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above us. Our power grid is operating at only a quarter of its capacity. Most of our resources have been diverted to reestablishing the power grid.”
    “I thought we had teams of electricians out repairing the damage and getting the power grids back on line?” asked Hamilton, his brow furrowed in frustration. “Why would the intelligence department be tied up with that?”
    “You said that you wanted all resources diverted to getting the power back online,” said Benson, wishing that one of his colleagues would speak up and remove the President’s attention from him. “The harm inflicted by The Vanishing was minute in comparison to the damage caused by the electro-magnetic pulses. The various intelligence agencies have been assisting in determining where the damage is most pressing and where our electricians need armed assistance.”
    “There have been several terrorist attacks on power plants around the country,” added Moore.
    “How many terrorist cells are we dealing with?” asked Hamilton.
    “We’re not exactly sure Mr. President,” admitted Moore, “but we do know that the Metcalf transmission substation in San Jose California was attacked and destroyed by a small group of highly trained insurgents. We have reason to believe that this was only one of several coordinated attacks on our power grid.”
    “How long until the grid is up and running?” Hamilton asked.
    “There’s no way of knowing for sure Mr. President,” replied Benson. “If that was all that we had to contend with then I’d say anywhere from one month to two years.”
    “That’s absurd!” exclaimed President Hamilton. “This damned war could be over by then!”
    “I understand that Mr. President,” said Benson. “The reality is that we simply don’t have the manpower to replace all the blown transformers across the nation, especially when our repair teams are being shot at by terrorists and our soldiers are needed to fight a war.”
    “Not to mention the transformers are primarily produced in Korea and weigh hundreds of tons, requiring special rail cars to transport,” said Moore.
    “What are our options?” asked Hamilton. “Is our ability to launch a counter-strike threatened by these attacks?”
    “Our analysts tell me no Mr. President,” answered Moore, “but I still recommend we act quickly. If we don’t launch a counter-strike immediately, I can’t guarantee that we’ll have the ability later.”
    “Divert a good portion of our intelligence departments to finding the correct targets. Now!” urged the President.
    “Yes sir! We have another problem Mr. President. We lost a lot of highly trained personnel during The Vanishing,” explained Moore, trying to keep his balance as the plane flew through a patch of strong turbulence.
    “Along with over half our troops,” added Benson. “This is the worst possible time for our enemies to attack.”
    The President’s eyes glazed over at the mention of The Vanishing. His heart sank in his chest remembering the day that he’d received the news about his dear wife Emily. Just a few short weeks ago, she along with millions of others, had suddenly disappeared in the blink of an eye. When one of the Secret Service agents assigned to Emily’s detail informed Hamilton of her disappearance, he became enraged. He immediately responded by firing the entire detail.
    His daughter, Evelyn, had accepted the loss of her mother much more gracefully. Hamilton was proud of how well Evelyn handled losing her mother. He couldn’t tell if she was in shock but she was handling the loss with all the poise and maturity one would expect of the President’s daughter.
    It had only been a few weeks since Emily’s disappearance, but Hamilton had barely spoken to his daughter. Every time he got her on the phone, she gave him an excuse and had to get off. The last he’d spoken to her she was on her way to go skiing in Vail, Colorado. At least he knew where to start looking.
    “Any word on