jetty and made a calculation, knowing that they needed to reach between fifteen and twenty-five miles an hour before the jetty ran out.
“By the way,” she added, “You haven’t forgotten that I’m afraid of heights?”
“So, you want us to escape to the Bahamas on this hang-glider flying how high exactly?”
She held her hand up to her shoulder, and her brows knitted in what she hoped would be a hard to refuse look. “Can you do it?”
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s go!”
She ran down the dockside pushing Luke in his wheelchair and the hang-glider with all her might, the edge of the dock loomed up ahead. She increased her efforts and they started to work up a reasonable speed until they ran off the jetty, the wheelchair fell away hitting the water with a mighty splash and they plummeted towards the ocean…
TIME ELAPSED SINCE LAUNCH: 00:05:00 — 00:5:59
TIME LEFT TO RETALIATE: 00:05:00 — 00:04:01
With five minutes gone and with less than five minutes left before detonation, the Russian President must now make the decision if he wants to launch a counterattack. He will transmit the permission codes to the General Staff Command Post, to Air Force and Navy command posts and to the Strategic Rocket Forces command post.
Quinn stood with his hand raised, swearing the oath, unable to take in the surreal events. “Mister President,” said the senior court Judge, and the senior secret service man handed Quinn the briefcase containing the nuclear launch codes. The brief ceremony watched by video-link by the chiefs of Staff at the Pentagon war room, as Quinn Martell was hastily sworn in as the 47th President of the United States of America.
The Surgeon General did not have time to absorb the enormity of his promotion. His mind was on the Tomcat F-18’s hurtling towards Florida to release their payloads. A shiver ran down his spine and his mouth went dry, but he stood straight, stiffened his resolve, and turned to the video-link screen. “Recall those jets. Now!”
“Can’t be done, sir, they’ve crossed the point of no return.”
“Get on the radio, talk them down!”
“But, what about plan Z?” queried the General Air Force Chief of Staff.
“It’s been rescinded. We’ve found a cure.”
“Praise the lord!” he replied, and then turned to a subordinate. “Get those pilots on the horn, now!”
TIME ELAPSED SINCE LAUNCH: 00:06:00 — 00:6:59
TIME LEFT TO RETALIATE: 00:04:00 — 00:03:01
The Russian General Staff Command Post transmitted the authorization codes, plus the war Plan, which includes targets and the unblocking codes.
Submariner Pete Williams’s chest heaved as he tried to suck in life giving oxygen, he thought that the missiles should detonate within the next three minutes, he should still be alive to witness this historic event.
Luke pushed forward on the control-bar and the hang-glider whooshed up into the air a good fifty feet above Sophie’s comfort zone, making her shriek, they banked steeply, leveled the hang-glider, pointed the craft towards the Bahamas and opened the throttle to its maximum fifty mph.