Darrel Manning frowned. The importance of this meeting caused him to be on time, not his norm for visits to the White House. With irritation building, he waited in the anteroom. He glanced at his watch and looked up to see the President dismissing the CNO and other high-ranking officers from the Oval Office.
President Andrew Dempsey said his good-byes then invited the senator to come in. “Please forgive me, Darrel. The situation briefing went long this morning. I apologize for making you wait.”
Manning managed a half smile. “They look like a casting call for a Gilbert and Sullivan Opera, Mr. President. I didn’t know you were auditioning this morning. No more secret code games with the Soviets, I trust?”
Another man waited in the anteroom but Manning made no move to invite him into the Oval Office. The President gave a wink to Mrs. Bonner and closed the door behind them.
The senator talked down to the President. “Sir, I trust you’ve given our last discussion some serious thought. The situation deteriorates hourly and you have no solution. I urge you to accept the futility of our circumstances. For God’s sake, find the courage and do the right thing. It’s the only alternative you have.”
“And what is that, Darrel?”
Shrugging off the President’s glib attitude, Manning believed the President attempted to buy more time. Damn it! This time I’ll hold the jackass’s feet to the fire. “Contact the Soviet Premier and ask what are his conditions for ending this madness.”
“And if I’m not quite ready to do that?”
“Then you leave me no alternative, Mr. President. I have the means to force your hand and will do so if you don’t have the good sense to do it yourself. A growing congressional majority stands behind me. And other national factions in the private sector — very powerful ones, I might add — share my views.”
“Your brain trusts, Darrel? Your circle of so called intellectuals who never dirty their hands making a living in the real world but earn their keep by telling the rest of us how we should?”
President Dempsey finally got his back up with the senator. How good it felt.
“Mr. President, I didn’t come here to discuss the credentials of my advisors and supporters. They’re firmly established and well respected in their fields, enlightened people who know how to separate emotion from substance. Now, may I have an answer, sir? Will you give me your position in this matter?”
The President recalled the man sitting in the anteroom and suspected the connection. “Do you know how I might contact Premier Rostov?”
Manning’s face spread into a half smirk, half smile and sensing he’d won, he fell back into his respectful mode. “I took the liberty, sir, of inviting Senor Miguel Pinta, Cuban Ambassador to the UN. He’s agreed to carry a message to the Soviet Premier for you. And he’ll do this verbally if you like. I urge you, sir, at least establish contact. This act alone will result in the saving of countless lives.”
President Dempsey furrowed his brow. “Very well, show Mr. Pinta in please.”
“You have a message for Premier Rostov then, sir?”
“Yes, I do.”
Miguel Pinta entered the Oval Office and introductions exchanged. Following introductions, Senator Manning stood to his full six feet three inches, his gray pinstriped three-piece suit hanging perfectly over his handsome frame, the picture of a man in control of the situation.
“Senor Pinta, I believe the President has a message he wishes you to deliver to the Soviet Premier.”
While smiling the Cuban nodded in anticipation.
The President calmly said, “Please advise Premier Rostov that if he hasn’t already done so, he should count his submarines. I suspect he’ll come up about sixty-three short. Tell him also we will run up that number a lot higher if he doesn’t withdraw them from the world’s oceans and damn quick. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ve got a war to win.”
Not a vindictive man, however, President Dempsey did enjoy inflicting an occasional barb. “Darrel,” he said as the senator began to walk out.
Senator Manning turned back and replied, “Yes, Mr. President?”
“If your party is stupid enough to nominate you again next year, I’m gonna whip your ass big time.”
Chapter 19
Dave Zane, Bea, Gerry Carter and Eve Danis raised their glasses to the American success in the Bering Sea. Sketchy but conclusive news of the events at sea dominated the media. Izvestia, principal Soviet newspaper, did not address American claims of submarines destroyed but alleged great numbers of unsubstantiated kills by their own forces.
A beaming Dave Zane added, “And to Eric Danis, hero of the Bering.”
All chorused, “Hear! Hear!”
Eve acknowledged the toast to her husband then quickly changed the subject. “Well, Dave, when do we meet her?”
Forcing a puzzled expression, Dave asked, “Who?”
“Cat’s out of the bag, Dad. Eve knows about Carolyn joining us this evening.”
Dave wore a baffled expression, followed quickly by one that signaled he understood. “Oh, Carolyn Ladd. Almost anytime now.”
Gerry Carter gave an exaggerated imitation of Dave twisting his head to look up the path toward the mailbox. “And all along I thought you had a stiff neck, Dave.”
Bea attempted to bring her father back to reality. “C’mon, Dad, you don’t have to be so cool. She’s lovely and I hope to see a lot of her.” Bea had already told Dave her mom would be pleased he had found someone to brighten his life.
With a whining tone in his voice, Dave said, “Well now, there you guys go. Invite someone over who’s been good enough to pick up the mail for me and everybody starts drawing conclusions.”
Eve smiled at her old friend. “Dave Zane … I don’t believe this. You’re actually blushing. I thought we finished with that years ago.”
Dave threw up his arms. “See, Gerry? Don’t try to understand what these females get in their bonnets. Only the two of us here got any sense. Let’s go out on the deck and enjoy what’s left of the sunshine.”
Gerry took his shot at Dave. “Gonna fire up the hot tub for Carolyn?”
Dave complained, “Three against one. It’s a damn conspiracy!”
The two seated themselves on the deck.
“What’ll happen to you, Gerry? I mean, where’ll you go after this?”
“Too busy to give it much thought, Dave. I guess as long as Danis is happy with me, this is a pretty good spot.”
“Old Eric likes you alright but he’s due to move on, you know. Next Squad Dog might want his own boy.”
“You’re right, Dave. I shouldn’t get too comfortable. Unless the surface Navy makes major breakthroughs in antisubmarine warfare, carriers of the future will have a pretty small role. And that’s what I do. Fly off carriers.”
“Don’t write the bird farms off just yet, Gerry. There’s gonna be wars after this one. You can bet on it. Nuclear weapons make big fights too dangerous for both sides, so we’ll likely shift to small ones. And we’re gonna need some way to get your planes to the action. Actually, in little wars, it’ll be the submariners who’ll shop for new missions.”
Changing the subject, Gerry asked, “How come you never got into the Nuclear Power Program? The commodore tells me you’re likely the hottest submariner he ever knew.”
Dave chose his words carefully, “First, don’t believe everything Eric says. Second, you keyed on a sore subject. I applied for the program as a Lieutenant, qualified submariner and qualified for command. Thought I was on the fast track, till my application bounced.”
“Bounced? With all you had going for you? How come?”
“I didn’t stand high enough in my class at Annapolis.”
Gerry shook his head in disbelief. “What’s that got to do with anything? Some of our hottest pilots graduated by the skin of their teeth. Performance on the job has nothing to do with class standing. Our certification processes are rigorous as you’ll find anywhere and it’s based solely on how well you fly the plane. How do the Nukes justify this academic thing?”