Lyman had the instrument off the cradle almost before the first ring ended.
"Maybe it's Ray," he said, as if apologizing for his haste.
His face slackened in disappointment when he heard the voice at the other end, but he listened intently. After he hung up, he relayed Picot's account and his description of the three men in the boat.
"That's Broderick," Casey said. "That description couldn't fit one other guy in a million."
"He's a long way from home," said Corwin. "It's a couple of thousand miles from El Paso to Maine, isn't it?"
Todd tugged at the bottom of his vest like a lawyer who has just demolished a witness on cross-examination. He smiled confidently at Lyman, who was still frowning at the phone.
"Mr. President," he said crisply, "you're in luck."
"Luck?" asked Lyman. "Is that what you call it when the bottom drops out of everything?"
"Look," said Todd. He drew a silver-cased pencil out of an upper vest pocket and tapped it on the large yellow pad that now seemed as permanent a part of his attire as his watch chain or cuff links. "Ever since I became convinced of the existence of this operation-"
The President interrupted. "Which was all of twelve hours ago, Chris, as I recall it."
Except for a twinge of a smile, the lawyer ignored the remark.
"Ever since I became convinced of it," he said, "I've been wondering about one very important element, namely: how many allies does Scott have? If he has a great many, and this thing involves a lot of military units, large and small, we're in shoal waters. But if it comprises only a few men, even though they are the top commanders, the odds are all on our side."
"So?" Lyman was puzzled.
"So if General Scott has to dispatch Colonel Broderick all the way from El Paso, where he holds a command vital to this operation, up to Maine to do a job that any ordinary investigator could do, it means that Scott's trying to sail with a jury rig."
Lyman failed to brighten. He had been nervous and ill at ease ever since the little group had gathered an hour before. Corwin, who watched for such signs as part of his trade, was worried. Jittery Presidents meant more care and more work for him. Lyman stood up and paced the room, hands jammed in his pants pockets.
"I don't see how that helps much, Chris," he said.
"It helps if you decide to smash this thing out of hand," Todd replied, "and the time for that decision is getting mighty close."
Lyman's thoughts were elsewhere. "We've got to find out about Ray. My God, a United States senator can't just vanish." He looked at his wrist watch. "It's been more than thirty-six hours since Jiggs left him at the airport. I just don't understand it."
Todd was tempted to point to the bottles on the tray set against the wall of the study, but thought better of it. There was no use in flaying the President's temper any further. But what else could it be? They had called Clark's office. No one there knew his whereabouts. They had called his home repeatedly. No answer. They had tried the hotel in Macon where he stayed on his visits to Georgia, but that was a forlorn gesture. He must be somewhere around El Paso. Lyman had even suggested calling all the hotels and motels in the El Paso area, but Todd convinced him it would be dangerous.
"Jiggs," the President said now, "I think you better call Colonel Henderson's house in El Paso."
"I'm not so sure, Mr. President," Casey said, "that we ought to ..."
"I think you'd better try," said Lyman.
Casey knew an order when he heard one. He fished the Henderson number from his pocket and placed the call through Esther. Mrs. Henderson answered. Mutt was at the base and had said he probably would be there through the weekend. Yes, a Mr. Clark had called yesterday, but he said he was flying on to Los Angeles. No, nothing more from Mr. Clark. Why, was anything the matter?
The three others received Casey's account of his phone conversation in silence. Lyman poured himself another cup of coffee. That's three, thought Corwin, he's really getting the jitters.
Todd's face was wrinkled in thought. He rapped his yellow pad with a knuckle.
"I'd like to ask a blunt question," he said. "Is there anyone here who thinks that a military coup is not afoot?"
Corwin and Casey sat mute. Lyman said, "I wish there weren't. I think there is."
"So do I," said Todd. "Everything Casey and Corwin have found out indicates it. Girard's call told us so flatly. I think even General Rutkowski suspects more than just some covered-up propaganda effort by the chiefs opposing the treaty. And I think Admiral Palmer does too."
Todd paused, then bit out his next words like a prosecutor explaining a case to his staff. "But we have no evidence that a jury would believe, to say nothing of a public that's already in love with General Scott. Furthermore, I don't think we're going to get any- unless Senator Clark comes through soon."
"I'm counting on Ray," said Lyman stubbornly.
"That's a hope, not a fact, Mr. President," Todd said. "Getting any evidence that would force Scott to resign seems a remote possibility to me, at best. I suggest that now is the time to come to grips with this thing."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean we have to decide right now-tonight-how you can break Scott and preserve your authority."
"What do you suggest, Chris?" Lyman's voice lacked interest, like that of a man resigned to hearing a sales talk when he is in no mood to buy.
"I've got a few ideas," said Todd. "We ought to thrash out every angle of this thoroughly, but if it were up to me, I'd do these things tonight:
"First, I'd get General Garlock down here and order him to put a reinforced, twenty-four-hour guard on that switch that controls the television and radio networks.
"And I'd order him to lock the gates at Mount Thunder and let no one-military or civilian-inside until I told him to, on pain of court-martial.
"Second, I'd call Scott over here and fire him-"
Lyman interrupted. "And what's the excuse?"
"Unauthorized establishment of ECOMCON."
"He wouldn't swallow that, Chris, and you know it," Lyman said.
"If he balked at that, I'd threaten him with the Segnier tax return, and if that didn't do it, I'd fire him anyway and lock him in a room in this house under guard by Art's people.
"Third, I'd dismiss Hardesty, Dieffenbach and Riley as members of the Joint Chiefs and heads of their services, for conspiring to nullify a treaty executed by the President and ratified by the Senate."
Todd was barking out plans like a top sergeant. No one moved to interrupt him and he plunged on.
"Fourth, I'd install somebody I trusted, maybe Admiral Palmer, as chairman of the Joint Chiefs and order him to dissolve ECOMCON at once. I'd recall General Rutkowski, commission him as head of the Air Force, and tell him to make sure that any orders for flying troop carriers to that base near El Paso are canceled at once. If some planes had already gone out, I'd tell him to get them back.
"Finally, I'd get a company from the Third Infantry and station them here, around the White House grounds, for a couple of days."
Casey was surprised that the Secretary even knew of the existence of the ceremonial regiment at Fort Myer, much less its proper designation. He had obviously done his homework.
Lyman had slipped down in his armchair, his thumbs hooked under his chin and his fingers pressing against his nose. He smiled wanly when Todd stopped.
"Well, Chris," he said, "that's quite a package. Are you sure you didn't forget anything?"
"Oh, yes." Todd seemed to be ticking off points like an accountant checking a balance sheet. "I'd call up the head of that network and ask him, as a personal favor, to keep that lunatic MacPherson from getting any time on the air Saturday."