An involuntary gasp came from the joint Chiefs. They sounded like spinsters who had stumbled into a massage parlor.
"That is what I have designated the unknown. Until we know its mission and capabilities, I am assuming it is hostile."
"Then it's not a dud missile."
"I can safely say that its constitutional elements give a strong indication of belonging to an offensive weapon hitherto unknown to the global stage."
The Joint Chiefs looked edgy. And General Leiber knew he had them right where he wanted them.
"Sirs, I realize I may be overstepping my authority, but it is my professional opinion as an officer that we face two scenarios here."
"Go on."
"Scenario one: we have been attacked by an unknown weapon launched by an unknown power. The double nature of the unknownness clearly indicates that none of our normal tactical responses are necessarily viable."
"What does that mean, exactly?"
"That we would be foolish to assume that just because the KKV has not gone off on impact that it was designed to go off on impact. It may be a delayed-reaction device of some kind."
"Yes. It's possible. Good thinking."
"Scenario two," General Leiber went on, feeling the mood shift in his favor. "It was a misfire. The KKV failed in its primary mission."
"In that case, Washington may be in no immediate danger. "
"Wrong. The danger is just as great. Even greater. Whoever launched the KKV knows by now their first strike failed. They are right now evaluating the situation. They must assume that we are analyzing their weapon. Once we succeed, we should be able to identify its origin. And when we do that, we have no choice but to take retaliatory measures."
The Joint Chiefs nodded. The general was absolutely correct. Once they identified the aggressor, they would have to take retaliatory action or risk showing weakness in the face of a brazen attack.
"Therefore," General Leiber said quickly, "it is incumbent upon this enemy to launch a second strike. To take out our command structure before we can identify and retaliate. Every minute that ticks by brings us closer to a second strike."
The Joint Chiefs looked at one another. General Leiber had analyzed the situation with terrifying clarity. Either way it stacked up, they were standing on ground zero.
"Well," said the Air Force general, clearing his throat. "If the President has designated you as surrogate, I don't feel we are in a position to second-guess him. What do you gentlemen think?"
There was a chorus of agreement. A ribbon-bedecked admiral turned to General Leiber.
"General, if this great nation is facing a crisis of such vast proportions as you describe, it is incumbent upon us to advance to a position of command. If Washington goes, someone will have to manage the next phase."
"Yes, sir," said General Leiber.
"If you want us, we'll be down in the Tank. Carry on." General Lener saluted snappily. Sweat trickled down the gully of his spine. It was as cold as day-old dishwater. And after the Joint Chiefs had marched out of the room, he sank into his chair trembling.
It was a hell of a gamble, but it had worked. The Joint Chiefs were riding a high-speed elevator down to the nuke-proof command bunker under the Pentagon. They wouldn't dare stir until he gave the all-clear signal.
And General Martin S. Leiber wasn't about to give the all-clear until General Leiber was in the damned clear. He grabbed the telephone and got down to the high-risk business of career advancement.
Chapter 5
Something was definitely wrong.
Dr. Harold W. Smith's ordinarily pale face was greenish from the backglow of his CURE terminal. If he leaned any closer to the CRT tube, he would bump it with his nose.
Official Washington seemed to be operating under a blanket of secrecy tighter than anything Smith had ever seen before. It was ominous. In the past, no matter how grave the crisis, there was a storm of leaks and rumors. Not this time. This time the routine political games were not being played. It was as if the situation was so grave everyone from the CIA to the Pentagon had decided to work as if they were on the same team, which of course they were.
Smith paged through his on-screen interceptions. There was unusual activity at Andrews Air Force Base. Movements of classified individuals and materiel. The Joint Chiefs of Staff had abruptly left their offices. Among the NORAD and Spacetrack early-warning systems, every unit had been quietly ordered to narrow its field of focus on a certain segment of the sky over the Atlantic Ocean. They were searching for something. Or they expected something. An attack.
As usual, it was the press who first noticed something was amiss. The media did not have a news story, per se. In fact, it was the absence of a story that started the rumor mills buzzing.
Specifically, where was the President of the United States?
The Washington press corps had expected a round of photo opportunities today. After all, it was the first working day for the new President. But the press corps was turned away by a nervous press secretary with the explanation that the President was "indisposed."
Smith frowned when that item greeted his eyes. He punched up the whereabouts of the Vice-President. The Vice-President was not in Washington either. He had returned to his home state very suddenly. The whereabouts of the Acting Secretary of Defense was unknown. And Congress wasn't due to reconvene for another week.
Smith made a series of untraceable phone calls. Pretending to be a wire-service reporter, he tried calling the heads of the CIA, the FBI, and other intelligence services. They were all out of town for the day, he was told.
When Smith hung up the phone, he was trembling slightly. The President had apparently disappeared and everyone else had left town. What the hell was going on? Who was in charge down there?
Smith picked up the dialless red telephone that was direct line to an identical phone tucked away in the nightstand in the President's bedroom. He listened to the ringing at the other end. One ring. Then two. Then three. It was a new President, so there was no telling how long he would take to get to the phone. The last President usually took six rings.
After twenty rings, Smith replaced the receiver, his face gray. The President was not going to answer. Smith was forced to conclude that he could not answer. The President was either not in the White House or no longer among the living.
Smith ordered the CURE computer to scan all official Washington phone lines for high activity. But even the phones were quiet. Small wonder. There was no one down there to man them.
With one exception. A single phone in the Pentagon showed constant use. Smith called up an identification code and instantly the computer relayed the information that the line emanated from the office of General Martin S. Leiber. Smith punched up the file on Leiber. It was brief. The man was a two-star general with an undistinguished field record and a flair for procurement. Some of his methods were unorthodox and there was some question about cost overruns in projects under his control. Smith's fingers went to work. In a flurry of keystrokes he instituted a tap on General Leiber's line. Instantly the computer converted the audio feed into an on-screen display.
Someone was complaining to the general. Something about barbecue grills. They weren't hot enough to do the job.
Barbecue grills? Smith wondered. It must be an open code. He asked the computer to identify the source of the incoming call.
The computer told him Andrews Air Force Base. Smith remembered that he had indications of strange activity at Andrews.
General Leiber's response to the complaining call was to ask what the hell did the caller need.
The caller needed brick ovens. And bellows. Lots of bellows.
General Leiber promised the caller immediate delivery on several high-temperature organic kiln-constructs and dynamic exhaust oxygenators, and then hung up.