Footfall

“No, of course not.” Reynolds looked around helplessly for someone in charge. He shouted toward the chopper, and a uniformed woman came out, a major.

By God! “Jenny!” Roger Brooks caned. “Jenny, it’s me, Roger! Can you take me to the Springs?”

“Roger? Hi! No, there’s not room.”

“You have to make room,” Reynolds shouted. “For Carol!”

Jenny shook her head. “Mr. Reynolds, we have several hundred miles to go. The fuel situation is critical. We can’t carry extra weight.”

Picture of a torn man, Brooks thought. So what will he do?

“Carol’s not heavy,” Reynolds said. “I’ll leave my suitcase.”

“No.” Major Crichton was firm. “Mr. Reynolds, you’ll endanger all of us if you insist. Believe me, your friend is safer here.”

“Then why am! getting into that thing?” Reynolds demanded.

“Because the President of the United States told me to bring you,” Jenny said. “Sergeant, help Mr. Reynolds aboard.”

Reynolds spread his arms, broadcasting helplessness. “If they want me that bad— Sony, Carol.”

He let the Army sergeant assist him into the helicopter. Major Crichton climbed in after him. She turned in the doorway to wave; then the door closed and the engine revved up.

And now I’ve got five hundred miles to go, fuel for six hundred, and two women to worry about. “Come on, ladies,” Roger said. “We’ll just have to take the low road.”

21. WAR PLANS

The rules of conduct, the maxims of action, and the tactical instincts that serve to gain small victories may always be expanded into the winning of great ones with suitable opportunity; because in human affairs the sources of success are ever to be found in the fountains of quick resolve and swift stroke; and it seems to be a law inflexible and inexorable that he who will not risk cannot win.

—JOHN PAUL JONES

COUNTDOWN: H PLUS TWO WEEKS

Jenny laid the printed copies of the agenda on top of the yellow tablets, and stepped back to admire her work. Then she grinned wryly. It didn’t look much like the Cabinet Room in the White House. Instead of a big wood conference table, there were two Formica-topped folding tables set together. Most of the chairs were Army issue folding chairs, although they had managed to get one big wooden armchair for the center of the table.

A slide projector was set up at one end of the room. Jenny inspected it, turning the light on and off. In addition to the places at the table, another score of chairs faced the President’s seat in the center.

The U.S. and presidential flags stood behind the chair. They looked out of place against a bare wall.

“It’ll have to do.”

“What’s that?” Jack Clybourne came in.

“The conference room,” Jenny said.

Jack nodded. “Made you a secretary, did they?”

“Somebody’s got to do it,” Jenny protested. “We don’t have a full staff, and—”

“Gotcha.”

“Yep.”

“Heck, they have me typing his appointment list,” Jack said. “Not that I mind. Gives me something to do.”

She grinned. “Not going to search for bombs in the flag stands?”

“Phooey. Whatcha doing after dinner?”

“I don’t know-why?”

“My roommate’s going Outside,” Jack said. He grinned. “Of course I could clean up my room—”

“You can do that tomorrow. See you about midnight. Now I’ve got to go get my science-fiction writers.”

Three aides sat at chairs near the wall. No one else was in the room. It would fill according to rank, with the most junior coming in to wait for the more senior.

Jack Clybourne studied the names on his list. Joe Dayton from Georgia , the Speaker of the House of Representatives. He’d be the highest-ranking man after the President. Senator Alexander Haswell of Oregon , the President Pro Tern of the Senate. Senator Raymond Can from Kansas . Admiral Carrell. Hap Aylesworth, with no title listed after his name. Mrs. Connie Fuller, Secretary of Commerce. Jim Frantz, Chief of Staff. General Toland. Arnold Biggs, Secretary of Agriculture. They’d all have seats at the table.

Jenny came in with the science-fiction people. Robert Anson. He seemed older than the last time Jack had seen him. Dr. Curtis. And a new one.

“This is Nathaniel Reynolds,” Jenny said. “Mr. Reynolds, Jack Clyhourne is in charge of security for the President.”

“Hi,” Reynolds said.

He looks confused. Not that I blame him.

Jenny conducted the writers to chairs near the wall. Then she went out again. After a few minutes she returned with an older woman.

Attractive, if a bit used, important. And not on my list at all-.

“This is Mrs. Carlotta Dawson,” Jenny said.

Aha. “Thank you.” Jack waited to see where Jenny would seat her. At the table, but at one end, facing the President but with her back to the writers and staff.