“Anything happening in the Soviet Union?”
“Their air-defense people are increasing their alert level, as we have already discussed,” General Borstein replied. “We're getting other radio activity, but nothing we can classify yet. There is no indication of an attack on the United States.”
“Okay.” The President let out a breath. Things were bad, but not out of control. All he had to do was get things settled down, and then he could go forward. “I'm going to open the direct line to Moscow.”
“Very well, sir,” NORAD replied.
A Navy chief yeoman was two seats away from President Fowler. His computer terminal was already lit up. “You want to slide down here, Mr. President,” the chief said. “I can't cross-deck my display to your screen.”
Fowler crab-walked his swivel chair the eight feet to the chief's place.
“Sir, the way this works is, I type in what you say here, and it's relayed directly through the NMCC computers in the Pentagon — all they do is encipher it — but when the Russians reply, it arrives in the Hot Line room in Russian, is translated there, and then sent here from the Pentagon. There's a backup at Fort Ritchie in case something goes wrong in D.C. We have land-line and two separate satellite links. Sir, I can type about as fast as you can speak.” The chief yeoman's nametag read Orontia, and Fowler couldn't decide what his ancestry was. He was a good twenty pounds overweight, but he sounded relaxed and competent. Fowler would settle for that. Chief Orontia also had a pack of cigarettes sitting next to his keyboard. The President stole one, ignoring the no-smoking signs that hung on every wall. Orontia lit it with a Zippo.
“All ready, sir.” Chief Pablo Orontia looked sideways at his Commander-in-Chief. His gaze didn't betray the fact that he'd been born in Pueblo, Colorado, and still had family there. The President would settle things down, that was his job. Orontia's job, he reasoned, was to do his best to help the man. Orontia had served his country in two wars and many other crises, mainly as an admiral's yeoman on carriers, and now he turned off his feelings as he had trained himself to do.
“Dear President Narmonov…”
Captain Rosselli watched the first for-real transmission on the Hot Line since his arrival in Washington. The message was put up on the IBM-PC/AT and encrypted, then the computer operator hit the return button to transmit it. He really should be back at his desk, Jim thought, but what went through here might be vital to what he was doing.
AS YOU HAVE PROBABLY BEEN TOLD THERE HAS BEEN A MAJOR EXPLOSION IN THE CENTRAL PART OF MY COUNTRY. I HAVE BEEN TOLD THAT IT WAS A NUCLEAR EXPLOSION AND THAT THE LOSS OF LIFE IS SEVERE, President Narmonov read, with his advisors at his side.
“About what one would expect,” Narmonov said. “Send our reply.”
“Jesus, that was fast!” the Army colonel on duty remarked and began his translation. A Marine sergeant typed the English version, which was automatically linked to Camp David, Fort Ritchie, and the State Department. The computers printed out hard copy that was sent almost as fast to SAC, NORAD, and the intelligence agencies via facsimile printer.
AUTHENTICATOR: TIMETABLE TIMETABLE TIMETA-BLE
REPLY FROM MOSCOW
PRESIDENT FOWLER:
WE HAVE NOTED THE EVENT. P LEASE ACCEPT OUR DEEPEST SYMPATHY AND THAT OF THE SOVIET PEOPLE. HOW IS SUCH AN ACCIDENT POSSIBLE?
“Accident?” Fowler asked.
“That was awfully fast, Robert,” Elliot observed at once. “Too damned fast. His English isn't very good. The message had to be translated, and you take time to read things like this. Their reply must have been canned — made up in advance… what does that mean?” Liz asked, almost talking to herself, as Fowler formulated his next message. What's going on here? Who is doing this, and why…?
PRESIDENT N ARMONOV:
I REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT THIS WAS NOT AN ACCIDENT. T HERE IS NO AMERICAN NUCLEAR DEVICE WITHIN A HUNDRED MILES, NOR WERE ANY US WEAPONS IN TRANSIT IN THE AREA. THIS WAS A DELIBERATE ACT BY UNKNOWN FORCES.
“Well, that's no surprise,” Narmonov said. He congratulated himself for correctly predicting the first message from America. “Send the next reply,” he told the communicator. To his advisers: “Fowler is an arrogant man, with the weaknesses of arrogance, but he is no fool. He will be very emotional about this. We must settle him down, calm him. If he can keep control of himself, his intelligence will allow him to maintain control of the matter.”
“My President,” said Golovko, who had just arrived in the command center. “I think this is a mistake.”
“What do you mean?” Narmonov asked in some surprise.
“It is a mistake to tailor your words to what you think of the man, his character, and his mental state. People change under stress. The man at the other end of that telephone line may not be the same man whom you met in Rome.”
The Soviet President dismissed that idea. “Nonsense. People like that never change. We have enough of them here. I've been dealing with people like Fowler all my life.”
PRESIDENT FOWLER:
IF THIS IS IN FACT A DELIBERATE ACT THEN IT IS A CRIME WHOLLY WITHOUT PRECEDENT IN HUMAN HISTORY. WHAT MADMAN WOULD DO SUCH A THING, AND TO WHAT PURPOSE? SUCH ACTION MIGHT ALL TOO EASILY LEAD TO GLOBAL CATASTROPHE. YOU MUST BELIEVE THAT THE SOVIET UNION HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS INFAMOUS ACT.
“Too fast, Robert,” Elliot said. “'You must believe'? What is this guy trying to say?”
“ Elizabeth, you're reading too much into this,” Fowler replied.
“These responses are canned, Robert! Canned He's answering too fast. He had them prepared in advance. That means something.”
“Like what?”
“Like we were supposed to be at the game, Robert! It looks to me like these were tailored for somebody else — like Burling. What if the bomb was supposed to get you, too, along with Brent and Dennis?”
“I have to set that aside, I told you that!” Fowler said angrily. He paused and took a deep breath. He could not allow himself to get angry. He had to stay calm. “Look, Elizabeth —”
“You can't set that aside! You have to consider that possibility, because if it was planned, that tells us something about what is going on.”
“Dr. Elliot is right,” NORAD said over the open phone line. “Mr. President, you are entirely correct to distance yourself from this event in an emotional sense, but you have to consider all possible aspects of the operational concept that may be at work here.”
“I am compelled to agree with that,” CINC-SAC added.
“So, what do I do?” Fowler asked.
“Sir,” NORAD said, “I don't like this 'you must believe' stuff, either. It might be a good idea to let him know that we're ready to defend ourselves.”
“Yeah,” General Fremont agreed. “He knows that, anyway, if his people are doing their job right.”
“But what if he takes our alert level as a threat?”
“They won't, sir,” NORAD assured him. “It's just how anybody would do business in a case like this. Their senior military leadership is very professional.”
Dr. Elliot stirred at that remark, Fowler noted. “Okay, I'll tell him we've alerted our forces, but that we don't
