Ahern, Jerry - Total War

"Gotcha," the boy said, reaching up for a quick kiss, then running off toward his older brother and sister who were standing by the curb.

Out of the corner of his eye, the president saw his chief of staff, Paul Dorian, walking briskly down the steps, right hand raised discreetly, eyes boring toward him. "You go ahead, Marilyn," the president said, then waited, his shoulders hunched against the cold for Dorian to join him.

"What is it, Paul?"

"The full alert is in effect, sir. All standbys are cancelled-everything. Word from SAC Headquarters at Sioux Mountain is that the Russians are doing the same. CIA confirms that. So does Air Force intelligence, everything."

"The hot line?"

"Ready when you are, sir. The premier is available."

"Good," the president said, but the word soured in his mouth. "Oh, Paul?"

"Yes, Mr. President," Dorian said. "Let's go ahead with that drill on the Eden Project thing-just in case."

The president studied the hard set Paul Dorian's eyes took. Mention of the Eden Project worried Dorian. As the president started toward his wife and children, to take the short walk to the White House lawn where his personal helicopter awaited, he thought, "All well and good." It was about time Paul Dorian started to worry.

Chapter Seven

Elizabeth Jordan brushed a wisp of blonde hair back from her forehead and tucked it under the thin wire band of her headset, then tapped out a response to Yuri Borstoi, who was on the other end of the hot line.

"Yuri, word is that the president will be on the line soon. What do you think on your end? Liz."

She waited as the satellite hook-up carried her message and as Yuri-the man she had known by satellite for three years-formed an answer. Like herself, Yuri was unmarried. At first jokingly, but in the last few months quite seriously, they had talked about meeting someday. The hot line was always kept open, testing and retesting that the vital link between East and West remained operational. And, when formal testing was not run, Administration almost encouraged a constant chatter along the line, to make sure it was in a constant state of readiness.

She had never heard Yuri's voice but imagined what it was like. She had never seen his face, but they had described themselves to each other, and she had a fair enough idea of his looks. Now, as she waited for his reply, she tried to picture him. It was easy. His face was thin. He had said that he was a student nights at a Polytechnic Institute with a name she could not pronounce and that he didn't get enough sleep so there were dark circles under his eyes. His hair was black and straight. He was twenty-four-a year younger than she was. He had said his eyes were brown.

"Liz," the message began, "I too am worried. Reasonable men-I should not say this-can do unreasonable things. The premier will be coming on in a-must go. I love you." He hadn't even had time for his signature. As the line went dead-the President and the Premier would be talking now-she realized too that it was the first time he had said, "I love you."

Chapter Eight

"I've read all the books and articles you put out, John. Fascinating stuff. The thing on hyperthermia should save a few lives, I'd say."

"That's the idea, Major," Rourke said, slumping back into the overstuffed chair. "It was nice of you to invite me to your home, by the way."

"Stranger in a strange country, and all that. Anyway, I had an ulterior motive," the Royal Canadian Mounted Police inspector said, smiling and handing Rourke a drink.

Rourke took the whiskey and sipped at it, then said, "And what was your ulterior motive?"

"As you probably know, John-It's not much of a secret-our services here are looking into quite a number of modern small arms for the military. Made me give some thought to weaponry for our specialized teams in RCMP. I know survival isn't your only thing. You know weapons too. Thought I might pry a few opinions from you while I ply you with some whiskey and my wife's home cooking."

"Ply away," Rourke said, smiling.

"Your mind is somewhere else, isn't it? That snowstorm sort of put the squeeze on your plans to fly out tonight. But the meteorology people are saying everything will be clear by midday tomorrow. Tonight, just take it easy."

"I'm worried about my family-all this war talk."

"Just talk, I think. I hope," the Canadian said brightly.

"Change of subject," Rourke said, raising his voice slapping both knees. "Now, what do you want to know?"

"Well," the inspector said, touching his left hand to his small moustache, "when you're not teaching survivalism, but instead working with counterterrorist weapons, what do you use?"

"You mean, which guns do I like best for myself-or which would I recommend for you?"

"I've read your recommendations on various things more often than I can remember, John. But what about you? What do you use?"

"All right," Rourke said, standing and walking toward the small library bar. Leaning against it, he said, "Short and sweet, then-I can smell dinner. I've got a lot of guns and knives and other stuff-but the things I really bank on are just a few. I always carry these." He spread his coat open, revealing the twin stainless steel Detonics .45s in their Alessi shoulder holsters. "Best automatic I know, bar none-when you consider effectiveness of the round they throw, reliability, and concealment characteristics. The stainless steel they use is the best quality. I almost never get the time to clean these things, and there isn't a spot of rust or corrosion. They work every time, and you can interchange the standard government model magazines, the whole bit."

"What else?" the major said.

"What else?" Rourke repeated. "When I'm in the field, I've got this Metalifed six-inch Python, had the barrel Mag-Na-Ported, got a set of .22 Long Rifle conversion chambers, and a barrel liner for it from Harry Owens-good for everything that way from a small bear in a pinch to a squirrel for the pot. Sometimes I use a Metalifed Colt Lawman snubby, too-when I want a third gun that I can conceal." Rourke paused and lit his cigar, and as he started to speak, he heard the inspector's wife coming.

"I think you gentlemen might want to listen to the radio," she said, her voice subdued.

Without saying anything else, the attractive, middle-aged woman walked over to a corner of the built-in bookcases beyond the bar and clicked on the radio in the stereo. "...told that informed sources indicate the U.S. president and the Soviet premier have just completed a lengthy conversation, and that nothing has been resolved. An anonymous high-ranking military source at the Pentagon in Washington indicates U.S. Long Range Strike Force elements-a mobile military unit comprised of persons from all U.S. services analogous to our Special Commandos-are at this moment being air-lifted toward Pakistan. Official Washington has been unavailable to confirm or deny this report. We now rejoin our regularly scheduled programming. More bulletins will be forthcoming as information becomes available." The inspector's wife clicked off the set.

"That's Roger Carrigborne," the major said, mechanically, tossing down his drink. "Fine chap-one of the best of the reporters-"

"I gotta get out of here," Rourke said, hammering down his half-emptied drink on the bar and spilling whiskey.

Chapter Nine

"My brother," the young soldier said, rubbing his hands to warm them, "has an easy job. He talks with this American girl on the satellite link between Moscow and Washington. That is all Yuri does. He even tells me he has fallen in love with her-though he never met her. He is warm. I am cold. He talks with American girls-I guard empty trucks on a mountain pass in Pakistan. He sits on a chair-I stand in the snow. This is not right."