She turned her face to his and said abruptly, "Why aren't you in Canada for your lecture, John?"
"Simple," he said, his voice low, his eyes staring down at the ground between his boots. "I was in a helicopter with my Pakistani liaison officer. On the way out we saw the first prong of the Soviet invasion from the air. I've still got plenty of contacts with CIA and State. If the Russians don't pull out of Pakistan, we're going in with troops to push them out. And you know what that could start."
"God, John, no. No one would be senseless enough to start a world war. I just can't believe that."
"Well," Rourke said, "I hope you're right. In case you aren't, though, I wanted to try to persuade you to come to the retreat with the kids-stay with me there until this thing all blows over, or-"
She cut him off. "Or until the war starts and we can't leave."
"Something like that," he said, not looking at her.
"You go to Canada," she whispered. "And when you come back, let's try to start over again. Maybe we'll even visit your-our-retreat. How long will you be gone?"
"It's three days-with travel, make it four. I don't have to go."
"Yes, you do. If I want to get myself psyched up for trying again, you've got to. Can you stay the night and leave in the morning?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Yes," Sarah said, her voice a whisper.
Chapter Six
"Commanche Nine holding at Fail Safe point, sir," the young airman droned, still studying the control panel before him. The captain behind him did not indicate whether he had heard him, but continued walking along the rank of thirty-six consoles on the mezzanine overlooking the Sioux Mountain Strategic Air Command Global Layout. The lights of the console blinked on and off in various colors, indicating the positions and statuses of flights. Many of the lights were glowing amber; those flights were all within a few air miles of the Soviet mainland, and the amber color indicated they were armed with nuclear warheads and holding at the Fail Safe point-poised to penetrate Soviet defenses, armed and ready, awaiting a digitally coded attack order. Once that was issued, only a specific, complex recall code could be issued to make the bombers pull out. At the end of the rank of consoles and blue-clad airmen monitoring them, the captain turned a corner and moved along the catwalk to the other side of the mammoth, amphitheater-like room. On this side, there was a nearly identical row of airmen, with nearly identical consoles. The map on the far wall of this room was nearly identical to the one on the other, but the lights were in different patterns and of different colors.
Here, most of the lights were navy blue-Soviet Ilyushin 28 and Myasishchev 500 bombers holding on their Fail Safe points-just a respectable distance outside the continental United States.
Lights changed, as the captain strolled past the map, but the numbers of them did not. There were quite a few more blue lights on this board than there were amber lights on the opposite board. The thought worried the captain slightly, and he made the decision that he should alert his superior to the numbers game scoring on the twin boards.
He picked up the receiver of the white phone nearest him, dialed the code, and waited.
"You must go, sweetheart. Just a precaution, but a president is human, too. How can I function at my best if I'm worried about your safety and the safety of the children?" He smiled at her, not the smile he had used on election night, nor the smile he used at press conferences when one of the network reporters asked an awkward question-but the smile he saved for her and the children. As he put his arms around her, he reflected that it was likely his only real smile. There was little else to smile about these days.
"But, Andrew," she whispered, her cheek resting against the front of his blue three-piece suit, "why can't you go with us? You can run things just as well from Mt. Lincoln as you can from here. You've told me that yourself."
"Marilyn," he whispered, trying not to sound as concerned as he felt, "If the president were to go to his war retreat, it would look like we expected a war-and that might help to bring one about. Unless we were holding an exercise-which we aren't-I simply cannot go there. The people, would think war was imminent if I did."
"But isn't it, Andrew? The papers, the communiqués from Ambassador Stromberg? He's been back and forth to Russia twice in as many days."
"I know, darling. The premier is running a bluff. That particle beam weapon he talks about is still only experimental. If Moscow were ringed with operational PB devices, we'd know about it. Unfortunately, the papers, TV-they just don't believe we're telling them the truth, that the Soviets are running the risk of a U.S. retaliation. The premier is simply refusing to admit the fact that we're still militarily superior. He's running a bluff, and if I have to, I'll call it. But I want to save his credibility, as well-if I can, if he'll let me. I know the problems he faces in his own leadership in the Kremlin. I'll be on the hot line with him soon. We'll work it out. Remember, darling, the premier is no amateur. He's a reasonable man, a seasoned politician. We'll talk like reasonable men."
The president walked beside his wife down the hall and past the Oval Office to the narrow flight of stone steps leading to the driveway abutting the living quarters of the White House. The children were all waiting there. Andrew, Jr., seventeen; Louise, fourteen-named after her maternal grandmother-and Bobby, eight.
"Hey, Daddy!" Bobby shouted, running up to the president, a toy space ship in his hands, its laser cannons blasting.
The president bent down and swept the boy up into his arms. "And how are you, spaceman? "What's the latest word from Alpha Centauri?"
"Oh, Daddy-I'm just playin'."
"Oh, okay," the president said. "How about giving the president a kiss-that's an order from the commander-in-chief of the space fleet."
The boy wrapped his arms around his father's neck. The president's eyes met his wife's for a brief moment as he bent to set the boy down.
"I want you to take care of your mother, Bob. You know she doesn't like helicopter rides. Oh, and I got Lieutenant Brightston to promise to haul out any videotape you want tonight and run it on the big screen at the mountain-so don't let him forget."
"Gotcha," the boy said, reaching up for a quick kiss, then running off toward his older brother and sister who were standing by the curb.
Out of the corner of his eye, the president saw his chief of staff, Paul Dorian, walking briskly down the steps, right hand raised discreetly, eyes boring toward him. "You go ahead, Marilyn," the president said, then waited, his shoulders hunched against the cold for Dorian to join him.
"What is it, Paul?"
"The full alert is in effect, sir. All standbys are cancelled-everything. Word from SAC Headquarters at Sioux Mountain is that the Russians are doing the same. CIA confirms that. So does Air Force intelligence, everything."
"The hot line?"
"Ready when you are, sir. The premier is available."
"Good," the president said, but the word soured in his mouth. "Oh, Paul?"
"Yes, Mr. President," Dorian said. "Let's go ahead with that drill on the Eden Project thing-just in case."
The president studied the hard set Paul Dorian's eyes took. Mention of the Eden Project worried Dorian. As the president started toward his wife and children, to take the short walk to the White House lawn where his personal helicopter awaited, he thought, "All well and good." It was about time Paul Dorian started to worry.