Kurtz said, «Congressmen are scared of people getting sterilized.»
«Not really,» I said. «They’re scared of not being on the right bandwagon.»
All three of them turned toward me.
Rohr said, «Next time you dream up a project, pal, make it underground. Something in a lead mine. Or deeper still, a gold mine. Then Congress won’t have to worry about cosmic rays.»
Wisdom tried to laugh, but it wouldn’t come.
«You know,» I said slowly, «you just might have something there.»
«What?»
«Where?»
«A supersonic transport—in a tunnel.»
«Oh for Chri—»
But Wisdom sat up straighter in his chair. «You could make an air-cushion vehicle go supersonic. If you put it in a tunnel you get away from the sonic boom and the air pollution.»
«The safety aspects would be better, too,» Kurtz admitted. Then, more excitedly, «And pump the air out of the tunnel, like a pneumatic tube!»
Rohr shook his head. «You guys are crazy. Who the hell’s going to build tunnels all over the country?»
«There’s a lot of tunnels already built,» I countered. «We could adapt them for the SSST.»
«SSST?»
«Sure,» I answered, grinning for the first time in weeks. «Supersonic subway train.»
They stared at me. Rohr pulled out his PDA and started tapping on it. Wisdom got that faraway look in his eyes. Kurtz shrugged and said, «Why the hell not?»
I got up and headed for the door. Supersonic subway train. That’s my ticket. I’m going back to Washington, I knew. And this time I’ll bring Lisa with me.
THE SECRET LIFE OF HENRY K.
This is a pure romp, not to be taken seriously. Obviously, any relation between the characters in this story and real ex-Secretaries of State, movie stars, heiresses, et al. is purely … well, would you believe it’s an alternate universe, maybe?
This late at night, even the busiest corridors of the Pentagon were deserted. Dr. Young’s footsteps echoed hollowly as he followed the mountainous, tight-lipped, grim-faced man. Another equally large and steely-eyed man followed behind him, in lockstep with the first.
They were agents, Dr. Young knew that without being told. Their clothing bulged with muscles trained in murderous Oriental arts, other bulges in unlikely places along their anatomy were various pieces of equipment: guns, two-way radios, stilettos, Bowie knives… Young decided his imagination wasn’t rich enough to picture all the equipment these men might be carrying.
After what seemed like an hour’s walk down a constantly curving corridor, the agent in front stopped abruptly before an inconspicuous, unmarked door.
«In here,» he said, barely moving his lips.
The door opened by itself, and Dr. Young stepped into what seemed to be an ordinary receptionist’s office. It was no bigger than a cubicle, and even in the dim lighting— from a single desk lamp, the overhead lights were off— Young could see that the walls were the same sallow depressing color as most Pentagon offices.
«The phone will ring,» the agent said, glancing at a watch that looked absolutely dainty on his massive hairy wrist, «in exactly one minute and fifteen seconds. Sit at the desk. Answer when it rings.»
With that, he shut the door firmly, leaving Dr. Young alone and bewildered in the tiny anteroom.
There was only one desk, cleared of papers. It was a standard government-issue battered metal desk. IN and OUT boxes stood empty atop it. Nothing else on it but a single black telephone. There were two creaky-looking straight-backed metal chairs in front of the desk, and a typist’s swivel chair behind it. The only other things in the room were a pair of file cabinets, side by side, with huge padlocks and red SECURE signs on them, and a bulletin board that had been miraculously cleared of everything except the little faded fire-emergency instruction card.
Dr. Young found that his hands were trembling. He wished that he hadn’t given up cigarettes: after all, oral eroticism isn’t all that bad. He glanced at the closed hallway door and knew that both the burly agents were standing outside, probably with their arms folded across their chest in unconscious imitation of the eunuchs who guarded sultans’ harems.
He took a deep breath and went around the desk and sat on the typist’s chair.
The phone rang as soon as his butt touched the chair. He jumped, but grabbed the phone and settled himself before it could ring again.
«Dr. Carlton Young speaking.» His voice sounded an octave too high, and quavery, even to himself.
«Dr. Young, I thank you for accompanying the agents who brought you there without questioning their purpose. They were instructed to tell you who sent them and nothing else.»
He recognized the voice at once. «You—you’re welcome, Mr. President.»
«Please! No names! This is a matter of utmost security.»
«Ye—yessir.»
«Dr. Young, you have been recommended very highly for the special task I must ask of you. I know that, as a loyal, patriotic American, you will do your best to accomplish this task. And as the most competent man in your highly demanding and complex field, your efforts will be crowned with success. That’s the American way, now isn’t it?»
«Yessir. May I ask, just what is the task?»
«I’m glad you asked that. I have a personnel problem that you are uniquely qualified to solve. One of my closest and most valued aides—a man I depend on very heavily— has gone into a tailspin. I won’t explain why or how. I must ask you merely to accept the bald statement. This aide is a man of great drive and talent, high moral purpose, and enormous energy. But at the moment, he’s useless to himself, to this Administration, and to the Nation. I need you to help him find himself.»
«Me? But all I do is—»
«You run the best computer dating service in the nation, I know. Your service has been checked out thoroughly by the FBI, the Secret Service, and the Defense Intelligence Agency—»
«Not the CIA?»
«I don’t know, they won’t tell me.»
«Oh.»
«This aide of mine—a very sincere and highly motivated man—needs a girl. Not just any girl. The psychiatrists at Walter Reed tell me that he must find the woman who’s perfect for him, his exact match, the one mate that can make him happy enough to get back to the important work he should be doing. As you know, I have a plan for stopping inflation, bridging the generation gap, and settling the Cold War. But to make everything perfectly clear, Dr. Young, none of these plans can be crowned with success unless this certain aide can do his part of the job, carry his share of the burden, pull his share of the load.»
Dr. Young nodded in the darkness. «I understand, sir. He needs a woman to make him happy. So many people do.» A fleeting thought of the bins upon bins of floppy disks that made up his files passed through Dr. Young’s mind. «Even you, sir, even you need a woman.»
«Dr. Young! I’m a married man!»
«I know—that’s what I meant. You couldn’t be doing the terrific job you’re doing without your lovely wife, your lifetime mate, to support and inspire you.»
«Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, of course. Well, Dr. Young, my aide is in the office there with you, in the inner office. I want you to talk with him, help him, find him the woman he truly needs. Then we can end the war in Indochina, stop inflation, bridge—well, you know.»
«Yes sir. I’ll do my best.»
«That will be adequate for the task, I’m sure. Good night, and God bless America!»
Dr. Young found that he was on his feet, standing at ramrod attention, a position he hadn’t assumed since his last Boy Scout jamboree.
Carefully he replaced the phone in its cradle, then turned to face the door that led to the inner office. Who could be in there? The Vice President? No, Young told himself with a shake of his head; that didn’t fit the description the President had given him.