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Had Novosibirsk been the opening act? Was Murray watching World War III unfold?

“Xining, on the left,” said some nameless a.s.sistant, there to stand in for one of the Joint Chiefs. “The right side is Lanzhou.”

Murray didn’t know those places. They looked big.

“How many?” he said. “How many people?”

“Uh, checking,” the a.s.sistant said. “Xining has, or had, before all of this … two-point-two million.”

The size of Houston, a little bigger.

“The other one,” Murray said. “Lanzhou? How many?”

“Lanzhou has … Jesus.” The a.s.sistant looked up, face ashen, drenched with despair. “It had three-point-six million.”

Another Los Angeles, or maybe Chicago if you include enough suburbs.

Albertson’s shaking hand raised the shaking mug to his lips. He took a sip. Only a little coffee spilled onto the table.

“Was it the Russians?” he said. “Why didn’t we see these missiles when they launched?”

Admiral Porter rested his elbows on the table, hands pressed against the sides of his head. Even he, the stoic one, was worn down by the nonstop horror show.

“There wasn’t a launch of any kind,” he said. “That means the bombs had to be driven in. It wasn’t the Russians this time — the Chinese nuked themselves.”

Murray knew what those words meant. If the Chinese were desperate enough to bomb themselves, they wouldn’t think twice about launching missiles against another nation.

The screen suddenly switched to an image of Blackmon. She had been sleeping aboard Air Force One. She wore red pajamas. Her hair was a tangled mess. Eyes narrowed by fatigue-fueled rage, she stared out, locking eyes with several people in that spooky, I-see-you-and-you-see-me connection enabled by the screen’s telepresence.

“Tell me,” she said.

Albertson stood. “Madam President, we—”

“Not you,” she said sharply. The face on the screen turned, locked eyes with Murray. “You, Longworth. I want to hear it from you.”

Murray felt all the eyes of the Situation Room upon him. Blackmon should have heard from her next in line, Albertson, or at least from Admiral Porter.

“Uh, sure,” Murray said. “I mean, yes, Madam President.”

“I want straight, simple language,” Blackmon said. “Out of everyone there, you do that best. And if you need to curse to get the point across, I don’t really care anymore.”