"And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them the fourth part of the earth, to kill with swoard, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the Earth.
--Revelation 6:8
"Well love is love and not fade away.
--Rolling Stones
May 20th, 2003
4:22 AM
Washington, D.C.
Jed Bartlet hated being woken up in the middle of the night. Then, he saw Leo's face. Dressing, he ran down the litany of possible problems with his Chief of Staff, but all his old friend could tell him was "We're wanted in the Situation Room."
Walking over there from the Residence, Bartlet organized his thoughts, preparing to face the Joint Chiefs and the National Security Advisor, preparing to become President again. Still, the look on Leo's face kept returning him. He glanced at the man keeping in stride with him through his peripheral vision. The emotions playing across Leo's face ranged from frustration to determinedness to a grave look that gave nothing away, but what kept returning was fear. And not the familiar fear Bartlet saw as they navigated through situations like India and Pakistan, the aftermath of Rosslyn, the assassination of a defense minister, the kidnapping of a daughter, and the resignation and eventual return of a President. This was a mortal fear, the look one got when faced with a complete and total realization that everything you knew was wrong.
Bartlet realized this, and it continued to confuse them until he walked into the and saw Sam standing there. Sam was in Washington for the week, advising the staff on how to fix the California economy without stepping on the toes of the state's leadership, but as far as Bartlet knew, Sam had been in the situation room only once before. And never when the Joint Chiefs were there. Never during a security briefing, Special Advisor to the President or no. And Sam, in his tired blue eyes that always gave everything away, despite assertions that Josh had a far worse poker face, shared Leo's look of fear.
That was when it began to sink in for Bartlet that he was about to get some very bad news indeed.
He settled into his chair and glanced around the room. Everyone was there; Nancy, Fitz, the Joint Chiefs. None of them showed fear, but Bartlet knew they had to hide it. It was their job. As he waited for someone to speak, he realized that the terror was there all the same. Unspoken, but there all the same.
The National Security Advisor rose and began to speak, her voice calm and clear. "Mr. President, you're going to have to bear with us, because we're still trying to figure much of this situation out for ourselves.
Bartlet almost smiled. "That's not a problem, Nancy, I certainly spend enough of the taxpayer's money on defense for you to do that as much as you'd like.
McNally didn't miss a beat. "Mr. President, I've also asked Mr. Seaborn here tonight because I believe his history can help us with this particular set of problems.
California. It hit him, then, and he felt himself go numb. All those people, and in the middle of a tropical storm. He'd seen a report on the storm on CNN shortly before going to bed, and thought it all. He felt himself speak. "When did it hit, what did it rank on the Richter Scale, and what are the number of estimated casualties?"
Sam spoke, then. "It's not an earthquake, Mr. President.
"Oh."
"It's worse." The former deputy communications director's voice cracked.
Bartlet's eyes returned to McNally. "Go on.
"Mr. President, we believe the city of Los Angeles is under siege. At approximately 2312 Pacific Standard Time last evening, a tropical storm settled over the city and began pummeling it with torrential rains. At 2345 PST, an unnamed assailant assassinated Senator Bruckner of California, as well as several of those working in her campaign office. We received word at 2350, and, two minutes later, the power went off in the city, as well as several surrounding counties.
"Were they connected?" Bartlet wondered why no one had woken him when word of the Senator's death came through.
McNally paused. "I'm sorry?
"The death of the Senator, the loss of power, and perhaps even the tropical storm. Were they connected in some way, and that's why I'm being called to the situation room at four in the morning?
McNally's fear became evident for a moment. "Yes, sir," she responded, "And if you'll permit me to finish my briefing, you'll see that we believe not only this but a number of other events plaguing that region are and continue to be connected.
Bartlet nodded. She continued. "At precisely 0001 PST, a large office complex in downtown Los Angeles collapsed from within. We believe it to be the Wolfram & Hart building, whom Senator Bruckner had visited just three days prior. So you see, Mr. President, things are more connected than you think.
"You believe? Why don't you know?" Bartlet almost snapped. Candy-ass amateur hour once more, he thought.
"Well, Mr. President, we would know, except that at 0005, all phones line in the city went down. We're relying on strictly military intelligence at this point, and, as you'll see, it's pretty hard to get into the city at this point.
Dear God, Bartlet thought, and that was when the fear in the room struck him. He wanted to know what was going on, but it pained him to ask. But he didn't have to. Nancy distributed several photographs in blue NSA folders around the table.
"These are keyhole satellite photographs taken half an hour after we lost contact with Los Angeles. As you can see, the tropical storm refusing to move blocks our vision quite a bit, however, if you'll direct your attention to the third photo in the folder, you'll see what we believe to be the source of the problem.
Bartlet turned, allowing Sam to step forward and see the picture with him. The younger man gasped as he realized what the photo showed.
"That photo was taken by a National Guard unit just outside the city. As you can see, it appears that the city is occupied by a number of armed hostiles possessing an unknown source of power. Part of the same Guard attempted to engage the hostiles, and, although reports are sketchy, we've got some information that conventional weapons have proved ineffective against them. Also, we're getting reports that these hostiles range anywhere from 5 to 25 feet in height, and are described as having, and I quote, a Ôdemonic appearance.
Bartlet turned to Leo and understood why his oldest friend was afraid. "Wake them up," he said.
"Yes, sir."
"Everyone, Leo. Wake Ôem up.
"Yes, sir." Leo nodded to Sam, and the younger man ran out of the room to light up the pagers and cellphones of Washington's elite.
"Sam?" Bartlet called.
Sam returned within moments. "Yes, Mr. President?
"Call your family first. Make sure they're safe.
"With all due respect, Mr. President, I doubt anyone in California is safe right now." Sam disappeared.
Bartlet paused, then returned to the photo. He pointed to a shape hovering midair. The object was blurry, but Bartlet knew this was no machine.
"Nancy, this shape in the upper right. Is that what I think it is?
"Well, Mr. President, we believe that to be another type of armed hostile either occupying or guarding the city.
"Nancy," Bartlet said again, calm. "Is that what I think it is?
Finally the fear played fully across McNally's face. "Yes, Mr. President," she said. "It's a dragon."
--Revelation 6:8
"Well love is love and not fade away.
--Rolling Stones
May 20th, 2003
4:22 AM
Washington, D.C.
Jed Bartlet hated being woken up in the middle of the night. Then, he saw Leo's face. Dressing, he ran down the litany of possible problems with his Chief of Staff, but all his old friend could tell him was "We're wanted in the Situation Room."
Walking over there from the Residence, Bartlet organized his thoughts, preparing to face the Joint Chiefs and the National Security Advisor, preparing to become President again. Still, the look on Leo's face kept returning him. He glanced at the man keeping in stride with him through his peripheral vision. The emotions playing across Leo's face ranged from frustration to determinedness to a grave look that gave nothing away, but what kept returning was fear. And not the familiar fear Bartlet saw as they navigated through situations like India and Pakistan, the aftermath of Rosslyn, the assassination of a defense minister, the kidnapping of a daughter, and the resignation and eventual return of a President. This was a mortal fear, the look one got when faced with a complete and total realization that everything you knew was wrong.
Bartlet realized this, and it continued to confuse them until he walked into the and saw Sam standing there. Sam was in Washington for the week, advising the staff on how to fix the California economy without stepping on the toes of the state's leadership, but as far as Bartlet knew, Sam had been in the situation room only once before. And never when the Joint Chiefs were there. Never during a security briefing, Special Advisor to the President or no. And Sam, in his tired blue eyes that always gave everything away, despite assertions that Josh had a far worse poker face, shared Leo's look of fear.
That was when it began to sink in for Bartlet that he was about to get some very bad news indeed.
He settled into his chair and glanced around the room. Everyone was there; Nancy, Fitz, the Joint Chiefs. None of them showed fear, but Bartlet knew they had to hide it. It was their job. As he waited for someone to speak, he realized that the terror was there all the same. Unspoken, but there all the same.
The National Security Advisor rose and began to speak, her voice calm and clear. "Mr. President, you're going to have to bear with us, because we're still trying to figure much of this situation out for ourselves.
Bartlet almost smiled. "That's not a problem, Nancy, I certainly spend enough of the taxpayer's money on defense for you to do that as much as you'd like.
McNally didn't miss a beat. "Mr. President, I've also asked Mr. Seaborn here tonight because I believe his history can help us with this particular set of problems.
California. It hit him, then, and he felt himself go numb. All those people, and in the middle of a tropical storm. He'd seen a report on the storm on CNN shortly before going to bed, and thought it all. He felt himself speak. "When did it hit, what did it rank on the Richter Scale, and what are the number of estimated casualties?"
Sam spoke, then. "It's not an earthquake, Mr. President.
"Oh."
"It's worse." The former deputy communications director's voice cracked.
Bartlet's eyes returned to McNally. "Go on.
"Mr. President, we believe the city of Los Angeles is under siege. At approximately 2312 Pacific Standard Time last evening, a tropical storm settled over the city and began pummeling it with torrential rains. At 2345 PST, an unnamed assailant assassinated Senator Bruckner of California, as well as several of those working in her campaign office. We received word at 2350, and, two minutes later, the power went off in the city, as well as several surrounding counties.
"Were they connected?" Bartlet wondered why no one had woken him when word of the Senator's death came through.
McNally paused. "I'm sorry?
"The death of the Senator, the loss of power, and perhaps even the tropical storm. Were they connected in some way, and that's why I'm being called to the situation room at four in the morning?
McNally's fear became evident for a moment. "Yes, sir," she responded, "And if you'll permit me to finish my briefing, you'll see that we believe not only this but a number of other events plaguing that region are and continue to be connected.
Bartlet nodded. She continued. "At precisely 0001 PST, a large office complex in downtown Los Angeles collapsed from within. We believe it to be the Wolfram & Hart building, whom Senator Bruckner had visited just three days prior. So you see, Mr. President, things are more connected than you think.
"You believe? Why don't you know?" Bartlet almost snapped. Candy-ass amateur hour once more, he thought.
"Well, Mr. President, we would know, except that at 0005, all phones line in the city went down. We're relying on strictly military intelligence at this point, and, as you'll see, it's pretty hard to get into the city at this point.
Dear God, Bartlet thought, and that was when the fear in the room struck him. He wanted to know what was going on, but it pained him to ask. But he didn't have to. Nancy distributed several photographs in blue NSA folders around the table.
"These are keyhole satellite photographs taken half an hour after we lost contact with Los Angeles. As you can see, the tropical storm refusing to move blocks our vision quite a bit, however, if you'll direct your attention to the third photo in the folder, you'll see what we believe to be the source of the problem.
Bartlet turned, allowing Sam to step forward and see the picture with him. The younger man gasped as he realized what the photo showed.
"That photo was taken by a National Guard unit just outside the city. As you can see, it appears that the city is occupied by a number of armed hostiles possessing an unknown source of power. Part of the same Guard attempted to engage the hostiles, and, although reports are sketchy, we've got some information that conventional weapons have proved ineffective against them. Also, we're getting reports that these hostiles range anywhere from 5 to 25 feet in height, and are described as having, and I quote, a Ôdemonic appearance.
Bartlet turned to Leo and understood why his oldest friend was afraid. "Wake them up," he said.
"Yes, sir."
"Everyone, Leo. Wake Ôem up.
"Yes, sir." Leo nodded to Sam, and the younger man ran out of the room to light up the pagers and cellphones of Washington's elite.
"Sam?" Bartlet called.
Sam returned within moments. "Yes, Mr. President?
"Call your family first. Make sure they're safe.
"With all due respect, Mr. President, I doubt anyone in California is safe right now." Sam disappeared.
Bartlet paused, then returned to the photo. He pointed to a shape hovering midair. The object was blurry, but Bartlet knew this was no machine.
"Nancy, this shape in the upper right. Is that what I think it is?
"Well, Mr. President, we believe that to be another type of armed hostile either occupying or guarding the city.
"Nancy," Bartlet said again, calm. "Is that what I think it is?
Finally the fear played fully across McNally's face. "Yes, Mr. President," she said. "It's a dragon."