Chapter Twenty-Eight
President Abby Russell walked into the Situation Room in the basement of the West Wing of the White House. As she entered, everyone in the room stood. She took her seat at the head of the table, with the Presidential Seal on the wall behind her.
“Please be seated,” she said.
A White House steward placed a cup of coffee in front of her. It was four in the morning, and she’d just vacated this seat five hours earlier. Since the crisis had started, she’d spent much of her time in this room. For the last three days, it had been the same haggard-looking people in here with her. The White House was on lockdown. No one was coming or going, as they hoped to keep the epidemic out of the building.
Around the table sat the Assistant Director of Homeland Security, the National
