“Restless as an eel.”
The secretary laughed out loud. Then she straightened herself. “Oh, well. Nothing new, I suppose. He is who he is. What’s the weather like in there this morning?”
“We had a nasty nor’easter blow through here earlier this morning-Senator Kennedy-but now it’s all sunshine and roses in there. He’s in a great mood. Feisty.”
“He must not have seen the new polls this morning.”
“Of course he did. You know what he said?”
“Can’t even guess.”
“He said, ‘Well, I guess I’m never going to be popular, so by God, Betsey, I’ll just keep on being right.’”
The secretary laughed and headed toward the private entrance to the Oval Office. She was looking forward to her weekly meeting with the president. It was always informal, kept deliberately small, and anyone could bring up any topic they wished. And she was naturally curious about the crisis du jour.
President McAtee stood as the beautiful Cuban-American secretary swept through the door. The members of the president’s team all stood and extended their hands in greeting. Pippa also stood and smiled, but Consuelo pointedly ignored her.
“Conch, good to see you!” the president said. “Congratulations on your Mideast trip. I think we made a lot of progress.”
“I think we made as much progress as we can make with the Saudis and the Iranians, Mr. President. At least for the time being.”
When everyone was seated and the steward had served more tea and coffee, President Jack McAtee said, “Conch, I want to save your recent trip for last. We’re all looking forward to hearing your insights and points of view. But Brick is just back from a meeting in Estonia with our new ambassador there, Dave Philips, and picked up some insights into our Russian friends that I think we should discuss immediately. Brick?”
“Thanks, Mr. President,” the lanky, red-haired Virginian said in his slow drawl. He leaned back in his armchair and stretched out his long legs. The director was wearing, as always, beautifully polished cowboy boots with his navy suit.
“Based on my two days with Ambassador Philips, I’d say we’ve got trouble on the Russian front. Just a quick anecdote. Dave went to a reception at the French embassy in Tallinn with the Russian ambassador a week ago today. He’s become friendly with the guy, they’ve gone out drinking a few times. Anyway, the ancient Russian ambassador shows up in uniform. He was a general under Stalin. And he’s wearing his old uniform.”
“Odd,” the president said. “What’s that all about?”
“Dave asked him. He said all Russian ambassadors had received a directive from Rostov himself. From now on, they are to wear their military uniforms to all official state functions.”
“Speaks volumes,” General Moore said. “They are going to a war footing.”
“You believe that, Brick? War? With us?”
“It could all be posturing, you know, on the part of a resurgent Kremlin. Part of their new public relations campaign to climb back onto the world stage. They might be just sticking their toe in the waters of the Baltic. See what we’ll let them get away with.”
“What’s the military assessment, Charlie?”
General Moore handed each of them a thin blue folder marked “Most Secret.” Moore started speaking as the group began flipping through the folders.
“Here are the most recent satellite passes over Eastern Europe and the Baltic. And what you’ll see isn’t posturing, it’s Russian troops. Three divisions have massed along the Ukrainian border, here, here, and here. Another two divisions are poised here along the Estonian border. And most troubling of all, here you see five divisions moving into place at the Latvian and Belarus border. From our recent war gamers’ perspective, and from where those troops and tank corps are positioned, it’s a straight shot through Lithuania and back into Poland and the Czech Republic, where we’re deploying our antiballistic-missile batteries.”
Brick Kelly said, “Sir, you’ll remember that only recently, Rostov threatened to deploy cruise missiles in the tiny Russian enclave of Kaliningrad, if we go ahead with missile defense in his backyard.”
The president said, “Tell me again where Kaliningrad is, Brick? I swear I’m bad at geography. Always have been.”
Kelly got up and spun the globe. He stopped it at Eastern Europe. “It sits right there between Poland and Lithuania. One Kremlin ploy might be to say they were sending troops in to reinforce their threatened enclave. It’s all tap-dancing and saber rattling right now, but I don’t think we can afford not to take it very, very seriously, Mr. President.”
“Jesus,” the president said, loosening his tie. “Didn’t anyone see this coming?”
“It was a sudden movement, but clearly the planning for this operation has been under way for some time,” the CIA director said. “We should have caught something, but we didn’t. We’re playing catch-up ball in Moscow, Mr. President. It’s going to take a while before we can get our field-agent network back up to where we were during the Cold War.”
“Britain’s doing the same thing, Mr. President,” Sir David Trulove said. “As you well know, we’ve recently joined forces with Langley to create something called Red Banner. A secret division to deal with the resurgent Soviet-excuse me, Dr. Freud, I meant Russian threat. Based in Bermuda and headed up by Alex Hawke, whom I’m sure you remember.”
“How is Alex bearing up, Sir David? He was quite ill for a while, I know.”
“Well and good, sir. Living the good life in Bermuda these days until I darkened his door.”
“Yanked him out of early retirement, did you?”
“I keep him busy.”
“Give him my regards, will you?”
“I’ll do that, sir. Thank you.”
At that moment, Betsey Hall entered the Oval through her private door. Her expression was grim, and she went immediately to the president, bent from the waist, and whispered something into his ear. McAtee listened intently, nodded his head, and got to his feet.
“I need to take this call,” he said. “Urgent. No need to leave, sit tight. Please excuse me for a minute.”
McAtee walked behind the historic Resolute desk. In 1850, the British HMS Resolute had gotten lodged in Arctic ice and was long abandoned before being discovered adrift by an American fishing vessel that towed her to port. Congress purchased the vessel, refitted her, and presented her to Queen Victoria as a token of peace. Resolute served in the Royal Navy for twenty-three years. After decommissioning, Queen Victoria ordered two identical desks built from her timbers, presenting one to President Rutherford B. Hayes in 1880 and placing the twin in Buckingham Palace, where it stands today.
McAtee sat at the historic desk, flanked by the two flags, and picked up the receiver on the phone that was blinking.
“This is the president,” he said.
He listened impassively, his expression giving little away to anyone in the room who glanced his way. A few minutes later, he said, “Thank you very much. You’ll be hearing from me shortly.”
He stood and crossed the room, returning to his favorite chair by the fire. He sighed deeply and leaned his head back against the cushion of the chair. No one knew quite what to say, and a lengthy silence ensued.
“That was the governor of Kansas,” McAtee said. “Along with Bill Thomas at NSA. Last night, the mayor of Salina, someone I knew personally, was murdered in bed, along with her husband and two children. There are no suspects, and Monie Bailey didn’t have an enemy in this world. It was the work of terrorists. The husband was shot dead, the other three were gassed.”
“Gassed?” Mike Reiter said as he leaned forward. “Terrorists? In Kansas? Good Lord. Will you excuse me, Mr. President? I need to make a few phone calls.” McAtee nodded, and Reiter quickly left.