Power and Empire

The Watermelon Park Campground wasn’t exactly roughing it, but compared to the bustle of downtown Arlington, Virginia, the picnic tables, drop toilets, and fire pits overlooking the Shenandoah River were a blissful wilderness. It had taken Dr. Ann Miller all the way to Leesburg just to calm down the night before after her command performance at the White House. Her boyfriend was getting sick of hearing the story.

Miller wore the same red-and-black buffalo-plaid shirt that she’d worn to the meeting, but she and Eric had spent the day canoeing, so she’d traded the long pants for a pair of swimming shorts. She was strictly a yogurt-and-blueberries girl back in civilization, but she’d opted to splurge with s’mores tonight. She hunkered shoulder to shoulder with Eric, toasting marshmallows over a snapping fire. It was marvelously dark beyond the chestnut trees, just cool enough to make the heat of the fire against her bare knees feel perfect.

She teased at Eric’s toasting stick with hers, pushing it out of her way.

He chuckled, letting his marshmallow catch on fire, and watched it burn. “I guess people who get summoned to the White House should have the prime coal areas.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Ann said smugly.

“You know,” Eric said, casting a glance at the tent, “you being in such demand by the highest officials in the land is a real turn-on…”

She scoffed. “Eric Jordan, a leaf falling off one of those red oaks would turn you on.”

Eric moved his eyebrows up and down. “Depends on where it fell. But seriously, getting called to the White House is a big friggin’ deal.”

Miller’s phone began to play “The Ride of the Valkyries” in her jacket pocket. She’d sealed it in a Ziploc bag in the event they swamped the canoe, and it took her a couple seconds to dig it out.

“Wonder who that could be?” Eric teased. “Ten Downing Street, mayhaps?”

She waved him away and put the phone to her ear.

“Hello.”

It was a woman’s voice, straight to the point.

“Dr. Ann Miller?”

“This is she.”

“Dr. Miller, please hold for the President of the United States.”

Miller stood at once, dropping her stick into the fire. It was stupid, she realized, but she remained there anyway. Eric looked at her like she’d lost her mind.

An instant later: “Dr. Miller, Jack Ryan here. I apologize for calling so late, but I have some things I’d like you to look over. Would you mind coming by my office tomorrow morning?”

Eric moved in closer now and pressed his ear to hers, listening.

“Of course, Mr. President.”

“Very well,” Ryan said. “I’ll send a car for you.”

“No, no,” she stammered. “I mean, that won’t be necessary, sir. We’re in the Shenandoah right now. My boyfriend can drop me off.”

“Shall we say nine o’clock tomorrow morning, then?”

Eric feigned a pout after she’d hung up. “Should I be jealous?”

She laughed, draining off nervous energy. “I don’t know,” she said. “He is pretty cool. Maybe a little.”

She picked up a camp chair and headed to the car.

“What are you doing?” Eric said.

“Going home,” she said. “A girl can’t wear flannel to the White House twice in a row.”

• • •

Ryan hung up the phone at the same moment Arnie van Damm burst in through the door from the secretaries’ suite.

“What’s Betty doing here on a Saturday night?” He waved his hand before Ryan could answer. “Never mind. You need to get to a television. Something’s going on in Buenos Aires.”

Ryan groaned, moving toward his private study off the Oval. Arnie never wanted him to watch TV when good news was breaking.

“Some kind of bombing,” van Damm continued.

Ryan’s stomach tightened at the word. “Any of our people?” It was always his first question.

Van Damm shook his head. “A meeting of agricultural ministers, I guess. No U.S. representatives were present.” The CoS scratched his bald head. “I’m not sure why, but Foreign Minister Li was there. It’s unspooling even as we speak. Unconfirmed number of dead.”

Arnie followed Ryan into the small study down a short hall off the Oval Office. He picked up the remote because God forbid Ryan should have to turn on his own television.

They stood together in silence for a time and watched live reports of shaky cell phone footage. The plate-glass windows in the front of what looked like a restaurant had been shattered. Uniformed men and women appeared to be moving in all directions. Two fire trucks were parked out front, their lights pulsing in the evening darkness, causing the video footage to flare dramatically. Ambulances rolled up on scene, motioned forward by the uniforms. The commentary was in Spanish, and an American news anchor did her best to repeat a whole lot of nothing over and over again. What else could she do? Nothing was precisely what everyone in the United States knew at this point.

Arnie asked, “Shall I round up the NSC? The Principal Committee, at least?”