CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

SCOTT JOHNSON LED PENN GLENDALE AND ARLEN STRASKY INTO A room that looked like a computer museum. Banks of old-school CRT computer screens were set into metal cabinets that rose from the back edges of ancient metal tables. To Penn, it was reminiscent of NASA mission control, but on a much smaller scale.

“This is the old CNC,” Johnson explained. “Command and control center.”

“How old is it?” Strasky asked. “This looks like 1960s technology.”

“It is 1960s technology,” Johnson said. “But it’s not as old as it looks. Until a few years ago, the basements in Uncle Sam’s mansion that no one liked to talk about—all the stuff dealing with nuclear war—was deliberately designed with old technology. We’re talking floppy disks and no internet because bad guys can’t hack into a computer with no hookup to the outside world.”

“And this was where everything was run from?” Penn asked.

“Exactly. The focus has changed in the last few years, so we’ve relocated elsewhere in the Annex and turned this place into a kind of closet.”

“Why are you showing me this, Mr. Johnson?”

“These are your new quarters, sir. We’ll bring in a desk and a cot. It’s not the Oval Office, but it’s the best we can do. At least for now.”

“Seriously?” Penn said.

“I’ll be honest with you, Mr. President. While the Annex is prepared for the continuation of government, our planning kind of stopped at the swearing in and providing media broadcasts. We really don’t have special quarters for the executive branch offices. That’s what Mount Weather was all about.”

“You just used the past tense,” Strasky said.

“Yes, I did. We’ve heard unconfirmed rumors that Weather was hit hard. We have not been able to make contact with anyone up there.”

“Jesus,” Penn said. “That’s the entire executive branch leadership.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you’re telling me I don’t have a cabinet.”

“No, sir, I’m not telling you that, though that might be the case. What I’m telling you is that if they are in place and healthy at Mount Weather, we have been unable to establish contact.”

“Semantic games,” Strasky said.

“If you say so, sir.”

Penn said, “Mr. Johnson, you need to start getting me some hard information. Confirmable information.”

“I understand. We’re working toward that with all the resources at our disposal. The problem, sir, is that those resources are limited.”

“I want to hear every rumor as it happens,” Penn said. “Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir, we will do the best that we can.”

“If what I’ve seen is the best you have to offer, it’s inadequate. You need to do better.”

Johnson’s jaw set as he clearly debated whether or not to say what was on his mind.

“Go ahead,” Penn said. “Secrets don’t make a lot of sense right now.”