“I see. So, Bull came up with the sub plan?”
General Saunders shook his head. “We don’t think so. We believe it was Adams’s idea. I couldn’t discuss that with Bull; only had two minutes with him. Besides, he and Adams have been friends for twenty-five years. But I did manage to plant a seed of doubt in his mind. We believe Adams has lost control; slipped mentally. Mr. Kelly of the CIA shares that belief.”
“There is something I don’t understand,” a Coast Guard officer said. “Obviously, this plan had been on the burner for a long time—years. To overthrow the government, I mean. Why have they waited so long?”
“We don’t know,” the general replied. “And we’ve got dozens of computers working on the problem right at this minute. I didn’t get a chance to ask the Bull that. So many questions I wanted to ask. Men, I don’t think we have a prayer of stopping those people on the sub. I think we’re staring nuclear germ warfare right in its awful face and there isn’t a goddamned thing we can do about it.”
“I gather,” a Marine officer said, “the Joint Chiefs don’t know about this?”
“We don’t know if they do or not,” Admiral Mullens said. “But we can’t approach any of them for fear one of them is involved.”
“And we can’t do to them what we’re about to do to each other,” General Driskill said, as an aide, as if on cue, wheeled in a cart with a machine on it.
All the men had taken these tests before; all had the highest security rating possible. The machine was a psychological stress evaluator. PSE. Of the most advanced type.
“Sergeant Mack is the best PSE technician around,” General Driskill said with a smile. He laid a pistol on the table before him. “This won’t take long.”
A few seconds ticked by. An Air Force colonel tried to light a cigarette. His hands were shaking so badly he finally gave up the idea of smoking. He met the hard eyes of the Marine general. “Save yourself the trouble, General. I don’t know where the sub is; I don’t know who on the JCs—if anyone—is involved in this operation; and I don’t know anyone who does know.”
“You damned fool!” Driskill snapped at him. “Don’t you people realize—or care—you’re bringing the world to the brink of holocaust?”
“Oh, the hell with that!” the colonel said. “Let Russia and China fight it out. Let them destroy each other. We’ll pick up the pieces and be on top once more.”
“So that’s it,” someone muttered.
The Air Force colonel smiled.
“I don’t believe that’s all of it,” General Crowe of the Air Force said, pulling out a pistol. He pointed it at the colonel. “You traitorous son of a bitch. Which one of the Joint Chiefs is it?”
The colonel was suddenly calm with the knowledge he would never leave the room alive. He was not going to squirm; would not give any of them that satisfaction. He lit a cigarette with steady hands and let his gaze touch each man. “I don’t know—and that’s being honest with you. I think it’s an aide, but I’m not sure. You can test me; I won’t fight it.”
He was tested. He knew nothing of substance.
“Explain what you know!” General Crowe snapped, holding the .38. “I’ve seen men tortured before, sonny.”
“I don’t know who the architect is; neither do the men on the sub. That was deliberate.” No one in the room believed him. “My orders are to report what I heard here, that’s all.”
“He’s lying!” a master chief said.
General Crowe said, “Colonel, make it easy on yourself. We can do this one of several ways. We’re not savages, but the fate of the world may very well rest in this room.”
The colonel glanced at his watch. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. He gave the general a Washington, DC, phone number.
“Trace it,” Driskill told Sergeant Major Rogers.
“Let’s tighten up the loose ends, Colonel. Too many ropes dangling in the breeze.”
The colonel again glanced at his watch. After a slight smile and a deep breath, almost a sigh of relief, he said, “We—those of us in the operation—knew that Brady would eventually put it all together and go to President Fayers.”
“Harold Brady of the CIA?”
“Yes. We hoped he wouldn’t put it together until after the elections.” He glanced at his watch.
“Why are you always lookin’ at your goddamned watch?” an AF commando asked. “You takin’ medicine?”
“He’s stalling!” a SEAL said. “Playing for time.”
The colonel was hit in the mouth with a short, hard right fist, slamming him out of his chair. General Driskill kicked the man to his feet and shoved him back in the chair.
“Now, speak!” the general barked.
The colonel shook his head, wiped blood from his mouth, then smiled.
“What do you find amusing about all this?” he was asked.
The colonel’s smile broadened.
“Because,” Admiral Newcomb said quietly, “there aren’t going to be any elections—right, Colonel?”
“That’s right, Admiral.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s 1207, that’s why.”
“Explain.”
“Brady put it all together much sooner than we expected. I should have received a phone call before 1145 hours. I didn’t. That means our computers have concluded that no one can beat Hilton Logan in the fall elections. Even if it’s close, too close, no clear majority, it’ll be thrown into House, Logan will come out on top, and that liberal son of a bitch will find out we’ve built new nukes and order them destroyed.”
General Saunders leaned close. “Son—don’t do it. Don’t do this to your country. Logan is just a man.” He grimaced. “Not much of a man, but still a man. We can weather the storm.”
“No, we can’t, General.” The colonel’s voice was low, his eyes sad. “This country’s had it. We’re moving back to the left and we can’t allow that to happen. This is the only way we can get back on top. China will give Russia every missile she’s had hidden for years, then pour half a billion troops across the border. They’ll destroy each other. The two-bit countries will blow each other off the map once we start the dance. Africa will go like a tinderbox, the Mideast with it.” His eyes grew wild with fanaticism.
“And what of America?” General Crowe asked.
“Oh, we’ll take casualties. Somewhere in the seventy-five to ninety-million range; you all know the stats. But we’ll come out far better than any major power. When we’re back on top, this time, by God, we’ll stay there.”
“You’re crazy!” Sergeant Major Parley blurted. “My God, man—think of all the innocent people you’re killing. You guys are fucking nuts!”
Rogers came back into the room. “That number in DC’s been disconnected. What’s happening here?”
“Holocaust,” a buddy informed him.
Driskill looked at the colonel. “I believe the colonel is about to give us all the details, aren’t you, superpatriot?”
The colonel laughed. “Sure, why not. There isn’t a damned thing any of you can do about it.”
Only blow your fucking head off when you’re through flapping your gums, General Crowe thought, his hands tightening on the butt of the .38.
“There won’t be any election,” the turncoat said. “Not for a long, long time. The military is going to be forced into taking over the country: suspending the constitution and declaring martial law. That’s all we wanted, all along. All we were doing, once we learned Brady was onto us, was buying time—getting set. We’re five days from launch.”
The men in the room sucked in their guts. One hundred and twenty hours to hell.
“No one could have stopped us—even if you had found out. You couldn’t have gone to the Chinese to tell them the Russians were going to launch against them. No proof. Big international stink was all you would have accomplished. Same if you’d gone to the Russians. It all boils down to this: An American sub will launch American missiles. Both countries would have turned on you. You brass know the type of missiles we’re going to fire. Missiles
