Designated Targets

Even though he’d stayed up all night preparing for this meeting, Dan Black wasn’t required to speak, for which he’d be saying a special prayer of thanks later that evening. When asked, he provided hard copy and electronic files showing the status of all of the accelerated R & D projects in the Valley. Then he sat back down and watched the show, wondering just how the hell an unemployed coal miner turned copper miner turned crop duster had ended up in the Oval Office at a time like this.

His old man wouldn’t have believed it in a million years.

He didn’t think he’d ever be comfortable in this sort of company. Not like Admiral Kolhammer, who never seemed to take a backwards step, no matter what. Or Admiral King, who looked to be as tough as nails as he stalked around the room like he had an iron poker jammed up his ass. His intolerance of the Multinationals was matched only by his intolerance of the British, in the person of Lord Halifax, and even of the U.S. Army, leading Black to wonder if Marshall and Eisenhower were at the meeting in part to draw fire away from Kolhammer.

As for his own role, Commander Black sat in his chair by the mantelpiece, stiff-backed, unmoving, and trying not to sweat too loudly.

He almost fell over backwards when the president’s secretary showed J. Edgar Hoover into the room.

Black couldn’t help sneaking a look at the admiral’s reaction, but Kolhammer was perfectly amiable. If anything, he greeted the FBI director with more warmth than anyone else in the room. Roosevelt was quite proper, without being warm. Halifax was smooth, as you’d expect of a knighted diplomat. Eishenhower was his usual friendly self, but the other military men were quite chilly. Although, when he thought about it, neither Marshall nor King were particularly friendly with anyone.

Hoover looked terrible. Gray blotchy skin hung in loose bags all over his face, and his watery eyes were sunken inside bruised-looking sockets. He was holding a single sheet of paper that he clung to as though to let go of it was to release his hold on life itself.

“Mr. Hoover,” said Roosevelt. “I asked you here to give us the latest on the bombings. What do you have for us?”

Hoover didn’t sit, preferring to stand by the president’s desk, reading from his notes like a pupil called up to the front of the class. When the famous crime fighter spoke, Black had trouble following the rapid-fire delivery, although it sounded as if he didn’t have much to say, anyway.

“Fifteen bombs have now gone off on both the eastern and western seaboards,” Hoover said. “No war industries or elements of the infrastructure have been damaged, due I believe to the work of my agents in securing these facilities of vital national importance against the depredations of saboteurs and enemy sympathizers.”

He shot Kolhammer a scowl at that point, but the commander of the Special Administrative Zone lobbed back a totally anodyne smile.

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the men in the room. As the seconds ticked by, it became quite excruciating.

“Is that it?” asked Henry Stimson.

Hoover’s bulldoglike face flushed a deep crimson. “Mr. Secretary, my agents are shaking the trees and crawling down the darkest rat holes at this very moment in order to catch the vile malcontents responsible for these outrages. I think it ill behooves us to cast aspersions on their performance at this time. If there have been any slipups, you can rest assured I will find out about them.”

Dan Black felt a sudden urge to leap from his seat and shout down the hypocritical little prick. He felt Kolhammer’s cool gaze settle on him, however, so he reined in his indignation.

“I see,” said Roosevelt, his voice as empty as an abandoned house. “Do you have any casualty figures, Mr. Hoover?”

The director stumbled for a moment. “Uhm, I believe one of my assistant directors is preparing those as we speak, Mr. President. I didn’t think it would be advisable to come here with incomplete or misleading facts for you.”

“All right, then, you get yourself back to your office and get me those figures, and when you come back, I’d like to know who’s been setting these bombs, how they did it, and what you’re going to do about catching them. People are beginning to panic, Mr. Hoover. They think this is some sort of prelude to an invasion. We have to convince them otherwise.”

“If I may, Mr. President?” said Hoover.

Roosevelt’s head tilted, and his bifocals caught the light at just the right angle to completely obscure his eyes. It was an eerie effect, since it made him look quite inhuman. Dan sensed that a trap was opening up in front of Hoover, but the FBI boss couldn’t see it.

“I think they’re right, Mr. President,” he offered. “I think this may well be the work of a fifth column smuggled into the country through California, from South America. I intend no insult to Admiral Kölhammer . . .”