“Neither do I, but we’re stuck with him.”
“He could blow it.”
“I don’t think so. Regardless of what we think about Vince, he’s never made a statement that tarnished my image. That’s more than a lot of Presidents could say about their VP’s.”
Fawcett resigned himself to the situation. “There aren’t enough staterooms to go around. I’ll give up mine and stay on shore.”
“I appreciate that, Dan.”
“I can stay on the boat until tonight and then bunk at a nearby motel.”
“Perhaps, under the circumstances,” the President said slowly, “it would be best if you remained behind. With Vince along, I don’t want our guests to think we’re ganging up on them.”
“I’ll leave the documents supporting your position in your stateroom, Mr. President.”
“Thank you. I’ll study them before dinner.” Then the President paused. “By the way, any word on the Alaskan situation?”
“Only that the search for the nerve agent is under way.”
The President’s eyes reflected a disturbed look. He nodded and shook Fawcett’s hand. “See you tomorrow.”
Later Fawcett stood on the dock among the irritated Secret Service agents of the Vice President’s detail. As he watched the aging white yacht cut into the Anacostia River before turning south toward the Potomac, a knot began to tighten in the pit of his stomach.
There had been no written invitations!
None of it made any sense.
Lucas was putting on his coat, about to leave his office, when the phone linked to the command post buzzed.
“Lucas.”
“This is ‘Love Boat,’ “ replied George Blackowl, giving the code name of the movement in progress.
The call was unexpected and like a father with a daughter on a date Lucas immediately feared the worst. “Go ahead,” he said tersely.
“We have a situation. This is no emergency, I repeat, no emergency. But something’s come up that isn’t in the movement.”
Lucas expelled a sigh of relief. “I’m listening.”
“ ‘Shakespeare’ is on the boat,” said Blackowl, giving the code name for the Vice President.
“He’s
“Margolin showed up out of nowhere and came on board as we were casting off. Dan Fawcett gave him his stateroom and went ashore. When I queried the President about the last-minute switch in passengers, he told me to let it ride. But I smell a screwup.”
“Where’s Rhinemann?”
“Right here with me on the yacht.”
“Put him on.”
There was a pause and then Hank Rhinemann, the supervisor in charge of the Vice President’s security detail, came on. “Oscar, we’ve got an unscheduled movement.”
“Understood. How did you lose him?”
“He came charging out of his office and said he had to attend an urgent meeting with the President on the yacht. He didn’t tell me it was an overnight affair.”
“He kept it from you?”
“ ‘Shakespeare’ is tight-mouthed as hell. I should have known when I saw the garment bag. I’m sorry as hell, Oscar.”
A wave of frustration swept Lucas. God, he thought, the leaders of the world’s leading superpowers were like kids when it came to their own security.
“It’s happened,” said Lucas sharply. “So we’ll make the best of it. Where is your detail?”
“Standing on the dock,” answered Rhinemann.
“Send them down to Mount Vernon and back up Blackowl’s people. I want that yacht cordoned off tighter than a bass drum.”
“Will do.”
“At the slightest hint of trouble, call me. I’m spending the night at the command post.”
“You got a line on something?” Rhinemann asked.
“Nothing tangible,” Lucas replied, his voice so hollow it seemed to come from a distant source. “But knowing that the President and the next three men in line for his office are all in the same place at the same time scares the hell out of me.”
7
“We’ve turned against the current.” Pitt’s voice was quiet, almost casual, as he stared at the color video screen on the Klein hydroscan sonar that read the seafloor. “Increase speed about two knots.”
Dressed in bleached Levi’s, Irish knit turtleneck sweater and brown tennis shoes, his brushed hair laid back under a NUMA baseball cap, he looked cool and comfortable with a bored, indifferent air about him.
The wheel moved slowly under the helmsman’s hands and the
They took up the search for the nerve agent source in the southern end of Cook Inlet and discovered that the residual traces rose as they worked westward into Kamishak Bay. Water samples were taken every half-hour and ferried by helicopter to the chemical lab on Augustine Island. Amos Dover philosophically compared the project to a children’s game of finding hidden candy with an unseen voice giving “warmer” or “colder” clues.
As the day wore on, the nervous tension that had been building up on the
The crew was unable to go on deck for a breath of air. Only the EPA chemists were allowed outside the exterior bulkheads, and they were protected by airtight encapsulating suits.
“Anything yet?” Dover asked, peering over Pitt’s shoulder at the high-resolution screen.
“Nothing man-made,” Pitt answered. “Bottom terrain is rugged, broken, mostly lava rock.”
“Good clear picture.”
Pitt nodded. “Yes, the detail is quite sharp.”
“What’s that dark smudge?”
“A school of fish. Maybe a pack of seals.”
Dover turned and stared through the bridge windows at the volcanic peak on Augustine Island, now only a few miles away. “Better make a strike soon. We’re coming close to shore.”
“Lab to ship,” Mendoza’s feminine voice broke over the bridge speaker.
Dover picked up the communications phone. “Go ahead, lab.”
“Steer zero-seven-zero degrees. Trace elements appear to be in higher concentrations in that direction.”
Dover gave the nearby island an apprehensive eye. “If we hold that course for twenty minutes we’ll park on your doorstep for supper.”
“Come in as far as you can and take samples,” Mendoza answered. “My indications are that you’re practically on top of it.”
Dover hung up without further discussion and called out, “What’s the depth?”
The watch officer tapped a dial on the instrument console. “One hundred forty feet and rising.”
“How far can you see on that thing?” Dover asked Pitt.
