Fire in the Ashes

Parley said, “I don't believe we can afford to move. But if we don't, what do we do—just sit on our hands and wait for war?"

“I think it's out of our hands,” Admiral Newcomb of the Coast Guard said. “We're damned if we do and damned if we don't. If we do expose the location of the sub—where we think it is—we stand a good chance of war. A very good chance of war. I think we're in a box. If we expose the traitors, they'll fire anyway. And we're not supposed to have that type of missile."

“Which is a bad joke,” Sergeant Major Rogers of the Marine Corps said in disgust. “Russia's still got us outgunned two to one in missiles of the conventional nuclear type. God only knows how many germ-type warheads they have.” He forced a grin. “Of course, we have a few of those ourselves. Jesus! Thirty damned guys control the fate of the entire world. Even worse than that, if our intelligence is correct, it's a double double cross."

Master Chief Petty Officer Franklin, of the Navy, looked across the table. “Admiral? Do you—any of you—know for sure just who we can trust?"

The admiral shook his head. “No, not really. We don't know how many of our own people are in on this ... caper."

“You mean, sir,” a colonel asked, “one of us might be in on it?"

“I would say the odds are better than even that is true."

A Special Forces colonel said, “General? You think some of my people are involved in this?"

“No,” General Saunders said. “Our intelligence people—of all services—seem to agree on one point: no special troops involved. But this touches all branches of the service, not just in this country, but all countries—Russia included.” His smile was grim. “I take some satisfaction in that. Those men in the sub have friends all over the world. That's why they've been able to hide for so long."

“Then Bull and Adams are really alive?"

“Yes. I talked with Bull. It came as quite a shock to me."

A master chief said, as much to himself as to those around him, “I really don't understand what they have to do with this ... operation."

“Really ... neither do we,” an admiral admitted. “But we do have these facts, one of which is obvious: Bull and Adams faked their deaths years ago, in ‘Nam; we know they are both superpatriots, Adams more than Bull when it comes to liberal-hating. All right. We put together this hypothesis: Adams and Bull had a plan to overthrow the government—if it came to that—using civilian ... well, rebels, let's call them, along with selected units of the military. Took years to put all this together. But the use of civilian rebels failed; couldn't get enough of them in time. We think. We know for a fact that many ex-members of the Hell Hounds turned them down cold."

“How many men do they have?"

“Five to six thousand, at the most. We think."

“That's still a lot of people. And knowing Bull and Adams, those men are trained guerrilla fighters. How have they managed to keep that many people secret for so long?"

The admiral allowed himself a tight smile. “You didn't know the Bull, did you?"

“No, sir."

“If you had known either of them, you wouldn't have asked."

“I knew both of them,” a Ranger colonel said. “If they even suspected a member of any of their units was a traitor, they would not hesitate to kill them—war or peace."

“I see. So, Bull came up with the sub plan?"

General Saunders shook his head. “We don't think so. We believe it was Adams's idea. I couldn't discuss that with Bull; only had two minutes with him. Besides, he and Adams have been friends for twenty-five years. But I did manage to plant a seed of doubt in his mind. We believe Adams has lost control; slipped mentally. Mr. Kelly of the CIA shares that belief."

“There is something I don't understand,” a Coast Guard officer said. “Obviously, this plan had been on the burner for a long time—years. To overthrow the government, I mean. Why have they waited so long?"

“We don't know,” the general replied. “And we've got dozens of computers working on the problem right at this minute. I didn't get a chance to ask the Bull that. So many questions I wanted to ask. Men, I don't think we have a prayer of stopping those people on the sub. I think we're staring nuclear germ warfare right in its awful face and there isn't a goddamned thing we can do about it."

“I gather,” a Marine officer said, “the Joint Chiefs don't know about this?"

“We don't know if they do or not,” Admiral Mullens said. “But we can't approach any of them for fear one of them is involved."

“And we can't do to them what we're about to do to each other,” General Driskill said, as an aide, as if on cue, wheeled in a cart with a machine on it.

All the men had taken these tests before; all had the highest security rating possible. The machine was a psychological stress evaluator. PSE. Of the most advanced type.

“Sergeant Mack is the best PSE technician around,” General Driskill said with a smile. He laid a pistol on the table before him. “This won't take long."