Thank you for your time. No more questions.”
General Scannell and Admiral Dickson left the dais and headed back to the Oval Office, leaving the Fourth Estate to tackle one of the biggest political and military stories of modern times.
They were accompanied by four Marine guards, and on the way, fell into step with Henry Wolfson, press officer to Charles McBride, and one of many senior staffers who would retain their positions in the new Administration.
He offered a handshake to the two officers and introduced himself. “Guess our paths have never crossed before,” he said. “But I have a feeling that that’s liable to change as from this moment.”
“Correct, Henry,” replied General Scannell. “We’re counting on you to try and keep this situation under control. The object is to prevent an outbreak of public panic without concealing the seriousness of the situation. We’ll do a more detailed briefing on this later, but one thing’s for certain. Hamas did slam a broadside of big cruise missiles into both Mount St. Helens last May and Montserrat last night.
“It would take something larger to blow the volcano in the Canaries apart. But a nuclear warhead on a medium-range cruise would probably do it. The bastards are firing from a submarine, submerged-launch, and that’s real hard to locate. You coming to see the President?”
“Yes, sir. And Admiral Morgan. And that scares the hell out of me.”
“Don’t worry. His bite’s worse than his bark. And he scares the hell out of all of us at times. But I’m glad he’s on board for this one.”
“That seems to be the general opinion around here, sir,” said Henry Wolfson. “Makes everyone feel a little more confident.”
“We’re supposed to be apolitical in the military,” said the CJC. “But things are usually easier for us when the GOP are at the helm.”
They reached the Oval Office. Generals Boyce and Clark were just leaving, and General Scannell joined them for the return journey to the Pentagon. Meanwhile, Arnold Morgan had turned the most hallowed room in Western government into a Naval strategy room. He had charts of the Atlantic Ocean all over a central table that he had ordered to be brought up especially from the office of the National Security Adviser. It had a dark polished teak surface and had been in the same place since Admiral Morgan’s own years in that office
Cyrus Romney, the Liberal Arts Professor from Berkeley, had been somewhat irritated by the sudden appearance of White House removal staff and had demanded to know where his table was going.
“Oval Office, orders of Admiral Morgan,” was the reply.
Cyrus Romney, who had heard the rumors around the offices, had decided wisely not to pursue the matter on the basis of being certain that he too, in the next couple of hours, would be making a similar, but equally sudden, exit from his office.
In the next thirty minutes, the table became a far busier place than it had been for many months. It now displayed charts of the western Atlantic and the approaches into the Leeward Islands and of the central Atlantic above the Mid-Atlantic Ridge.
There were maps of the western approaches to the Canary Islands, and three different charts of the Canaries themselves — one showing all five islands from Grand Canaria to Hierro, including Tenerife, Gomera, and La Palma; another showing the other two big islands of Lanzarote and Fuerteventura much farther to the east, the latter only 60 nautical miles off Morocco’s northwest headland.
The entire seven-island archipelago stretched east to west for 250 miles, and Arnold Morgan had made but one mark on the entire nautical layout — a small circle located at 28.37N 17.50W, the main crater of the great Cumbre Vieja fault line.
Right now he was standing with President Bedford, staring at the depths of water that surrounded the island of La Palma, almost 10,000 feet high, 50 miles to the east, 5,000 feet all around the 1,000-meter line, 200 feet close inshore, and almost 100 feet sloping steeply west right below the cliffs,
He glanced up as Admiral Dickson came in, the President having retreated to the far end of the room to speak with Henry Wolfson. It was clear already that the Oval Office was about to become Admiral Morgan’s ops room, and that an army of possibly five cleaners and tidiers would be required twice a day to keep even a semblance of order.
The former President’s secretary, Miss Betty-Ann Jones, the very lady who had been ordered to fire Arnold as soon as the result of the Presidential Election was known, was in the process of clearing her desk and preparing to leave for her home in Alabama. She had given herself no more than two hours to remain at her power desk outside the Oval Office, since it was rumored that Mrs. Arnold Morgan was on her way into the White House, essentially to take charge of her husband’s life while he tried to fight off the Hamas threat.
Betty-Ann need not have worried. Arnold Morgan treated everyone the same — Presidents, Admirals, Generals, Ambassadors, Emperors, and waiters. Usually with impatience, occasionally with irritation, but rarely with malice. He would not have remembered the manner of his removal from office — only that he was leaving his beloved nation in the hands of people whom he judged to be incompetent to handle the task. That almost broke his heart. Phone calls from secretaries did not figure in the equation. But he did want his capable wife close at hand in the hours of duress.
“Where the hell’s Kathy?” he growled to Admiral Doran.
“Who’s Kathy?” replied the Commander in Chief of the Navy’s Atlantic Fleet.
Arnold looked up from his charts, surprised. “Oh, Kathy? Sorry Frank, I was talking to myself…pretty familiar phrase in my life — they’ll probably inscribe it on my grave…‘
“Is that Mrs. Morgan?”
“That’s her. The best secretary I ever had, the best-looking lady who ever even spoke to me, and the best of my three wives, by several miles.”
Frank Doran chuckled. “You expecting her, sir?”
“Damn right. I just gave her back her old job, and told her to get right down here to the West Wing, on the double.”
“Is she coming?”
“Well, she told me she’d give some thought to working again for the rudest man she ever met. But not to hold my breath.”
Admiral Doran laughed out loud at that, and ventured that everyone had to refrain from the impulse to speak to wives and children as if they belonged on the lower deck.
Arnold was about to reply when Kathy Morgan came marching into the office, looking, as ever, radiantly beautiful.
Without looking up, he snapped, “ ’Bout time. COFFEE! And call the Iranian Ambassador and tell him he’s a devious lying son of a bitch.”
Admiral Doran was stunned. Admiral Dickson, who had attended this charade before, just shook his head. And Arnold leapt up from his desk and hugged his wife right in front of everyone.
Throughout all her years as Arnold’s secretary, she had always been astounded at the commands he gave her…Call the head of this, the head of that, ambassadors and diplomats, and say the most frightful things to them. To Arnold Morgan a request for speed of reply from a senior Russian Admiral translated to
The sudden order to lay into the Iranian ambassador was a mere “Welcome Home” to Kathy, who had promised to return to work only if it was for a two-week tenure.
Arnold introduced Frank Doran, and then instructed Kathy to tell that lady outside, Betty Something, that she was welcome to work as Kathy’s assistant in the smaller office for a couple of weeks. Failing that, to tell her to go now, and get a replacement.
The former Kathy O’Brien knew the White House routines as well as anyone, but she balked at this. “Darling, I cannot just arrive here and start firing people,” she said.
“Okay,” said Arnold, returning to his charts of the waters on the eastern Atlantic Ocean. “Get Frank to do it.”
“I’m not firing President McBride’s secretary!” said Admiral Doran.
“All right, all right,” said Arnold. “I’ll do it.” And with that, he walked out of the door and explained to Betty-
