The Threat

The colonel said, “Going through this you’ll see the first part is who has the capacity to hit us — how many delivery vehicles, where based, times of flight. Then there’s the info on our own forces. How many, where, and what countries they’d have to overfly to hit a specific target. That’s important because they might think we’re attacking them if they see our missiles on the way.”

Jazak flipped over more glossy cardstock. “The heart of the Decision Handbook is the options section — here. The president gets to choose. Like from a Chinese menu. There’s LAOs, limited attack options. MAOs, major attack options. Regional options, against North Korea and China. Special options: launch on warning, launch under attack, preemptive strike.”

“Give him the book, Mike, so he can see,” Gunning said.

Jazek shoved it over, but Dan didn’t want to touch it. He said slowly, just to say something, “What happens if he can’t make up his mind?”

“You’d think nothing, but actually it cascades to the next decision level. The whole thing used to be just greased to go, but it’s gotten a little less so — I think.”

“How up to speed on this is De Bari?”

“Who? Blow-dry Bob? That dumb son of a bitch doesn’t know jack about any of this,” Jazak said witheringly. “Or care. He got a fifteen-minute briefing the day he moved in and hasn’t said word one about it since. He’s supposed to get refreshers, but he’s never had time for that. We issue him a new authenticator card — the one you have to match with the one in the case — every month. Half the time, when Chick gives him the new biscuit, he doesn’t know where the old one went. We have to go to the dry cleaner’s and get it.”

They told him stories that sounded like they’d been passed down through many hands and improved along the way. About Haig locking Nixon’s codes away during the Watergate hearings. JFK’s mil aide carrying condoms in the case as emergency reserves. Lyndon Johnson pissing on his aide’s shoes. Another aide who’d ridden around Reagan’s ranch with the PES in a saddle bag, and had to shoot a rabid coyote with the pistol.

Until Colonel Gunning cleared his throat. “Let’s finish with the release procedures, Mike.” And to Dan, “Funny stories aside, you’re gonna be the ball carrier. That’s what we call this thing: the Pigskin. The Ball. Or, the Ball and Chain. Don’t kid yourself. There are still missiles pointed at this country, no matter what anybody says. You’re the guy who’s going to have to explain this to De Bari, if he ever has to use it.

“Once he makes up his mind, you write down the code for that option here, with this pen. Next you both break your biscuits. You pick up the phone.”

The colonel laid his pianist’s fingers on Dan’s wrist again. “Meanwhile, there’s going to be a major monkeyfuck. Everyone’s going to be screaming. The protective detail’s going to be trying to get him on Marine One. You have to make sure this gets done, no matter how bugshit everybody else goes. Just say your call sign. Then the option number, and say, ‘Presidential execute authorization.’ Follow that with the codes. Your card first, then his. His card’s gold colored, which is why they call that the Gold Code.”

Jazak chanted, as if he’d droned it for years in a Tibetan monastery, “Flash flash, all stations this net, this is Prehistoric Corona. Authorization to follow. Option number. Presidential execute authorization. His authenticator. My authenticator. Prehistoric Corona, over.”

Gunning said, “They’ll read it back. Confirm, and you’re good to go. They have emergency action messages prewritten that trigger the launches. After that, just stay with him when they take him to Mount Weather or wherever.”

Dan tried to imagine it. The confusion, the panic, while he tried for a rational conversation with Robert De Bari about the end of the world. “Monkeyfuck” struck him as an understatement.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, there’s some emotion tied to this thing,” Jazak said, apparently assuming he’d been smiling so he wouldn’t do anything else. Which was not far from the truth. The irony weighed. The guy who hadn’t wanted to work on nuclear weapons, who’d lost men and women to a nuclear blast, would be carrying the detonator for the Armageddon the world had dreaded for half a century.

“Just do the best you can and don’t lose the fucking thing. Use the security strap. Eat with it, jog with it, pee with it. But whatever you do it doesn’t get out of grabbing range until your relief signs for it.”

Dan said he understood.

“Okay, here’s some tips we pass down. If you don’t want to miss the ride, stand between the president and his transport. You lag behind, you get left behind,” Gunning said.

“And don’t ever get between Bad Bob and a camera,” Jazak said.

Dan said, “What about personal services?”