“What?”
“How important is it,” Mrs. Harrison repeated.
“It’s important!” Harry yelled. “It’s critically important!”
“Let me call you back,” she said. “Hang up now.” A moment later the phone rang. Harry answered before the first ring finished. Elizabeth Harrison told him they were now on a secure line.
“What is it, Harry?” she inquired.
“When can I talk with the Ambassador? How soon?”
“Well, it’s just after noon. I don’t expect him… Harry, what is it?”
“I can’t tell you Elizabeth, but I must speak with Ambassador Brown and I need to talk to him right now.”
“You won’t be able to reach him until early this evening. He’ll be returning, not here, but to his home. He should be there by eight-thirty or nine o’clock.”
“Isn’t there a number, a way you can…”
“No, Harry. Not today. I don’t have a number to call him. He didn’t think anything would come up,” she said. “Not today.”
“What? Are you saying you don’t have a number to reach him? I thought that was standard procedure.”
“He didn’t leave one,” she said coldly.
“I don’t… understand…,” said Harry. “How could he not leave a number? Where is he? This is important, damnit!”
“Harry.”
“Yes?”
“You don’t know about Ambassador Brown, do you?”
“What? Know what?”
“You really don’t know,” she said, more to herself than to him, with what seemed to Harry to be a touch of amazement in her voice.
“Elizabeth, what are you talking about?”
“The Ambassador… how can you not know?”
“Elizabeth…”
“McHenry Brown is gay.”
“Jesus!” Harry said. “So what?”
“On Saturdays he meets his ‘friend.’ They play tennis and… go off together… somewhere. I don’t know where. Sometimes he tells me where he’ll be, if he’s expecting something or someone, you know. But mostly he just goes… and today in particular… nothing’s supposed to happen today.”
“Give me the special number for the White House. The hotline, or whatever you call it.”
“Harry, that’s a communication link for extreme emergencies, to be used only by the Ambassador and the President of the United States.”
“I know that. That’s exactly why I need the number. I’m going to have to talk to the President. I know it’s early in the morning there, but I can’t wait until this evening. I’ll turn this all over to the Ambassador when he gets back, but I’ve got to do this now, right now.”
“Are you sure?” asked Elizabeth Harrison. Now the tone of her voice reminded Harry of his Aunt Sadie. It made him feel very uncomfortable. Harry spoke so firmly it chilled Elizabeth Harrison, to the bone.
“This is a matter directly related to my meeting with Sir Anthony Wells, whose murder has just been reported by the BBC. This is a matter of critical importance. I need the special number and whatever calling instructions go with it. Have I made myself clear?”
He entered the numbers in the exact order called for. Elizabeth Harrison had read the entire instructions to him and he followed them precisely. To his surprise, there was no ringing on the other end. Almost as soon as Harry pushed the last number, he heard…
“Please identify yourself.” It was a man’s voice.
“Who am I speaking to?” asked Harry.
“Please identify yourself,” the man repeated.
“My name is… no wait a minute. Who are you? I placed this call and I want to know who you are.”
“Please identify…”
“Hold on!” Harry shouted in a voice dangerously near the breaking point. “I want to speak with the President of the United States. That is what this telephone is for. Who the hell are you?”
“You are speaking to Lawrence Albertson. I am a special assistant to the President and it’s my job to handle this communication link. Will you please identify yourself and state your location.”
“My name is Harry Levine. I’m calling from London, from the American Embassy, to speak with the President.”
“That’s not a credible response.”
“What?”
“Your reply is incorrect.”
“What the hell are you talking about! I am Harry Levine from the American Embassy…”
“No sir, you’re not calling from the American Embassy in London.”
“No, no, no. You’re right. Wait a minute,” said Harry. “I’m not calling from the embassy. I didn’t mean to say that. What I mean is, I’m from the American Embassy. My name is Harry Levine. My job is.. .”
“I know who you are, Mr. Levine. Where are you calling from?”
“I’m home. My flat. My apartment.”
“Yes, that’s correct. Thank you. How did you get access to this link and what is the purpose of your communication?”
“I need to speak with the President.”
“How did you get this number, Mr. Levine?”
“Who did you say you were? Lawrence who? What the hell’s going on here? I called this number to talk to the President. How I got this link and what my purpose is, is none of your goddamn business. Now, you will please put me through to the President of the United States at once.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Mr. Levine. My name again is Albertson. Lawrence Albertson. My responsibility is to take the details of your communication and report them to the President’s office and wait for a response. That response may be a written reply, which I will read to you, or it may be a message or other instruction for you, or there might be no response and, in that event, I will advise you to terminate this communication link.”
“What about the ‘response’ that brings the President on the line?”
“Mr. Levine, in my experience I’ve never encountered that response. Although I’m sure anything’s possible. If you will tell me what this is about we can get started.”
“I’ll talk only to the President of the United States,” said Harry.
The President sat at his desk in the Oval Office in the midst of a tough decision. Pencil in hand, poised to mark the appropriate box, unconvinced which way to go, he pondered the question-can Georgetown cover eleven points against Temple? It was the only game he hadn’t picked on the White House weekend college basketball pool. The games were starting in a few hours and his entry was already a day late. They’ll wait, he thought, not to begin the games of course, but for his entry sheet. I am, after all, the President of the United States. These difficult deliberations were interrupted by his secretary’s voice on the intercom.
“Mr. President, Lawrence Albertson is on ISCOM.” That meant the green phone in the upper right-hand portion of his desk, the one near the small lamp he brought with him from the Governor’s mansion. It was the phone designated International Special Communication. Therefore, ISCOM.
“This is the President,” he said picking up the telephone. “Yes, Mr. Albertson?” There followed some head shaking up and down, and “un huh” three different times. “Is that all he said?” the President asked. Another “un huh,” and then, he laughed robustly, “‘None of your goddamn business.’ He said that? Well, okay, okay Albertson. Let’s do it.”
The next sound Harry heard was the well-known, high-pitched, raspy, half-hoarse voice of the President of the United States. “What is it?”
“Sir, my name is Har…”
“I know all that already, now why am I talking to you?” As he spoke, the President decided to take Georgetown and give the points.
“Mr. President, this deals with a matter…”
“You misunderstand me,” interrupted the President. “I want to know why I am talking to you and not the Ambassador.”
“He’s not available,” replied Harry.
“It’s a long way from McHenry Brown to Harry Levine. That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I realize I’m not the Ambassador…”
“No kidding? So do I. Well you know, doesn’t matter if you were, I don’t get a lot of calls even from ambassadors on this line. This is a pretty important telephone hookup and I’m still trying to figure out what I’m doing talking to a Deputy in the legal department of the Trade Section. Can you answer me that?” demanded the President of the United States.