A full minute passed before the lit screen deactivated and one reading unclassified took its place. Seconds later, the heavy bank-vault-type door set into the wall next to the counter automatically opened. The guard signaled that he was free to proceed and Thomas wasted no time doing so.
This put him in the NMCC’s anteroom. Yet another MP watched his entrance from behind the bulletproof glass of the final security checkpoint.
“Special Agent Kellogg,” the sentry greeted, with a slight Southern accent. “Your escort is on the way.”
No sooner were these words spoken than a slightly built, khaki-clad lieutenant emerged from the opposite doorway. This bespectacled young officer had already lost most of his hah-, and he welcomed Thomas with high-powered enthusiasm.
“Good evening, sir. I’m It. Warren Tolliver, and I’ll be escorting you to Op Center Bravo. Commander Cooper says that you once worked the NMCC yourself, while you were in the Air Force. I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve last visited the command post, but we’re currently in the midst of a complete face-lift. If you’ll follow me closely, I’ll try to get you to our destination in one piece.”
Thomas soon saw for himself the extent of this remodeling job. The walls and ceiling of the corridor they were soon passing through were totally torn apart. Even at this late hour a group of contractors were at work.
Thomas caught a glimpse of a snaking mass of newly installed fiber-optic cable visible inside the partially open wallboard. The Pentagon was originally designed around the technology of a now long-gone era, and was constantly being updated. It was no different during his tenure, though the computer revolution was just in its infancy then.
On their left, they passed the cavernous confines of the NMCC. Thomas could see the six giant video screens that comprised the command post’s main wall. Dozens of individual computer consoles were set up in front of the screens, manned by uniformed personnel from every branch of the military.
It turned out Operation Bravo occupied the same space that once housed the chief of naval operation’s personal briefing room. It was located on the far side of the NMCC, its privacy protected by a pair of heavy steel doors that Lieutenant Tolliver opened for Thomas.
Thomas found the room’s interior was vastly different since his last visit. It wasn’t the room’s dimensions that had changed, but rather its contents. In a space the size of a large garage a fully staffed, high-tech operations center had been set up.
To his immediate left was the op center’s dominant feature. Three immense video screens were mounted into the wall here. Only the screen on the far right was currently active, with a live CNN broadcast displayed on it. A blonde newscaster was interviewing the prime minister of Canada beneath the brightly lit bow of the QE2.
Since Thomas was unable to hear this interview, he turned his attention to the six individual workstations set up in front of the screen. They were positioned in two parallel rows of three each, with only the front tier presently occupied. The two operatives closest to Thomas were women. All were dressed in U. S. Navy khakis and appeared to be petty officers.
A glass partition cut the room in half, with a separate conference room occupying the rest of the operations center. Brittany could be seen seated at the room’s large, rectangular table, in the midst of a telephone conversation. Because her back was turned toward Thomas, she apparently hadn’t seen him arrive. Lieutenant Tolliver also noticed this and promptly chimed in.
“Sir, why don’t I inform the commander that you’re here?”
“I’ll take care of it, Lieutenant,” said Thomas as he walked over to the glass partition and rapped on it three times with his right knuckle.
This impromptu page served its purpose, and Brittany smiled upon spotting Thomas. She signaled that she’d be done with her call shortly.
Thomas turned his attention back to his bespectacled escort.
“How long have you had this op center up and running, Lieutenant?”
“Bravo’s been functional for over a month now, sir. But the summit watch will be its first real operational test.”
“The last time I was in this room, the entire space was the exclusive realm of the CNO. It was basically used for internal briefings, with its cork-lined walls usually filled with charts and maps of all kinds.”
“Bravo still belongs to the CNO, sir. After the Korean incident it was decided to create this specialized op center within the NMCC, dedicated solely to naval matters. That way, when the President wants to know where the carriers are, we can show him anytime, day or night, right up there on one of those projection screens.”
“Hello, Special Agent Kellogg,” a female voice called from behind him.
Brittany looked remarkably fresh, her eyes bright, her starched uniform as impeccably creased as it had appeared earlier in the day. Tolliver took her arrival as a sign that he wasn’t needed anymore, and he excused himself to return to his computer console.
“This certainly is a pleasant surprise,” added Brittany. “When I initially called your office I had no idea that you were right upstairs.”
Thomas smiled. “I must be living a righteous life to practically bump into you for the second time today.”
“From what I’ve been hearing, rescuing the First Cat wasn’t your only adventure at the White House, Thomas. Scuttlebutt has it that you and Samuel Morrison came close to blowing away one of the birthday guests with a Stinger missile.”
“I hope that’s not what the morning papers are going to be saying,” returned Thomas with a painful wince. “When that Cessna first penetrated restricted airspace, we didn’t know what to expect — let alone a teenage parachutist with a crush on the President’s daughter.”
“Sounds to me like this is definitely movie-of the-week material,” joked Brittany, who intuitively sensed that Thomas was under more pressure than he was outwardly admitting. “Pretty long day at the office, Special Agent?”
“And you still don’t know the half of it. How about I brief you over a glass of Chianti and a hot vegetable pie at the California Pizza Kitchens?”
“Sounds like just what the doctor ordered for this starving sailor,” Brittany replied while glancing up to the CNN broadcast.
Thomas did likewise. “Looks like the heads of state are finally there.”
The CNN reporter was still in the midst of her interview with the Canadian prime minister, and she was signaling another individual to join them. This resulted in the appearance of a tall, dignified, black-suited gentleman, whose trademark black horn-rimmed glasses and full shock of white hair could only belong to the prime minister of Great Britain.
“There’s the star of the day,” remarked Brittany. “I don’t know if you heard about his UN speech, but earlier today the Brits relayed what amounts to be their tacit approval of the Global Zero Alert treaty to the world community. Intelligence is telling us that it looks like the French will be the next ones to get on the nuclear-free bandwagon, with China’s Li Chen right behind them. You know, this crossing might turn out to be more historic than any of us ever dreamed.”
Thomas held back his own editorial comments regarding the novel arms-control agreement, and instead queried, “Has Two-Putt arrived yet?”
“The last I heard, Eagle One was on its final approach to Kennedy,” revealed Brittany. “The motorcades carrying the German chancellor and the presidents of Russia and France have just pulled into the Passenger Ship Terminal. Since the prime ministers of Japan, Italy, Canada, and Britain have already preceded them, that leaves only one more to go to make the party complete.”