Ben Bova - Able One

“You came alone?” asked Lionel Bakersfield. “Without your usual entourage?” The Secretary of Defense swiveled his plush high-backed chair slightly to and fro. The Secretary of State thought it betrayed a nervousness in him. Bakersfield was wearing a gray three-piece suit that had been hand-tailored for him, although its jacket hung open and his vest was unbuttoned. Even his old-fashioned rep tie had wormed loose from his collar. Sloppy, thought the Secretary of State. The man’s always been a slob, and he’ll never be anything but a slob.

A dangerous slob, though. They had campaigned against each other through the primaries and both lost to the current President. Both of them had been senators before joining their onetime rival’s administration, and senators always thought of presidents as temporary. The President proposes; the Congress disposes: it was a motto that had warmed many a senator’s heart over many, many administrations.

State was still in the pearl gray pant suit and tailored white blouse she had worn earlier. She felt a little grubby, but there had been no time to change.

“Anyone see you coming here?” Defense asked.

She knew he meant news media people. “No. I came in a closed limo. There won’t be any headlines about State visiting the Pentagon, I assure you.”

Defense made a lopsided smile. “And, if I may ask, exactly why have you come from the comforts of Foggy Bottom to grace my office? To what do I owe this honor?”

God! thought State. The world’s coming to an end and he still can’t get out a single sentence without all his flourishes.

“I want to see a couple of the people on your situation team. That analyst from the NIC and General Scheib.”

Defense’s shaggy brows rose slightly. “I’ll get them up here right away.” He pressed a button on his desktop intercom and gave the order. Then, steepling his fingers as he looked back at State, he asked, “Why those two?”

State was surprised by the directness of his question. Then she thought, He’s trying to shock me into telling him the truth.

It was her turn to smile now. “I need to be brought up to the minute on this missile crisis.”

“Aha.”

“Phone links aren’t good enough. I need to see the players face-to-face.”

“I understand. They’ll be here directly.”

Five levels below the Secretary of Defense’s office, General Scheib frowned at the young tech sergeant who had handed him the message.

“The Secretary of Defense wants to see me in his office,” Scheib announced to the team. Pointing down the table to Jamil he added, “You too.”

Jamil looked shocked. “Me?”

General Higgins grunted. “It doesn’t pay to cross the Secretary of State, kid. She’s probably got the big brass upstairs boiling a pot of oil for you.”

“But we can’t go now!” Jamil said. “The North Koreans will be launching those missiles any minute!”

“Nothing you can do about that,” Higgins said. “You just follow orders, like the rest of us.”

Jamil got to his feet, looking uncertain, fearful. Zuri Coggins went to his side. “I’ll go with you,” she said.

Scheib snapped, “The call was for him and me. Nobody else.”

Eyes blazing, Coggins stood up to the general, even though she was barely the height of his chin. “I represent the National Security Advisor. If there’s going to be any boiling in oil, they’ll have to do it in front of me.”

Scheib actually took a step back from her. Then he shrugged and muttered, “Okay. You explain it to the Secretary, then.”

As the three of them followed the tech sergeant toward the door Higgins called after them, “We’ll try to keep the gooks from launching until after you get back.”

No one laughed. No one even smiled.

Charley had never been so cold and miserable in his whole blessed life. He hadn’t gone more than a dozen steps through the wet, fluffy snow before his shoes were soaked and his feet started to hurt like fire. Doggedly he pushed on, heading back down the road toward the gas station he’d remembered seeing.

The wind was in his face and cutting right through his polyester shell jacket. It had a wool lining, but it felt like nothing more than tissue paper. Charley tugged on the zipper. It was already as high as it could go. He mashed his Seattle Seahawks cap as far down on his head as he could, but his ears were exposed and tingling. Turning, he could barely make out the lines of the van stuck on the roadside.

Come on, Charley, he urged himself. Get moving. The more you move, the warmer you’ll feel. Get that old heart pumping.

Jamming his bare hands into the jacket’s pockets he mushed on, squinting against the snowflakes rushing into his face.

It’s only a couple miles, he told himself. I got to get there before the van runs out of gas. Got to get there before Martha and the kids freeze.

They shouldn’t have blizzards like this in October, he raged to himself. Those science people claim we’re having global warming, for Lord’s sake. This don’t look like global warming to me!

“We’re going to have company!” Colonel Christopher heard the shrill alarm in Captain O’Banion’s voice.

“What is it?” she asked, keeping her voice flat, calm. “Flash from Andrews. Pyongyang just launched a pair of fighters, vectoring straight at us.”

“Fighters?”

“Must be, from their speed.”

Fighters, Christopher thought. From North Korea. Info relayed from Andrews.

“How long ago did they send out the warning?”

A pause. Then O’Banion replied, “Time hack says four minutes ago.”

At least they’ve got a direct link with us now, Christopher realized, finally. Now they can watch us get shot down in real time.

She asked O’Banion, “Estimated time to intercept?”

Again a pause. Then, “Ten… to twelve minutes.”

“Get Mr. Hartunian up here. On the double.”

Harry was sitting beside Taki, helping her check out all the electronic controls for the COIL.

It couldn’t have been Taki, he was telling himself. Unless she’s a damned good actress. But why would she do it? Why would she try to abort this flight? Why would any of them?

He asked himself again if one of the Air Force crew might have stolen the lens assembly. And again the answer came back negative. They don’t know enough about the system to cripple it like that. Besides, if one of them had started tinkering with the laser in its housing up there, the rest of them would have seen him.

Harry realized the gangly black lieutenant had ducked into the compartment, a puzzled frown on his face.

“You guys need to keep the intercom open,” he said without preamble. “Our comm man has been trying to get you on the squawk line for the past five minutes. The skipper wants to see you, Mr. Hartunian. And I mean now. ”

Harry pushed himself to his feet as Taki snatched up the headphone from its hook on the console and clamped it over her spiky hair.

Colonel Christopher was standing in the rear of the flight deck, by the mussed-up pair of cots, as Harry clambered up the ladder. The redheaded captain was peering intently at his radar screen. As Lieutenant Sharmon went back to his console, Harry went aft toward the colonel. He realized that she was quite good-looking, even in blue Air Force fatigues. Slim figure, pretty oval face, dark hair cropped short. Sexy, almost. Except that she looked as bleak as death.

“Are you ready for action?” she asked, keeping her voice so low Harry barely heard her over the thrumming of the plane’s engines.

He nodded. “All systems are go.”