“Screw it,” she muttered. “I’ve had about enough of this job anyway.”
She picked up the phone and dialed it herself.
The phone rang twice, then a crisp military voice answered. “This is Major Richards speaking.”
“I’m Teresa Simpson, Director of the BLM. Stan Fischer gave me this number since I’m involved with the mission to remove the Americans from Antarctica. Is he available?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Simpson. Mr. Fischer is not in the office.”
Teresa could tell from the pitch of his voice that the staffer was under incredible pressure.
“Where can I locate him?”
The voice hesitated. “He’s on a classified mission—”
Teresa felt a twinge of anger and frustration. “I’m a member of the NSC staff working on this mission. Check Mr. Fischer’s own records to confirm I was present at the NSC meeting.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Simpson. This mission is highly classified.” The staffer paused, stress even more evident in his voice now. “I have to conclude the call. We’re very busy here.”
Teresa bit down on her lip. “Thank you, Major.” She dialed her secretary. “Get me Emerson on the phone.”
She tapped her fingers, waiting for a return call that would either be Emerson or one of Emerson’s staffers making some kind of ass-kissing excuse why he couldn’t come to the phone.
She was shocked when Jeanie walked into her office, her face void of color and her eyes wide with fear.
“What’s up?”
“This is off the record, Ms. Simpson. I got this from a friend.”
She fidgeted until Teresa asked her to sit on the office couch. Teresa sat beside her.
The secretary turned to Teresa, her hands rubbing her skirt. “The entire senior staff, the cabinet and Vice President were ordered out to Andrews about three hours ago.”
“Why?” Teresa asked. Andrews Air Force base, located in nearby Maryland was a central hub for secure government travel and the home base for Air Force One.
“I don’t know. If you’re around long enough, you learn to pick up things.” She leaned forward. “It sounds crazy, but my friend at the White House, he said that Air Force One and Air Force Two and several refueling aircraft had been summoned and put on high alert. People are being told this is some kind of preparedness drill, but schedules were cleared and everyone — I mean everyone—is supposed to be rushing the cabinet and staffs out to the airport.”
“What?”
“They’re putting everyone into airborne command centers and spreading out the cabinet and their staffs. With the refueling aircraft, my friend said Air Force One can fly almost indefinitely.”
“There’s only one reason for that — the possibility of a nuclear exchange.”
The secretary burst into tears when Teresa said it.
“What about congress? Are they being evacuated?”
The secretary wiped at her face. “No, that’s why everyone thinks this is a drill of some kind.”
“What makes you think it’s not?”
“Because,” the secretary said, pushing herself off the couch, “my contact, well he’s more than a friend, and he begged me to get out of Washington. Get out fast.”
Teresa walked over to her desk, maintaining as calm a demeanor as possible. “I’m going to need your help.” She looked her secretary in the eye.
“What do you want me to do?”
Teresa smiled. “First, we’re in this together, so you might as well call me Teresa.”
“Okay, Teresa.”
“Get me a telephone number for MacMurdo base in Antarctica.”
Teresa understood from the NSC meeting that a navy-operated, National Science Foundation LC-130 Hercules based at the permanent American Antarctic base was picking the Paulson party up and transporting them off the ice. If the plan had been executed, the flight crew would know where the LC-130, and thus the expedition, had ended up.
Two minutes later, the secretary walked into her office, and handed Teresa a piece of paper with several phone numbers listed, including Flight Operations for the American Antarctic base.
“Good work,” Teresa said. “Now, get on the phone and do your best snooping. I want to know exactly what’s going on around here.”
The secretary spun and flew from the office.
Teresa picked up the phone and dialed. After several delaying clicks, the phone went dead. For some reason, the satellite communications were down.
She formed a picture of Paulson’s Gulfstream jet, the one that she knew from her last briefing was parked in Punta Arenas. The Gulfstream was fast and had worldwide range. If they’d gotten the Las Tortugas airborne before the SEALs got there, they’d be headed for Chile.
Teresa sat down and worked through the scenario. Leah had found something of extreme importance and sensitivity, something that might lead to nuclear conflict.
A satellite picture of the Antarctic base formed in her mind, including the container shelters, the B-29, and the wrecked Antonov.
Teresa’s eyes opened wide.
The Russians. It had to be some kind of impending conflict with the Russians, something so secret that only the President and his immediate staff new anything about.
“Leah Andrews found something all right,” she muttered, “something so off the charts, it might pass the next cold war and go direct to World War Three.”
Clearly, whatever Andrews had found, something had gone desperately wrong. Hell, the government had locked itself down!
“This is crazy,” she muttered while shaking her head. “Even for me.”
She walked from her office and scanned the office for her secretary, who had managed to paste a smile so as not to alert the other staffers something was wrong.
“Can I see you in my office?” Teresa smiled sweetly.
The secretary nodded, and scurried toward Teresa’s office. Teresa shut the door.
“I’m going to Chile,” Teresa said plainly.
“Why?”
“This is strictly between you and me.” Teresa stopped long enough to solicit a nod from the secretary.
“I think the sudden and unexplained evacuation has something to do with an ex-employee of the BLM. Someone I hired and Secretary Emerson fired.”
“Dr. Andrews.”
Teresa was going to ask how she knew, and then remembered that Leah’s termination had grabbed headlines within the Beltway.
She nodded. “I’m not going into details since that is still classified information. However, if this is what I think it is, I believe Washington is safe from nuclear attack, at least for now. Antarctica, of all places, is the flashpoint.”
The secretary opened her mouth, but Teresa anticipated the question. “Don’t ask, Jeanie, because I can’t tell you — partly because I don’t know all the facts myself and partly, like I said, because this is still highly classified.”
“What are you planning?”
Teresa pulled out a world atlas from a shelf behind her desk. She flipped to a map of Chile, her fingers resting on the southern tip of the country. “I’m going to a place called Punta Arenas.”
“That sounds crazy. I mean, what can you do?”
Teresa looked up, her eyes steely. “Leah Andrews was my employee and my responsibility. It’s partly my fault we’re in this mess because I didn’t have the guts to buck Secretary Emerson when he fired her. I can’t sit here and twiddle my thumbs.” She shrugged. “It’s not in my nature.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Book me on a commercial flight to Punta Arenas, or anywhere close. In fact just get me out of the country. Mexico City or better yet, anywhere in South America. After what happened on 911, you can bet the airlines could be grounded at any minute.” She opened a draw on her desk and pulled out a black Gucci purse. From the purse she drew an American Express credit card and handed to the secretary, who looked at the front of the card.