Moody’s somewhat downbeat report was followed by updates from the Secretaries of Commerce, Transportation, and War. The latter being of most concern because Chimeran battleships had been sighted over the English Channel, off the Atlantic Seaboard, and in Canada as well.
The good news was that weapons of all sorts were coming off American assembly lines, and at a record pace. The draft had been expanded to include all males between the ages of eighteen and fifty, and the United States would soon have another million men under arms.
Grace had to acknowledge that Walker had done a truly remarkable job of bringing the U.S. military onto a wartime footing, and Vice President McCullen led the rest of the cabinet in a round of applause.
But the show of confidence was quickly swept away as Grace cleared his throat.
He eyed the faces around him, then turned his attention to Chief of Staff Dentweiler. “And now it’s time for an update regarding the Omega Project. Bill? If you would be so kind…”
Dentweiler was ready. He nodded and light reflected off of his glasses as he looked down at his notes.
“I’m sure you’ll recall that during our last meeting I raised the possibility that a missing soldier named Jordan Shepherd, aka Daedalus, might represent our only realistic channel of communication with the Chimera.” He paused, and several men nodded.
“Since that time I’ve met with various experts, including SRPA’s Dr. Malikov. All the people I met with were told that the purpose of the interview was to obtain information regarding the circumstances under which Daedalus was freed from custody, and to assess what kind of threat he might pose. At no time was any information given regarding the Omega Project.
“There were several different opinions, of course,” Dentweiler said, as his eyes flicked from face to face, “but there were areas of agreement as well. Especially where the subject’s medical history was concerned.
“As part of a top secret program called Project Abraham, Private Shepherd received an experimental vaccine intended to counter the effects of the Chimeran virus. After Shepherd was inoculated, a genetic recombination took place. In retrospect Dr. Malikov—who was in charge of the program—believed that Shepherd was immunocompromised at the time of the vaccination.
“In any case, the genetic recombination altered both Shepherd’s physical and mental state far beyond projected parameters, and produced what most of us would regard as a monster. But,” Dentweiler added meaningfully, “according to those who had an opportunity to interact with Shepherd-Daedalus before his escape, it was determined that he can communicate with humans. Although the process is often difficult.
“That’s partially due to the fact that Daedalus seems to be in what amounts to telepathic contact with hundreds, if not thousands, of Chimera at any given time. As a result he has been known to pause in mid-sentence for up to three or four minutes before resuming the conversation.
“Making the situation even more difficult,” Dentweiler continued, “is the fact that Daedalus can be totally incomprehensible at times. He seems to be especially inclined toward obscure rants which even the experts are hard-pressed to follow. Some of the people with whom I spoke claim that Daedalus can impinge on their thoughts, although the evidence of that is rather thin.
“With all of those considerations in mind,” Dentweiler concluded, “I came away with the impression that Daedalus could indeed serve as a go-between, if we can find a way to motivate him.”
He took his seat, and after a few moments of silence, McCullen was the first to speak up.
“All right,” he said evenly, “let’s say Bill is correct. Let’s say there is a way to communicate with the Chimera. That still leaves a very important question unanswered. What kind of offer would we make?”
But if McCullen hoped to lead the discussion into a dead end, he was quickly disappointed, because the President had given the matter considerable thought.
“Good question, Harvey,” Grace responded approvingly. “And the answer is clear. If the Chimera agree to leave what remains of the United States alone, we will withdraw our forces from other countries, and allow them to rule the rest of the world unimpeded.”
“That’s outrageous!” Walker interrupted, his face beet red. He stood to address the group. “Such an offer would run counter to what we promised the citizens of the United States—and it would violate mutual defense agreements with more than a dozen governments!
“Not to mention the fact that it wouldn’t work. Would the Chimera honor such an agreement? Or would they use it to buy time? I say they’ll use it to buy time, and turn on us like the monsters they are!”
Grace remained unperturbed.
“The Secretary of War may be surprised to learn that I agree with him,” he said calmly. “Only a fool would trust the Chimera. However, the notion of buying time cuts two ways—because we may need to do so as well. And remember, Henry, the Omega Project is an option, not a formal policy statement. So there’s no need to get your boxers in a knot.”
The comment produced a round of chuckles, just as it was intended to, and Walker took his seat. But nothing in his appearance suggested he was going to let the matter go.
The meeting ended a few minutes later. McCullen approached Walker in an attempt to mollify him, but the Secretary of War was in no mood for compromises. When the Vice President reached out to touch Walker’s arm, he jerked it away.
Walker took his hat and raincoat off the rack in the hallway outside, and made the long walk from the Cabinet Room to the front lobby alone.
There was no one to see Walker off, but had the Secretary of War glanced back over his right shoulder as he stepped out into the rain he would have seen Dentweiler standing inside the press room looking out. He was smoking a cigarette—and the expression on his face was anything but friendly.
But Walker’s attention was elsewhere as he entered the back seat of the black town car.
“The office, sir?” the uniformed driver wanted to know. “Or home?”
“Home,” Walker said. “And step on it.”
Having pulled the recorder out of his pocket, Walker pressed the stop button.
There was a definitive click as the recording ended.
Henry Walker and his wife, Myra, had rented the large house near Dupont Circle because neither one of them liked Washington, D.C., nor had any intention of remaining there once Grace left office or Walker was replaced.
But as the town car pulled into the circular drive in front of the three-story building, it was still home—if only for a few more hours.
A servant with an umbrella hurried to open the door, and rain rattled on the taut fabric as the man escorted Walker to the formal entry where a maid stood waiting to take his hat and coat.
“Mrs. Walker is in the library, sir,” the young woman said. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, please,” Walker replied, and he made his way down the first-floor hallway to the library. It was the one thing that Myra liked most about the house. The pocket doors were halfway open, and she was sitting in her favorite chair next to the bay window. She rose to collect a kiss.
Though well into her fifties Myra was still slender, fit, and pretty. Too pretty for a grizzled old warrior like Walker, some said, but Myra was in love with the inner man, and one look at her husband’s homely face told her everything she needed to know.