Mostly iron, sir. Scorched and pitted. Some of it has fused into slag. We do have several less-damaged sections we are still analyzing, but they're a real mess. This could take days."
"Days," General Leiber said. His voice cracked. Then he pulled himself together. His voice became tight. "We don't have days, mister. The security of the United States of America is at stake here. Do you understand the seriousness of this situation?"
"I think I do, General."
"Think! I know! I know how damn serious it is!"
"We'll need better equipment."
"Anything. I can procure anything you need. What? Name it. Spectroscopic analyzers. Metallurgic equipment. I can probably rustle up an electron telescope if necessary."
"I think you mean microscope, General. There's no such thing as an electron telescope."
"Don't split hairs with me. Just give me a list."
"First we'll need anvils."
"ANVILS, right." General Lieber started a list. "Refresh my memory. That's an acronym for what?"
"Nothing, sir. An anvil is a block blacksmiths use to hammer metal on. We've got a lot of mangled iron here. The only way to deal with it is to heat it up and try to restore the parts to their original forms."
"I understand, but we won't call them anvils. Well call them Metallurgical Component Restoration Bases."
"With all due respect, General, I think you could get them faster if you simply asked for anvils."
"How much would you guestimate an anvil would cost?"
"Oh, less than a hundred dollars each."
"If we call them Metallurgical Component Restoration Bases, I can add an extra zero to the end of that figure."
The major sighed. "I understand perfectly, sir."
"Now, what else?"
"Hammers."
"High-Impact Reshaping Implements. Hi-Rimps for short."
"Something to heat the metal pieces for reforming. I don't know what they call those things."
"Free-Standing Tripodal Heating Stations," the general said, thinking of a blue-tag special on barbecue grills he had seen at a hardware store. He could buy those himself, jack up the price, and pocket the difference. He wrote it down.
"Tongs."
"Manual Securing Tools," said General Leiber, adding Mansees to the list. "Anything else?"
"The work would go a lot faster if we had experienced blacksmiths. "
"Metallurgical Consultants!" the general shouted, his eyes lighting up. "Now you're talking! Consultants are a big budget item."
"Yes, sir," said the major, who wondered where national security fit into all of this.
"You'll have all this stuff by midday." And the general hung up. He quickly made a series of phone calls. His years of wheeling and dealing as a procurement officer had built up a network of contacts and suppliers. If it could be bought or bartered, General Leiber could get it.
An hour later, he had everything but the blacksmiths and the barbecue grills. The latter items he intended to pick up himself. But the blacksmiths were tough. His regular network of suppliers did not deal in such people. There wasn't even a listing for blacksmiths in the yellow pages. They were hard to track down.
This called for extraordinary assistance, General Leiber told himself. He asked the Pentagon operator to put in an overseas call to Zurich, Switzerland.
A flat, emotionless voice answered in the middle of the first ring.
"Friendship, International," it said.
"Hello, Friend."
"Hello, General Leiber. It is good of you to call."
"I didn't think you'd remember me, Friend," General Leiber said.
"Your voice registered instantly. I never forget a customer."
"I have something more urgent than our last deal."
"I trust the Cuban cigars were satisfactory."
"I'm down to my last box. But we can chew that over later. I need something special and you're the only guy I know who might be able to help."
"How may I help?"
"Blacksmiths. I need maybe twenty of them. But we can't call them blacksmiths. We'll have to put them down as Metallurgical Consultants.''
"I can supply. For the right price."
"I can offer seven hundred dollars an hour. Plus meals. But they have to be on a plane to Washington within an hour."
"Feasible. But your price is too low."
"For crying out loud, they're only blacksmiths."
"Metallurgical Consultants," the other voice corrected. "Okay, one thousand dollars an hour. And I'll put them up in the best hotels for the duration of the assignment."
"I would prefer to barter. Like the last time."
"I don't know about that. I almost got-caught last time."
"I do not require any more shoulder-fired missiles. My shoulder-fired-missile stock is satisfactory. I have another client who requires something special. Something you may be in a position to supply."
'What?"
"A substance called carbon-carbon."
"Never heard of it."
"It is a filament substance used to coat the nose cones of missiles to protect them against reentry burnup. It is very expensive and very difficult to secure. I need thirty miles of it."
"Sounds like NASA stuff," the general said. "I can't make any promises, but I can look into it."
"Look into it. I will have your Metallurgical Consultants assembled by the time you call back."
"Gotcha," said General Leiber, hanging up. He dialed another number, thinking that he should have thought of Friendship, International sooner. That funny-voiced guy had always come through in the past. If only he didn't always ask for the moon....
By three P.M., exactly twelve hours after the unknown object had impacted on United States soil, the carbon-carbon spools were on their way to Zurich and the Metallurgical Consultants were en route to Washington. General Leiber had even found time to get the barbecue grills. He had them delivered to a roped-off aircraft hangar at Andrews Air Force Base while he returned to his coveted window office in the outer ring of the Pentagon.
But when he stepped into his office, he knew that the joint Chiefs of Staff could no longer be denied. They were there, waiting for him. They were also rummaging through his desk.
General Leiber gave them a snappy salute. The Joint Chiefs, representing the highest officers of the combined United States military, returned his salute. Their faces were stern.
"General Leiber, we demand to know what is going on."
"I have the situation in hand," General Leiber said. He chewed his mustache concernedly.
"The President won't take our calls. We understand he has delegated all crisis-management responsibility to you."
"I happened to be on duty when the threat object impacted. I am the only one with operational knowledge of the situation."
"For God's sake, you're only a two-starrer."
"Not my fault, sir. I was passed over last time."
"That's not what he means and you know it," said an Army general. General Leiber declined to reply. He did not deal with the Army. Even if the Army general did outrank him by two stars.
"Where is this threat object?" an Air Force general asked. General Leiber had to answer him.
"In a secure area being analyzed, General."
"Where?"
"I cannot tell you that."
"Cannot? Why not?" the general roared.
"Because if I reveal its location, you very important officers will rush to inspect it."
"That's our damn job."
"And expose yourselves to unknown risks. As the President's surrogate, I would be derelict in my duty if I allowed you to expose yourselves to possible death."
"Death? Then the object is armed?"
"My team is attempting to confirm that."
"Is Washington still in danger?"
"My people are unable to say at this time. They are trying to identify the nature of the KKV."
"KKV?"
"Kinetic Kill Vehicle," said General Leiber.