how you manage then to conclude that before he died, Professor Landon wrote out some kind of a world volcano- eruption guide and handed it over to a bunch of Arab freedom fighters.
Certainly there is not enough serious evidence here to accept the implications of what is nothing but a crank letter.
Sorry, Admiral. The President is adamant. We are unconvinced.
Remember, always, we are spending the taxpayers’ money, and they voted President McBride in, precisely to avoid the obvious financial excesses of the Armed Services. Today, in the Third Millennium, people want a say in how their money is spent. Sincerely — Cyrus Romney.
Lieutenant Commander Ramshawe looked up at his boss in disbelief.
“We’re up against it here, old son,” Admiral Morris said.
“Right up against it. They’re against us before they start, before they even read our opinions and advice.”
“Do we let the Big Man know the state of the battle?”
“Absolutely. We tell him the full details of our investigation. And we also tell General Scannell. I don’t mind being ridiculed by the President and his know-nothing National Security Adviser. But if I happen to believe that President is willfully putting our country in danger, then it is my duty to blow a few whistles. He might be the President, but he’s only a goddamned politician. And he’s not here for long.
“We belong to a permanent organization that is here specifically to keep the United States of America safe. Mostly, we do what the President wishes. But there is a line, and he steps across that line only at grave peril to himself.”
“You think he just did?” asked Jimmy.
“I read your report, Lieutenant Commander. I
Admiral Morris and his assistant got lucky again. Jimmy Ramshawe called Arnold Morgan at home and requested a private meeting as soon as possible on a matter that Admiral Morris regarded as a “supreme priority.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” asked the ex — National Security Adviser.
“Yes. It could. But Admiral Morris believes we should meet NOW, and you know he doesn’t get overexcited on a regular basis.”
Admiral Morgan did know that. And he paused for a moment before saying, “Look, Jimmy. I’m taking Kathy out this evening to her favorite little restaurant in Georgetown. I can’t cancel at this late hour, so I suppose you and your boss better join us.”
“Are you sure, sir?” said an utterly delighted Jimmy Ramshawe.
“No, I’m not. But you’ve cornered me. Le Bec Fin. I expect you know where it is. I’ve seen John Peacock there a few times.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Jimmy. “Went there for Jane’s birthday. What time would you like to see us?”
“Eight bells. End of the Last Dog Watch, and don’t be late.”
“No, sir,” said Jimmy, laughing to himself at the old submariner’s unending sense of humor, so often disguised as a growling commanding officer’s impatience.
At 8 P.M. precisely, the staff car from Fort Meade pulled up outside the restaurant. They found Arnold and Kathy sitting opposite each other in a wide, comfortable private booth towards the rear of the main dining room. George was placed next to the Admiral, Jimmy next to Kathy.
“I’m really sorry, about this,” said the young Lieutenant Commander, “but I have to give a short document to Admiral Morgan to read before we can talk. It’s about three pages long, and it’s not my fault — the culprit for this awkwardness is sitting right opposite me, and he’s too big a cheese to argue with.”
That rather skillfully broke any ice that might have been hanging around after the enforced invitation. Arnold and Kathy both laughed, and the Admiral poured four glasses of white Burgundy for them. He never was much for asking people what they wanted to drink. As with most things, he felt he knew best. And, as with most things, he was usually right. The pale-gold Burgundy was excellent, from the Domaine Chandon de Briailles, a 1998 Pernand- Vergelesses blanc. Jimmy Ramshawe knew what he inelegantly described as a real “snorto deluxe” when he tasted it.
“My oath, this is a great glass of wine, sir,” he ventured.
“Silence, Ramshawe. I’m reading.”
“Yes, sir.”
It took the Admiral about five minutes to finish the report on the eruption of Mount St. Helens. And when he did so, he took a Navy-sized gulp of his wine. “Mother of God,” he breathed. “Our old friend Major Kerman again. And by the sound of this, he’s only just started. The volcano was just a sideshow, or he wouldn’t have sent that self-congratulatory letter to me, would he?”
“No, he would not,” said George Morris. “In my opinion, we’ll be hearing from him again.”
“And mine,” said Arnold. “But meantime, where the hell is he? Because I agree with Jimmy, I think we heard that damn creeping
“That’ll do for me as well,” replied George. “However, it will not do for our President and his main adviser.” At which point he handed Arnold a copy of the letter he had received from Cyrus Romney.
Again Arnold read, in obvious alarm. “Everything I ever feared about a soft, left-wing President,” he said. “All on one page, written by one of the greatest assholes on this planet. Jesus Christ. Romney’s a goddamned flower child dressed up in a suit. The
“Darling, those happen to be the lines of two different poets,” interjected Kathy.
“Excellent,” said the Admiral. “I happen to be dealing with two different assholes.”
Lieutenant Commander Ramshawe came remarkably close to shooting 1998 Pernand-Vergelesses down his nose, but the waiter arrived at that precipitous moment and deflected everyone’s attention to the menu.
“I think we need another five minutes,” said Arnold, and immediately returned to the subject at hand. “George,” he said. “First I want to congratulate Jimmy on an outstanding example of detective work. And secondly, I want to tell you that I have never been more nervous of the men who occupy the key Administration seats in the White House.
“The letter to you from this Romney character is, in my view, nothing short of a disgrace. The head of our National Security Agency, an Admiral and former Commander of a United States Navy Carrier Battle Group? I’m absolutely shocked. But all that pales before the real problem. And that’s the reluctance of this Administration to act in the true interests of this nation.
“Even if the President does not believe it personally, he has to face up to the truth that these terrorists may already have killed maybe a hundred of our citizens up in Washington State. And that dismissal of the facts may mean that Charles McBride is in serious breach of his oaths of office.”
“So what do we do?”
“For the moment, we keep very quiet. But I do want to alert General Scannell and Admiral Dickson. If something as serious as this is really happening, I want to ensure that the proper authorities are up to speed. We probably should tell ’em to keep a weather eye out for a slow Russian nuclear, anywhere along our West Coast waters.”
“Arnie, what would you recommend we do if we locate that
“Sink it, George,” replied the Admiral. “Sink that son of a bitch, hopefully in damn deep water. No questions asked. Deny all knowledge.”
“Right on, sir,” said Jimmy, grinning. “That’s the spirit.” And all three of them, at that moment, wished to high heaven that Admiral Morgan was still in his old office in the West Wing.
