Oh, baby …
He put the bottle away and tried to arrange his thoughts.
What if some horror along those lines was really what First Contact was going to be like? The president and that kid sailor didn’t seem worried, but the old man always did lack imagination. The kid from Oklahoma … well, who knew? Two dimwits had found each other.
P. J. O’Reilly looked again at the TV in the corner with its permanent display of the hovering saucer just outside the building. What to make of that? What kind of twisted intelligence would park a saucer there, of all places?
The phone on his desk buzzed. His executive assistant. O’Reilly picked it up and grunted.
“That saucer that came in from orbit went back up, or so say the FAA and air force. They aren’t absolutely certain, but they think it’s probably the same saucer. Thing’s now in a polar orbit.”
“Has the press got this?”
“Not to my knowledge. We’re keeping a solid lid on information about saucer and starship movements. Should I inform the president?”
O’Reilly thought His Greatness had enough on his plate just now. “No, and don’t let this leak.” After all, even if hundreds of saucers were scattered from pole to pole in every pond, lake and fishing hole, what could the U.S. government do about it?
O’Reilly was meditating on what might happen if the aliens weren’t the space-cruising diplomats the president seemed to think they would be when the press secretary popped in without knocking. He handed O’Reilly a list of the points he intended to make with the press.
“The First Granddaughter will arrive in an hour,” the mouthpiece said brightly as the chief of staff scanned the list. He kept his job, the chief of staff knew, because he was a consummate actor who could make the most outrageous lies sound plausible.
“We’ve got television crews from every network on the planet out there,” he continued smugly, “to film Amanda coming down the stairs of the helicopter and the president waiting to welcome her. I called her mom to ensure Amanda is bringing her teddy bear. Having Amanda here for the alien arrival has really calmed down the crowds and pols. That teddy bear will be the icing on the cake. Her arrival will make her the most popular female on the planet. Great television, great politics.”
“Let’s hope the aliens don’t eat her first as an hors d’oeuvre,” O’Reilly snarled.
The press secretary’s smile disappeared. “Yeah,” he said slowly, his face growing pale. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a moron?”
“My ex-wife. She said that’s why I landed this gig.”
“Get out of here,” P. J. O’Reilly snapped, pointing toward the door. “And knock next time, dammit!”
“So the list is okay?”
“This administration has the situation well in hand — that’s the company line. If you panic the peasants, I’ll have your empty little head bronzed and use it as a paperweight.”
“What about the Russian government? The Russian president says they have known for dozens of years that aliens are here, sneaking around, planning to take over.”
“Aliens could probably do a better job of running Russia than those idiots in the Kremlin.”
“And what about the French government? They say—”
“The aliens can land in Paris if they want the French government’s considered, enlightened, progressive opinion. Or if they want to gobble garlic-flavored snail-eaters. By God, I wish they would make a French port call!”
After the door closed behind the press dude, he got out the Scotch bottle and had another swig. “Screw the French,” O’Reilly muttered.
With bottle in hand he sat staring at the saucer on the television screen. After two more snorts he swiveled his chair and looked out the window at the real thing.
There was a delegation of Philadelphia thugs waiting on the tarmac at Grand Canyon Airport when the Boeing 747–400 deposited Harrison Douglas, Johnny Murkowsky and their mercenaries, whose ranks were swelled by six men waiting for them. Nearby were parked two National Guard attack helicopters.
The two pharma moguls conferred with their troops.
“We know where they are,” one Philly soldier told Douglas. “Got them pinpointed with infrared. Used one of the choppers.”
Johnny Murk looked the choppers over. They had sensors and machine guns sprouting all over and looked rather fierce. “Where in hell did you guys get those things?”
“You can get anything on this planet if you are willing to pay for it. Douglas said you were.”
“Damn right. We want Adam Solo, dead or alive, and hang the cost.”
The Philadelphia contingent smiled benignly. It looked as if they had struck the mother lode. This was almost as good as having access to the U.S. Mint.
“What are we waiting for?” Harrison Douglas shouted, loud enough to be heard by all the troops. “Let’s man up and go get those bastards before the sun sets.”
Johnny Murk put a hand on Douglas’ arm. “Let’s you and me stay out of the choppers. I’ve got this feeling…”
“Bad vibes?”
“Those choppers look tough, but a saucer would make short work of them. Let’s let these guys earn their pay, and you and I will take a guy with a sniper rifle out as close as we can get to the edge. Now wouldn’t be a good time to wind up dead.”
Most days aren’t, Douglas reflected soberly. They climbed into a van with a shooter with a rifle — his name was Vinnie, he said — and away they went. They were through the gate in the airport fence when the helicopters went over their heads, heading for the rim … and Adam Solo.
The helicopter carrying the first granddaughter landed on the White House lawn just a hundred feet from the stationary saucer. When the door opened Amanda emerged with her teddy bear clutched in her arms. The president was there to meet her. It was the most-photographed arrival at the White House in the history of television. Every network on the globe carried Amanda’s arrival live. The queen of England and Vladimir Putin didn’t get a reception like this, nor did the president of China.
A band played lustily. Amanda waved to the cameras and federal employee gawkers as she walked across the red carpet through a double line of saluting soldiers, sailors and airmen standing at attention, the honor guard, to her grandfather, the president. She gave him a hug, kept a firm grip on the bear with her free arm and took his hand to walk into the White House. Halfway there they paused to examine the hovering saucer. Amanda pointed at some feature, the president nodded knowingly, and they resumed their stroll toward the Executive Mansion.
Reporters shouted questions, which the president and First Granddaughter ignored, yet Amanda let go of her grandfather’s hand to wave. Then she again grasped the presidential appendage and they disappeared into the presidential mausoleum together.
The talking heads on television instantly began analyzing the Little Arrival. She had done it well, they agreed unanimously. The president looked relaxed, and everything seemed well in hand. Experts speculated about what saucer feature Amanda found interesting in light of the fact there were no obvious knobs or appendages protruding from that dark, perfect, ovoid shape.
Obviously the White House wasn’t sweating First Contact with the aliens, the Big Arrival, and the rest of humanity shouldn’t either. After all, they knew things at the White House that the rest of us didn’t. Or so the commentators said.