‘Sure, honey.’
‘Would you fire nuclear weapons?’
Pauline was taken by surprise, but she had no hesitation. ‘Yes, of course. How did this come up?’
‘We were talking about it at school, and Cindy Riley said: “Your mom is the one who will push the button.” But would you?’
‘I would. You can’t be president if you’re not willing to do that. It’s part of the job.’
Pippa turned in her seat to face Pauline. ‘But you’ve seen those pictures of Hiroshima, you must have.’
Pauline had work to do, as she did every evening, but this was an important conversation, and she was not going to rush it. Pippa was troubled. Pauline thought nostalgically of the time when Pippa had asked easy questions, such as where does the moon go when we can’t see it? She said: ‘Yes, I’ve studied those photographs.’
‘It’s, like, flattened – by one bomb!’
‘Yes.’
‘And all those people killed – eighty thousand!’
‘I know.’
‘And the survivors had it even worse – awful burns, then the radiation sickness.’
‘The most important part of my job is to make sure it never happens again.’
‘But you say you would fire nuclear weapons!’
‘Look. Since 1945, the US has been involved in numerous wars, big and small, some involving another nuclear-armed country – but nuclear weapons have never been used again.’
‘Doesn’t that prove we don’t need them?’
‘No, it proves that deterrence works. Other nations are afraid to attack the US with nuclear weapons because they know we will retaliate and they can’t win.’
Pippa was getting upset. Her voice rose in pitch. She said: ‘But if that happens, and you press the button, we’ll all be killed!’
‘Not all of us, not necessarily.’ Pauline knew this was the weak part of her argument.
‘Why don’t you just say you’ll press the button, like with your fingers crossed behind your back?’
‘I don’t believe in faking things. It doesn’t work. People find you out. Anyway, I don’t need to pretend. I mean it.’
Tears came to Pippa’s eyes. ‘But, Mom, nuclear war could be the end of the human race.’
‘I know. So could climate change. So could a comet, or the next virus. These are the things we have to manage in order to survive.’
‘But when would you press the button? I mean, what circumstances? What could possibly drive you to risk the end of the world?’
‘I’ve thought about this a lot, over many years, as you can imagine,’ Pauline began. ‘There are three conditions. First, whatever the problem is, we have tried all possible peaceful means of solving it – all diplomatic channels – but they have failed.’
‘Well, okay, like, obviously.’
‘Be patient, honey, because all of this is important. Second, the problem can’t be solved using our vast arsenal of non-nuclear weapons.’
‘Hard to imagine.’
It was not hard at all, but Pauline did not go down that side road. ‘Third, and finally, Americans are being killed, or are about to be killed, by enemy action. So, you see, nuclear war is the last resort when all else has failed. That’s where I part company with people such as James Moore, who treats nuclear weapons as a first option – after which there’s nothing left in the cupboard.’
‘But if all your conditions are fulfilled, you will risk wiping out the entire human race.’
Pauline did not think it was that bad, but it was bad enough, and she was not going to quibble. ‘Yes, I would. And if I couldn’t answer yes to that question, I couldn’t be president.’
‘Wow,’ Pippa said. ‘That’s awful.’ But she was not so emotional. Knowing the facts helped her face the nightmare.
Pauline stood up. ‘And now I have to go back to the Oval Office and make sure it doesn’t happen.’
‘Good luck, Mommy.’
‘Thanks, honey.’
The temperature was falling outside. She had felt it earlier. She decided to go to the West Wing via the tunnel President Reagan had built. She went down to the basement, opened a closet door, entered the tunnel and walked briskly along the dark-tan carpet. She wondered whether Reagan had imagined he would be safe from nuclear attack down here. More likely he just didn’t like getting cold as he walked to the West Wing.
The monotony of the walls was relieved by framed photographs of American jazz legends, probably chosen by the Obamas. I doubt whether the Reagans liked Wynton Marsalis, she thought. The tunnel followed the route of the colonnade above, turning at right angles halfway. It led to a staircase leading up to a concealed door outside the Oval Office.