Cavanaugh couldn’t say anything.
The car was early, which was fine, because so was Jerry. The civilian driver was already taking care of the paperwork when Jerry arrived in the lobby at ten minutes to eight. He was a little jet-lagged, but he was functional. A small, pale woman with jet-black hair approached and offered her hand.
“Commodore, good morning. I’m Valerie Adams, one of Mr. Sellers’s assistants. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” As instructed, he’d brought everything with him, and as the driver smoothly took his carry-on and sea bag, Ms. Adams guided him outside. A black, imposing-looking limousine with dark-tinted windows waited at the curb.
Once inside, she pulled out a hard-sided briefcase, unlocked it, and handed Jerry a manila envelope. It wasn’t sealed shut, but it was vividly marked with several security warnings. “Chief of Staff Sellers asked that you read this material on the way, to save time. We have about twenty-five minutes until we’re at Pendleton. The car is screened, so we’re secure.”
He opened the envelope and pulled out a dozen-or-so-page document. The first one repeated the security warnings, and was titled “Overcharge.” The second page was a map of the Kara Sea and Arctic Ocean. He started reading.
The Secret Service had instantly turned down President-Elect Hardy’s first choice for a presidential residence, a five-acre estate right on the Thames River. Not only were they concerned about water access to the site, but the security perimeter would have to extend well offshore, and would interfere with traffic on the river. Besides, while the house was grand enough to entertain distinguished guests, five acres was simply not enough room. For example, there was no good place for the helipad.
Eventually, they’d settled on Pendleton Hill in Stonington, forty-two acres purchased in the 1890s by a robber baron that fancied himself a gentleman farmer. Hardy and Patterson got it at a good price, since the previous owners had not been able to keep it properly maintained. The place would have to be renovated anyway, before the new occupants could move in. There was a small stream on one edge of the property, which would have to satisfy the president-elect’s desire for water.
Jerry had been there once before, with Emily, at the official housewarming for the “Connecticut White House.” He remembered the first guard shack, just after turning off the main road. They didn’t even stop, but Jerry knew they’d been reported.
The real security came five minutes later, at a converted gatehouse that now served as the Secret Service’s local headquarters. Everyone showed their IDs, while dogs checked the car. Jerry, in the middle of his second, more thorough reading of the document, replaced it in the envelope and offered it to Adams, but she waved it away. “Please keep it for your meeting. The Secret Service will keep your luggage until you’re done.”
Once past the gatehouse, they drove by an ornamental garden dotted with small statues, as old as the house. Any further security was well concealed, and aside from a few people working on the grounds, there was nobody in sight.
The car pulled around to a side entrance, where Dwight Sellers was waiting for him inside. Hardy’s chief of staff greeted him warmly. “You’re early. That’s good.” He pointed to the envelope. “Did you get a chance to go over it?”
Jerry barely nodded yes before Sellers had them moving down a long central hall. He apologized, “Lately, the weather’s been good in the morning, and the president and first lady have been taking breakfast in the garden, but today they’re in their private dining room.” Jerry, his mind filled with what he’d just read, completely understood. He didn’t want even a sparrow to overhear their conversation.
“I’ve cleared his morning, so you shouldn’t feel rushed. We weren’t sure how long he would need — how long this meeting would take,” Sellers explained. “But there’s a lot going on…”
“I understand,” Jerry replied as Sellers knocked lightly and opened the door.
The first couple were seated, but they both rose and Joanna Patterson almost ran from behind the breakfast table to where Jerry stood, sweeping him in an enthusiastic and familiar embrace. “Jerry, it’s wonderful to see you.”
Jerry responded with a small squeeze and a peck on her cheek, but turned as quickly as he could to face Hardy. “Good to see you, Skipper.” Hardy’s handshake was firm without being competitive.
Jerry served himself from a trolley loaded with fruit, bacon, pastries, and almost anything he could imagine asking for. He noticed the other two were both eating light, and resisted the impulse to load up. As he sat, Joanna asked about Emily and Charlotte, and then Hardy asked about how the squadron was reacting to Toledo’s loss.
More questions followed. It seemed like they were hungry for news, or more properly, unfiltered, personal news. Jerry and Emily occasionally sent photos and short messages to a special e-mail address they’d been given, but they’d been reluctant to clutter the first couple’s inbox. As the conversation progressed, he made a mental note to send more personal e-mails to Hardy and Patterson. They might as well be living in a foreign country for all the contact they had with their old friends.
Jerry waited patiently for Hardy to get around to business. The three finally cleared the dishes away, by themselves, onto the bottom shelf of the trolley. It was clear to Jerry that this was to be a very private conversation. Hardy poured a second cup of coffee for all three of them, and then asked, “What’s your opinion of Lou Weiss, Jerry?”
That was an easy one to answer. “He’s very good. He took over Carter about a month after I arrived, so we’re both the ‘new guys’ in DEVRON Five. It’s his first command, but he’s done well, witness his last two outings. He’s energetic and methodical, almost to a fault, and is always thinking about what comes next.” Jerry gestured to the manila envelope, now resting on one corner of the table. “He’s got as good a chance as anyone in the fleet of getting this done.”
“What do you think of Overcharge? Any qualms about attacking a Russian base in Russian waters?” Hardy asked.
Jerry almost laughed. “After all we’ve been through? It’s almost old home week.” Then his tone became more serious. “I haven’t heard anything about this base since I was at the Toledo debrief. When I got the phone call, I wondered if Bolshevik Island was involved.”
Then he shuddered, not entirely theatrically. “Overcharge scares the hell out of me, because there is a small, hard-to-measure chance of triggering World War III…”
Hardy nodded reluctant agreement.
“But it seems like Fedorin’s getting ready to start one anyway. If not now, then whenever he feels like it, and we wouldn’t be able to stop him. I completely agree with what someone wrote in the plan about it ‘being the best way to remove a key element of the Russians’ strategy.’”
“Do you see any problems with the mission plan?”
Jerry sighed. “The only dicey spot I can see is having to snoop around and figure out the layout of the place before they can place the beacons. The Russians are still working there, so it’ll be a lot like a boat slipping into an enemy harbor during World War II, dodging the escorts until he can get close enough for a shot. If the UUVs are spotted before they start putting the beacons in place, or even before they’re done placing them…” Jerry shrugged. “And we’ve no idea of their timeline?”