The telephone console interrupted his thoughts; he ran to it, seeing that three lines were lighted, then suddenly a fourth. He punched his secretary’s blinking button and picked up the phone, hoping to hear the words «Fort Benning calling on the relay!» His hopes, however, were dashed when after nearly thirty agonizing seconds, the bitch coolly informed him, «You have three, now four, calls that I can only describe as being of a personal nature, Mr. Secretary, as none cares to describe his business and I don’t recognize the names—such as they are.»
«What are they?»
«Bricky, Froggie, Moose, and—»
«All right, all right,» broke in Warren, not only confused but furious. They were, to a man, his social associates—social and then some—from the Fawning Hill Country Club! They were never to call him at his office, that was bible! But, of course, they were not calling; «Bricky,» «Froggie,» «Moose,» and undoubtedly «Doozie» had placed the calls. What in God’s name had happened now that caused them all to reach him? «I’ll take them in sequence, Mother Tyrania,» he said, slapping his head to still his stressed left eye.
«I’m not Tyrania, Mr. Secretary. I’m her youngest daughter, Andromeda Trueheart.»
«Are you new?»
«As of yesterday, sir. The family felt that at the moment you needed extremely efficient service, and Mother’s on vacation in Beirut.»
«Really?» Visions of garter belts filled what air space was left in Pease’s imagination. «You’re the youngest daughter …?»
«Your calls, sir.»
«Yes, yes, of course. I’ll start with the first—‘Bricky,’ right?»
«Right, Mr. Secretary. I’ll tell the others to hold.»
«Bricky, what are you doing calling me here?»
«You old fox, Peasie,» said Bricky, the New England banker, oozing subterranean charm. «I’m going to make you the most honored alumnus at our class reunion.»
«I thought you said I couldn’t go.»
«That’s all changed, naturally. I had no idea what that incredible mind of yours was conjuring up. You’re a credit to our class, old chum… I won’t keep you, I know you’re busy, but if you ever need a loan, the amount no object, just pick up the phone. Talk soon and let’s have lunch—on me, of course.»
«Froggie, what the hell is going on? I just heard from Bricky—»
«I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, you Midas incarnate, old sport, and certainly not on this phone,» replied the blond-haired cynic from Fawning Hill. «We’ve all talked, and I want you to know that Daphne and I hope you and your dear wife will be our guests at the Debutantes’ Cotillion in Fairfax next month. You’ll be the guest of honor, of course.»
«I will?»
«Naturally. Can’t do enough for one of our own, can we?»
«That’s very kind—»
«Kind? The incredible kindness is yours, sport. You’re simply mahvullous! Be in touch.»
«Moose, will you please tell me—»
«Goddamn, Pisser, you can play at my club anytime you like!» cried the president of Petrotoxic Amalgamated. «Forget what this dumb jackass said before, it’d be a privilege to swing a six iron with you.»
«I really don’t understand—»
«Sure in hell you do, and I sure in hell know why you can’t talk. Just let me say, my old good buddy-frat tie, you’re number one in my social register, never forget it… Gotta go; just appointed myself chairman of the board, but if you want the job, it’s yours.»
«Doozie, I’ve just spoken with Bricky, Froggie, and Moose, and I must say I’m bewildered.»
«I understand, old chummy-chum-chum. There are people in your office, right? Just say ‘yes,’ and I’ll speak accordingly.»
«I say ‘no,’ and you can say whatever you like!»
«What about taps on your phone?»
«Absolutely prohibited. The office is ‘swept’ every morning, and lead shields are externally positioned to block electronic surveillance.»
«Good-o, chummy, you’ve really got a hold on things down there.»
«Actually, it’s standard procedure… Doozie, what the hell is going on?»
«Are you testing me, Pisser?»
The Secretary of State paused; since nothing else seemed to work, perhaps this was the way to go. «Maybe I am, Doozie. Maybe I want to make sure you all understand.»
«Let’s put it this way, Mr. Secretary, old boy. You are the most creative thinker our crowd has put forth since we crushed the unions in the twenties. And you’ve done it through sheer imagination, not a shot fired against a rotten socialist or a left-wing congressman!»
«I must press you, Doozie,» said a stunned Warren Pease haltingly as the perspiration formed on his receding hairline. «How exactly have I done that?»
«The UFOs!» exclaimed Doozie. «As that socially unacceptable Ivan Salamander put it—very confidentially, of course—we’ll now have to arm the entire world! Brilliant, Pisser, absolutely brilliant!»
«UFOs? What are you talking about?»
«Top-drawer, chum, really top-drawer.»
«UFOs …? Oh, my God!»
The Rockwell jet carrying the Hawk landed at the airport in Manchester, New Hampshire, roughly ten miles south of Hooksett. The decision to bypass Boston and fly directly to Manchester had been Sam Devereaux’s, his reasoning being that Mac had been picked up previously by someone’s surveillance at Logan and it could happen again, so why chance the risk? Also, things were coming to a fast boil, and if an hour or two of driving could be saved, do it. Mac’s next move was to diffuse the Suicidal Six, who, according to Desi the First, were in total disrepair, thanks to Desi the Second’s culinary talents; the rest was up to the Hawk’s persuasive powers.
Paddy Lafferty, his chest bursting with pride and hero worship, picked up the general in the Pinkus limousine and, wonder of wonders, the great man himself chose once again to sit in front with Paddy.
«Tell me, Gunny,» said the Hawk as they sped north toward Hooksett, «what do you know about actors, I mean real ones?»
«Outside of Sir Henry, not a hell of a lot, General.»
«Well, he’s kinda special, I gather; he’s got a track record. What about the ones who don’t?»
«From everything I’ve read in the papers and them magazines that Mrs. Pinkus leaves in the car, they’re all waitin’ to be discovered so they can get track records. Maybe that’s not so bright, but it’s what I figure.»
«It’s very bright, Paddy. That’s the answer.»
«To what, sir?»
«To get certain people to change their minds without thinking too much.»