"We're moving toward identifying the aggressor."
"Good. We're itching to press buttons down here. Anything we can do to speed up the process?"
"We've got a complicated materiel-analysis problem up here," General Leiber said. "Frankly, we're not certain how to proceed. The normal agencies that might handle this kind of work are civilian. We don't want to involve them. "
"Good thinking. Civilians can't pound sand."
"I read you there. So what do we do?"
"General, when the Joint Chiefs are in this situation, there is only one place to turn."
"Sir?"
"Computers, man. Computers can do anything today. What you do is find a computer to handle the matter, program it, and let 'er rip!"
"Outstanding, Admiral. I'll pass your suggestion along. We'll be in touch."
General Leiber hung up with a gleeful expression. Why hadn't he thought of that himself? Of course. A computer. There were tons of them in the Pentagon-payroll computers, cost-analysis computers, there was even a wargaming computer. Somewhere.
The trouble was, the damned things took weeks or even months to program. General Leiber didn't have weeks to program a computer to analyze scorched paint chips. And he sure didn't trust any Pentagon programmer with the knowledge of what was being analyzed and why. The Pentagon leaked worse than Congress.
General Leiber put in another call. As the line rang, he felt the inherent power of the instrument with which he had made a small fortune. Let the others have their jets and ships and tanks. General Leiber would lay it on the line with a solid-state multiline telephone any day of the week.
"Excelsior Systems," a bored male voice said.
"Richards, General Martin S. Leiber speaking."
"General Leiber," the voice said brightly. Then, in a lower tone, "Anything wrong, General?"
"Damn straight there's something wrong. We're on the brink."
"No," the voice said. "Don't tell me they found out about the faulty computer chips."
"Nothing of the sort, man. I'm talking about national security."
"Don't tell me they're flying those planes into combat?"
"It could happen. And you know what would happen to our asses if they do."
"My God. We'll go to the pen."
"You'll go to the pen, civilian. They'll haul my tired ass to the stockade. We're talking high treason here."
"My God," the other man sobbed. "What do we do?"
"The only way out of it is if I can get my hands on the best damned computer in the world."
"We make the best. We're on the leading edge in everything. Parallel processing. Artificial Intelligence. You name it."
"I need a task-analysis unit and I have to do the programming myself. Security reasons."
"But what do you know about programming, General?"
"Not a damn thing. But I need this done ASAP."
"Only one machine could handle this. It's our new Excelsior Systems Quantum Series Three Thousand. There's only one in existence. It's a quantum leap over any mainframe imaginable. It's an artificial-intelligence system with parallel processing capability. Voice-activated. Voice-responsive. You wouldn't have to program it. just talk to it."
"Ship it!"
"General, I can't ship the only working prototype. The ES Quantum is going to be put up for bid. The CIA wants it. So do the NSA and NASA. I expected that you'd be putting in a bid for the Pentagon."
"I am," General Leiber snapped. "And this is my bid. Ship it today or else."
"Or else what?"
"I blow the whistle on you. About the faulty chips you sold the Air Force that are mounted in every stealth aircraft in existence. If we ever go to war, those chips will malfunction like flies sucking DDT."
"But I sold them through you! You're in this as deep as I am!"
"I'm already staring at the end of my career. If I go down, you go down with me. Do you read me, mister?"
"This isn't like you, General."
"These are grim times, civilian. Now, I'll need your answer. "
"A loaner?"
"As soon as I'm done, you can have it back. But I'll expect preferred treatment when the Pentagon puts in its bid."
"I knew you were going to say that, General."
General Leiber had no sooner hung up the phone than it rang again. The President's ragged voice came over the line.
"Did you see the press conference?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. And if I may say so, sir, you did an outstanding job your first time out of the gate."
"Don't be ridiculous. They had me for breakfast. And now the media are fanning the fires of this thing. I'll have to go public with the whole truth if we don't have some answers soon."
"Have no fear, Mr. President. I'm about to take delivery on a high-speed computer that I expect will do the job."
"Computer?"
"Yes, this is too big for one general. Even if it is me. This baby has everything."
"Global links?"
"Of course," General Leiber said, wondering what "global links" meant.
"How about simultaneous language translation?"
"State-of-the-art," said the general, wondering why the President was so interested in languages at a time like this.
"Where is this computer now?"
"Being crated for freighting."
"Hold the line," said the President.
General Leiber listened to John Philip Sousa march Muzak with his brow wrinkling.
The President came back on the line.
"That computer," he said. "It's not going to the Pentagon."
"Of course it is. I just requisitioned it."
"No, it is not. It's going to where I tell you to ship it. Now, please write down this address."
General Leiber copied down the address of a warehouse in Trenton, New Jersey.
"Send it there."
"But, Mr. President, why?"
"I'm kicking this upstairs. You'll continue with your end of the investigation, of course."
"Of course," said the general. "But-"
"No buts. That's an order."
General Leiber hung up the phone, wondering where the President had suddenly found his gumption. Only a few hours ago he had been a raving idiot. And what did he mean by "kicking it upstairs"? He was calling from the White House, for God's sake. There was no upstairs.
Worriedly General Leiber put in a call to Excelsior Systems. The President had said nothing about the computer being returned. Well, hell, let the milk-livered bastard at Excelsior worry about getting his own damn computer back. General Leiber had bigger fish to fry. Assuming he himself didn't get fried along the way.
Chapter 16
At the White House, the President hung up the telephone. It was a stroke of luck that General Leiber had called with the news about that computer. It might be the solution to his problems. He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out the red CURE telephone. An extension cord trailed out of the Oval Office and all the way to the President's bedroom. The President had personally hooked up the extension himself and then forbidden all mention or questions about it among his staff.
He lifted the receiver. Dr. Harold Smith's acknowledgment came promptly.
"Smith, this is your President."
"Of course," Smith said.
"Smith, where are your people?"
"My people? I sent them to Washington hours ago. Do you mean they have not arrived?"
"No."
"Yes," said a squeaky voice.
"Which is it, Mr. President?" Smith asked in puzzlement. "Yes or no?"
"That wasn't me," the President said, looking around the Oval Office. Who had spoken? He was alone.
"Mr. President," Smith said sternly, "it is a serious breach of our security for you to converse with me while others are in your presence."
"I'm alone. I think." The President looked around the room. They called it the Oval Office for a good reason. There were no corners or crannies in which an assassin might conceal himself. The President looked into the well of his desk. The only things there were his legs.