Irving Wallace - The Man

“Do you think so?” Dilman asked. “It’s difficult for me to judge.”

“You may lose the first round by a shade in the Senate,” said Jaskawich, “but you may have won it by a mile around the country.”

Dilman nodded thoughtfully, then suddenly pulled up his swivel chair and again buzzed his engagements secretary. He studied Jaskawich and Scott, and then he said, “They’ll be coming in now… When I think of what we’re up against this second, that show on television seems about as important as a cartoon short for children. Mr. Scott, you’ve got to lay it on the line.”

A door opened and closed, and at once, with the arrival of the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the atmosphere of the Oval Office seemed to become highly charged. Secretary Carl Steinbrenner, embodying in his every movement the irreproachable solidity of the self-made successful aircraft manufacturer, exchanged guarded courtesies with the others, while General Pitt Fortney, after flinging his braid-trimmed cap and military trench coat on a sofa, strode forward with a more aggressive helloing.

“Well, now, Mr. President,” drawled General Fortney, settling himself beside the Secretary of Defense, “what’s so pressing that Carl and I have to come hopping over here in the middle of the day? Far as I could learn, everything that’s been coming in this afternoon on our restricted communications wires and the command lines might as well have been delivered by doves. All’s pretty much at peace around the world-no rumbles, except for that little brush-fire conflict down on our own Senate floor maybe.” He chuckled. “Guess that’s pretty much outside our province.”

Dilman appeared to endure this calmly, and then, gripping the edge of his desk, ignoring General Fortney, he addressed himself wholly to Steinbrenner. “Gentlemen, I summoned you because there is a very real and grave crisis developing abroad. As of and until yesterday, Mr. Scott and I have kept you fully apprised as to the situation in and around Baraza, and-”

“Oh, that ,” General Fortney interrupted with a snort.

Dilman stared at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “Yes, that,” he said. “So long as there is a place on earth where the Soviet Union, secretly or overtly, is prepared to challenge the independence of a democratic government, no matter how large or small, to which we have pledged support, that is a place with which we must concern ourselves. Baraza is such a place. We persuaded Baraza to relax its guard against Communism, as a barter for Russia’s good will and promise of peace. Now there is ample evidence that Russia is about to break its promise by helping overthrow President Amboko. Our responsibility is to see that Amboko is not overthrown.”

“Mr. President,” said Secretary Steinbrenner, “based on the information that I have seen up to and through yesterday, it would seem extremely doubtful that Premier Kasatkin has any real intention of fomenting rebellion in Africa.”

“That was yesterday,” said Dilman. “Today’s another day, and the additional information we’ve been waiting for came in late this morning… Mr. Scott, repeat right here and now what you told me an hour ago, the latest intelligence that just came in to CIA.”

Montgomery Scott had emptied his portfolio, and shuffling the papers in his hands, he looked gloomily at Steinbrenner and General Fortney. “Unhappily, gentlemen, the prospects for maintaining peace in Baraza are deteriorating with each updated report. Our last intelligence from our agents in Baraza, you recollect, we rated as being from a 4 to 3 in dependability, meaning fairly reliable. Enough for us to become concerned, and to suggest that we investigate the situation further. We have investigated further. It has cost us the life of an outstanding CIA agent to obtain today’s report, and this one we have evaluated at 2, only a shade under positively reliable, and that makes the situation sufficiently serious to warrant consideration of military countermeasures.”

“Monty,” said the Secretary of Defense, “what’s in that last report?”

“You’ll find a complete copy on your desk when you get back to the Pentagon,” said Scott. “What’s in it? Briefly, the information that Soviet Russian officers are just outside the Barazan frontier, mainly in the high country, whipping together and preparing a Russian-sized division-that would make it somewhat smaller than our divisions-of native Barazan Communists. Maybe as many as 13,000 men. The infantrymen are equipped largely with American small arms, M14 rifles, AR-10 Armalite rifles, 3.5-inch rocket-launching bazookas. However, most of this Communist division is both mechanized and armored, having been supplied with Soviet-manufactured tanks, mortars, Gaz jeeps, medium artillery. They have even hurriedly constructed several hidden airfields, and delivered a limited number of MIG-17 jet fighters and some twin-engined light jet bombers. We know that the buildup and equipping of this native Communist force is nearing completion, and all that remains is to find out precisely when-at what date-the rebels intend to strike. We expect to discover this date sometime between tomorrow and the end of the week. Several of Kwame Amboko’s own security agents have infiltrated the enemy camp, and if one of them gets out alive, Amboko hopes to relay his vital information to us by then.”

Steinbrenner’s attention went to Dilman. “Do you trust Kwame Amboko, Mr. President?”

“Completely,” said Dilman.

“I don’t,” snapped General Fortney. “He’s sure to come up with something alarming, merely to drag us into that swampland of his and use us to liquidate his political opposition. Mr. President-”

“General,” Dilman interrupted, “I trust him… Go on, Mr. Scott.”

The CIA Director patted his Vandyke beard. “Of course, the CIA will also evaluate Amboko’s sources, as we evaluate the findings of our own agents. If Amboko’s findings match ours in rating, are found to be nearly positively reliable, I am afraid you will have to act swiftly.”

Chafing, General Fortney exploded, “Wait a minute there, hold your horses, Scott! You trying to egg us on into a shooting war, based solely on some inciting literature you double-domes over at CIA are producing? Not on your life!” He leaned on the desk, across from Dilman. “Mr. President, there’s too much at stake to put our country’s future completely in the hands of CIA. There’re plenty of us who’ve been keeping an eye on Mr. Scott’s Spy Palace over in Langley. What do we see? A bunch of collegiate amateurs. Why didn’t CIA tell us Red China was coming into the Korean War? Where was the CIA when we fell on our faces in the Bay of Pigs in Cuba? How come they let us fly U-2 planes over Russia when we had a big summit conference pending? Is that the outfit you want us to listen to-to listen to and then send us charging into Baraza?”

“Pardon me, Mr. President, if I may reply,” said Montgomery Scott, maintaining his composure with difficulty. “General Fortney, I daresay the CIA has done as much as, if not more than, the Pentagon to safeguard this nation and its interests. We gave you advance intelligence on the Arbenz gang in Guatemala, we told you about Sputnik before it went up, we predicted and alerted you to the rise of both Khrushchev and then Kasatkin, we supplied the information that has so far enabled us to thwart the Communists in India and Brazil. I suggest you pay heed to our CIA intelligence on Baraza, although I am not suggesting you act until our report is confirmed by Amboko’s own statement as to the date of the expected Communist attack.”

General Fortney scowled, muttering to himself, as he fingered the four stars on his right shoulder.