The subway and the buses didn’t operate beyond the beltway on Wednesday morning, and tens of thousands of suburban commuters didn’t hear the news on television or radio. Infuriated, many who normally rode to work on public transport tried to join the hordes who drove. This was a serious mistake. Troops and state policemen had blocked every beltway entrance to Washington and were making all vehicles attempting to enter or leave the district turn around. Only law-enforcement officers, people with military IDs, and emergency vehicles were being allowed to pass. Although many of those who normally worked in the city heard the news before they left their homes and consequently decided to stay home, the traffic jams that morning were monumental, even by Southern California standards.
All flights to and from National Airport were canceled. The trains and intercity buses were not running. Washington was isolated and troops patrolled the streets.
Not many troops at first. The National Guard was still mobilizing and had less than twenty-five percent of their men on duty. Regular army troops began arriving at three a.m. on C-141s and C-5s at Andrews Air Force Base. General Hayden Land had ordered in a division of infantry and two regiments of armored cavalry. It would take almost thirty-six hours to get all the men and their equipment to Washington.
During the night the Vice-President’s original commitment to guard major public buildings had evolved into a show of overwhelming force. The plan recommended to General Land by the Joint Staff had been approved by the White House. No White House staffer wanted to be the first to say “enough,” not when the primary criticism that continued violence would stimulate would be that the government had not done enough to prevent it. So the more-is-better recommendations of Jake Grafton and his group had been adopted all the way up the line.
By ten a.m. tanks and armored personnel carriers were parked near the major government buildings in the downtown area. By noon they were in front of every hospital in town. By two p.m. every traffic circle in the District had a tank parked in the flower beds beside the statue. The olive-drab monsters sat in pairs upon the Mall, the diesel engines idling in the chill December wind as the crews stood nearby drinking coffee from disposable cups and looking with wide eyes at the sprawling buildings bathed in the weak winter sun.
The men were dressed for the weather but they were still cold. Last night they had been in Georgia. They indulged themselves in a great deal of arm swinging and jogging in place.
At nine a.m. the Vice-President met with a delegation of two dozen congressmen and senators in the East Room of the White House. It was not a happy meeting. Legislators who lived outside the beltway were of course not present. Their colleagues demanded that representatives, senators, and members of their staffs have access through military lines.
Vice-President Quayle instantly agreed. “This,” he explained, “was a glitch no one thought of last night.”
“There’s a hell of a lot of things you people never thought of last night,” Senator Bob Cherry thundered. “Food — how are grocery trucks going to get into the city? How are sick people going to get in and out? Critical medical supplies? The radio says there are thousands of people stranded at National Airport and Union Station. Damn it, you can’t just surgically remove this city from the rest of the United States and expect it to keep breathing. Won’t happen.”
“It’ll only be until we can thoroughly search the city for terrorists,” Quayle explained, looking from face to face. “Surely everyone can see the necessity for extraordinary measures.”
“We gotta do something,” someone muttered.
“Something won’t hack it,” Cherry boomed. “This military idea is half-baked. Won’t work. Why does anybody think a bunch of kids wearing uniforms and carrying rifles can do what the FBI can’t?”
“This may not work,” Dan Quayle acknowledged. “But we’re going to try it for lack of something better. We’ve got to stop the terrorism and violence. Stop it dead, once and for all. That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“But you can’t just rip the Constitution into confetti,” Cherry groused. “What about people’s rights?”
“Senator,” Quayle began patiently, “I’m well aware that Christmas is six days away and kids aren’t out of school, and some people are being prevented from going to work and earning a living. I know this measure is a financial hardship on many and an outright disaster for others. My wife reminded me this morning that many employers cannot afford to pay their employees if they aren’t working and a lot of those who can afford it won’t bother. I know this measure is a real hardship on many. Still, it’s necessary.”
“In your judgment,” Cherry said crossly.
“In my judgment,” Quayle echoed, irritated with Cherry and all of them. He had been in Washington long enough to learn that there was nothing fair about politics: if ordering in the National Guard and the Army turned out to be ineffective or a disaster, he would be blamed; yet if the measure worked and the terrorists were apprehended, the advisors and staff would get all the credit for convincing Dan Quayle, the bumbling fool, to do the right thing.
“You should have asked the advice of the senior members of Congress before you called in the military,” Cherry continued, not yet ready to let it lie. “I, for one, am more than a little peeved that we get summoned like ladies in waiting to come over here and listen to edicts from the throne.”
Dan Quayle lost his temper. “Goddammit, Senator, everybody in this room knew about this yesterday. I have assumed the President’s responsibilities during his disability and I am not going to run the presidency by committee.”
“I’m not suggesting—” Cherry began, but Quayle ignored him and began talking into the microphone on the podium while referring to notes:
“I have appointed an independent nonpartisan presidential commission to oversee federal efforts to apprehend the people responsible for the atrocities of these past few days. This will be announced to the press as soon as we finish here. The commission will work closely with all the federal agencies involved to investigate all matters connected with these crimes. I want all the facts investigated and laid before the public. The commission will have the authority to pursue any line of inquiry it feels is germane. I will send a message to Congress today asking for a special appropriation so the commission can immediately hire staff and get to work. I certainly hope Congress will see fit to act quickly. I don’t want anybody shouting cover-up when all the dust settles.
“Mr. Dorfman, please read the names.”
Will Dorfman somehow didn’t look his nasty, mean little self, Congresswoman Samantha Strader noted with a raised eyebrow. The troll actually looked human this morning — harried, a touch of exhaustion.
Dorfman read the list. The first name was that of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, Harlan Longstreet. That was fitting. Chief Justice Earl Warren had directed the inquiry into John F. Kennedy’s assassination, but in spite of herculean efforts on the part of the investigators, nitpickers and conspiracy fanatics were still unsatisfied over twenty-five years later. Perhaps that was inevitable.
The eighth name Dorfman read was Sam Strader. When Dorfman had telephoned and asked her to serve she had been momentarily at a loss for words, a rare experience, not to be savored. “Why me?” she asked.
“Quayle wants this commission to be nonpartisan, and the only way we know to do that is to get people from all across the political spectrum to serve.”
She mulled it for three seconds. Yes. Now, standing here watching Danny the Dork prove that brains are not a prerequisite for public office, she was sure she had made the right decision.