To bring this outrage to the attention of the American people, Mr. Ohio, wearing a T-shirt, the back of which was emblazoned with the legend GET THE CIA OUT OF VENEZUELA AND GIVE HUGO HIS TUPOLEV BACK!! had covered his hands with Magic Glue and attached himself to the plate-glass doors leading to the foyer of CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia.
It had taken some time to get Mr. Ohio out of sight of the members of the media — including Mr. C. Harry Whelan of Wolf News — he had brought with him, and into the hands of the Virginia State Police, as it proved to be extremely difficult to separate Magic Glue — covered hands from plate glass. Mr. Ohio, who was really not nearly as stupid as some of his right-wing critics alleged, had learned this technique after he had handcuffed himself to the fence around the White House on two previous occasions of protest. Then it had taken only seconds to detach him with bolt cutters.
His demonstration this time had caused DCI Lammelle to delay his departure for Pennsylvania by nearly two hours. Lammelle did not feel comfortable in leaving until Mr. Ohio was firmly — and safely — in the hands of the state police, as he feared the CIA security officers might not enthusiastically obey his admonition not to hurt the sonofabitch. If that should happen, Mr. Lammelle knew, Mr. Whelan would bring it to the world’s attention on Wolf News, as would the other media members via their respective outlets. The world would love to see and hear the real CIA clubbing a fictional CIA hero into unconsciousness while he was glued to their front door, and the media knew it.
And then Director of National Intelligence Truman Ellsworth had telephoned at nine p.m. to say he was lost somewhere in the vicinity of Intercourse, Pennsylvania, and God only knew when he would be at Green Acres. Secretary Cohen had then decided they would hold off starting the meeting until after breakfast the next morning, when everybody would be there and fresh to deal with the problem.
Gathered around the picnic table set up for breakfast on the veranda of the farmhouse were Attorney General Palmer, Defense Secretary Beiderman, DNI Ellsworth, DCI Lammelle, FBI Director Schmidt, and Generals Naylor and McNab.
Secretary Cohen began the conversation by saying, “General McNab, you have the floor.”
“The President arrived at Fort Bragg unannounced,” General McNab began simply, “and in a C-37A, not in his 737.”
“What’s a C-37A?” FBI Director Schmidt asked.
“A Gulfstream,” DCI Lammelle answered for him, adding, “Mark, for Christ’s sake, if you keep interrupting, we’ll be here all day.”
Schmidt was unrepentant.
“I want to get the facts straight. This is important business we’re undertaking.”
“Please continue, General McNab,” Secretary Cohen said.
“Yes, ma’am,” McNab went on. “With him, the President had…”
Five minutes later, McNab concluded with: “As he left the President implied that I might be promoted if the seizure of the airfield by Clendennen’s Commandos went smoothly, and that my promotion might be further speeded if I showed more enthusiasm for getting Clendennen’s Commandos to wear Clan Clendennen kilts. After the President left, I called Secretary Cohen and reported his visit.”
“He’s bonkers, absolutely bonkers,” Lammelle said.
“You’re speaking of the President of the United States, Mr. Lammelle,” Secretary Beiderman said.
“Unfortunately,” Lammelle said.
“Who, to judge by his sending the Secret Service to the Greenbrier to see if Natalie was really there to play golf, believes there is a plot to remove him from office,” the attorney general said.
“Isn’t there?” Beiderman challenged.
“Let’s talk about seizing the airfield,” Truman Ellsworth said, ignoring the question. “First of all, where is it?”
“It’s in, or on, a dry lake in the middle of Mexico,” Lammelle answered.
“And how difficult would it be to seize, General McNab?”
“I would not accept an order to seize it,” McNab replied.
“But if you were?” Ellsworth pursued.
“Ordered to seize it, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“I would refuse the order.”
“And he would be in his rights to do so,” the attorney general said. “It is not unlawful to refuse to obey an unlawful order.”
“Splitting legal hairs, as we were both taught to do at our beloved Yale School of Law, Freddie,” Ellsworth went on, “that is not precisely the case. Under the War Powers Act — and please correct me if I err — the President can order military action for a period not to exceed thirty days anywhere in the world he feels the need.”
“Point well taken, Ellsworth. I clearly remember Professor Hathaway’s brilliant—”
“Good ol’ Oona,” Ellsworth interjected. “A giant in the law!”
“… lectures on the subject,” the attorney general went on. “I believe that would be ‘giantess of the law,’ Ellsworth.”
“Right you are! I stand corrected!”
“Let me ask a question,” FBI Director Schmidt asked.
“Certainly,” Ellsworth and Palmer said over one another.
“If the President ordered Secretary Beiderman to seize this airfield, and Beiderman ordered General Naylor to carry it out, and then General Naylor ordered General McNab to conduct the operation, and General McNab refused, then what?”
“In that circumstance, I would resign,” Secretary Cohen said.
“With all possible respect, Madam Secretary,” Schmidt said, “that question was addressed to Secretary Beiderman and General Naylor. What would you do, General Naylor, if you issued an order and General McNab, in effect, said go piss up a rope? Excuse the language, Madam Secretary.”
“If General McNab refused the order—”
“Presumably you think it would be a lawful order?” Ellsworth asked.
“Yes, sir. I believe the President has the authority to issue such an order.”
“And if General McNab refused to accept it?”
“Then I would have no alternative but to relieve him of his command and place him under arrest.”
“And then what?”
“What do you mean, ‘and then what’?”
“What does it sound like, General?”
“Well, charges would be drawn up, and then—”
“I meant to the order to seize the airfield.”
“Oh, I see what you mean. Well, sir, on General McNab’s relief, command would pass to his deputy—”
“Enough!” Natalie Cohen said softly, but with such great intensity that every head around the table turned to her.
“General McNab is not going to be relieved,” she said. “Aside from Frank Lammelle, he’s the only one of you who seems to both comprehend the situation and know what he’s doing.
“Now, I’m going to go around the table and see if there is at least one thing on which we all agree. The question is, ‘Do you believe that the President’s mental state poses a genuine threat to the United States?’ Just that, and I want a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ not a learned, legal hairsplitting. Mr. Attorney General…”
Attorney General Palmer met her eyes for a long moment and then said, “Yes.”
So, one by one, did everyone around the picnic table.
When the last man, General McNab, had spoken, she nodded and said, “Thank you. Now in the same manner, I’m going to ask another question and again want a yes or no answer. The second question is, ‘Do you have a specific course of action you would take if you were in my position, that is, as secretary of State, to keep the President from proceeding with his plan to seize the airfield, which would be an act of war?’ Understand that I am not asking for your opinion about what we should do about the President, just about stopping him from executing his seize-the-airfield plans. And again I’ll start with the attorney general. Mr. Palmer?”