"By the way, Colonel, who are Scott's special friends in the press and television? Do you know?"
The question startled Casey. He glanced at the President's face for a clue, but Lyman was studying the bowl of his pipe.
"Well, sir," Casey said hesitantly, "I'm not really sure. He knows some of the big columnists, and he has lunch or dinner occasionally with a group of Washington bureau chiefs, but I don't know of any of them being a special friend. The editor of Life has been in a couple of times, and of course the military writers for the Baltimore Sun and the Star here.
"I can't think of any others ... Wait a minute. He's very close to that television commentator, Harold MacPherson. I think he's with RBC. MacPherson has called several times when I've been in the General's office, and I know they've seen each other socially. Frequently, I'd say."
"And that horse pool business?" The President seemed to be going over the things Casey had told him. "I don't quite get your point on that."
"I wouldn't have thought anything," Casey said, "except along with everything else. Frankly, sir, I think that message could be a code for some kind of ... well, action, on Saturday, and not about the race at all. And then, if that's right, Admiral Barnswell has included himself out."
Again there was silence.
"Well, to sum it up, Jiggs, what are you suggesting?"
"I don't know for sure, sir." Casey fumbled for the right words. "Just some possibilities, I guess. What we call capabilities in military intelligence, if you know what I mean. I guess it all sounds fantastic, just saying it, but I thought it was my duty to lay it all out for you."
The President's voice was suddenly hard.
"You afraid to speak plain English, Colonel?"
"No, sir. It's just that-"
Lyman interrupted harshly.
"Do you mean you think there may be a military plot to take over the government?"
The words hit Casey like a blow. He had avoided the idea, even in his own thoughts. Now it was there, an ugly presence in the room.
"I guess so, sir," he said wanly, "as long as you use the word 'may,' making it a possibility only, I mean."
"Are you aware that you could be broken right out of the service," Lyman snapped, "for what you have said and done tonight?"
It was Casey's turn to stiffen. The cords stood out in his short, thick neck.
"Yes, sir, I am. But I thought it all out pretty carefully this afternoon and I came here and said it." He added quietly: "I thought about the consequences, Mr. President. I've been a Marine for twenty-two years."
Lyman's sudden harshness seemed to slip away. He went over to the little bar, mixed himself another Scotch and asked Casey if he wouldn't like a second. Casey nodded. God knows I need one, he thought.
"You know," Lyman said, "I can never get over the caliber of the service academy graduates. The officer corps, the professionals, have been good to the nation. And they've been good for it. The country has believed that-look at the rewards military men have been given, even this office I happen to hold right now. There's been a real feeling of trust between our military and civilians, and damned few countries can say that. I think it's one of our great strengths."
Lyman went on, looking at the liquid in his glass, not so much talking to the other man in the room as musing aloud about the generals and admirals he had known and admired. He spoke with something like awe of the combat records of Scott, Riley and Dieffenbach. He said he agreed with the people who thought Scott might be the next President.
Casey listened respectfully, sipping his drink. He hadn't realized the President felt this way. He seemed to know everything about the military. He was generous in his evaluation of men. When Lyman told an anecdote about General Riley, a story of which the President was the butt, Casey laughed with him. But he also was becoming aware that this man was far more perceptive and sensitive than he had realized.
"Maybe that's why our system works so well," Lyman concluded, "fitting men with the brains and courage of Scott and Riley in near the top, making use of their talents, but still under civilian control. I'd hate to see that balance upset in some hasty action by men who'd come to regret it until the day they died."
"So would I, sir," Casey said.
"Have you any bright ideas on what I ought to do, Jiggs?"
"No, sir." Casey felt inadequate, almost as if he'd let this man down. "I'm just a buck passer on this one, Mr. President. The solution is way out of my league."
The President unhitched his big feet from in front of him and stood up in an angular series of motions that seemed to proceed one joint at a time. He grasped Casey's hand. There was no perceptible pull, but Casey found himself moving toward the door as he returned the handshake.
"Colonel," Lyman said, "I very much appreciate your coming in to see me. I think perhaps I ought to know where I can reach you at any time. Could you call Miss Townsend, my secretary, in the morning and keep her up to date on where you'll be? I'll tell her to expect the call. Thanks for coming in. Thanks very much."
"Yes, sir. Good night, sir." Casey was out in the big hall. Lyman came after him as he started for the elevator.
"One other thing, Colonel. Now that you've talked to me there are two of us who know about your thoughts. I think maybe I'd better be the one to decide from now on whether anyone else should know. That includes your wife, too."
"I never tell her anything that's classified, sir."
"This conversation has just been classified by the Commander in Chief," Lyman said with a quick smile. "Good night, Jiggs."
When Girard came back to the President's study after meeting Casey on the ground floor and escorting him out, he found Lyman walking restlessly around the room.
"Get a drink in your fist, Paul," the President said. "You'll want one. Your friend Casey thinks he's discovered a military plot to throw us out and take over the government."
"He what?" Girard gaped in disbelief.
"That's what the man says. A regular damn South American junta."
"Oh, Christ." Girard groaned in mock horror. "Not this month. We're booked solid with troubles already."
Lyman ignored the opening for light repartee. He spoke slowly.
"Paul, I'm going to tell you everything he told me. First, there's one thing you need to know. Another All Red alert, a full readiness test, has been scheduled with my approval for Saturday at three p.m. I'm supposed to go up to Mount Thunder for it. Under the security plan, you weren't to know, and neither was anyone else except the chiefs, Casey and Colonel Murdock, Scott's aide. Now remember that and listen to me."
Lyman recounted Casey's full story. He showed Girard the creased scratch-pad sheet with General Hardesty's scribbles, and copies of Scott's message and Barnswell's reply, all of which Casey had left with him. As Lyman talked, Girard sank lower in his chair, his sleepy eyes almost closed, his head cradled between his hands.
"Now let me add a few things I know that I didn't tell Casey about," Lyman said when he had finished. "Several months ago I got a call from General Barney Rutkowski, the chief of the Air Defense Command.
I've known Barney awhile and I guess he thought he could speak freely to me. Anyway, he said General Daniel, the SAC commander, had sounded him out on making a trip up here to talk with Scott about 'the political mess the country's in and the military's responsibility,' or something like that. Barney asked me what to do. I told him that I could use a little advice from Scott, but the upshot was that Barney stalled off the invitation and nothing came of it. At least, I never heard any more about it."
Girard pulled his ear. "I gather your point is that Daniel is one of the men on Scott's betting list."