I read The President Is Missing by James Patterson and Bill Clinton a few weeks after it was released, and honestly, it left my mind spinning. It’s one of those political thrillers that you race through because it feels like it’s building toward something huge. The story is gripping, sure—it has a U.S. president, high-stakes espionage, betrayal, shadowy operatives—but what really stayed with me wasn’t just the action. It was the idea behind it. The real possibility it suggests. What if something like that actually happened?
The book is centered around a massive cyberattack planned against the United States. A virus called “Dark Ages” is about to be unleashed. It’s not just a hacker playing games. It’s something worse. Something that can erase entire systems, crash communication networks, and wipe clean all digital connections. Imagine a virus designed to bring down not just a computer or a few bank records, but an entire nation. And not just for hours. For good.
Now, I know that stories like this can feel far-fetched. After all, we’re talking about fiction. But it’s fiction inspired by real events, real threats, and real vulnerabilities. Bill Clinton knows the inside of this world better than most. That’s part of what makes the book so unnerving. He’s not just guessing at what could go wrong. He’s seen how fragile everything actually is. The whole story is basically a warning hidden inside a novel. And honestly? It worked. I’m thinking about it. Maybe too much.
Especially with what just happened in the Iberian Peninsula. That blackout. It was strange, sudden. It made me pause. Sure, the official explanations are always there—technical failures, heat, overload, maybe a blown transformer. But deep down, don’t we all wonder if something else was behind it? Something silent. Something smarter than us. Something made by people who want to watch the world fall into confusion.
For me, the Iberian blackout triggered this spiral of thoughts. It made The President Is Missing feel a little too close to home. And it made me realize that a cyberattack like the one in the book isn’t impossible. In fact, it might be closer than we think.
Where I live, we sometimes get brownouts. Not for long, and usually not more than an hour or so. Just a flicker, an inconvenience. I know people in the Philippines are used to it. Some areas there have brownouts all the time. It’s part of life. They have candles ready, portable chargers, even small generators if they can afford it. They’re prepared in ways most of the developed countries aren’t.
But now imagine it happens in Germany. Or Canada. Or the U.S. Not for an hour. Not even for a day. Imagine a blackout that stretches on. That touches everything. Not just the lights, but water pumps, hospitals, trains, airports, gas stations, the internet. Everything we think of as normal.
If you’re reading this on your phone or laptop, just stop for a second and think: What would happen if all of this went dead? No signal. No updates. No way to call or post or even check the time. It’s hard to imagine because we don’t think of electricity as something temporary. But what if it became a luxury overnight?
In the book, the scenario feels fast-moving and dramatic, but in reality, a blackout caused by a cyberattack might start slowly. Small systems would fail first. Maybe banks. Maybe power grids in rural areas. A few ATMs that stop working. A train delay here. A traffic light out of order there. Nothing alarming yet. Just small glitches.
But then it spreads. Quickly.
Hospitals can’t access records. Water purification systems shut down. Flights are grounded. Phones won’t connect. Refrigerators stop cooling. Food spoils. Security systems go dark. Not just in homes but in prisons, borders, military bases.
Now people start to panic.
Supermarkets fill up fast. Gas stations run dry. Without logistics systems, trucks don’t know where to go. Deliveries stop. Medications don’t arrive. Elderly people and infants are the first to suffer. People in ICUs who need machines. People who rely on oxygen tanks or dialysis. What happens to them when there’s no more power?
And then the internet. The thing we all rely on, almost more than electricity itself. Without it, we don’t just lose social media or Netflix. We lose work. We lose money. Digital banking collapses. Emails don’t go through. Orders can’t be placed. Stocks crash. The economy—our modern economy—stalls. Like an engine that’s run out of oil.
And all of it, just from a few lines of malicious code.
It’s the kind of thing most of us only think about after it’s too late. That’s what scared me about the book. It was a fictional world that felt too close to reality. Especially now, when real blackouts are happening—not just in places that are used to them, but in parts of the world that aren’t.
There’s this false sense of security in Europe and North America. A belief that our systems are better, stronger, more protected. But are they? The truth is, the more advanced and connected we become, the more vulnerable we are. Cyberattacks don’t need tanks or missiles. They need one clever person with a keyboard. One person who knows how to find the cracks in our walls.
I sometimes wonder, have most people even thought about this? Have they stopped to imagine what it would mean if everything shut off? Not just a storm knocking down power lines, but a deliberate strike. A plan. Like in the book.
I bet most people haven’t. They’re busy. We all are. Life goes on, and until it doesn’t, we assume it will. But that’s the thing about systems. They seem strong until the moment they break. And when they do, they don’t break in slow motion. They shatter all at once.
Would some countries be safe? Maybe. Some have better infrastructure. More backups. But the problem with a connected world is that everyone feels the ripple. A cyberattack on one region affects another. If the U.S. stock market crashes, the world feels it. If the UK loses internet, it doesn’t take long before their banks freeze, and so do the ones they deal with. You can’t separate yourself completely.
Maybe some places will stay standing—those that rely less on digital systems. But ironically, the “less developed” areas might survive better. Because they already know how to live without constant electricity. They already have backup plans. Generators. Community networks. Cash-based transactions.
In that sense, the people we think of as behind might actually be ahead.
I don’t mean to sound paranoid. But it’s hard not to think this way after reading the book and watching the news. It feels like we’re on the edge of something we don’t quite understand. We’ve built this beautiful, complex web of systems, but we haven’t protected it well. Or maybe we can’t. Maybe we’re just pretending to be in control.
There’s one part in the book that really stuck with me. When the president realizes that even the people closest to him might be involved in the plot. That feeling of betrayal. Of not knowing who to trust. I think that’s how the world would feel in a real cyberattack. Confused. Alone. Disoriented.
Because who do you call when your phone doesn’t work? Who do you blame when you can’t even prove what happened? Cyberwar isn’t like regular war. There’s no smoking gun. Just silence. Darkness. And chaos.
I think we need to talk about this more. Not just in thrillers or fiction, but in our real lives. We need to ask hard questions. Are our systems protected? What do we do if they go down? What does our government know that we don’t? And why aren’t we being told?
We prepare for earthquakes, floods, storms. We have drills, warnings, plans. But we don’t prepare for digital collapse. We don’t think that far ahead. Maybe it’s time we do.
If anything, The President Is Missing is a wake-up call. A reminder that even the most powerful nation in the world can be brought to its knees not by bombs, but by bytes.
And that’s what keeps me thinking.
So the next time there’s a blackout, ask yourself: Was it just a storm? Or was it a test?
And more importantly: What if the next one never ends?
