The President Is Missing(59)

“Mr. President,” she says, “it may have already started.”

I listen, for two of the quickest—and longest—minutes of my life.

“Alex,” I call out. “Forget driving. Get us on Marine One.”





Chapter

47



Jacobson drives. Alex sits next to me in the backseat of the SUV, the IV bag perched between us. Augie sits across from me.

On my lap is a computer, open to a video. The video is satellite footage, looking down on a city block, an industrial area in Los Angeles. Most of the block is consumed by one large structure, complete with smokestacks, some kind of large factory.

Everything is dark. The time stamp in the corner of the screen shows 02:07—just past two in the morning, about two hours ago.

And then fireballs of orange flame explode through the roof and the side windows, rocking and ultimately caving in the side of the industrial plant. The entire city block disappears in a cloud of black-and-orange smoke.

I pause the video and click on the box in the corner of the screen.

The box opens onto the full screen, which itself is split three ways. In the center screen is Carolyn, from the White House. To her left is acting FBI director Elizabeth Greenfield. To Carolyn’s right is Sam Haber, secretary of homeland security.

I’m wearing headphones plugged into the laptop, so the conversation from their end will reach only my ears. I want to hear this first, in full, without Augie overhearing.

“Okay, I saw it,” I say. “Start at the start.” My voice is scratchy as I shake off the hangover from the treatment and try to focus.

“Mr. President,” says Sam Haber. “The explosion was about two hours ago. The blaze has been enormous, as you can imagine. They’re still trying to get it under control.”

“Tell me about the company,” I say.

“Sir, it’s a defense contractor. They’re one of the Defense Department’s largest contractors. They have a number of sites around Los Angeles County.”

“What’s special about this one?”

“Sir, this plant builds reconnaissance aircraft.”

I’m not making the connection. A defense contractor? Recon planes?

“Casualties?” I ask.

“We believe in the tens, not the hundreds. It was the middle of the night, so basically just security personnel. Too soon to know for sure.”

“Cause?” I ask, careful to limit my side of the conversation.

“Sir, all we can say with certainty is a gas explosion. Which doesn’t automatically suggest a hostile actor. Gas explosions happen, obviously.”

I look up at Augie, who is watching me. He blinks and looks away.

“There’s a reason I’m hearing about this,” I say.

“Sir, that’s correct. The company reached out to Defense. Their technicians insist that something, somehow, reset the pump speeds and valve settings. Sabotage, in other words, that produced pressures that overwhelmed the joints and welds. But it wasn’t done manually, there in person. Those places have tighter security than government offices.”

“Remotely,” I say.

“Sir, that’s correct. They think it was done remotely. But we can’t yet say for certain.”

But I bet I know who could. I peek over at Augie, who glances at his watch, unaware that I’m watching him.

“Suspects?” I ask.

“Nothing obvious to us yet,” Sam says. “We have ICS-CERT looking into it.”

He’s referring to DHS’s cyber-emergency response team for industrial control systems.

“But we know this much, sir. The Chinese tried to hack into our gas pipeline systems back in 2011, 2012,” he says. “Maybe this means they succeeded. If they exfiltrated credentials from a system user, they could do whatever they wanted inside the system.”

The Chinese. Maybe.

“I guess the number one question is, do we think…”

I glance at Augie, who is looking out the window.

Carolyn says, “Could this be Dark Ages?” She understands my reluctance to say too much in front of Augie. Once again, she’s right there with me, reading my thoughts, finishing my sentence so Augie won’t hear it.

I’m asking the question because I want to know.

But I’m also asking because I want to hear the secretary of homeland security’s response. Sam is one of the circle of eight who know about Dark Ages. Carolyn didn’t leak it. Liz Greenfield didn’t leak it. I’ve ruled out two of the eight.

Sam Haber is one of the six I haven’t ruled out.

Sam lets out air, shakes his head, like it feels wrong to him. “Well, Mr. President, Ms. Brock just informed me that we have reason to believe that today is the day.”

“Correct,” I say.

“She didn’t tell me our source for that information.”

“Correct,” I repeat. My way of saying, And we’re not going to tell you the source, Sam.

He waits a beat and realizes that more will not be forthcoming. Cocks his head, but otherwise doesn’t respond. “All right, well, sir, if that’s the case, then I acknowledge that the timing is suspect. But still, I must tell you that this feels different. Dark Ages is malware, a virus we discovered.”

Well, we didn’t exactly discover it. They—Augie and Nina—showed it to us. But Sam doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know that Augie even exists.