Few others saw the man either; he rode high up at the base of the boom in a control shed which provided him with shelter as well as an excellent view of all of the surrounding area. It was a considerable climb up there from the ground and it required a cool head to make it. The crane operator had few visitors.
All of this was watched with the closest attention by Admiral Haymarket at his headquarters and by the other members of the First Team who remained with him. It was difficult for the admiral, because the greatest operation of his career lay immediately ahead and for the first time he would be unable either to witness or to participate in the action. By his own dictum it was out of the question and he accepted that fact.
If anything were to happen to him for any reason, General Gifford was fully qualified to step in and take his place, but the general already carried a very heavy responsibility functioning as executive officer and would be extremely difficult to replace.
Next in the chain of command was Colonel Prichard. In addition to a full slate of line responsibilities, he was one of the primary idea men, one of the brilliant brains who examined every possibility that suggested itself and hundreds more that did not.
Major Pappas handled operations and did so with close to total efficiency. He could not be spared from that job where his computer-type intellect carried literally thousands of details without forgetting even one. Without him in that job, the whole organization would suffer severely.
Ed Higbee was a total specialist in his own field — the manipulation of words. He was also a phenomenally resourceful planner and idea man, but his prime value lay in the documents which he had already drawn up, the propaganda he had designed, and all of the other political weaponry he had devised. His role in the whole Thomas Jefferson effort was about to become much more significant and he had to be held in readiness.
Stanley Cumberland was the mechanical genius who could devise almost anything imaginable or lay his hands on someone who could. The coordination of all supply and special equipment came under him and he delivered with apparently unhurried infallibility. He could not be replaced.
Where field operations were concerned Walter Wagner was the best of them all, a fact that was fully recognized. Because his experience and technical capability were so valuable, the admiral had had no intention of letting him participate personally in Low Blow. He had held to that decision until Wagner figuratively had laid an ace on his desk. The admiral couldn’t refute it; it was the high card and it was valid. He had therefore yielded and Wagner had left the underground facility to carry out his mission. There was high risk involved, but once he had gone, Barney Haymarket was eternally grateful that the best possible man was on the scene and calling the signals. The planning had been superb and when the time came, if anyone alive could, Walter Wagner would pull it off.
The day that he left Major Pappas retired to his quarters and was by himself for some time.
On the morning of Operation Day the major got up at five, breakfasted, and then sat down to go over the fourteen alternate emergency plans he had prepared for perhaps the fiftieth time. He examined them once more minutely, for it was not too late to spot a flaw, a single item that would not fit ideally into position, and switch to another operational technique. It was an additional factor of safety, plus which it diverted his mind from the fact that the Marine Corps in the person of himself was not taking a direct part in the action. He was interrupted before he had finished and went at once to the operational room. He took his place at the table, surveyed the empty chair where Walter Wagner normally sat, and then banished every thought from his mind but the effort at hand.
The data available were sketchy, but the bits and pieces were firm. The special clothing was reported ready and waiting. The weather forecast was favorable. The critical personnel were all in good health, positioned, and ready. Most important of all, there was no evidence whatever that there had been any leak. That was not conclusive, as the enemy could be playing his own game, but every person who had an assignment had sworn that he would report at once the slightest lapse on his own part or the observed error of anyone else. The final security check had shown everything apparently airtight.
The clock on the wall silently measured the intervals of time, its large-sweep second hand continuously maintaining its slow unbroken pace, as though to remind everyone present that the passing moment would never return and that the time of deadline was coming unrelentingly closer.
Then the most important message of all came in. It was in the form of a code which supplied no details, only a single bare fact. The commander of the Hunters Point Naval Shipyard reported that all was ready.
The admiral drummed his fingertips on the tabletop, waited, and watched the message board.
Two more dispatches came in, code messages concerning minor details which were nonetheless encouraging — they were both positive.
Then at last the one that he was waiting for came, and in letters that spelled it out in the clear: mare island — ready.
They all looked at the admiral, the members of the First Team and the others who stood back against the wall of the room. The admiral did not see them; his mind was totally occupied. In three seconds he made his decision.
“Go,” he said.»
Lunch provided a respite for Hewlitt; as he ate alone he found himself once more thinking of Zalinsky and appraising his attitudes. He and all of his people were intellectual vultures who kept circling, waiting for someone to make a slip or a mistake — then they would exploit it to the limit. They had kept the free world forces on the defensive for years by that sort of tactics, by charging and attacking — by pointing the finger of accusation and never giving anyone the opportunity to criticize them. It had worked, it had worked well enough that the people of the United States did not know where their President was and a man who had no business there whatsoever occupied the White House — which was only a little worse than the thing that had happened to the same structure during the War of 1812.
When he returned to his office he called the operator and received the message that Senator Fitzhugh had been trying to reach him. He returned the call and had the senator’s secretary on the line after a few seconds.
“Mr. Hewlitt,” she said, “Senator Fitzhugh would like to talk with you. To be perfectly truthful I don’t know what it’s about, but he suggested that if you are free this evening, perhaps you and he could have dinner together.”
Hewlitt realized at once that he could not and should not refuse this invitation.
“I would be very glad to dine with the senator,” he responded. “When and where?”
“Senator Fitzhugh said only that he would like as quiet a place as possible, one where he would not be too widely recognized. Perhaps you might have something in mind.”
Hewlitt did, but he knew better than to specify it over the phone. “Why doesn’t the senator come to my apartment if he would like to do that? I would be happy to offer him some pre-dinner refreshment and then we can go on from there.”
“At what time, Mr. Hewlitt?”
“Say seven.”
“Fine, I’ll notify the senator. Are you still at the same place in Georgetown?”