Sitting in the forward pilot's seat was Air Force Colonel Greg Dumont, with Captain David McMillans, Reconnaissance Systems Officer occupying the rear seat. Looking more like astronauts than pilots, both men were dressed in pressure suits and connected to life support systems. Their present mission, CIA authorized, would take them on a high-speed flyover of the China and North Korea borders. With their speed and altitude, it was possible for them to photograph 100,000 square miles in just one sixty-minute flyover. But today, they'd only need eight minutes to get the pictures requested.
Colonel Dumont put a last minute trim on the flaps and touched up the throttles to make the cruising speed and altitude. He adjusted the oxygen mask. "Dave, we have the latest weather out of Travis?"
"Yes, sir. It looks smooth all the way to Elmendorf."
"Great. Keep an eye out for the weather link off Seattle." Dumont checked his geographic display for positioning and corrected for a freak forty knot jet stream. He checked both panel displays located just forward of his knees and settled back to log his observations after putting the Bird on 'George', the auto pilot. "We're on 'George', Dave… hands off."
"Roger, skipper."
They flew silently for several minutes, which wasn't unusual. There was plenty to do when the Blackbird was up. But they'd flown many missions together in the SR-71, and after a while, one seemed to know what the other was thinking. McMillans smiled when he heard Dumont's voice in his headset.
"It'll get better over the water, Dave. We've just got the radar checkpoint in Adak, and then—"
McMillans continued making his notes and calculations as he finished the sentence, "… we're outta here!"
Secretary of Defense Thomas Allington pointed to the aide, motioning for him to open the double doors then said, "Come in, Commander, Agent Phillips," he motioned, then with a condescending glance, said to his aide, "I'll be awhile." The aide immediately left. The solid wooden doors were securely closed, and a Marine guard, with a Smith & Wesson .45 strapped to his side, moved to take his position directly in front of them.
Allington assumed the role of Secretary of Defense with the election of President Samuel McNeely and Vice President Harold Shurmann in 1972. A twenty-year Navy veteran, Allington was assigned to the Judge Advocate General's Office the last six years of his military service, after which he began his own law practice. He began loosening his tie and stared at the uniformed men. "Gentlemen, you might as well get comfortable. Today has 'long day' written all over it."
Seated at the long, rectangular, mahogany table were four military officers making up the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The military brass shifted in their seats, brief smiles acknowledging the SecDef's remark. That's as comfortable as they would get. The austere military traditions of all the Armed Forces just didn't provide for a "time for loosening one's tie."
Four-star Army General Allan Sherwood, Chairman of the JCS, was the embodiment of a military officer who had learned early the lessons of the power of manipulation and the term "sucking up." For nearly thirty years, every move he made was meant to feed his ego and setting his goal and career path to becoming the youngest Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He turned the normally placid meetings into the proverbial circus. The inside joke was that before anyone entered the room, they first threw in a thermometer just to check the temperature.
General Victor Norwood, USAF, Chief of Staff, had come to the Joint Chiefs directly from his assignment as head of the Strategic Air Command (SAC). Norwood was one of the first to fly the new B52A's delivered to the Air Force in 1954, and in 1959, he was part of NASA's X15 project, carrying the X15A beneath the B52's underbelly. He possessed the insight and judicious reasoning that would safeguard the aircraft from being replaced by newer bombers.
Admiral Carl Maxwell, USN, Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) and JCS Vice Chairman, had the most time-in service of all the Joint Chiefs. He, like Gene Morelli, had come up through the ranks. He had been a troubled sailor during the early part of his career, having gone through two marriages in less than six years, and known for his confrontations with the Shore Patrol on numerous occasions. Maxwell learned that drinking wasn't the way to win friends and influence people. So when he cleaned up his act and reached deep down inside himself to set a new course for his life, it guided him down a path to become CNO. Knowing both sides of the fence had made him a sailor's sailor. Even during the sad times of dishing out punishment to sailors, he was lenient and was jokingly, but fondly referred to as "Brother Maxwell" because of his sermons to the wayward sailors he had chastised.
General Orvis Black, USMC, Commandant of the Marine Corps, was a man of impeccable integrity and deep-reaching faith. With his clear blue eyes and close-cropped silver butch haircut, he was a Marine poster just waiting to be printed. During Vietnam, Black was Commanding General of the 5th Marine Division for I Corps in DaNang. Along with a Silver Star and Purple Heart that he earned during Korea, Black received the Distinguished Service Medal for cleaning up the northern cities of Hue and Phu Loc during the Tet Offensive. His loyalty to his men propelled him through the ranks, twice being deep selected in rank. In six months, General Black is scheduled to retire from the Marine Corps.
The Secretary nodded in the direction of Grant Stevens and Sam Phillips. "As you all know, Agent Phillips is representing the CIA, and Commander Stevens is here from NIS at the recommendation of Admiral Morelli."
"Big goddamn deal," General Sherwood muttered without turning around, rapping the tip of his pen on the table.
For the moment, almost everyone ignored the sarcastic remark made by the chairman, that is, everyone but Grant. Sherwood hadn't changed. He drilled his stare into the back of the chairman's head, a head that seemed balanced somewhat precariously on what Grant once described to Morelli as a "grizzled turkey neck."
The SecDef gestured toward the two-page agenda resting on the manila folders set before each of them. "You've had an opportunity to review the documents in front of you. Let's discuss the situation. General Norwood, do you have anything to report?"
Norwood pushed his chair back then walked somewhat tentatively to the map projected onto the screen. It was obvious the arthritis in his left hip was acting up, his limp more prominent. He looked up at the map. "Our first flyover by satellite shows the Chicom massing, right about here in Ji'an and here, Dandong." He circled the two areas with a black-tipped wooden pointer. "About three hours after the satellite's pass, we had the Blackbird shoot the photos you have in your folders."
The 'Bird' did good work again, Grant thought, as he shuffled through the series of glossy, black and white photos.
"Analysis confirms those two sites," Norwood said as he tapped the screen, "and Nampo, right here on the northeast coast of North Korea. Each has missile launchers in position." He hesitated momentarily, looking up at the details of the map before he turned around, tapping the pointer against his palm. "All the missiles have been confirmed as launch-ready, with more stockpiled at each site."
"Are you planning more flyovers?" asked the secretary as he lit another Marlboro, then went into a coughing fit, holding his handkerchief in front of his mouth, trying to muffle the disturbing sound.
Norwood replaced the pointer in the tray then returned to his chair. Looking at his watch, he answered, "The satellite should be making another pass as we speak."