Джон Болл - The First Team

“Doris,” he called to his wife. “Could you come here for a moment? I’ve got something to show you.”

Hewlitt could not define it, but he felt that a change in the atmosphere of the White House had developed during the noon hour. He sensed it almost as soon as he returned to his desk. Major Barlov stopped by and asked him some questions, none of them significant but all of them probing for something that was not disclosed. He saw Zalinsky only briefly; the administrator was as loaded with work as always, but he kept looking at Hewlitt as though he expected to read a sign in his features that was not there. By the time he was ready to leave for the day he knew definitely that something was up, but he had no clue as to what it might be.

Frank was not able to help. The burly cab driver listened to

Hewlitt’s report, but he could offer no information. “Percival will know, you can bet on that,” he said. “He hasn’t been around as much lately; somthin’s been keeping him busy. He’s about due back.”

When he was inside of his apartment and alone, Hewlitt lay down on his back, stared at the ceiling, and tried to fit the pieces together. The underground cell to which he belonged had been meeting for some time and had passed along a quantity of essentially trivial information, but there had been no real action. He had resigned himself to weeks, and probably months of this sort of thing with the eventual hope that it would all mean something in the end, but with the determination also that he would keep on with the job as long as he was asked to serve.

He got himself something to eat, then sat down to work on the notes he was keeping on the day-to-day activity in the White House. It was a perfectly innocent document which contained nothing that he was not supposed to know and presumably could discuss with anyone he chose. If the country were ever freed, then his notes, properly amplified, could be the foundation for a book he might eventually write.

When the phone rang he answered it without enthusiasm; his mind was on other things. His mood changed abruptly when he heard Barbara’s voice. “I’m lonesome,” she said. That was all.

“We’ll have to do something about that,” he responded, and was aware that it sounded trite.

“It might take a while.”

“Time well spent.” That was a little better.

He put away his manuscript in his desk, where it was there to find if anyone took the trouble, put a few things into a small case, and set out to answer the summons. When he arrived at the safe house Davy Jones let him in with a smile. “Percival’s back,” he announced as soon as Hewlitt was safely inside. “He wants to see you. Barbara’s here, and the rest of the girls.”

“Barbara phoned me.”

“Of course, I’m stupid — sorry. You fixed to stay all night?”

Hewlitt nodded. He, Cedric Culp, and the two secret service men who belonged to the cell stayed over often enough to give credence to the facade that the house was a private brothel. They were seldom there together, although three of them had a sleeping arrangement on the second floor. One of the secret service men had moved in with the girl called Nancy, but that had been by their mutual consent. What they did was their business, and the rest of the little group did not interfere.

Barbara appeared and kissed him casually. A few moments later Percival joined them and occupied one of the bar stools. Hewlitt sat beside him; Davy served up the drinks as though this was the beginning of a festive evening. He had a certain style about him, Hewlitt noted, that suggested a devil-may-care attitude. People could be acquainted with Davy Jones for a long time and not really know him. It could be an expert defense that he had developed because he was a Negro, or merely a reflection of his own complex personality. Whichever way it was, Hewlitt liked Davy a great deal and had learned to trust him.

Mary Mulligan joined with the two other girls who now lived in the house: Nancy who had originally been of the First Lady’s staff, and Melanie, who was the interesting and highly attractive offspring of an American father and a Korean mother. She was quite slender and had a liquid grace that appealed to many men. There was nothing about her manner that revealed the exceptional intelligence she possessed. She spoke perfect French effortlessly and had a conversational knowledge of three additional languages.

The new bar was large enough to accommodate them all; when Davy had supplied refreshments to everyone, Hewlitt began. “I don’t know if any of the rest of you encountered this,” he said, “but when I got back from lunch this afternoon, there was a decided change in the atmosphere. I can’t prove it by anything specific, but I felt it all around me. Barlov asked me a lot of questions and Zalinsky wasn’t himself at all.”

“Did anyone else get a similar reaction?” Percival asked.

“Very definitely,” Barbara said. “In fact I was talking about it to Mary — she picked it up too. We were going to tell you about it. What’s it all about?”

Percival consulted his drink before replying. “All of us have been waiting a long time for something tangible, some really effective action against the enemy. We’ve got it now. It happened this morning in San Francisco.”

“Give, man, give,” Davy said.

“All right. Just before dawn a United States Navy crew took possession of a newly commissioned, fully armed, fleet ballistic missile nuclear submarine and took her out to sea right under the noses of the enemy.”

“Good God!” Hewlitt said. “How did they ever do it?”

“We’ve been working on it for weeks — longer, in fact. There’s a remote chance that they might still mount a successful attack against her — she’s still pretty close in — but I doubt it very much. That’s about the size of it. She’s the newest and best that we’ve got and she’s under the direct control of the First Team; in fact one member is on board her right now.”

“What’s going to happen?” Melanie asked.

Percival went back to his drink. “Nothing for the immediate present; the submarine just escaped this morning. In two or three weeks a lot could happen. Remember: a missile-firing submarine, one that packs as many warheads as this one does, is principally a deterrent.”

“Do it or else,” Davy said.

Percival nodded at him. “That’s about it. In case you girls didn’t know, one modern FBM like this one packs more firepower inside her hull than has been released in all of the wars in the world’s history. That includes World War II and the two nuclear explosions in Japan.”

“One thing,” Mary interjected. “This opens the bag as far as our organization is concerned. They know now that we exist and that we have a considerable capability.”

“They do,” Percival agreed. “You can count on one thing: they’re going to throw everything they have into finding and destroying that submarine, because she’s our big gun now.”

Nancy, who had remained silent up to that point, spoke in her slightly reedy voice. “But she can’t stay at sea forever; she’ll have to put in to port for food and supplies. So if anything’s going to happen, it can’t wait too long.”

Percival agreed with her. “That’s true.”

“In other words,” Hewlitt said, “it could all be over in another ninety days — one way or the other.”

Percival handed his empty glass to Davy. “Yes, the chips are going to be down from here on in. It may get pretty rough, but we’re prepared for that, too.”

It was after twelve before Hewlitt turned in. There had been much discussion until they had stopped to hear the eleven o’clock news. Not a word was said about the submarine or anything else that could be associated with it. Hewlitt was used to that — he had heard many newscasts which took no notice of the major story of the day because it had not been made public and perhaps never would be. The tight control of all the news media was one of the things he resented most about the enemy occupation; withholding classified information was one thing, but total news management was another. When the news was over the girls went upstairs, Davy left on an errand of his own, and Hewlitt found himself alone with Percival.