Red Dot: Contact. Will the gravest threat come from closer to home than we expect? (11 page)

The thought flashed into Fitzgerald’s mind that the boy might actually die right there from fear.

Just then, the search was completed and Fitzgerald and the other soldiers rushed out to go to the next house. Fitzgerald returned from his final Iraq tour obsessed with the need to protect his family, and other American families, from such horrors.

Public policy debate ostensibly dealt with raising the defense readiness condition, a simple concept distilled in a dramatic term that had captured the public’s imagination: “DEFCON.” Insiders understood there were more issues involved, including questions about the President’s competence. DEFCON 5 was the normal peacetime state; four called for increased intelligence and security measures; three led to upgraded force readiness, with the Air Force able to mobilize in fifteen minutes; two called for the military to be ready to engage in six hours and put US forces one step from nuclear war; and one signaled imminent nuclear war.

After red dots appeared, Fitzgerald and some hawks in the military, Congress, and media had argued for a jump from DEFCON 4 to DEFCON 2. Some of the most extreme members in that group insisted that some parts of the military, such as the Strategic Air Command, should go to DEFCON 1. Douthart had initially ordered the military into DEFCON 3. Within a day, he put ground forces on US soil into DEFCON 2. As days passed without any casualties caused by the red dots, Douthart moved ground forces back to DEFCON 3.

“If we’re not going to put our military in DEFCON 2 and 1 now, when will we? When the aliens have already overrun us?” snapped Fitzgerald, sweeping his intense gaze around the table. “We’re betraying our fellow Americans, leaving them defenseless.”

“Now hold on a minute,” said Peterman. The National Security Advisor—an overweight man of thirty-eight, with close-cropped, prematurely gray hair—assumed a relaxed posture, leaning back in his chair, but his jaw was clenched tight. “Even with this latest weird turn, the ETs haven’t directly harmed a hair on a single person’s head. They’re trying to communicate with us, and soon we’ll get their explanation of what they want.”

Secretary of State Whiteton cleared his throat and said, “I still maintain that exaggerating the threat will lead to more fear and unrest, and over time, will make our leadership less credible.”

“Exaggerating…!” cried Fitzgerald, leaning forward in his chair.

Peterman, never one to shy away from a confrontation, abruptly cut him off. “We’re already prepared—even before this, this disappearance—to react to this particular threat instantly.” He referred to Douthart’s decision to modify and increase the flexibility of the defense readiness system to reflect a potential attack by a different kind of enemy. Some military thinkers pointed out that instead of facing masses of troops, tanks, and warplanes across defined borders, the potential foe was a craft not much bigger than a jumbo airliner, that possessed technology far more advanced than Earth’s, and unknown intentions. Trying to adapt to the unique situation, the Douthart administration arranged for smaller units, including local emergency responders, to be ready to react immediately to a threat. It also more actively engaged scientific resources, such as NASA and the National Center for Disease Control (in case of a biological attack).

“This is foolish!” said Fitzgerald, his voice rising. “The fact that the ETs haven’t hurt anyone yet means nothing. Are we going to wait until they’ve killed or enslaved the American people before we allow the greatest military the world has ever seen to defend us?”

Everyone at the table realized he had just recited almost word-for-word a talking point used by the President’s opponents.

“Fact is,” said Duggard, staring into Fitzgerald’s eyes, “after we’ve all had our say and the President makes his decisions, we need a head of the Defense Department who will thoroughly implement the President’s policies, not someone who indicates that government isn’t united in its stance, and undermines his leadership.”

“Outrageous!” shouted Fitzgerald. “I would never undermine the President’s authority.”

“That’s not the impression I get from your public statements, or from comments critical of the President from an ‘anonymous, high-placed source,’” retorted Duggard.

Fitzgerald abruptly stood up. “I won’t be talked to like that by someone who won’t stand up for the defense of the American people!”

Pandemonium erupted, with everyone trying to speak at once. The NSC had witnessed heated discussions before, but Fitzgerald’s direct accusation of the Vice President opened a new wound. Fitzgerald’s physical action of standing up, though it wasn’t aggressive, also took the animus in the debate to a new level.

Finally, the President got the Council’s attention. “Sit down, Mr. Secretary,” he said as Fitzgerald slowly sat back down. “We’re going to deal with policies, not personalities.

“First of all, we’ve got to clear the air about how we operate as a team. There’s been a lot of criticism of my administration in the press, citing unnamed ‘government sources.’ If anyone in here can’t keep their comments within these walls, they should leave,” Douthart said, looking around the table. “Secretary Fitzgerald, I have to ask you, because you’re the most critical person in the inner circle: Have you spoken to people outside this room about your concerns about administration policies?”

“No sir, Mr. President, absolutely not,” Fitzgerald said, shaking his head. “I support you 100 percent.”

Duggard and Whiteton exchanged looks across the table, knowing from their contacts in the media that Fitzgerald was lying.

But Douthart continued. “Good. I need to address some other issues that have come up in Congress and the media. One is the idea of so-called
‘active’ or ‘aggressive’ defense, which everyone knows means attacking D9 first, if we get a chance. The other is reducing cooperation with foreign countries and international institutions, to focus on defense at home. We’ve discussed these issues thoroughly, and taken firm positions.

“A first strike is not in accordance with our values, since we have no indication D9 will harm us. And for crying out loud, the aliens have our address. Even if D9 came in peace, if we attack it, D10 or whatever the next craft will be called would destroy life on Earth first and ask questions later. And this is absolutely a global threat. Given the ETs’ vast potential strength, we’ve got to pool our capabilities and present a united front, even if we have to give a few concessions to other countries. Is there anyone here who cannot support these positions?”

Everyone at the table voiced their support. The meeting then turned to critical policies to deal with a potential ET threat, and with the real domestic and foreign policy problems caused by the approach of life from outer space. After a brisk and subdued discussion, Council members agreed to be ready to meet again if D9 pulled another shocker, or if code breakers were able to decipher the meaning of a message from the aliens.

Douthart carried his notes and briefing books back to the Oval Office. Turning to sit at his desk, he saw the Vice President, Secretary of State, and his Chief of Staff, Aaron Tejeda—three of his closest confidants—following him.

“So, what is this, an intervention?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, we’re here to get you to cut back on Diet Coke,” Duggard said.

The joke cleared some of the tension in the room, but then Tejeda blurted out, “We’re worried about you, Mr. President.”

Duggard and Whiteton were taken aback; they had planned to ease into the delicate subject. But they weren’t too surprised, because they knew Tejeda, a brainy Yale grad, wore his heart on his sleeve. Anyone in the White House collecting money for a person in need knew they could count on the skinny, bespectacled presidential aide.

At first, Douthart was annoyed. “Well this isn’t your ordinary problem, but being President isn’t easy,” he said. But after looking up and seeing his
friends looking at him with concern, he slumped forward to lean on the desk. “It’s tough,” he said, settling an unfocused look on an open spot on the desk a few feet in front of him. “But what’s the choice?”

“We understand, Al,” said Duggard, leaning on the desk to be closer to the President. “And you’re doing a terrific job under very hard circumstances.” She glanced at Whiteton and Tejeda, who both nodded vigorously. “And you must know we’re here for you. Your whole staff would do anything for you.”

“But we don’t want you to be blindsided,” said Whiteton. “You know you can’t trust Fitzgerald, right?”

Douthart leaned back in his chair and his cheeks puffed out as he exhaled a breath of air. “I know. And I know there are some things brewing that are too toxic even to discuss at the NSC,” he said, fixing his eyes again on the vacant spot on his desk. “I know there’s talk that I can’t handle the job, and talk of impeachment.”

“Geez, Mr. President, Al, every President has faced that crap,” said Tejeda.

“True. But there’s also starting to be talk of a military coup—maybe not full-blown, but something to force me to give the military more say in decision-making.”

After a pause, Whiteton said, “But I think General Peoples is reliable, even though he disagrees on the DEFCON issue.”

“Fucking DEFCON,” muttered Douthart. “Excuse me. I think you’re right. General Peoples is a stand-up guy. He’ll do his duty as Chairman. But other parts of the military maybe aren’t so reliable, especially if they think there’s someone at high levels of government representing them,” he said, thinking of Fitzgerald.

“Look, Al, you’re doing a good job,” said Duggard. “No one can handle all these problems, no one. Just keep doing the best you can and remember you’ve got a lot of help here.”

“Absolutely,” said Whiteton as Tejeda nodded his head.

Duggard stood looking at Douthart for a couple seconds as if debating what to do, then walked around the desk to give him a quick hug, followed
closely by Tejeda. Whiteton came up to shake the President’s hand. Then they turned to leave.

The three had been out of the Oval Office only a few seconds when Duggard came back in and walked up to the President’s desk. “One more thing, Mr. President.”

“Uh oh.”

Lowering her voice, Duggard said, “You and that hot NASA scientist need to get a room.”

“Oh, come on,” Douthart said with a chuckle. Then he asked sheepishly, “You think she liked me?”

“Do bees like honey?” Duggard said.

The Vice President rejoined Whiteton and Tejeda in the hall. They stood silently for a while, and as they started to break up, Duggard spoke again.

“I’m still worried about him.”

ET P
OETRY

N
ews that D9
had made a sudden, apparently pointless disappearance and reappearance for the second time brought some comic relief. Headlines began to refer to “the gang that couldn’t fly straight.” A late-night show host was talking about the disappearance when a puff of smoke rose on the stage, and as it cleared, there appeared what looked like a big cardboard box with the letters “D9” on it. A man and a woman in crude space alien costumes sat inside.

“Look,” said the host. “There’s D9 now.”

“I told you to ask for directions on Jupiter,” the woman said irritably to the man, who was sitting behind a steering wheel.

“OK, OK. I’ve got this,” said the man. He leaned out his window and said, “Hey buddy, is this Mercury?”

“Why no,” the host said. “This is Earth.”

The man and woman ETs looked at each other with alarm, and quickly rolled up their windows.

As for red dots, many still subscribed to conspiracy theories of varying degrees of absurdity, from claims that shadowy international government or corporate groups had created the dots as part of a plan to subjugate the world, to the idea the ETs sent red dots to weaken faith in the true religion and pave the way for Satan. Others, from day one, believed the dots were messages from God or gods, and that worshipping the red dots was a path to Heaven.

But as days went by and many people drove by or lived near one or more dot, a growing number of people adopted a more realistic attitude based on their experience. And eventually, Claire decided to visit a red dot on her own. She’d been free to drive around on her own for three days, with no driver. Top Denver One officials had been assigned a driver in the tense few days after red dots showed up due to fears they might be targets of mobs, but worries had faded. Anxiety over the approach of ETs was still sharp, but random violence hadn’t gotten much higher than normal. And law enforcement agencies, sometimes along with National Guard troops, had a handle on looting and on rioting outside financial institutions. For now.

Claire wanted to see a red dot for herself—partly out of sheer curiosity, and partly in a vague hope that experiencing it first-hand would give her insight into the nature of the aliens and their intentions. She also wanted a chance to relax, and picked a red dot in a rural area about twenty miles from Denver One, to increase the chances of viewing it in peace and quiet. The only time she could take away from her hectic work schedule was sometime on a weekend morning. The first chance she got was on a Sunday, September 25, thirteen days after the red dots appeared and twenty-one days before D9 was expected to start orbiting the Earth.

Light fog still filled low-lying areas when she headed out of Ft. Meade at about 7:30 for her first visit. Traffic was light, but church parking lots were full as she drove out of the Laurel suburbs. A couple minutes on a two-lane county road brought her to a wooded area, where heavy use by vehicles had trampled a small parking lot in the grass. A canvas tent with a sheriff’s car beside it represented security at the site. Claire pulled in, parked near two other cars, and got out of her car. A recently worn foot path led some seventy feet through a few trees, to a clearing which revealed part of a red patch on the ground.

As Claire walked down the path, she noticed an elderly man sitting on a mound about twenty feet to the left of the red surface, and a young couple some fifty feet behind it. Bright sunshine had burned off all the fog, and rich, green grass covered most of the clearing, painting a colorful picture, with the leaves above starting to turn from green to yellow, orange, and red. By
contrast, metal poles protruded from a small fenced-in area to hold equipment monitoring radiation and biological activity and a video camera, all feeding directly to a Homeland Security office.