Everyone stands as, once again, the president enters the Situation Room. President Egan is in no mood for formalities. “Goddammit, sit down, everybody. Admiral, Dean, what have we got?”
Dean Hargrove replies, “We’ve got missiles fired and above the surface inbound on Washington, New York, and San Francisco.”
“What about L.A.?”
“Our vessels reported a major explosion below the surface approximately where we suspected the Kilo to be. We’re assuming some sort of internal explosion.”
The president hesitates before asking the obvious question. “What are our chances of taking those missiles down?”
Before anyone can answer, a Secret Service detail headed by DeWayne Richards comes into the Situation Room. “Sir, my orders are to remove you immediately to a safe location.”
“I understand. Where’s the first lady?”
“Sir, she’s aboard Marine Two and on her way to the same location.”
“Gentlemen, I have no choice but to burden you with finishing this for me and for everyone else out there. God be with us all. Let’s go, DeWayne.”
The words of his chairman of the joint chiefs echo in Egan’s mind as he hurriedly leaves the room. “We will, sir. Be safe.”
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