"White House."
"The President, please," Rutkowski said. That took the heat off. If he had used the code word it would have meant a war emergency. Plain language merely meant "urgent." Even so, it took only a few seconds to get the President on the line.
"What's up, Barney?"
"This is a personal complaint, Mr. President, but I think it's important or I wouldn't bother you. I gathered from what you said the other day you want me to talk frankly."
"I wouldn't want it any other way."
"Okay, Mr. President. Well, here it is: I think you've made a serious military error in setting up this troop carrier exercise without cutting my command in on the security arrangements. And I think you made another one when you put a base with an airstrip out in the desert without letting me know."
There was a pause.
"Could you amplify that a bit, Barney?"
"Yes, sir. In order for NORAD to work, it has to know about every single friendly aircraft or missile or anything else over this continent. You blank us out on just one operation and the whole system is compromised."
"Barney, without taking issue with you on that point, would you mind telling me how you learned about this?"
"Sure. We try to drill it into every duty officer here that he's got to question everything he sees. One of my controllers was watching the first flight Wednesday night. The planes were headed for El Paso, then turned northwest and dropped off our radar screens. He tried to find out about it through channels, and when he couldn't, he took it up with me this noon."
"First flight?" the President said. "Is there another one, you think?"
"Yes, sir, as you probably know. Thirty of the transports were due at this damn classified place at 0700- 7 a.m.-tomorrow. Then I learned that it's been moved up to 2300 tonight."
"Eleven o'clock tonight?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hold on a minute, Barney, will you?" The phone seemed to go dead, and Rutkowski guessed the President had placed his hand over the mouthpiece. Perhaps General Scott or some other officer had been conferring with Lyman on the subject when he called. Rutkowski fiddled with his dead cigar in the ashtray and waited. Several minutes went by. Then the President came back on.
"Barney, something very serious has come up. It has critical military aspects and I need your advice. Could you come down here again-right away?"
"Well, yes, I suppose so. Couldn't be handled on the phone, sir?"
"No. I'd have to have you here in person."
"Of course, Mr. President. But what about these troop carriers?"
"Barney, that's part of my problem. When could you come?"
"Mr. President, with driving time to and from the airports, I could be there in three hours. Is that all right?"
"Fine, fine. No, wait a second." Once more the President went off the line, but this time he was back quickly.
"Barney, the speed is less important than the security. Could you fly yourself down? I mean solo?"
"Sure." He chuckled. "I need the flying time anyhow. I can take one of the fighters, but I'll have to refuel once. Give me four hours."
"That's plenty of time. Now, Barney, I want this really private. Don't tell anyone where you're going, please. And when you land at Andrews, make up some personal excuse. You know, say you're going to see a sick sister or somebody somewhere in Maryland. Anywhere but here. Then take a cab and come to the east entrance of the White House. The guard will be expecting you. Can you wear civilian clothes?"
"Yes, sir." Rutkowski was baffled, but the President offered no further explanation.
"Okay, Barney. See you this evening, then."
"Right, Mr. President."
General Rutkowski took his jacket off the back of the chair and absently slid one arm into a sleeve. "Well, I'll be God-damned," he said, half aloud. He straightened his tie and hurried out the door, whistling tunelessly through his teeth.
Jordan Lyman turned away from the phone and looked toward the three men sitting in his study. He said nothing for a moment. His eyes seemed to be focused on something far beyond them. Ray Clark had never seen his old friend looking so tired, so sad, so remote. Christopher Todd, a tight smile on his face and his eyes triumphant, watched the President closely. Casey, on the other hand, looked away from Lyman's face and concentrated on the bright shaft of the Washington Monument in the sunlight.
A plane droned over the city. A mockingbird flew into the top of the big magnolia tree. Its song, pouring into the room through the open windows, accented the silence inside.
Lyman jammed his hands into his coat pockets and bit his lip. When he spoke, his voice had the weariness of old age.
"I've got to act tonight," he said. "There aren't many hours left."
"We're right with you, Mr. President," said Clark.
"I wish prayer came easily to me," Lyman said. He seemed not to have heard Clark at all. Todd raised his voice as if to break his mood.
"You'll win, Mr. President. You'll come out on top -if we act with precision and speed."
Lyman's smile was one of tolerance and sympathy. He scuffed the rug gently.
"There won't be any winner tonight, Chris. Let's just hope the country stays calm."
The President shook his head, like a man waking from a deep sleep, and lowered himself into his big chair.
"All right," he said, "let's get down to business."
"As I see it," said Todd briskly, "three steps are called for at the start. First, you call Scott over here and fire him. Second, you send a message to all commands over your signature, announcing the resignation and ordering that no troop movements be made in the next forty-eight hours without your express authority. Third, you send General Rutkowski to that base with orders to close it down immediately."
"Jiggs?" The President looked at Casey.
"I'm worried about that override switch, Mr. President, the one that cuts into the TV network programs," said Casey. "I think someone should carry a letter up to Mount Thunder, from you to General Garlock, stating that no interference with commercial programs is to be permitted until further notice from you."
Lyman thought a moment. "I don't think we need to send Barney back to New Mexico," he said to Todd. "I'd rather have him right here. There are a hundred and one details of command communications procedure he could handle for us. I'm not even sure what they all are."
"That's right," Clark said. "And I'd have Rutkowski order those troop carrier planes to stay on the ground at Fort Bragg-under penalty of court-martial, if he thinks he has to go that far."
"Of course," said the President, "we've got to tell Barney everything. The way he sounded on the phone, I don't think he'll need much persuasion. The facts are too glaring to be ignored by anyone now."
Casey ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. "Mr. President," he said, "I don't like to say anything against a general officer, but you'd be in a lot firmer position if you dismissed General Hardesty too and turned his command over to General Rutkowski. Then he could issue orders with authority."
"I've already decided to do that, Jiggs," Lyman said. "And of course I'll have to announce everything to the country."
"But not tonight, Jordan," cut in Clark. "Save that for tomorrow. Besides, Frank Simon will probably faint dead away when you tell him you've fired Scott."
"Poor Frank," said the President. "I haven't been very good to him this week, have I?"
Casey was still concerned. "Mr. President, if I may say so, I think you'd do better to call General Hastings yourself, down at Fort Bragg, and tell him none of those planes are to leave the ground. I'm not sure he would obey General Rutkowski."
"I thought instant obedience was the lifeblood of the military," said Todd, his voice edged with sarcasm.
Casey flushed. "It is, sir. But the response to command gets kind of shaky when there's a big upheaval at the top all of a sudden. You've got to give each officer a little while to adjust to the change. Otherwise he's not sure who does have the authority. Besides, Hastings is Army and Rutkowski is Air Force. But if it's the President, there's no doubt about it."