“I’ll tell the boys,” the man said. “Keep looking at our Web page, we’ll put the pictures up there.” Jessica thanked him and closed her cellphone. She turned toward the military camp that was growing around the damaged buildings of the Mississippi Valley Division.
The air rattled to the sound of portable generators. A tent had been pitched everywhere a tree limb or a building wouldn’t fall on it. Mess tent, communications, maps, hospital tent, clerical… A number of the tents were piled with furniture and equipment salvaged from the headquarters building, but which hadn’t been sorted out yet. Communications and data retrieval systems were being kludged together out of gear pulled out of damaged buildings. Ground lines were still out, but at least radio communications had been restored. All that had been required was the return of her communications specialists, who straggled in over the course of the night. And the Old Man had assured her that she’d be getting a mobile communications unit from Fort Bragg as soon as it could be packed onto a helicopter and flown out. Her command was sorting itself out, at least locally. What Jessica lacked was information on which to act elsewhere. Communications were wrecked in precisely those parts of the country she was trying to reach. The St. Louis and Memphis districts of the MVD were still out of communication, though Rock Island had finally reported in around three in the morning, and was loudly claiming that it was not a victim district. Jessica, whose insistence to her own superiors had been no less ardent, was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.
Still, Rock Island was able to report the situation only in its immediate area. Jessica needed to find out what was happening elsewhere, where the levees had broken, where the floods were spreading. She had thought of satellite maps first thing. But her first call to the National Reconnaissance Office, which handled military satellites, informed her that the NRO would not be of much use. So that each American satellite could cover the entire globe, each had been placed in six-hour polar orbits, fixed in inertial space while the earth turned under it. But the NRO, with its brief to provide data on enemies and rivals of the U.S., had never been interested in satellite maps of North America—if they wanted a map of North America, they’d contact Rand-McNally. So the satellites’ orbits were timed to pass over North America at night, precisely when there was little point in taking pictures. Jessica had been urged to contact the space agency NASA and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, which ran the weather satellites, and the privatized company LANDS AT, which sold satellite imagery round the world.
At least Jessica hadn’t been urged to buy Russian photos. She’d probably have to do it with her personal credit card.
It took a lot of effort to get the right person at NOAA. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” Jessica was told finally. “But your people at the Pentagon gave me a number that isn’t working.”
“This is my cellphone.” Jessica gave the man her number.
“I wanted to tell you,” the man said, “that as soon as we get the images, we’re going to be putting the latest pictures of the disaster areas up on our Web page. Do you want the URL?” Jessica sighed. “Sure,” she said. “Let me get a pencil.”
“Mr. President,” said the chairman of the Federal Reserve, “it is my sad duty to inform you that we cannot pay for the reconstruction of this nation’s earthquake damage.”
The President felt his weariness fall away in a surge of adrenaline. “I think you had better explain,” he said through clenched teeth. He was very tired of people telling him what he couldn’t do. The chairman adjusted his spectacles. The President had chosen to meet him in the Oval Office, a more dignified venue than the noisy, chaotic Situation Room
“Sir,” the chairman said, “if the reports are true—if half the reports are true—then I regret to say that there is not enough liquidity in the United States to support reconstruction. By which I mean to say—” he added with greater haste, as he saw presidential anger glowing—“by which I mean that this nation cannot pay for it. So London will pay for it, and Tokyo, and Singapore. And the rest of the world, probably.”
“Yes?” the President said.
“American investments and commitments abroad will have to be withdrawn. Dollars will come home to finance reconstruction.” The chairman gazed over the President’s shoulder into the garden, and his nostrils twitched as if hoping to scent a rose. “There will be a lot of volatility in the currency and bond markets,” he said. “Speculators are going to work this all out sooner rather than later. I may have to delay action to let the situation cool. But believe me, sir, that those dollars will come home.”
“Thank you, Sam,” the President said.
“I cautioned you last week,” the chairman went on, “that though indicators were mixed, there might be a trend toward recession.” He gave a heavy sigh. “I must inform you now that the recession is inevitable, that it will be worldwide, and that it will be deep and prolonged. Our investment dollars are a significant prop to the world economy, and we will have to knock that prop out just at the moment that economy has become vulnerable. The United States is the engine that drives the world economy, and now that engine is crippled.”
Worldwide recession, the President thought. Factories closing, workers on the dole, emerging economies plunging back into darkness. And with economic desperation came political instability: riots, fanaticism, tyranny, terror, civil war, mothers bayoneted, and babies starving.
So, the President thought, the rest of the world, as well as the most needy parts of America, were on their own.
“We need a plan, Sam,” the President said. “An economic plan that I can present to Congress when I call them back into emergency session. Because if we don’t have a plan, they’re just going to throw money at the situation, more or less randomly, and much of it will go to waste.” The chairman nodded. “I will work with your people. I believe that in the present emergency, the people will understand that the barriers between my office and the Executive Branch should be relaxed.” The President’s phone buzzed, and he picked up the receiver and listened for a few moments. He said,
“Thank you,” and hung up. He looked across his desk at the chairman.
“The Israeli Defense Forces have just gone on full alert,” he said. “They’re calling up reserves.” The chairman looked thoughtful. “Are they attacking anyone?”
“We’re not sure.”
“Let’s hope they’re just being cautious, Mr. President. But my guess is that mobilization won’t be the last. Other nations may well wonder if we have the ability—or the will—to stand by our security commitments.”
The President gave the chairman a hard look. ” I have the will.” The chairman gave a shrug. “Well. I will try to make certain that you also have the money.”
“There’s leaking around the base of the dam structure. Frankly, I do not like it.” Neither did Jessica Frazetta. Bagnall Dam held all of Lake Ozark at bay, and the thought of that huge lake spilling down its channel was enough to give her shivers.
“I don’t see that we have any choice,” Jessica said. She paced back and forth, cellphone held to her ear as she talked to the civilian engineer whose responsibility included the dam. “We’ve got to release as much water as possible, take the pressure off that dam.”
“Yes, ma’am. But the Osage is already at a high stage, and that’ll mean flooding. When it hits the Missouri, it’ll probably flood all the way up to Jefferson City.”