Todd saved the Preakness messages until the last.
"Aside from ECOMCON," he said, "this is the one thing that seems to me the most unlikely. I'm speaking now of Colonel Casey's interpretation of the agreed facts.
"As I see it, these messages can mean three things. First, they may be exactly what they purport to be, a wagering pool. Second, they may be a cover for a proper and prudent military step, to wit, lulling the field commanders before Saturday's alert. Third, the messages may be a coded exchange for a clandestine military operation thus far not revealed to us.
"Let's take the obvious first. Scott is known as a betting man, isn't he?"
"Sure," said Clark. "We joked about it when he came before the committee for confirmation as chairman of the Joint Chiefs last year. Prentice said he guessed it was Scott's only bad habit."
"I've seen his picture in the papers plenty of times, at some track or other," Girard said.
"So it could easily be what the messages say it is," added Todd.
"Wait a minute," Lyman said. "What about his obvious annoyance over Casey's learning of the messages?"
"Well," said Todd, "obviously the government's military radio networks aren't supposed to be used for that kind of thing. So you couldn't blame Scott for wanting to keep it quiet."
"The only thing about that," Casey said, "is that Scott knows I see a lot of his personal traffic, and some of it would cause more rumpus than this if it got around. I remember once he asked the commander of the Army supply depot at Bordeaux to send him a case of claret. He used all-service radio for that, and Code Blue-that's the chairman's personal code. But he never cautioned me about that, or anything else, until yesterday."
"Still," Todd insisted, "there's no hard evidence to prove these are not messages about a horse race. Now, let's examine the second possibility. Is he simply duping his field commanders before an alert?"
Again it was Casey who raised a doubt. "What sticks me there," he said, "is Admiral Wilson. I can't imagine Topping Wilson agreeing to a wager by radio-or any other way. Why, he once banned all gambling on a cruiser division he commanded."
"How do you know that?" asked Todd.
"I had the Marine detachment on the flagship," Casey replied. "But the whole fleet knew about it. Wilson's always been a real sundowner and now that he's CINCPAC, he's even tougher. It doesn't make sense to me that he'd do what he told his entire command not to do."
Todd was obstinate. "Still, you haven't proved anything."
Casey reddened, but not from embarrassment this time. "Look, Mr. Secretary," he began. Lyman cut in fast.
"Calm down, Chris. Jiggs isn't trying to prove anything. By the time we collected enough proof to satisfy a court of law, it might well be too late to stop whatever we proved was going on."
Casey relaxed. Todd grunted unhappily but moved ahead.
"All right, assuming the worst," he said, "and these messages are-"
"Wait a second," Girard interrupted. "Thinking about the alert again made me wonder about something. Mr. President, who decided which people were going to know about the All Red in advance?"
"Why, General Scott did," Lyman said. "That's S.O.P. with us."
Casey spoke up. "You mean, sir, that you didn't ask General Scott to withhold the information from the Secretary of Defense?"
"No, indeed. I didn't think about it at the time, one way or the other."
"That's not the point, Mr. President." Casey was speaking to Lyman, but his words were aimed at Todd. "The General specifically told me, when I asked about it, that you had ordered the Secretary blacked out."
Girard moved his heavy frame uneasily in his chair. "There goes the General again, telling another lie. I'm beginning to feel kind of nervous about our great military leader."
Todd said nothing, but he made another note before going back to his argument.
"Assuming the worst, as I started to say," he said, "and these messages are some kind of private code, when could it have been devised? Has Scott seen these five field commanders recently?"
"The General has toured the overseas bases and commands three times in fifteen months," Casey said.
"Is that customary?" asked Todd.
"No, it's some kind of record. Also, every one of those five officers has been in Washington within the last couple of months."
"They all saw Scott, of course?"
"Yes."
"And all but Wilson," interjected Clark, "appeared before the Armed Services Committee during our general review of the defense situation."
"Still assuming the worst," Todd said, "that brings us down to the Sixth Fleet commander, Admiral Barnswell, the one who replied 'no bet.' Obviously that assumes greater significance if some kind of plot is afoot, which I don't believe, and if the messages are a private code, which I'm not convinced of."
Lyman pushed forward in his chair. "Chris, I've already decided that the only prudent course is to send Paul over to talk to Barnswell. He can go over on the Vice-President's plane tonight without being noticed. I've already talked to Vince about it, and he's glad to do it. I gave him the idea that Paul has a little confidential personal business abroad."
"Good," agreed Todd. "Now, does anyone know anything about Barnswell that would help Paul on this?"
"I've met him," Clark said, "but I really don't know much about him except that he seems to have a talent for avoiding controversy. He's a mighty bland witness when he testifies."
"That's just it," Casey said. "I thought a lot about that, too, before I called Paul yesterday. You see, Barnswell has quite a reputation around the Pentagon as a, well, a vacillator. He always keeps his nose clean, he never sticks his neck out. He likes to know how the wind's blowing before he commits himself."
"A clean nose and a withdrawn neck in a high wind," commented Todd dryly. "You paint an intriguing portrait, indeed, Colonel."
"I know I don't express it very well, Mr. Secretary." Casey was thoroughly irritated at this crusty old lawyer and his snide cracks. "But, frankly, they say Barnswell's the kind of officer who likes to be with the winner-and usually is."
"My God," Lyman said, "how did a man like that get by the Secretary of the Navy for a key job like the Mediterranean fleet?"
"As a matter of fact, Mr. President," drawled Clark, "how did Secretary Wallstedt get by you?"
His usual joshing tone was missing. It was obvious to the others that some political nerve of the Georgia senator had been touched. Lyman looked embarrassed. There was a hush in the room as the six men looked at each other, all of them realizing in this moment that the Lyman administration could never be quite the same again, no matter what happened or didn't happen on Saturday. From now on there would be those who knew and those who could never know, and the line dividing them would respect neither politics nor position. The thought affected each man in the solarium differently, depending on his degree of intimacy with the President. But whatever that degree, the realization laid a chill upon the room and the darkening mist outside seemed to grow thicker.
Todd busied himself wiping his glasses.
Lyman finally broke the silence. "I think you'd better have a letter from me, Paul, just in case." He went to a little writing desk in the corner and pulled out a sheet of stationery bearing a gold presidential seal on the familiar tan paper that Lyman used for his personal notes. He wrote rapidly:
Dear Admiral Barnswelclass="underline"
The bearer, Paul Girard, is my appointments secretary and personal associate. I trust that you will extend him every courtesy of your command and will also answer fully and frankly any questions he may put to you.
He is acting for me and with my complete trust and support. Your replies will be kept in confidence. Your co-operation will be appreciated.