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‘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.

But Pauline bypassed the Oval Office and entered the comfortable small Study, a workplace with no atmosphere of ceremony. She read the full report of the raid on Hufra in the Sahara Desert, noting the reappearance of two effective women, Susan Marcus and Tamara Levit. She mulled over the North Korean weaponry found at the camp, and the mystery man who called himself Park Jung-hoon.

Her mind returned to the conversation with Pippa. Thinking back over what she had said, she did not want to change any of it. Having to justify yourself to a child was a good exercise, she reflected; it cleared the mind.

But the overwhelming feeling she was left with was loneliness.

She would probably never have to make the decision Pippa had asked about – heaven forbid – but every day confronted her with heavy questions. Her choices brought people wealth or poverty, fairness or injustice, life or death. She did her best, but she was never 100 per cent sure she was right.

And no one could share her burden.

***

The phone woke Pauline that night. Her bedside clock said it was 1 a.m. She was sleeping alone in the Lincoln Bedroom, again. She picked up and heard Gus’s voice. ‘We think North Korea is about to attack South Korea.’

‘Shit,’ Pauline said.

‘Soon after midnight our time, signals intelligence noticed intense communications activity around the Korean People’s Army, Air and Anti-Air Force headquarters at Chunghwa, North Korea. Senior military and political staff were notified and are now waiting for you in the Situation Room.’

‘On my way.’

She had been in a deep sleep, but she had to clear her head fast. She pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and pushed her feet into loafers. Her hair was a mess and she paused to tuck it into a baseball cap, then she hurried to the basement of the West Wing. By the time she got there she felt fully alert.

When the Situation Room was in use it was usually full, with every chair around the long table taken, and aides in the seats ranged along the walls, under the screens; but now just a handful of people were present: Gus, Chess, Luis, Chief of Staff Jacqueline Brody, and Sophia Magliani, the Director of National Intelligence, with a handful of aides. There had not been time for others to assemble.