work anymore.” After Matos’s report that the Straton had made a turn, Hennings thought that Sloan would see that they couldn’t proceed with the destruction of the aircraft. Hennings was almost relieved at the prospect of confessing to Captain Diehl what they had done. But Sloan, as Hennings should have known, had not given up so easily. To Sloan there was little difference between shooting down an aircraft that they first believed to be filled with corpses, and shooting down an aircraft that showed signs of life. “And stop telling me nothing has changed. Everything is changed now.”
“Yes, and for the worse. Let me point out again, Admiral, that I don’t want to go to jail. I have my whole life in front of me. You may get VIP treatment in Portsmouth-a cottage of your own, or whatever they do with admirals, but I… Which reminds me, you’ll be the first American admiral to be court-martialed in this century, won’t you? Or maybe with your retired status, you’ll suffer the indignity of a civilian trial.”
Hennings tried to remember-to understand the sequence of small compromises that had brought him so far down that he had to listen to this from a man like Sloan. He was either getting senile or there was a flaw in his moral fiber that he had not been made aware of. Certainly James Sloan wasn’t that sharp. “You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” he said. “But if you were as shrewd as you think you are, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“I don’t mind sticking my neck out if I can gain by it. What I do mind is your getting in my way. This would have all been resolved long ago if you hadn’t procrastinated, and if we hadn’t listened to Matos’s bullshit about fatigue cracks and damage.”
Hennings nodded. That was certainly true. For the last hour, Sloan had explained to him why Peter Matos should destroy the Straton. For the last hour, Hennings had advised waiting for some word from Matos that the Straton had gone down by itself. Matos’s reports had confirmed that the Straton was damaged but still flying, straight and steady, except for one deliberate but unexplainable course change from a 120-degree heading to a 131 -degree heading. Also, Matos reported people falling or jumping from the airliner. None of this was comprehensible. “Why did they change course? Why are people falling from a steady aircraft? There was obviously no fire. They can’t be jumping. That makes no sense. What the hell is going on up there?”
Sloan wasn’t sure he knew what was going on up there either. The first heading seemed to put the Straton closer to its home base of San Francisco. The new heading might put them on a parallel course to the coast. He looked at Hennings. “The pilot must be lost. His navigation sets are probably malfunctioning. As for the people…” He thought for a moment about that bizarre happening. “I told you they’ve probably suffered brain damage.” He was beginning to imagine for the first time what it must be like for the people onboard the Straton. “The pilots may be brain damaged, too. That’s why they’re changing their headings.” He looked Hennings in the eye. “They may crash into a populated area. Think about that.”
Hennings was through thinking and through arguing. His only argument had been based on his own understanding of the moral and ethical issues involved. Against that thin, apparently weightless argument, Sloan had thrown a dozen expedient reasons for destroying the Straton and the people onboard.
“We’re running out of time.” Sloan said it casually, as if he were late for a tennis match at the officers’ club. “Matos is low on fuel.”
Hennings stepped closer to Sloan. “If I say no?”
Sloan shrugged. “Then I go to Captain Diehl and tell him my side of the story.”
“You don’t bluff well.”
Sloan smiled. “Well, I guess it’s not important for you to concur any longer. You’ve already committed a half- dozen court-martial offenses. Just stay out of my way, and I’ll call Matos and finish it off. The Straton’s obviously not going down on its own.” Sloan picked up the microphone and glanced at Hennings out of the corner of his eye. He started to push the transmit button, then hesitated. It would be much better if the Admiral was in on it. As he pondered his next move, the telephone rang. He put down the microphone and snatched up the receiver. “Commander Sloan,” he said impatiently, then listened for a few seconds. “Yes. Go ahead with the message. Exactly as received.”
“Who is it?” Hennings asked, apprehension in his voice.
Sloan ignored him. “Okay. I understand. Then their request is specifically for a broad-area search, and only within the boundaries you’ve described?”
Hennings was certain that it concerned the Straton, but couldn’t guess in what way.
Sloan was shaking his head. “I’m tied up here-with this special test. Yes, it’s still not finished, but that’s not your business. Have Lieutenant Rowles lay out the initial patterns and assignments. At least eight aircraft each shift. To be launched at one-hour intervals. Begin the search in the northern quadrant, and expand the search southward.” Sloan glanced at the console clock. “Tell Rowles to get the first group off within fifteen minutes.” He hung up and turned to Hennings. “A message came from Air Traffic Control to initiate a search and possible rescue mission.”
“The Straton?”
“Trans-United Flight 52. A supersonic Straton 797 from San Francisco to Tokyo. Unless the Trans-United Stratons are having a bad day, that must be ours.”
“But I thought we would hear any transmissions from them.” He gestured toward the radio-monitoring equipment.
Sloan hesitated. He had to pick and choose what to tell Hennings. “They transmitted on a data-link, a typed- out message that displays on a computer screen. I presume only the Trans-United operations office can receive from them. Anyway, the pilot was apparently dying. Brain damage. He made that turn, then made the course change, then they lost contact. They suspect that he died or blacked out, and that the Straton went down and…”
“Then they don’t know it’s still-”
“No. They don’t. The good news is that one of the data-link messages from the Straton mentioned a bomb. Everyone thinks there was a bomb onboard. Do you see it all now, Admiral? A pilotless aircraft filled with dead and dying, and with enough fuel left to reach California. Even if it weren’t our fault, I’d say we had a duty to bring it down.”
“How soon will your search party be in the area?”
“Soon.” Sloan had been asked to search an area that was hundreds of miles from where he knew the Straton actually was. By the time his aircraft worked their search pattern, the Straton would have flown hundreds of miles farther. “Very soon,” he lied. He looked at Hennings. “You can’t avoid any of the responsibility if I order this aircraft shot down. Silence is acquiescence. You’re no better than I am. But if you want to remain silent and let me do the dirty work…”
Suddenly, Hennings understood Sloan’s insistence on getting his approval for an act that he had the power to accomplish by himself. Sloan was looking for a personal victory over Hennings, and all that Hennings represented. All the old notions of honor, virtue, and integrity. Somehow it would make Sloan feel better to rub Hennings’s face in the muck.
Sloan said, “You had no qualms about serving a commander in chief who was a draft dodger, a notorious liar, and who had nothing but contempt for the military. Or, if you had any such qualms, you sure kept them to yourself, Admiral. We all did. Don’t talk to me about doing the right thing, about standing up for principle. None of us resigned over Vietnam, and none of us spoke out against the draft dodger in the White House. We’re all whores and we’re all compromised. The only thing I believe in is the career of James Sloan.”
Hennings made no reply, no protest.
Neither man spoke for a long time.
Hennings looked around the room known as E-334. Sterile, gray metal, covered with mazes of electrical conduit, the smell of electronics hanging in the airconditioned atmosphere. The world was full of Room E-334s now, on the sea, in the air, underground. Small tight compartments with no human touch. The destiny and the fate of mankind would someday be decided from a room like this one. Hennings was glad he would not be around to see it. He looked at Sloan. This man was the future. He knows how to live in this world. “Yes. Of course. Order Matos to shoot the Straton down.”
Sloan hesitated for a second, then sat down quickly at the radio console.
“Make sure he understands what he is to do and why he is to do it, Commander.”
Sloan glanced back at Hennings. “Yes. All right. I know what to do. We had him at this point once before.” But he knew Matos could go either way. “Navy three-four-seven, this is Homeplate. Do you read?” Sloan looked again at Hennings. “You wanted me to be honest with him, and I will.”
