Rescind Order Read online

  Since ARC represented a semi-automated defensive system, it had skirted the strict laws against the Department of Defense fielding fully autonomous weapons systems. As long as humans remained in the loop of kill decisions, ARC was authorized by Congress. While some features of ARC were fully autonomous, others required human supervision, decision, and action. For example, although ARC could give the order to launch nuclear weapons automatically, the president retained the ability to issue the rescind order and cancel the launch.

  After the system went fully operational, ARC was scheduled to be exposed on a monthly basis to a new data infusion on the latest technological and geopolitical developments. After the data update was fed into the system, the National Military Command Center would test ARC with a nuclear conflict simulation to ensure that it was functioning properly—that is, according to the model of nuclear deterrence.

  The previous conflict simulations had been rather tame peacetime scenarios to test out ARC’s basic operations, and the system had passed with high marks. But the next test and evaluation would take ARC into a wartime situation. Congress had designated the first year of operation for the ARC system as a probation period. To keep ARC online, it was imperative that the test be a complete success.

  As the lead data scientist for ARC, it had become Grace’s job to make sure of it. But that wasn’t what her official job description stated. When she started the position nine months ago, her most important responsibility was to serve as the front line for ARC’s quality assurance program. Now it was more like quality reassurance. Pentagon leadership had become allergic to any suggestion that ARC might not function properly. It didn’t matter how small. They didn’t want to hear it.

  For the first four months, the tests had proceeded exactly as expected. And each time, Grace had breathed a huge sigh of relief. ARC had consistently recommended the U.S. military stay the course with a few small tweaks here and there, to maintain strategic stability and ensure effective deterrence. Pentagon’s senior leadership had made much fanfare in the press about the effectiveness of ARC and its important contribution to reducing the risk of nuclear war.

  Both congressional leaders and the news media would be eagerly waiting for a report on the outcome of the fifth test and evaluation later that day. A heavy weight of responsibility rested on her shoulders.

  Grace studied her computer screen for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and entered the command to open the ARC dashboard.

  When it finally finished loading, Grace noticed a threat indicator had turned red. She typed in a few commands and opened up the ISR threat assessment tool, which determined the basis for ARC’s recommendations. Her eyes widened as she scanned quickly through the assessment.

  Oh, this is not good.

  Her pulse quickened. ARC’s deep neural network had responded to the previous night’s data infusion with recommendations that appeared to deviate from the past four months. Grace double-clicked on ARC’s message log to get more information about the results and raised an eyebrow.

  That’s strange.

  To her surprise, the new messages were already marked “read.” Grace right-clicked on the first message to get the metadata and then glanced at her watch.

  “These were opened ten minutes ago,” Grace said out loud, biting her lip. She didn’t recognize the IP address or username. She stood up and peered over the cubicle wall to confirm she was still alone.

  Sitting back down, she muttered, “Maybe NORAD logged on to ARC’s dashboard to see the recommendations.” Out of the corner of her eye, Grace caught her father giving her an inquisitive look. “Sorry, Dad, I can’t tell you about this. It’s classified. And you’re not in the need to know.”

  2

  Tweet War

  SUSAN

  0441

  Executive Residence

  The White House

  Something isn’t right.

  Susan Tolley’s painfully stiff body jerked beneath the fluffy duvet as her eyes flew open and her pulse quickened. A fluttering in her belly erupted as though she were in a free fall. But the room was quiet, still, and dark. At the foot of the bed, Penny’s dog collar clinked a few times, but that wasn’t the sound that had woken Susan.

  What was that?

  She’d sworn there had been a soft tapping sound, but now there was only silence.

  Lifting her head, Susan attempted to see in the darkness, the thick fog of sleep still upon her, but she couldn’t make out much. White shades covered the floor-to-ceiling windows, blocking the bright outdoor lights and preventing the early morning sunlight from seeping into the master bedroom. Only a tiny gap under the door illuminated portions of the room.

  Susan rubbed her eyes and glanced over at her husband, Blake, who was sound asleep. He snored quietly under the light goose down duvet at the far side of the California king bed. Their six-year-old daughter, Lucy, snuggled next to him, her thumb in her mouth and her arm wrapped around her favorite plush teddy bear.

  Susan turned her head and glanced at the alarm clock. She groaned. It was 4:41 a.m.

  Only nineteen more minutes.

  She sighed, reached for the alarm, and turned it off. At least now Blake and Lucy would get to sleep a bit longer. She struggled to sit up in bed, her neck achy from sleeping on it all wrong, and lay back down. For a few moments, all she could do was stare up at the fancy woodwork on the white ceiling, barely visible in the dim light. Susan wanted to relax and close her eyes for just one more minute, but the loud thumping in her chest propelled her forward.

  Her eyes adjusted as she sat up and took in the elaborate chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the ornate fireplace across the room, and the stately furniture. After a moment of confusion, everything from the past few days came flooding back. President Harrison Monroe’s sudden death over the July 4th holiday weekend. Getting sworn into office as the 49th President of the United States. Extensive planning for the state presidential funeral. And of course, the whirlwind move from the vice president’s official residence at the U.S. Naval Observatory into the Executive Residence at the White House.

  Her heart broke with grief for the hundredth time since Harrison’s death. During his short time in office, they had become good friends, trusting each other implicitly despite their significant political differences.

  Is this really happening?

  Susan shook her head in disbelief. All she had to do was look around her unfamiliar surroundings to know the answer, but it didn’t feel real.

  Even though the move was only a few blocks, it was a major adjustment for the entire family. For the past few nights, Susan’s sleep had been fitful and consumed with strange dreams about her recent dealings with China and her vicious rivalry with the secretary of defense. Blake had lain awake each night until the wee hours, tossing and turning. Each morning, he complained about the extra firm mattress. Lucy kept waking up in a frantic state on the other side of the White House, confused and crying for her momma. They’d finally conceded to her sleeping in the big bed until the Executive Residence felt like home. But Susan wasn’t sure that would ever be possible. Becoming president had never been part of the plan.

  A quiet rustle at the door startled her. Susan strained her ears and held her breath. With the exception of a helicopter rotor thumping in the distance and a few cars honking in the streets, she heard nothing but Blake’s loud breathing and another jangle of Penny’s collar.

  Maybe I’m just imagining things.

  As she slid out from under the covers, placed her feet on the cold hardwood floor, and shoved them into a pair of fleece slippers, there was a soft rap at the door. This time the noise was unmistakable.

  Seconds later, a ray of light poured in through a crack in the door, and a dark shadow stepped into the room. Penny ran to greet the visitor.

  “Madam President,” a familiar female voice whispered.

  “Elise, is that you?” Susan asked, frowning deeply at the formality.

  For the past six months as vi
ce president, her chief of staff had called Susan by her first name. After all, they were longtime friends from college, and it seemed silly to use formal titles. But now, she was the President of the United States of America. Elise had explained to Susan that not calling her by a formal title would give people the wrong impression—at least in public. As VP, Susan had been able to slip under the radar on occasion. Not anymore.

  The door opened a bit wider. Elise stepped in with a thick blue binder under her arm and reached down to scratch the French bulldog’s ears. Penny leaned against her leg and closed her eyes, appearing rather content.

  Elise straightened, letting Penny stay put. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to wake you.” Her shoulders drew upward half an inch as she winced slightly.

  “What’s happened?” Susan asked. Elise’s early appearance in the Executive Residence fueled a spike in adrenaline, and her pulse quickened.

  Elise put her finger to her mouth as Susan tiptoed across the room and then ducked out of the master bedroom. Penny’s soft feet padded behind, following them into the private sitting room next door. Susan squinted in the bright light, shielding her eyes with her hand.

  Elise was a bit pale, and her azure blue eyes were wider than normal. With her sleek, chestnut-brown hair framing her thin face, she was well put together for the early hour—perfectly applied makeup, a navy blazer, a matching pencil skirt, and snakeskin heels.

  “There’s some shocking rhetoric coming out of China this morning,” Elise said, only a few lines creasing on her forehead. “The intelligence analysts in the White House Watch Center are tracking the situation with the protesters in Hong Kong, where it is still early evening.”

  Susan nodded solemnly. On July 1st, the day before President Monroe died, millions of Chinese protesters had taken to the streets of Hong Kong. It was supposed to be a peaceful demonstration to mark the 36th anniversary of Great Britain’s formal return of the island nation to China. But Chinese police had used tear gas, and the protesters had begun throwing rocks. She’d expected the situation in Hong Kong to remain tense for a few days but hoped it would eventually simmer down.

  Just as it had when the Chinese People’s Liberation Army first seized military control of Hong Kong several months ago—a move that spurred the Chinese government to announce an abrupt end to its policy of one country, two systems. The transition took place immediately, fourteen years earlier than planned under the Sino-British Joint Declaration. The loss of Hong Kong to China meant one less democracy in a world consisting of increasingly authoritarian regimes.

  We should have done something about it several months ago.

  At the time of the takeover, the U.S. government had been consumed with restoring law and order in the aftermath of the Nightfall Incident. A low-yield nuclear weapon was dropped from the International Space Station, detonated in the atmosphere, and released a massive electromagnetic pulse (EMP). The loss of power for several weeks and the destruction of most electronics on the Eastern Seaboard brought a major part of the country to its knees for several months. Too busy managing domestic issues, President Monroe had failed to respond to China crossing the critical red line previously espoused by his predecessor. They’d left the people of Hong Kong to their tragic fate, and it was way too late for the United States to take the high ground now.

  Elise pulled a thin tablet out of her binder, handed it to Susan, and said, “The protesters are calling on the world’s democracies to intervene militarily and release them from oppressive surveillance by Chinese state security. They’ve specifically requested help from the United States through news media channels. In response, the Chinese government has made some aggressive threats against us on social media, warning against any supportive action on behalf of the protesters.”

  “Against us? Over social media?” Susan stared at the list of tweets on her screen, her eyes still blurry. Her reading glasses were lying on the nightstand, and she wasn’t about to bother Blake and Lucy to get them.

  Although Twitter remained banned for the general public in China, its government had made greater use of the social media platform in recent months to communicate with the world about its expansionist goals. But this would be the first time the Chinese government had chosen to engage in escalation with the U.S. government over such informal channels.

  I just don’t believe it.

  Susan rubbed her forehead. “But why now? We didn’t intervene when they resumed full control over Hong Kong except to condemn the violation of their longstanding agreement with Great Britain. Why are they threatening us? What do they think we’ll do?” She furrowed her brow, contemplating the true intent behind the tweets. “Are you absolutely sure the posts are legitimate?”

  “That’s what our intel analysts are still trying to figure out,” Elise said.

  “I hope you didn’t get me out of bed early for a few tweets?” Susan asked, covering her mouth as she released a huge yawn.

  Elise’s eyes narrowed. “No. There’s more. Do you remember the briefing about how the CIA has been tracking a flotilla of Chinese submarines heading for the Northern Sea Route?”

  “Oh, for the naval exercise the Chinese have planned for tomorrow morning?” Susan asked, yawning again. As a long-time environmental expert, she’d been predicting that the Arctic might become a major transit route for years as a result of climate change—possibly even for nuclear deterrence patrols. “Didn’t China announce that Prowling Tiger would include a nuclear component two weeks ago?”

  “Yes,” Elise said. “To support the war game, the Chinese sent five submarines through the South China Sea bound for the Northern Sea Route last week. They warned us against any interference. Supposedly the submarines are deployed on a defensive mission.”

  Supposedly? They’d better be if they’re hanging out in our coastal waters.

  “Did something unexpected happen to change our impression?” Susan asked.

  Elise put her finger to her lips. “We can’t talk about it here. The director of national intelligence called me an hour ago with a preview of intelligence reporting for this morning. When I heard what it was about, I told him to come to the White House right away. He’s currently waiting for you in the Situation Room, along with analysts from the CIA, NSA, and FBI.”

  “At this hour?” Susan rubbed her eyes again, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. “But it’s not even five a.m.”

  “Ma’am, the director thinks you might want to reach a decision on how to respond to China this morning. Given the perceived urgency, he thought it best to move it up,” Elise said, tapping her finger on her binder. “He also wants to know if we should loop in the SecDef, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the commander of the Pacific Forces.”

  Geez, it must be important.

  Stretching her back and cracking her neck, Susan reached down to pet Penny’s head. “Uh… not yet. I’ll take a look at what they have before we hit the alarm bell. I don’t want everyone to lose their heads over nothing,” she said, nodding briskly and moving toward the door. When Elise didn’t immediately follow her lead, she turned around, raised her eyebrows, and placed her hands on her hips. “Okay, are we going down there or not?”

  “Do you maybe want to get dressed first?” Elise asked, cracking a smile and pointing at her pajamas.

  “Oh.” Susan blinked several times and then realized what she was wearing—blue cotton pajamas covered with gray and white French bulldogs that looked just like Penny. A birthday gift from Lucy. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

  3

  The Diner

  MORGAN

  0505

  Bob and Edith’s Diner

  Crystal City, Virginia

  “She’s going to fire me,” Morgan Shaw murmured, staring up at the large TV as a new headline flashed across the bottom of the screen. Her eyes followed the scrolling text, flicking back and forth. With each word, her pulse increased a notch, causing her heart to thump a little louder.

 
The news ticker announced the imminent passage of the congressional bill which would authorize the Department of Defense to transfer kill decisions from human commanders to fully autonomous weapons systems for the first time in U.S. history.

  It was the late President Harrison Monroe’s prized legislation, the crowning achievement of his first—and now only—six months in office. To honor his sudden death, members of Congress from both sides of the aisle had apparently banded together and spent the entire night in bipartisan negotiations. Now, the bill was expected to pass its final vote in the U.S. Senate and would be sent to President Tolley for her signature by the end of the day. Morgan sighed heavily.

  Just what I need on top of everything else.

  She pulled her attention away from the news and let her eyes settle on her boyfriend, Luis. Deeply engrossed in reading on his tablet, he didn’t appear to have heard her mumbling to herself. Like everyone else, he was distracted by the ongoing investigation into President Monroe’s sudden death over the holiday weekend. The entire horrible account—the rapid onset of his symptoms, his collapse on the golf course, and his immediate cardiac arrest—smeared the front page of The Washington Post online. The headline read: Independence Day Celebrations Dampened by President’s Tragic Death.

  Morgan glanced at her work phone, scrolled through the messages, and breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t see anything urgent. Despite a persistent tightness in her chest, Morgan felt comforted by the familiar yellow, blue, and white booths and tall windows of Bob and Edith’s Diner. Inside, the restaurant looked like any other diner, but the outside of the building was a stainless-steel trapezoid. It was the odd look of the building that had attracted Luis and Morgan to the diner in the first place. And now it was their favorite breakfast spot.