“Well, I hope he doesn’t do that; I hope to hell he doesn’t make a test run just to see if it works. I’ve got a special reason.” Saltus studied the civilian for a long space. “Mister, do you know how to keep your mouth shut?”
Cautiously: “Yes. Is this a confidence?”
“You can’t even tell William, or Katrina.”
Chaney was uneasy. “Does it involve me? My work?”
“Nope — you have nothing to do with it, but I want a promise you’ll keep quiet, no matter what. I’m not going to report it when I go back. It’s something to keep.”
“Very well. I’ll keep it.”
Saltus said: “I stopped in at the courthouse and had a look at the records — the vital statistics stuff — your kind of stuff. I found what I was looking for last March, eight months ago.” He grinned. “My marriage license.”
It was a kick in the stomach. “Katrina?”
“The one and only, the fair Katrina. Mister, I’m a married man! Me, a married man, chasing the girls and even taking one to lunch. Now, how will I explain that?”
Brian Chaney remembered the note found propped against his camera: it had sounded cool, impersonal, even distant. He recalled the padlocked barracks, the emptyness, the air of desertion. He and Major Moresby were gone from this place.
He said: “Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, be they favorable or not. John Wesley, I think.”
Chaney kept his face turned away to mask his emotions; he suspected the sharp sense of loss was reflected on his face and he didn’t care to stumble through an explanation or an evasion. He put away the heavy clothing worn on the outside and then replaced the unused camera and the nylon films. The reels of tape were removed from the recorder, and the recorder put back in the stores. As an afterthought, he replaced the identification papers and the gate pass in the torn envelope — alongside Katrina’s note — and propped the envelope on the bench where she would find it.
Saltus had finished his task and was removing film from the copying camera. He had left the newspapers flung over the bench in disarray.
Chaney gathered them up into an orderly pile. When he had finished the housekeeping chore, a right-side-up headline said: JCS DENIED BAIL.
“Who is JCS? What did he do?”
Saltus stared in disbelief. “Damn it, civilian, didn’t you do anything out there?”
“I didn’t bother with the papers.”
Incredulously: “What the hell — are you blind? Why do you think the cops were patrolling the town? Why do you think the state guards were riding shotgun?”
“Well — because of that Chicago business. The wall.”
“Bigod!” Arthur Saltus stalked across the room to face him, suddenly impatient with his naiveté. “No offense, mister, but sometimes I think you never left that ivory tower, that cloud bank in Indiana. You don’t seem to know what’s going on in the world — you’ve got your nose buried too deep in those damned old tables. Shape up, Chaney! Shape up before you get washed out.” He jabbed a long index finger at the newspapers stacked on the bench. “This country is under martial law. JCS is the Joint Chiefs of Staff. General Grinnell, General Brandon, Admiral Elstar, the top dogs. They tried to pull a fast one but got caught, they — that French word.”
“Which French word?”
“For take-over.”
Chaney was stunned. “Coup.”
“That’s the word. Coup. They marched into the White House to arrest the President and the Vice President, they tried to take over the government at gun point. Our own government, mister! You hear about that sort of thing down in South America all the time, but now, right here in our country!” Saltus stopped talking and made a visible effort to control himself. After a moment he said again: “No offense, mister. I lost my temper.”
Chaney wasn’t listening. He was running across the basement room to the stacked newspapers.
It happened not at the White House, but at the Presidential retreat at Camp David.
A power failure blacked out the area shortly before midnight on Monday night, election eve. The President had closed his re-election campaign and flown to Camp David to rest. An emergency lighting system failed to operate and the Camp remained in darkness. Two hundred troops guarding the installation fell back upon the inner ring of defenses according to a prearranged emergency plan, and took up positions about the main buildings occupied by the President, the Vice President, and their aides. They elected not to go underground as there was no indication of enemy action. Admiral Elstar was with the Presidential party, discussing future operations in the South Asian seas.
Thirty minutes after the blackout, Generals Grinnell and Brandon arrived by car and were admitted through the lines. At General Grinnell’s command, the troops about-faced and established a ring of quarantine about the buildings; they appeared to be expecting the order. The two generals then entered the main building — with drawn weapons — and informed the President and the Vice President they were under military arrest, together with all civilians in the area. Admiral Elstar joined them and announced that the JCS were taking control of the government for an indefinite period of time; he expressed dissatisfaction with civilian mismanagement of the country and the war effort, and said the abrupt action was forced upon the Joint Chiefs. The President appeared to take the news calmly and offered no resistance; he asked the members of his party to avoid violence and cooperate with the rebellious officers.
The civilians were herded into a large dining room and locked in. As soon as they were alone the aides brought out gas masks which had previously been concealed there; the party donned the masks and crawled under heavy dining tables to wait. Mortar fire was heard outside.
Electric power was restored at just one o’clock. The firing stopped.
FBI agents also wearing masks breached the door from the opposite side and informed the President the rebellion was ended. The Joint Chiefs of Staff and the disloyal troops had been taken under cover of a gas barrage, by an undisclosed number of agents backed by Federal marshals. Casualties among the troops were held to a minimum. The Joint Chiefs were unharmed.
Helicopters ferried the Presidential party back to Washington, where the President requested immediate reactivation of the TV networks to announce the news of the attempted coup and its subsequent failure. Congress was called into an emergency session, and at the request of the President declared the country under martial law. The affair was done.
A White House spokesman admitted that the plot was known well in advance, but refused to reveal the source of the tip. He said the action was allowed to go as far as it did only to ascertain the number and the identities of the troops who supported the Joint Chiefs. The spokesman denied rumors that those troops had been nervegassed. He said the plotters were being charged with treason and were being held in separate jails; he would not disclose the locations other than to say they were dispersed away from Washington. The spokesman declined to answer questions regarding the number of FBI agents and Federal marshals involved in the action; he shrugged off unofficial reports that thousands had been mustered.
The only reliable information known was that large numbers of them had lain in concealment about Camp David for several days prior to the action. The spokesman would say only the two groups had courageously rescued the President and his party.
Brian Chaney was unaware that the lights dimmed and the hurtful rubber band smashed against his eardrums; he didn’t hear the massive mallet smash into the block pf compressed air and then rebound with a soft, oily sigh. He didn’t know that Arthur Saltus had left him until he turned around and found himself alone.