"I'll face that when I get to it," said Lyman stubbornly.
"If you can pull it off your way, you're a miracle man," Clark said dubiously. "Frankly, I think we ought to have something a little stronger in reserve."
"We will," Lyman said. "For one thing, Barney Rutkowski is going to keep those troop-carrier planes on the ground at Fort Bragg. And I'm going to put out that all-service message canceling a scheduled alert."
The phone rang. Lyman answered.
"Okay, Art," he said after listening a moment. "Come on in." To the others, he explained:
"Corwin says Prentice, Riley and Hardesty just left Quarters Six. They've been with Scott all afternoon."
Todd banged a fist into the open palm of his other hand. "I wish we had it on tape. They know that we know now. I wonder what I'd do in Scott's position?"
Casey frowned professionally for a moment. "That's not so hard," he said. "As long as he's got control of the all-service radio and the override switch for the TV networks, he can afford to wait. He thinks his troops are going to move tonight, and he probably figures he has the President blocked."
"Say, cousin," drawled Clark, "next time I decide to take over this house, I want you on my team."
"Any time, Senator." Casey was beginning to feel a bit lightheaded. Lyman's new confidence was contagious.
"Unless I overestimate the man," Todd said, "he has studied President Lyman's character and has decided the President will not oppose him with an open move-and he thinks he's got it fixed so we can't move otherwise."
"I'll buy that if you include the damn Gallup Poll," offered Clark. "I think he might figure that anybody with only 29 per cent of the country back of him isn't a helluva lot of opposition."
"Go right ahead, gentlemen," Lyman said cheerfully. "Just pretend I'm not in the room."
Todd turned to him, his face serious. "Are you still going to tell Rutkowski what's up?"
"I think I'll have to," Lyman said. "I think he's already figured most of it out."
The President picked up his phone.
"Esther," he said, "please get me General Scott. I believe he's at his quarters. Fort Myer." He put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Ray, get on that other extension. I want you to listen."
The call was put through in less than a minute.
"General, this is the President." Lyman began briskly. "I've changed my mind again. I've decided to stick around tomorrow and do my duty instead of going fishing."
"Fine, fine, Mr. President," said Scott. "I'm glad you decided that."
"I thought you would be," said Lyman, measuring his words. "I thought it would make things smoother all around. And I decided I'd better keep in close touch right at this particular time."
"Yes, sir."
"Now, so I'll know enough to make it useful, I think I ought to have a rundown of the current force dispositions both here and overseas before we go up to the mountain."
"That's a good idea, sir. I'll have one of the Joint Staff officers from the war room over there at your convenience in the morning."
"If you don't mind, General, I'd rather have you take me through it yourself."
"Well, sir, I had planned to go up a little early tomorrow, you know, just to get on the ground ..."
"No, no," Lyman said. "I mean tonight."
"Oh. Tonight. I see."
"Yes, tonight. If you don't mind, I'd like you to come here, General. Would, say, eight o'clock suit you?"
"Well ... yes, sir. That would be fine."
"Good," said Lyman. "Then I'll expect you at eight. In the upstairs study. Just have your man park in the back driveway and come on up."
"All right, Mr. President. I'll be there."
Lyman hung up. Clark, dropping his phone in its cradle, shook his head.
"What do you think, Ray?" Lyman asked.
"How the hell could you tell from that voice?" said Clark. "That fellow doesn't scare easy, that's for sure."
Lyman looked at his wrist watch, then at Todd and Casey.
"It's five-fifteen now," he said. "I'd like you both back here at seven-thirty. Ray and I'll stay here and meet Barney when he arrives."
The President saw the two men out at the study door, then sank into the big yellow-covered armchair, undid his shoelaces and kicked the shoes off.
Clark looked at Lyman's unshod feet and shook his head dolefully. "Thank God, no photographer got a shot of those during the campaign, or the gag men would have been asking whether you expected to fill Ed Frazier's shoes-or surround them."
Lyman grinned, but then spoke seriously. "Ray, I'm proud of you out there in New Mexico, pouring two fifths down the drain."
Clark grunted. "Close call, Jordie. I killed half a pint on the flight out to El Paso. Oh, well. If I was a saint I wouldn't be mixed up in anything as crummy as this."
Lyman leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. Twirling his glasses in one hand, he began ruminating out loud about the reported Russian duplicity in opening a new Z-4 assembly plant at Yakutsk.
"You know, it isn't just that it lessens the chances of peace," he said. "It's that Feemerov can't imagine how much it lessens them. Look what it does for Scott and his case. General Scott, the American military idol-and the man who said all along he would never have agreed to any kind of disarmament treaty."
"Feemerov's word is worth about as much as Khrushchev's was," said Clark in disgust. "To think that I toasted the bastard in his own vodka in Vienna. The guy must be nuts."
"No, I don't think so," Lyman said. "I wouldn't have signed anything with him if I thought that. It's just that treachery has been a way of life in Russian politics for five hundred years, and they can't break the habit in foreign relations."
"Any word from Moscow yet?"
"No, but I'm not worried about it. At least not the first part. I'm pretty sure he'll agree to a meeting. The visit to Yakutsk is another matter."
"You think your plan will work?"
"I don't know, Ray. Who can tell? All I can do is try," Lyman said. "But, God, this will be dynamite in Scott's hands, whether or not he resigns. I just can't let him tell the country about it."
They talked at length about the confrontation with Scott. Clark funneled suggestions to Lyman and the President's mind sorted, filed or discarded them. They were still deep in analysis of Scott's probable reactions when Esther called to say that General Rutkowski had arrived.
"Send him up," Lyman said, reaching for his shoes.
In civilian clothes Rutkowski looked more like an off-duty bartender than a four-star general. He wore a sports shirt buttoned at the collar and a suit jacket, but no tie. His heavy-jowled face, blond hair and pudgy body made him seem no match for the trim, handsome Scott. But his first words dispelled any illusions of flabbiness: he spoke with the authority of the command post.
"Mr. President, I should get portal-to-portal pay. I made it in three hours and seventeen minutes."
Lyman put out his hand. "Barney, you know Senator Raymond Clark of Georgia, don't you?"
"Sure," said Rutkowski. "I spend too much of my life either before his committee or somebody else's."
"Look, Barney, I know you like straight talk," Lyman said. "The senator was held prisoner for about thirty-six hours at that classified base you were worrying about in New Mexico."
"What?" Rutkowski was incredulous. His match went out on the way to the tip of his cigar, and he had to strike another one.
"Also," Lyman added, "that base was started months ago-but I never knew it until Monday night."
The President went on to sketch the whole affair, skipping some details but leaving in everything the NORAD commander would need to make his own judgment. When Lyman finished, Rutkowski was folded in a haze of cigar smoke. He said nothing.
"If I nominated you for chief of staff of the Air Force tonight, assuming I get Hardesty's resignation, what could you do to stop this thing?" Lyman asked.