Chapter 1Election Day, November 8
AT SIX IN THE morning, Tom Andrews called the president. When he arrived at the White House, his blue jeans and shirt were wrinkled, his hair combed with his fingers. When Ms. Crispin escorted him into the Oval Office, the president and General Beech were standing over a map.
“Mr. President, I apologize for the way I look, but you need to hear this.” He held out a recorder.
“Play it.” Two men spoke about demonstrations that had been organized by environmental groups across the country to protest fossil fuel use to supply electricity to the nation. Nothing unusual for these groups, so the president said to stop.
“Tom, they do this every day. They're annoying, but nothing more. So what's got your knickers in a twist?”
Tom opened his computer. “I'll fini
