Noiselessly Shaw moved across to the telephone, the outside line that was now being kept continuously open to the White House. Into the mouthpiece he said quietly, “Shaw in Little Canyon. Fade your end now. Stand by to take over Tucker.” He waited for the acknowledgement, then moved across to where Tucker was sitting. He gave Thorssen a brief nod. Thorssen gestured to the camera team. The cameras swung on to Tucker and almost simultaneously the Presidential image vanished from the screen. There was a momentary blank as the control system switched smoothly over, then Tucker came sharply into focus.
Shaw kept silent. There was nothing more to say. Tucker knew what to do now.
Tucker was still showing supreme confidence. He gave Shaw a curiously triumphant look and then, breaking the tense silence, he began speaking. Leaning forward a little, massive shoulders hunched, speaking as directly into the cameras as had the President earlier, he said, “Fellow Negroes and sympathizers — men and women of our persuasion the world over. I ask you to listen to me very carefully.” He paused, seizing the dramatic moment, the moment when all the world would be plunged into consternation, wondering what was happening in America; he was an excellent actor and he was immensely impressive — and he seemed utterly sincere. “You see history being made before your eyes,” he went on. “You have seen the White man, the former President of the United States… a man who, together with the leaders of the Soviet Union, is one of the most powerful White men on earth. You have seen his image fade… you have seen him give way to me.” For a brief instant, Tucker’s eyes flicked away from the cameras and met Shaw’s. “Even though all has not gone entirely as planned, my friends — and some of you will know what I mean by that — the grip of our people upon the Whites is such that the President has still been forced to give way to me. This is symbolic as well as real, for you are witnessing, my brothers, the fade-out of his power and authority, and that of the White peoples everywhere.” Again he paused, and when he went on there was a strongly vibrant note of passion in his voice; he seemed entirely unaware still of his actual position. “I announce that from this moment I, Ephraim Peter Tucker, have taken over the supreme power of President, that as of now I am President of Black America. For the first time you are listening to the Voice of Black America, and this is a moment for which many of you have been waiting patiently over the years, in full knowledge that this moment was bound to come. Those of you who have not known the facts before must now give me your fullest support. I ask you…”
Was this the signal, was this why Tucker had been so confident? At all events, he had his audience now; everywhere men and women would be hanging on his words, on the mouthings of that powerful face.
Shaw snapped, “Cut!”
The image vanished, the screen of the monitor went blank. The sound microphones died.
Tucker’s face took on a full, bloated look and his hands went down hard on the arms of his chair. He started to lever himself up. Shaw snapped, “Stay right where you are or I’ll drop you!”
His breath coming fast now, Tucker sank back. For a moment his eyes rolled upwards at the men on the gantries and he bared his teeth, as if cursing those who were his supporters for not making some attempt to seize control of the studio despite the guns that were ready to swathe them down instantly. Then he glared at Shaw. He said, “You have the impression you have won, Commander Shaw! You have had that impression ever since you brought me away from my headquarters. It is a wrong impression, totally wrong. Everywhere except perhaps in the television studios my people will be going into action. You are too late, Shaw! The take-over has already begun.” For a moment he grinned. “You were foolish to make me appear on the screen.”
“I wasn’t, Tucker.” Shaw moved over towards the man, his gun lined up on the flat stomach. “You had to have your audience. That was essential. And you’re so wrong in what you’ve just been saying. The whole thing has been a total flop. The moment you went on the screen, the authorities went into action — not your people! That was my signal, Tucker! Right now, the biggest round-up you ever saw of your supporters is in progress and soon your arms dumps will be found and impounded.” He paused. “Now, when I give the word, transmission will be resumed from this studio. What I want you to do is to recant — publicly. Carry on with your broadcast… but this time tell your people the truth. Tell them you’re the hired hand of Peking and a bunch of Western Communists, that you’re just a mercenary and a front, a Black front to impress your own people — and never mind what would have happened to the millions of coloured people who would have put you where you hoped to be, who would have put their trust in you and your bosses. Peking would virtually have enslaved all those people, Tucker, and you know it. I want you to tell them that — publicly, and now!”
Tucker sneered. “My dear Shaw, you think you are one very clever man! You fail to impress me. Suppose all you say is true. What good will it do you now? You cannot reverse what has already been begun in China, whatever you may think! I shall not recant, and—”
He broke off as an urgent voice cut across the studio, addressing Shaw — one of the special agents, who had established his line to the Pentagon. “Commander, radar reports indicate aircraft now over Nashville, Tennessee.”
Tucker’s heavy face split into a gloating smile. “You see?”
Shaw swung back on Tucker. “All I see is that you’ve got to make that recantation fast — and use the programme to warn your top-level audience in Peking to call off their bombers immediately by radio orders. You’re going to tell your bosses in Red China that if one nuclear bomb lands on U.S. or British territory, or if the U.S. Sixth Fleet is attacked, then every missile site in the United States and every Polaris submarine at sea, will blast off their entire stocks against the Chinese mainland. I want you to do that — no-one else! You’re going back into the network when I give the word, Tucker — you’re going back on the air, all over the world. I repeat, you’re going to back down and you’re going to call off Peking. If you don’t, I shall kill you — but it won’t be a nice, easy death from a bullet. I dare say you’ll recognize this.”
He brought out the aerosol container.
“Back in New Jersey, in the Hound-Tucson warehouse, I had the advantage of a little chat with your tame doctor, the one who prepares the corpses for overseas shipment through the Dead Line. He told me this liquid has very high penetration, that it goes through clothing in a matter of seconds. He left me in no doubt it’s a killer. I don’t know what’s in it, but at a guess I’d say it could be a compound of formaldehyde and raw nicotine, very highly concentrated, or maybe parathion or shadran… perhaps you’ll know more about that than I do. That doctor talked about it being possible to embalm living persons, Tucker. Now, I can’t say if he was just making some kind of joke when he said that… but it’ll be interesting to find out! If that doctor wasn’t joking, then maybe this liquid is going to harden you up like a living corpse. You’ll live a while underneath… stiff as Lot’s wife. A grotesque death’s-head, Tucker, embalmed alive!” He paused, aiming the aerosol straight at Tucker’s constricted face. “Are you going to do as I say?”