"Remo," Smith said, "I must ask you to find a home for that creature. Keeping him is of course out of the question." Remo said nothing. His groan was eloquent enough. After Remo had left, Smith touched a concealed stud that brought his CURE operations-desk terminal rising out of its desktop recess. From this terminal, which was connected to a bank of mainframe computers concealed in Folcroft's basement, Smith had instant access to virtually all nationwide data links. The CURE computers were the heart of his day-to-day operation. Through them, his ability to correlate endless, seemingly unrelated trivia alerted Smith to domestic problems before they exploded into full-blown crises. Through his computers, Smith anonymously tipped off normal law-enforcement agencies to these problems. Only when a crisis did occur, would Smith unleash Remo and Chiun.
As he scanned news digests of the evening, Smith found only the usual situations. One oddity was a sketchy report of a fire in Lafayette park in the District of Columbia. The CURE software had flagged it only because of its proximity to the White House. But it appeared to be a routine matter.
But when Smith switched over to monitor message traffic between the various branches of the government and the military, he suddenly sat up in his chair. Milnet and Arpanet traffic were virtually nonexistent. The systems were up. But no one was passing data. It was as if there was a blackout or a paralysis of communications.
It was very puzzling, but it seemed to be centered in the Washington, D.C., area. That might have been because Washington was the home of most government agencies. But even on a dull day, CIA message traffic was not this light. And the intermilitary lines were unusually quiet too.
Nothing was happening. The few messages Smith did intercept were so routine as to border on trivia. It was as if even though these computer links were considered secure, the government had clamped down on their use so that even in the upper levels of the U.S. government, there were no leaks.
Fascinated, Smith switched over to other information-gathering sources. Everyone was acting as if nothing was happening. That alone was suspicious: In the government, something was always happening. And Smith was determined to discover just what it was.
He hunched over his terminal, his gray eyes coming to life. Interfacing with his system, Dr. Harold W. Smith was in his element. Something close to a smile of satisfaction hovered at the edges of his dry lips. Absently he licked the remnants of the aerosol antacid from their corners. He was so deep in thought, the chalky taste did not even register.
Chapter 4
General Martin S. Leiber finished shoving his desk over so that it blocked the door to his Pentagon office. He had sent his secretary home. He pulled down the window shades and turned on all the lights even though it was barely noon.
Tough times called for tough measures. He got behind his desk and laid a hand on the telephone. He waited. Every minute increased the risk. If the Joint Chiefs of Staff wanted him, they would have to come for him. The longer they held off, the better his chances improved. He could almost feel the weight of those extra stars on his shoulder epaulets. Never mind the extra perks; they meant a stiff ten thousand dollars a year in retirement benefits.
If he could stall the Joint Chiefs just a little longer. They were calling for answers. General Leiber had put them off with some military double-talk. He had already fielded one call from the President of the United States this morning. The President was concerned.
"Is it safe to come out?" the President had asked.
"Negative, Mr. President," General Leiber told him. "We have not yet identified the threat."
"But Washington has not been destroyed?"
"It would be premature for me to comment on that, Mr. President."
"Premature!" The President's voice skittered dangerously toward falsetto. "The nation's capital is either standing or it isn't. Which is it?"
"It's not that simple, Mr. President," General Leiber went on, sweat gathering under his iron-gray toupee. "The city has experienced an attack of unknown origin."
"But it failed."
"The first strike may have failed. But it may not. Mr. President, I will be frank. We do not know the meaning of this attack. That is bad enough. But we are desperately attempting to establish the nature of the weapon itself."
"I was told that it was a missile."
"You have been misinformed, sir. We know no such thing. At present, the threat object is unclassifiable. It's true there was no explosion or release of radiation, but in the absence of knowing what this thing was supposed to do, we can't rule out the possibility that it won't develop into a threat situation. "
"I don't understand. The thing was a dud, right?"
"We don't know that. In fact, we know so little that any conclusion or action we might contemplate would be premature-even downright dangerous. I strongly advise you to stay underground until we know that it is safe to come up. Even if this object which is now being evaluated by the brightest minds in the Air Force-is a nonthreat, we cannot assume that a second strike might not be imminent."
"Maybe I should be talking to the joint Chiefs. What do they say?"
''I have already spoken with them and we are in complete ... um"-General Leiber searched for an apt word that was not exactly a lie and, he hoped, not in the President's vocabulary-"equanimity about the situation," he said. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought.
"Well, if they think that's the best course, I guess I could stay down here another few hours. But dammit, this is my first day in office. I'm anxious to get up there and lead."
"I understand, sir. But your security is top priority. And please, do not call again. We don't know if those phones are tapped. We don't want the enemy to know where you are. "
"Yes, I see," said the President vaguely. "I appreciate your patriotism. It was fortunate a man of your caliber was on duty when this thing happened. I hope you will continue to act as my surrogate in this crisis."
"Don't worry, Mr. President, I'm on top of it." General Leiber hung up. His eyes were bright. If this didn't work exactly right, he could kiss his pension adios and be up for high treason to boot. If only that fool of a major would call. How long could it take them to analyze that thing?
The phone rang and General Leiber reached for it eagerly. He hesitated, scratching absently at his mustache. Might be the joint Chiefs. Carefully he picked up the phone but said nothing. If it was the joint Chiefs, he'd crackle some paper against the receiver and try to bluff it out as a bad connection.
Finally a voice asked, "Hello?"
"That you, Major Cheek?"
"Yes, General. You said you wanted to hear the minute we confirmed anything."
"Yes," said General Leiber. "But speak carefully, man. This line may be tapped."
"Yessir, General," Major Cheek said. "Now, what have you got?"
"Confirmation, sir."
"Outstanding! Outstanding, Major. Confirmation of what?"
"The object we discussed, sir."
"Yes, yes, I know. But what is it? Come on, out with it. "
"A bell."
"A what?"
"I can confirm that the mashed brass object is definitely a bell."
General Leiber looked at the receiver clutched in his whitening hand and his eyes got sick. His mouth moved, but nothing came out. Finally he got control of himself.
"A bell?" he asked in a hoarse voice.
"Total confirmation. We even got it to ring. Listen." From the background came a discordant sound like a sick buoy.
"A bell," General Leiber repeated. "You've been at it half the day and all you have is a bell. What about the zillion tons of scrap you pulled out of that hole, mister?"