"Maybe he doesn't know that. Talk to him."
"Yes, sir," General Leiber said as the Secret Service agent came on the line.
"I'm afraid I can't recognize your authority, General," the agent said politely.
"Good for you. Try to keep him down there as long as you can. The situation up here isn't stable."
The President came back on the line.
"It didn't sound as if you tried very hard," he complained.
"He's a good man, Mr. President. Stubborn, but good."
"There's got to be a way."
"If there is, I'm not familiar with it."
"There must be. This is an emergency." There was a pause on the line as the President considered. He was obviously thinking. That was a bad sign. General Leiber hated dealing with people who thought. He would much rather have a salute and instant obedience.
Finally the President spoke up.
"I am the Commander in Chief," he said.
"Yes, you are," General Leiber admitted after some hesitation.
"And I have designated you as my surrogate."
"Yes, sir." He didn't like where this was going. It smacked of initiative.
"Therefore, I am ordering you to order me to the Oval Office to assure the nation that I am in command."
"I...er . . . but"
"Do it!"
"Yes sir. As your surrogate, I am ordering you to the Oval Office immediately."
"Don't tell me. Tell the Secret Service." General Leiber heard the phone change hands.
"I have just ordered the President to the Oval Office."
"I don't have the authority to override you, General," the Secret Service agent admitted.
"I wish you hadn't said that," General Leiber said in a dull voice.
Like a man about to walk the last mile, General Martin S. Leiber hung up the phone and got to his feet. Woodenly he placed his service cap on his head and straightened his tie.
There was no avoiding the moment of truth now.
The first thing the President of the United States did upon reaching the first-floor level of the White House was to head for his bedroom. His wife, clutching her negligee, trailed after him. Three Secret Service agents brought up the rear.
Upon reaching the bedroom, the President slammed the door in their faces.
"But I'm not dressed," his wife complained.
There came rummaging sounds, and the door opened a crack.
"Here," the President said, handing out a bundle of clothes.
The First Lady picked the bundle apart with her eyes. "But none of these match!" she yelled.
The President did not respond. He was too busy. He picked up the direct line to CURE. It was the first time he had had to do so. The previous President had explained all about CURE. Its mandate, its operational parameters. How, as President, he could not order CURE into action. He could only suggest missions. Well, he sure was going to suggest a mission this time.
"Mr. President." It was the voice of Dr. Harold W. Smith. The President did not know that for a fact. He assumed it. Only Dr. Smith was sanctioned to use the dedicated CURE line.
"Smith?"
"Of course," Smith said calmly. "Are you well?"
"I think I'm catching a cold from standing around in my pajamas and bare feet. You know, they didn't even have any of my clothes down there."
"Where is 'there,' sir? And please try to speak more slowly. I'm having trouble following you."
"Down in the White House fallout shelter-or whatever they call it."
"I see. What is the situation?"
"No one seems to know. General Leiber is on his way to brief me."
"Leiber? Oh, yes," said Smith, remembering the name from his intercepts.
"Smith, your job is national security, isn't it?"
"In the broadest sense of the phrase, yes."
"Then where were you?"
"Sir?"
"Washington took a first strike from a KKV and we didn't see it coming."
"I understand NORAD relayed warning of a ... What did you call it, sir?"
"KKV. Don't tell me you don't know what a KKV is. Well, you couldn't. Apparently they're new. It stands for Kinetic Kill Vehicle."
"Kinetic," Smith said slowly.
"Yes, one landed in Lafayette Park. Fortunately it didn't detonate. But that might have been a fluke."
"I see," Smith said, recalling the fire in Lafayette Park. It was starting to come together. But what was a Kinetic Kill Vehicle? As Smith listened to the President, he called up his Jane's Aircraft data base. No doubt it was listed there.
"Smith, your mandate is to monitor potential security situations and nip them in the bud."
"Well, yes. But normally our monitoring capabilities are domestic in nature. My computers aren't terribly effective on a global scale."
"And why not, might I ask?"
"Because, Mr. President, it would be virtually impossible for one man to monitor all the computer traffic around the world. Domestically it is difficult enough. And there is the language-barrier problem. As it is, I'm at my terminal up to fifteen hours a day. As you know, CURE must be a one-man operation in order to maintain absolute security. We operate outside of constitutional restrictions, and if the press ever-"
"So what you're telling me is that even in a best-case scenario, you couldn't have foreseen this attack?"
"Without more information, I cannot respond to that," Smith said, glancing at the flashing message on his computer screen. It was telling him the Jane's data base had no listing for a Kinetic Kill Vehicle. How odd. Obviously he would have to update the file.
"And what about your people? Why weren't they here to deal with this?"
"Well, Mr. President, my enforcement arm has always been an option of last resort. I keep him in reserve until needed."
"He should have been down here!" the President barked.
"With all due respect, sir, even if he had been on station, what could he have done? He's good. But not good enough to catch an incoming Kinetic Kill Vehicle. We are talking about a man with extraordinary abilities. But not Superman. He does not wear a cape or fly."
"Smith, this was supposed to be my first day in office and I spent it cowering in a hole."
"Yes." Smith's voice was noncommittal.
"This is intolerable. I want your people down here at once."
"Er, I'm afraid that is impossible."
"What are you saying?"
"They are unavailable. On another ... er ... assignment. I am sorry."
"Pull them off it. We are anticipating another attack at any moment."
"I would like to comply, Mr. President. But until they complete their mission, I will be unable to reach them."
"That's absurd. Don't they even check in?"
"Well, sometimes. Our enforcement arm usually does that, but he often has trouble with the security codes. His trainer, the older one, will use the telephone only as a last resort. "
"Don't they carry communicators? Walkie-talkies? Anything? They are needed in Washington, Smith."
"As soon as they report in, I will order them to Washington, I assure you."
"That's wonderful," the President said acidly. "If they arrive after the capital has been reduced to hot, sifting ash, be certain to thank them for me, won't you?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. President," Smith said lamely.
"When this is over, there will be some changes made, Smith. Mark my words. Your organization sounds like it belongs back in the nineteenth century. Do you know I had no way to reach you from down in the shelter?"
"Security demands that we have a minimum of technical equipment, Mr. President. That means one phone at each end of our special line. CURE has functioned this way for twenty years now."
"From where I'm sitting, it's not worth snot," said the President, hanging up.
At the other end, Smith replaced his receiver. He took off his rimless glasses and rubbed tired gray eyes. It was a terrible way to start a working relationship with a new administration, but how could he tell the President that Washington must stand naked before foreign aggression until its secret enforcement arm found a new home for an unwanted elephant?