The second hand of the clock swept its way endlessly around the dial.
Maybe Jackie was right. They should have let the government take care of the problem. Ford was in Washington, no doubt straightening everything out. On top of that, the message was idiotic, the plan was too simple, it'd never work. This is some crazy-ass message, all right. What had she been thinking?
"It's been twenty minutes," said Fuller, examining his watch. "And E.T. ain't phoning home."
Just then the dusty old printer began to clatter away.
98
Ford explained everything, from start to finish--except where he'd sent the hard drive. "All of you here are treating this like a national-security emergency," he said. "It isn't. It's a planetary-security emergency. You need new thinking. That's why I sent the hard drive--the real one--to the press, as well as backup DVDs of the same information to a number of news outlets and organizations. You can't stop it. But you can prepare for it. I set it up so that you have about three days before the news breaks. You have seventy-two hours to prepare for it, to contact heads of state, figure out a coherent response. Yes, the world will panic. You're going to need that panic. Nothing big ever gets done except in crisis mode. Now you have your crisis: use it."
The national security advisor, Manfred, rose, his face drawn, his eyes icy, his lips drawn back to expose small white teeth. "To clarify: you distributed this classified material to the press?"
"Yes. And not just the press."
Manfred made a sharp gesture to the two duty officers standing at the door. "Take this man into custody. I want you to find out from him who's got the information and I want its release prevented."
Ford looked at the president but he wasn't going to stop it. As the duty officers stepped forward, Lockwood suddenly spoke. "I think we should discuss what Ford is saying. Don't dismiss it out of hand. We're in uncharted territory here."
The NSA turned on him. In a cold, clipped voice, Manfred said: "Dr. Lockwood, you of all people should understand the meaning of the word 'classified.' " He emphasized it with a tug on the knot of his tie.
The duty officers took Ford, one by each arm. "Come with us, sir."
"You're falling into the old game," said Ford quietly. "Listen, people: the Earth is under attack. That weapon can destroy us in the blink of an eye. In three more days Deimos will be oriented to fire at us again--and this time it may be for keeps. Everyone dies. Extinction. Gone."
"Spare us the lecture and take him out!" the NSA yelled.
Ford looked at the president, and saw with dismay that his face was a mask of vacillation. Lockwood, intimidated, had fallen silent. Nobody was going to defend him. Nobody. Still, what was done was done. In three days, the world would know.
The two officers pulled him toward the door, Manfred following. As they exited the door and passed through the cell-phone block curtain, Ford's phone began to ring.
He answered it.
"Take that away from him," said Manfred, in the doorway.
"Sir, the phone?" asked the duty officer, holding out his hand.
"Wyman?" came the voice over the phone. "It's Abbey. We're at the Earth Station on Crow Island. We sent a message to Deimos--and got a reply."
"Sir, the phone, now." The officer reached for it.
"Wait!" Ford cried, but the duty officer grabbed it, wrestled it away, shut it. The other officer shoved Ford toward the elevator.
"Wait!" Ford cried, turning to Manfred. "They've received a message from the Deimos Machine!"
Manfred slammed the door to the Situation Room. The duty officers, now joined by several Secret Service agents, dragged Ford toward the elevator.
"You're making a grave mistake," Ford began, but realized from their stolid faces that any talk was hopeless.
The elevator door opened and he was manhandled inside. It rose to the State Floor and then they led him out, through the entrance hall, and outside, where a Paddy Wagon was waiting for him. At that moment one of the Secret Service officers paused, touched his earpiece, and listened.
Then he turned to Ford, face as imperturbable as ever.
"They want you back upstairs, sir."
_______
Back in the meeting, the president was standing at the end of the table, Manfred next to him, his face almost purple with rage.
"What's this about a message? I want to know what the hell you were talking about."
"It seems," said Ford, "my assistant sent a message to the alien machine on Deimos and received a reply."
"How?"
"Using the Earth Station in Muscongus Bay, the one on Crow Island."
A silence. "And what was the message?" the president asked.
"I don't know. They took away my phone. May I suggest that we call them and find out?"
"This is preposterous--" said Manfred, but he was silenced by an irritated gesture from the president.
The president pointed at the phone by his elbow. "Call them. We'll put it on speaker."
The guards released him. An assistant handed him a paper with the Earth Station telephone number on it. Ford approached, picked up the receiver, and punched it in.
What in hell, he thought as the phone began to ring, had Abbey done now?
99
The distant, tinny sound of a ringing phone sounded on the speakers in the Sit Room, one, two rings, and then a hasty answer.
"Crow Island Earth Station."
"This is Wyman Ford," he said. "In the White House Situation Room."
A silence. "This is Dr. Sarah Simic, technical director for the Crow Island Earth Station. I have some . . . truly astonishing news to report." Her voice was steady, but with a slight tremble in it.
"Let's have it," said Ford. "We're listening."
"Let me put on Abbey Straw, who made the contact. She'll explain. But let me just say this is legitimate. We've checked and double-checked it."
A moment and then Abbey's voice came on, high and nervous, "Hello?"
"Abbey?"
"Wyman? You won't fucking believe--"
Ford quickly interrupted, "I'm here in the White House Situation Room, Abbey, with the president, and we're all listening to you on speakerphone."
"Oh." A silence. "Excuse my salty language."
"What is it?"
"We sent a message to Deimos, using the Earth Station."
"Why?"
"You know why! With those shots, the alien thing was trying to send us a message. Tell us something. It obviously wanted a response, it was trying to solicit a response. Otherwise, why not just destroy us with the first shot? No--that was a classic shot across the bow, to use naval parlance." She paused. "I figured we better respond--or the next shot might be the end."
"What was the message?"
"Let me explain first. Think about it. A shot across the bow. Why does a ship do that? To get another ship to stop, to surrender, to permit boarding. Right? So I figured that's what the thing wanted. So I sent it the message it wanted to hear."