“There are alternatives, Mr. President. We can take action against the bogeys, both in Australia and Death Valley,” Harry said.
“They’re isolated,” Schwartz said. “The political repercussions…almost nil. Even if we fail.”
“We can’t simply do nothing,” Arthur said.
“We can do nothing effective, truly,” Crockerman said. “I think it would be cruel to raise false hopes.”
“More cruel to dash all hope, Mr. President,” Schwartz said. “Are you going to close the banks and stock exchanges?”
“It’s being seriously considered.”
“Why? To preserve the economy? With the end of the world in sight?”
“To keep calm, to maintain dignity. To keep people at their jobs and in their homes.”
Hicks’s face was flushed now. “This is insanity, Mr. President,” he said. “I am not a citizen of the United States, but I cannot imagine a man in your office…with your power and responsibility…” He waved his hands helplessly and stood. “I can assure you the British will not react so mildly.”
Ganging up on him, Arthur thought. Still can’t see her face.
Crockerman opened the folder marked DIRNSA. He pulled out a group of photographs in Mylar envelopes and spread them on the table. “I don’t think you’ve seen the latest from the Puzzle Palace,” he said. “Our NSA people have been very busy. The National Reconnaissance Office has compared Earth satellite photographs from the last eighteen months for almost all areas of the globe. I believe you initiated this search, Arthur.”
“Yes, sir.”
“They’ve found an anomaly in the Mongolian People’s Republic. Something that wasn’t there a year ago. It looks like a huge boulder.” He gently pushed the photographs at Schwartz, who examined them and passed them on to Arthur. Arthur compared three key photographs, beautiful computer-enhanced abstractions of blue-gray, brown, red, and ivory. A white circle about an inch wide surrounded a bean-shaped black spot in one photograph. In two earlier, otherwise practically identical photos, the black spot was absent.
“That makes a triad,” Crockerman said. “All in remote areas.”
“Have the aliens talked with the Mongolians, the Russians?” Arthur asked. The Mongolian People’s Republic, despite a fiction of autonomy, was controlled by the Russians.
“Nobody knows yet,” the President said. “If there are three, there could easily be more.”
“What sort of…mechanism do you envisage them using?” Harry asked. “You and Mr. Ormandy.”
“We have no idea. We do not second-guess the agents of supreme power. Do you?”
“I’m willing to try,” Harry said.
“Will you disband the task force?” Arthur asked.
“No. I’d like you -to keep on studying, keep asking questions. I am still capable of admitting we might be wrong. Neither Mr. Ormandy nor I are fanatics. We must talk with the Russians, and the Australians, and urge cooperation.”
“Can we ask you to postpone your speech, Mr. President?” Schwartz asked. “Until we are more sure of our position?”
“You already have almost two months. I do not know to the day when the speech will be delivered, Irwin. But once it becomes clear to me when I must speak, it will not be postponed. I must go with my convictions. Ultimately, that’s what this office is all about.”
The four of them stood in the hallway outside, their half hour concluded, clutching copies of the NSA report.
“Fat lot of good my being here did,” Harry said.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” Schwartz said.
“He’s going to be very effective on television,” Hicks said. “He almost convinces me.”
“You know the worst of it?” Arthur asked as they left through a rear door, Schwartz following them out to their cars. “He’s not crazy.”
“Neither are we,” Schwartz said‹
An hour after they left the White House, Hicks, Arthur, and Feinman ate lunch at Yugo’s, a steak and rib restaurant favored by those in the know, despite its location in one of Washington’s less decorative neighborhoods. They ate in silence, Hicks finishing his plate while Arthur and Harry barely picked at theirs. Harry had ordered a salad, a wilted and blue-cheese-overloaded mistake.
“We’ve done everything we can,” Arthur said. Harry shrugged.
“What next, then?” Hicks asked. “Carry on scientists?”
“We haven’t been shut down,” Harry said.
“You’ve just been ignored by your Chief Executive,” Hicks commented dryly.
“You’ve always been the odd man out here, haven’t you?” Harry said. “Now you know how we feel. But at least we had a definite niche to fill.”
“A role to play in the grand comedy,” Hicks said.
Harry began to bristle but Arthur touched his arm. “He’s right.” Harry nodded reluctantly.
“So begins phase two,” Arthur said. “I’d like for you to join us in a larger effort.” He stared at Hicks.
“Outside the White House?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve made plans.”
“My plans take me back to Los Angeles, and nowhere else,” Harry said.
“Harry will consult,” Arthur said. “Presidents’ minds can be changed any number of ways. If the direct approach doesn’t work…” He smoothed his fingers across the granite-patterned Formica tabletop with a squeak. “We work at a grass-roots level.”
“The President’s a shoo-in, as you say…” Hicks reminded.
“There are ways of removing standing presidents. I think, once he makes his speech—”
Harry sighed. “Do you realize how long impeachment and a trial would take?”
“Once he makes his speech,” Arthur continued, “all of us at this table are going to be in big demand on the media circuit. Trevor, your book is going to be the hottest thing in publishing…And we’re all going to be on talk shows, news interviews, around the world. We can do our best…”
“Against the President? He’s a very popular figure,” Hicks said.
“Schwartz hit the nail on the head, though,” Arthur said, picking up the tab from its plastic tray. “Americans hate the thought of surrender.”
Hicks looked over the neatly folded clothes in his suitcase with some satisfaction. If he could pack his belongings with dignity and style, while all about him hung their laundry out to dry…
The number of stories about the self-destruction of the Australian aliens and the Death Valley mystery had declined in both newspapers and television. Election eve was gathering all the attention. The world seemed to be taking a deep breath, not yet consciously aware of what was happening, but suspecting, anticipating.
Hicks jumped as the desk phone beeped. He answered with a nervous jerk of the handset, fumbling it. “Hello.”
“I have a phone call for Trevor Hicks from Mr. Oliver Ormandy,” a woman stated in pleasant, well-modulated midwestern American.
“This is Hicks.”
“Just a moment, please.”
“I’m pleased to speak with you,” Ormandy said. “I’ve admired your writings.”
“Thank you.” Hicks was too surprised to say much more.
“I believe you know who I am, and the people I represent. I’ve been discussing some things with the President, as a friend and advisor…sometimes, as a religious counselor. I think we should meet and talk sometime soon. Could you make a space in your schedule? I can have a car pick you up, bring you back, no difficulties there, I hope.”
“Certainly,” Hicks said. “Today?”
“Why not. I’ll have a car pick you up at one.”
Precisely at one, a white Chrysler limousine with a white landau roof drove up in the hotel loading zone and Hicks climbed in through the automatically opened door. The door closed with a quiet hiss and the driver, a pale, black-haired young man in a conservative dark blue business suit, smiled pleasantly through the glass partition.