“I agree with Sam,” the president says. “I’ve spoken at length with Australia’s PM. The Liberal and Labor Parties are showing a united front, declaring the incident to be an act of war. I doubt very much they would have condoned such a test.”

General Fecondo rubs both palms across his tan, receding hairline. “Mr.President, the fact that these pure-fusion weapons exist changes nothing. Testing a weapon and using it in battle are two different things. No nation is going to challenge the United States to a nuclear showdown.”

Costolo looks at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “Tell me, General, if we had a cruise missile that could wipe out every SAM site along the Iranian coast, would you use it?”

Dick Przystas raises his eyebrows.

“A tempting thought, isn’t it? I wonder if the Iranians will be any less tempted to wipe out the Ronald Reagan and her fleet?”

“I’ll tell you what I think,” the lanky Chief of Naval Operations says. “I interpret this action as a sort of warning shot across our bow. The Russians are letting us know they possess pure-fusion weapons, hoping their little demonstration will persuade us to cancel the Missile Defense Shield.”

“Which is something we cannot do,” Przystas states. “The number of rogue states with access to nuclear and biological weapons has doubled in the last five years—”

“While we continue to spend more money on nuclear-weapons technology,” Chaney interrupts, “sending a clear message to the rest of the world that the United States is more interested in maintaining a first-strike nuclear posture than continuing arms reductions. The world’s heading straight down the path of nuclear confrontation. They know it, and we know it, but we’re all too damn busy pointing fingers at one another to change course. We’re all acting like a bunch of shitheads, and before we know what’s happened, we’re all gonna be stepping right in it.”

Borgia is waiting for Ennis Chaney in the corridor when the meeting adjourns. “I need a minute.”

“Speak.”

“I spoke with the captain of the Boone.”

“So?”

“Tell me, Chaney, why would the vice president of the United States aid and abet an escaped felon?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“This sort of thing could ruin a politician’s career.”

The raccoon eyes bore into Borgia. “You want to accuse me of something—do it. In fact, how about you and I put everything in the wash and we’ll see who comes out clean.”

Borgia flashes a nervous grin. “Take it easy, Ennis. No one’s calling for a grand jury. All I want is Gabriel back where he belongs, under the care of a psychiatric ward.”

Chaney pushes past the secretary of state, choking back a laugh. “Tell you what, Pierre, I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

DECEMBER 7, 2012
GULF OF MEXICO.

4:27 A.M.