The President looked interested. Or astigmatic. Possibly both.
"This map shows the CONUS—"
The President lifted his hand as if in school. "Who renamed the nation?" he asked.
"No one. CONUS stands for Continental United States."
"Oh."
"Now, as I was saying, this map is broken down into CONUS armies."
"We have more than one?"
"If you'll read the legend, you'll see we have four entire armies headquartered in the nation. The First Army, headquartered in Fort George G. Meade, the Second in Fort Gillem, the Fifth is quartered in Fort Sam Houston and the Sixth is presently based in Colorado."
The President looked troubled. "Where are the Third and Fourth armies?"
"The Fourth, Mr. President, is inactive."
"Well, activate them. We may need every jackboot."
"That's 'man jack,'" the commandant of the Marine Corps muttered under his breath.
"You don't understand, Mr. President," the Army chief of staff resumed with an angry glance at the Marine commandant. "There's is no Fourth Army. They were—"
"Decommissioned?"
The secretary of the Navy began dry-washing his face with his red hands.
"'Deactivated' is the Army's preferred terminology. They don't exist anymore. Forget I brought them up."
"Wait a minute. Why don't we—"
"Reconstitute?" the Army chief said hopefully.
The President quietly scribbled down the new word. He had a five-page list now. He also knew the difference between a brigade and a division. Although he much preferred the sound of brigade, it was actually a smaller, less formidable force than a division.
"Yeah. Reconstitute."
"No time. Not enough volunteers, and I don't think you want to talk about a draft, do you?"
"Definitely not," the President said.
"Thought not."
Around the room smiles were suppressed, producing extremely grave expressions that the President personally admired and reminded himself to practice before the mirror next chance he got.
"Now, for our purposes we are concerned only with the Sixth Army, whose—"
"Domain?"
"Let's say 'domain.' I like that. Their domain is the far western CONUS, and they will have the responsibility for safeguarding California and Arizona."
"Can't lose those. Think of the electoral votes."
"The Fifth Army, which is responsible for those areas extending south from Nebraska to include the border states of New Mexico and Texas, will of course guarantee the sanctity of those border states."
"I still think we need another army___" the President lamented.
"And you're right," the Army chief of staff said, bursting into a great big smile. "Isn't he right, men?"
The JCS agreed the President was right.
"Let me direct your attention to the red circle down here in Panama. That, Mr. President, is the U.S. Army South."
A confused twinge tweaked the President's face. "No number?"
"No, sir. The U.S. Army South. Our Southern Command, as we like to call it. Basically, with the Fifth and Sixth perched above the Mexicans and the Southern Command roosting on their back doorstep, we have them surrounded from the git-go."
The President grinned. He was not only right, but he knew what git-go meant without having to ask. He was starting to get the hang of all this military stuff and decided to venture a solid suggestion. "I propose for the duration of this engagement—"
"Operation."
"Operation. I meant to say that. It's not an engagement until we actually engage, is it?"
"No, sir. And even then it will be a war. But you had a suggestion?"
"Yes. For the duration I propose we rename the Southern Command the US. Seventh Army so there's no confusion."
The faces of the JCS fell like crumbling outcroppings.
"Can't. We already have a Seventh Army."
"I don't see them on the map___"
"That's because they're headquartered in Germany."
"Maybe we should call them back."
"Not a good idea."
"Okay. Then the Southern Forces will be the Eighth Army."
"They're hunkered down on the Korean DMZ. We pull them out, and I guarantee you Seoul will fall in two days flat."
"Damn," said the President. "Is there a Ninth Army?"
"Not in name."
"Then who's protecting Alaska and Hawaii?"
"That would be the U.S. Army Pacific."
"Why aren't they on the map?"
"Because for the purposes of this briefing, we assume no Mexican military threat to Alaska and Hawaii, Mr. President."
"I think I follow you now."
"So in conclusion—" the other JCS members perked up at the welcome word, conclusion "—I submit to you that our borders are secure."
The President beamed. "I can see that now."
"Great."
The phone shrilled. It was the direct line to the Pentagon.
The JCS chair picked it up and said, "We're briefing CinC CONUS here."
"That's you, Mr. President," the secretary of the Navy said to the President. "It's short for Commander in Chief CONUS."
The President positively beamed. He had a new title.
"What's that?" the JCS chair said into the receiver. After listening a moment, he said, "I'll pass the word." And he hung up.
The JCS chair adjusted his glasses and said, "That was the Pentagon. We have word from our Marine air base listening post in Yuma that the Mexicans are announcing to the world they have a secret weapon."
"What's it called?"
"El Diablo."
"Isn't that Spanish for 'the Devil'?"
"That's what they're calling it."
The President looked shaken. "This sounds serious. Can they have a secret weapon with a name like that?"
"If they do, it's their secret weapon. They can call it whatever they want."
"I don't like the sound of it…"
"Propaganda."
"What if it's not? What if American cities are at risk?"
The Joint Chiefs of Staff exchanged doubtful, worried glances. For once they didn't know what to tell the President of the United States. They had never heard of any weapons system like El Diablo, but the very name made them fidgety.
Chapter Twenty-four
"No matter what happens," Remo Williams was saying, "I'm kissing nobody's ring."
The Master of Sinanju made no reply. He had held his silence since the white chocolate limousine had conveyed them through one of the three gates to the walled city-state in the heart of modern Rome called the Vatican.
"You hear me? I don't kiss rings."
They were following the ramrod figure in the crimson vestments who had greeted them as they exited the limousine.
He had announced himself in heavily accented English as the cardinal secretary of state. Chiun had said nothing then, only inclined his head politely toward the cardinal, who gestured them to follow.
Now Chiun spoke, his voice sounding faraway. "On these grounds good Nero had his gardens and his circus. Christians were put down in wonderful numbers."
"I don't give a novena," said Remo.
"Lower your rude voice, and banish from your mind that we are about to meet the supreme pontiff of your childhood religion. For this pope is also the head of this state, and we must treat him as we would treat a ruler whose favor we court."
They were escorted through a green-grown path and after turning a corner found themselves in the verdant splendor of the Belvedere Courtyard.
Remo saw the stooped man in dazzling white, flanked by two medieval figures following with raised pikes. The pontifical Swiss Guard.
The pope's kindly eyes brightened at the sight of the Master of Sinanju. He came forward, his white vestments floating about his legs. He walked with a cane now, Remo saw. But his step was confident. A gold crucifix as long as a child's forearm gleamed on his immaculate white breast.