‘I can’t possibly leave the White House,’ Pauline said to Pippa and Gerry on the day before Thanksgiving, standing in the Center Hall, next to the piano, with suitcases on the polished floor around their feet. ‘I’m really sorry.’
Gerry’s oldest friend, a fellow student at Columbia Law a lifetime ago, had a horse ranch in Virginia. Pauline, Gerry and Pippa had planned to spend Thanksgiving with him and his wife and their daughter, who was Pippa’s age. School was closed for two days, so they could leave on Wednesday evening and return Sunday. The ranch was near Middleburg, about fifty miles from the White House, a drive of an hour, more in traffic. Pippa was super-excited: she was crazy about horses, like many girls of her age.
‘Don’t worry,’ Gerry said to Pauline. ‘We’re used to it.’ He did not look too disappointed.
She said: ‘If Korea calms down, I might make it for dinner on Saturday night.’
‘Well, that would be nice. Give me a call, so I can warn our hosts to set an extra place at the table.’
‘Of course.’ She turned to Pippa. ‘Aren’t you going to be cold, riding outside all day?’
‘The horse keeps you warm,’ Pippa said. ‘It’s like the seat heater in a car.’
‘Well, make sure you wear warm clothes as well.’
Pippa made a rapid adolescent switch and became concerned. ‘Are you going to be okay, Mom – spending Thanksgiving on your own?’
‘I’ll miss you, honey, but I don’t want to spoil your holiday. I know how much you’ve been looking forward to it. And I’ll be too busy saving the world to feel lonesome.’
‘If we’re all going to be bombed to smithereens I want us to be together.’ Pippa spoke in a light tone, but Pauline suspected a serious worry underneath.
Pauline, too, had a hidden fear that she might never see her daughter again. But she replied in the same semi-serious manner. ‘That’s very sweet of you, but I think I can hold the bombs off until Sunday evening.’
A White House porter picked up the bags, and Gerry said to him: ‘The Secret Service should be waiting.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Pauline kissed them and watched as they went away.
Pippa’s comment had touched a nerve. What Pauline was hiding was her belief that bombs might really fall on Washington in the next few days. For that reason she was glad Pippa was going out of town. She only wished her daughter was going farther.
She had been shocked by the bombing of Sino-ri. No one had expected President No to take such drastic action without consulting the US. Pauline was angry, too: they were supposed to be allies, committed to acting together. But No had been unapologetic. Pauline feared that the alliance was weakening. She was losing control of South Korea just as Chen was losing control of the north. It was a dangerous development.
She walked to the Oval Office, where Chess was waiting to say goodbye to her. He was dressed in a down coat and sneakers, about to fly to Colombo, Sri Lanka. ‘How long is the flight?’ Pauline asked.
‘Twenty hours, including a refuelling stop.’
Chess was going to the peace conference. China was sending Wu Bai, the foreign minister, who ranked equally with the American Secretary of State.
Pauline said: ‘You’ve seen the report from the CIA in Beijing.’
‘I sure have. The Chinese secret service guy was astonishingly candid.’
‘Chang Kai.’
‘Yes. I don’t think we’ve ever had such a frank message from the government of China.’
‘It might not be from the government. I sense that Chang Kai is freelancing. He’s afraid of what Supreme Leader Kang is going to do in North Korea and he’s worried that some in the Chinese government aren’t taking the danger seriously enough.’
‘Well, I’m about to make the Supreme Leader an attractive offer.’
‘Let’s hope Kang sees it that way.’
They had discussed this earlier in the day at a Cabinet meeting. They needed to give Kang something, and had decided to offer a review of the sea boundaries between North and South Korea, a sore point with him. In Pauline’s opinion the review was long overdue anyway. The 1953 lines had been drawn when North Korea was defeated and China was weak, and they favoured the south, hugging North Korea’s coast and giving South Korea all the best fishing in the Yellow Sea. An adjustment was only fair, and it would enable the Supreme Leader to save face. President No of South Korea was going to squeal, but she would accept it in the end.
‘I’ve got to go. The plane is waiting, with seven diplomatic and military staffers who all want to brief me on the way.’ Chess stood and picked up a bulging briefcase. ‘And when they get tired, I’ve got plenty of situation papers to read.’
‘Safe travel.’
Chess left.
Pauline moved into the Study, ordered a salad at her desk, and worked through papers, making the most of a time with few interruptions. When she called for coffee she checked her watch and saw that it was nine o’clock. The thought crossed her mind that Chess was now in the air.
She recalled the way she had marshalled other world leaders, a month ago, to prevent the outbreak of war on the border between Sudan and Chad, and she wondered whether her diplomacy would work again this time. She feared that the Korean crisis would be a lot more challenging.
Then Gus came in.
She smiled, happy to see him, glad to be alone with him in the Study. She suppressed a stab of guilt: she was not cheating on Gerry, except in her daydreams.
Gus was all business. ‘I think the Supreme Leader is about to do something,’ he said. ‘We’ve picked up two indications. One is intense communications activity around North Korean military bases. We can’t read most of the messages because they’re encrypted, but the pattern suggests that an attack is in preparation.’
‘This is his retaliation. What’s the second?’
‘A sleeping virus in the South Korean military network has been activated and is sending out fake orders. They’ve had to instruct all forces to ignore electronic messages and obey only telephoned orders from human beings while they try to debug the system.’
‘This could be the prelude to a major assault.’
‘Exactly, Madam President. Luis and Bill are already in the Situation Room.’
‘Let’s go.’ Pauline got up from her desk.
The Situation Room was filling up. Chief of Staff Jacqueline Brody came in, then DNI Sophia Magliani, followed by the vice-president.
Several of the screens came to life, showing what seemed like street-camera feed. Pauline saw a city centre, probably Seoul. She guessed that an alarm must be sounding, for the people on the streets were rushing one way and another. She said: ‘What’s happening?’
Bill Schneider, listening to the Pentagon on his headset, said: ‘Incoming artillery.’
Luis explained: ‘Seoul is only fifteen miles from the border with North Korea – well within range of old-fashioned big guns, like the tank-mounted Koksan one hundred and seventy millimetres.’
Pauline said: ‘Targets?’
Bill replied: ‘We assume Seoul.’
‘Responses?’
‘South Korean forces are firing artillery in retaliation. American forces await orders.’
‘Don’t deploy American forces without my say-so. Defensive action only right now.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Artillery impact has begun.’
On the video from Seoul Pauline saw a crater suddenly appear in a road, a house collapsing, a car rolling sideways. She felt as if her heart had stopped. The Supreme Leader had crossed a line. This was not appropriate retaliation, a token attack, a symbolic reprisal. This was war.
Then Bill said: ‘Satellite surveillance has observed missiles emerging above the cloud cover over North Korea.’
Pauline asked: ‘How many?’
‘Six,’ said Bill. ‘Nine. Ten. Increasing. All coming from the western half of North Korea, the government-controlled zone. None from the rebel areas.’
Another screen lit up, this one showing radar input superimposed on a map of Korea. The missiles were so crowded that Pauline could not count them. ‘How many now?’ she said.
‘Twenty-four,’ Bill replied.
‘This is a full-scale attack.’
Luis said: ‘Madam President, this is war.’
She felt cold. She had always dreaded this. She had dedicated herself to preventing war, and she had failed.