Never, page 36
Gerry said irritably: “Amelia Judd is not old and she doesn’t judder. She’s forty, and an extremely competent and capable woman.”
Pauline looked at him in mild surprise. He did not often reprimand Pippa, and this was an odd issue to choose. The thought crossed her mind that Gerry might have developed a little crush on “Amelia.” Perhaps it was not surprising. The head teacher was an authoritative woman in a leadership role, like Pauline but ten years younger. A more recent edition of the same book, Pauline thought cynically.
Pippa said to her father: “You wouldn’t like Judders so much if it was you she was trying to push around.”
There was a tap at the door and Sandip came in. It was unusual for staffers to disturb family meals at the Residence; in fact it was forbidden except in an emergency. Pauline said: “What’s up?”
“I’m very sorry to interrupt, Madam President, but two things have happened in the last few minutes. CBS has announced a long interview with James Moore, live at seven thirty.”
Pauline looked at her watch. It was a few minutes after seven.
Sandip said: “He’s never done an interview with network television.”
“As I pointed out this morning,” Pauline said.
“It’s a scoop for CBS, which is why they’re rushing it.”
“Do you think he was stung by my calling him Timid Jim?”
“I’m sure of it. A lot of the broadcasters used those words in their reports of the press conference. That was very clever of you. It’s forced Moore to try to prove you wrong, and for that he has to stick his neck out.”
“Good.”
“He’ll probably make a fool of himself on CBS. All they have to do is put up an interviewer with a brain.”
Pauline was not so sure. “He may surprise us. He’s slippery. Pinning him down is like trying to pick up a live fish with one hand.”
Sandip nodded. “In politics, the only thing that’s certain is that nothing is certain.”
That made Pippa laugh.
“I’ll watch the interview here, then come over to the West Wing,” Pauline said to Sandip. “What was the second thing?”
“The media in East Asia have woken up, and South Korean television is saying that the rebels in North Korea now have control of both nuclear bases and two regular missile bases, plus an unknown number of ordinary military bases.”
Pauline was perturbed. “This is no longer just an incident,” she said. “This is a real rebellion.”
“Do you want to say anything about it?”
She considered that. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’ve raised the alert level, and I’ve told Americans that we’re ready for anything. I see no reason to add to that message, for now.”
“I agree, but perhaps we should talk again after we see Moore’s interview.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you, Madam President.”
Sandip left. Gerry and Pippa both looked thoughtful. They often heard hot political news, but this was more dramatic than usual. The family finished dinner in silence.
Just before seven thirty Pauline went into the former Beauty Salon and turned on the TV set there. Pippa followed her, but Gerry said: “I can’t bear to spend half an hour in the company of that fool Moore,” and disappeared.
Pauline and Pippa sat on the couch. Before the interview began, Pauline asked Pippa: “What does Ms. Judd look like?”
“Small and blond, with big tits.”
So much for nonbinary gender descriptions, Pauline thought.
The interview took place in the studio, on a set that had been dressed to look like an anonymous lounge, with lamps and side tables and flowers in a vase. Moore did not look at ease.
He was introduced by an experienced television journalist, Amanda Gosling. She was perfectly groomed, as they all were. She had carefully styled blond hair and a blue-gray dress that showed her perfect calves, but she was also smart and tough. She would not give Moore an easy ride.
Moore had moderated his appearance. His jacket still had Western stitching, but he wore a white dress shirt and a regular tie.
Gosling began sympathetically. She asked him about his career as a baseball star, then a commentator, and finally a radio host. Pippa got impatient, saying: “Who cares about this crap?”
“She’s softening him up,” Pauline said. “Just wait.”
Gosling quickly got around to the issue of abortion. “Some critics say that your policy on abortion means that women will be forced to have babies they don’t want. Do you think that’s fair?”
“No one forces a woman to get pregnant,” he said.
Pippa said: “What? What?”
It was obviously untrue, but Gosling did not say so. “I’d like to make sure we get your views perfectly clear for our audience,” she said with sweet reasonableness.
Pippa said: “Good idea—then everyone will see what an asshole he is.”
Gosling went on: “In your opinion, when a husband asks his wife for physical intimacy, does she have the right to say no?”
“A man has needs,” Moore said in a voice that suggested profound wisdom. “And marriage is God’s way of satisfying those needs.”
Gosling allowed her scorn to show. “So when the wife gets pregnant, is that God’s fault or her husband’s?”
“It’s certainly God’s will, ma’am, don’t you think?”
Gosling avoided discussion of God’s will. “Either way,” she said dismissively, “you seem to believe the woman should have no say in the matter.”
“I believe that husbands and wives should discuss such things in a loving and caring way.”
Gosling was not going to be brushed off that easily. “But in the end the man is the master, you say.”
“Well, I think that’s in the Bible, isn’t it? Do you read your Bible, Ms. Gosling? I sure do.”
Pippa said: “What century is he from?”
Pauline said: “He’s saying what a lot of Americans believe. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be on TV.”
Gosling took Moore on a tour of hot-button issues, from immigration to gay marriage. In each case, without seeming to oppose him, she dug down past his sound bites and brought him to state the extreme views to which he was driven. Millions of viewers were squirming on their couches with embarrassment and disgust. But, unfortunately, millions more were cheering.
Gosling left foreign policy to the end. “Recently you advocated sinking Chinese ships in the South China Sea,” she said. “How do you imagine the Chinese government would react to that? What action would they take in retaliation?”
“None at all,” Moore said boldly. “The last thing the Chinese want is a war with the US.”
“But how could they overlook the deliberate sinking of one of their ships?”
“What else can they do? If they attack us, China will be turned into a nuclear wasteland within hours.”
“And in those hours, what damage would be done to us?”
“None, because it isn’t going to happen. They won’t attack us while I’m president, because they know for gosh-darn certain that I’ll wipe them out.”
“That’s your judgment, is it?”
“For sure.”
“And you’re willing to gamble the lives of millions of Americans on your judgment.”
“It’s what the president does.”
It was almost unbelievable—until Pauline recalled the words of a previous president: If we have nuclear weapons, why can’t we use them?
Gosling said: “For our last question, tell us what you would do today about the antigovernment rebels in Korea who have nuclear weapons.”
“I see that the president of China is sending the North Koreans some rice and pork. President Green seems to think that’s going to solve the problem. I’m skeptical.”
“The president raised the alert level today.”
“From five to four. That’s not enough.”
“So what would you do?”
“I would take simple and decisive action. A single nuclear bomb would destroy that entire North Korean base and all the weapons in it. And the world would give the US a great big round of applause for getting rid of a menace.”
“And what do you think the North Korean government would do in response?”
“Thank me.”
“Suppose they regarded the bombing as an attack on their sovereign territory?”
“What are they going to do? I’ve wiped out their nukes.”
“They may well have nuclear arms launchers underground somewhere that we don’t know about.”
“They know that if they fire them at us, their country will be a radioactive desert for the next hundred years. They’re not going to risk that.”
“You’re quite sure of that.”
“I’m sure.”
“Could we sum up your approach to foreign policy by saying that America can always get its own way simply by threatening nuclear war?”
“Isn’t that what the nukes are for?”
“James Moore, hopeful candidate in the Republican primaries and next year’s presidential election, thank you for being with us tonight.”
Pauline switched off the TV. Moore had done better than she had expected. He had never seemed weak or uncertain, despite the utter rubbish he was talking.
“I have homework,” Pippa said, and she left.
Pauline returned to the West Wing. “Ask Sandip to drop by, please,” she said to Lizzie. “I’ll be in the study.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned on CNN for a discussion of Moore’s performance. The pundits were full of scorn, quite reasonably, but Pauline felt they should pay more attention to his strengths.
She muted the sound when Sandip arrived. “What did you think?” she asked him.
“The guy is crazy,” Sandip said. “Some voters will see that. Others won’t.”
“I agree.”
“So no further action by us?”
“Not tonight.” Pauline smiled. “Go home and sleep well.”
“Thank you, Madam President.”
As usual, Pauline spent these quiet hours catching up on briefings that required her to concentrate without interruption for at least a few minutes. Just after eleven p.m. Gus showed up, wearing the blue cashmere sweater she liked. “The Japanese are going ballistic about Sangnam-ni,” he said.
“I’m not surprised,” Pauline said. “They’re close neighbors.”
“Three hours on the ferry from Fukuoka to Busan. Longer to North Korea, but still very close bombing range.”
Pauline left the desk and they sat on the two armchairs. In the small room their knees were close together. Pauline said: “Japan and Korea have a bad history.”
“In Japan there’s a lot of hatred of Koreans. Social media is full of racist attacks.”
“So, just like America.”
“Different color scheme, same abuse,” said Gus.
Pauline found herself relaxing. She liked her occasional late-night chats with Gus. They roamed over issues randomly, and there was generally nothing they could do about them until the morning, so they did not feel pressured to act. “Help yourself to a drink,” she said. “You know where the hooch is.”
“Thanks.” He went to a cupboard and took out a bottle and glass. “This is very good bourbon.”
“I had no idea. I don’t even know who chose it.”
“I chose it,” he said with a grin. For an uncharacteristic moment he looked like a naughty schoolboy. He sat down again and poured an inch of liquor into the glass.
She said: “What is the Japanese government doing?”
“The prime minister has called a meeting of their National Security Council, which will certainly order the military to some level of alert. It’s easy to imagine how Japan and China could come into conflict over this, and the Japanese commentators are already worrying about the possibility of war.”
“China is way stronger.”
“Not as much as you’d think. Japan has the fifth-largest defense budget in the world.”
“However, they have no nuclear weapons.”
“But we do, and we have a military treaty with Japan that obliges us to come to their aid if they’re attacked. To back up that promise, we have fifty thousand troops there, plus the Seventh Fleet, the Third Marine Expeditionary Force, and one hundred thirty USAF fighter planes.”
“And back here at home we have about four thousand nuclear warheads.”
“Half ready to use, half in reserve storage.”
“And we’re pledged to the defense of Japan.”
“Yes.”
The facts were not new to Pauline, but she had never seen the implications so clearly. “Gus,” she said, “we’re as committed as hell.”
“I couldn’t have put it better. And there’s one more thing. Have you heard of what the North Koreans call Residence No. 55?”
“Yes, it’s the official home of the supreme leader, in the suburbs of Pyongyang.”
“It’s actually a complex covering five square miles. It has a lot of high-end leisure facilities, including a pool with a waterslide, a spa, a shooting range, and a horse-racing track.”
“These Communists don’t stint themselves, do they? Why don’t I have a horse-racing track?”
“Madam President, you have no use for leisure facilities, because you have no leisure.”
“I should have been a dictator.”
“No comment.”
Pauline giggled. She knew they joked about her being a tyrant.
Gus said: “The National Intelligence Service in South Korea says the Pyongyang regime has repelled an attack on Residence No. 55. It’s a fort with an underground nuclear bunker, and it’s probably the most heavily defended place in North Korea. The fact that the rebels have even tried to take it suggests that they’re a lot stronger than any of us imagined until now.”
“Could they win?”
“It’s looking possible.”
“A military coup!”
“Exactly.”
“We’d better find out more about these people. Who are they, and what do they want? I could be dealing with them as a government in a few days’ time.”
“I’ve asked the CIA those questions. They will be working all night on a briefing that you should get in the morning.”
“Thanks. You know what I need before I do.”
He dropped his eyes, and she realized that her remark might have been interpreted as flirtatious. She felt embarrassed.
He took a sip of his drink.
Pauline said: “Gus, what happens if we fuck this up?”
“Nuclear war,” he said.
“Indulge me,” she said. “Walk me through it.”
“Well, both sides would defend themselves with cyberattacks and anti-missile missiles, but all the evidence suggests that these methods would be only partially successful, at best. Therefore some nuclear bombs would reach their targets in both the warring countries.”
“What targets?”
“Both sides would try to destroy the enemy’s missile-launching facilities and also target major cities. At a minimum, China would bomb New York, Chicago, Houston, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and the town we’re sitting in, Washington DC.”
As he named the cities, Pauline saw them in her mind: the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, the Houston Astrodome, Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, Rodeo Drive in LA, her parents’ home in Chicago, and the Washington Monument outside her window.
“More likely,” said Gus, “they would aim at between ten and twenty major cities.”
“Remind me what the explosion is like.”
“In the first one millionth of a second, a fireball is formed two hundred yards wide. Everyone within it dies instantly.”
“Perhaps they’re the lucky ones.”
“The blast flattens buildings for a mile around. Almost everyone in that area dies from the impact or from falling debris. The heat sets fire to anything that will burn, including people, within a radius of two to five miles. Cars crash, trains come off the rails. The blast and the heat go upward too, so planes fall out of the sky.”
“How many casualties?”
“In New York, about a quarter of a million people die more or less immediately. Another half a million are injured. More die of radiation sickness in the following hours and days.”
“Jesus.”
“But that’s just one bomb. They would aim more than one missile at each city, in case of malfunctions. And China now has multiple warheads, so a single missile can carry up to five separate bombs, each seeking a different target. No one knows what the effect would be of ten, twenty, fifty nuclear explosions in a city, because it has never happened.”
“It’s unimaginable.”
“And this is only the short term. With every major city in the US and China on fire, imagine how much soot is released into the atmosphere. Enough, some scientists think, to weaken sunlight and lower temperatures on the Earth’s surface—leading to poor harvests, shortage of food, and starvation in many countries. It’s called nuclear winter.”
Pauline felt as if she had swallowed something cold and heavy.
“I’m sorry to be so bleak,” Gus said.
“I asked for it.”
She leaned forward and reached out with both her hands. Gus took them in his and held them.
After a long moment she said: “It must never happen.”
He squeezed her hands gently. “Please God.”
“And you know who’s in charge of preventing it: you and me.”
“Yeah,” said Gus. “Especially you.”
