World War III

“You weren’t a disappointment, either, ma’am. Tenacity fits you rather well, I think.”

“Bitch, too, probably.”

McKenna smiled. “Probably.”

He walked quickly to his desk in the Oval Office. Kimball was at his heels.

“Well, was she everything I said she was?” he asked anxiously.

“I don’t think she got quite what she was after,” McKenna said. He took off his jacket and stretched his back. He went to the window and stared out at the gloom of day.

“What did she want?”

“Same thing they all want, Wayne.” He spoke slowly, tiredly. “I wish I could go fishing,” he said after a long pause. “I’d really like that. A week with a fly rod and hip boots and no Air Force colonel following me around with launch codes in his little black case.”

“You’re the president of the United States. You don’t get vacations.”

“Lucky me.”

“They’re waiting,” Kimball said. “In the conference room.”

“Yes, my little shadow Jules Farber and the rest of the wise men.”

“C’mon, you’re already behind schedule today. You can feel sorry for yourself tonight, cry in your pillow. This morning you have to be commander in chief.” McKenna turned to face his chief of staff. “Sometimes you can be a real prick, Wayne. I guess that’s why I like you so much.”

“I love it when you talk dirty, Mr. President.” Kimball held the president’s coat. “C’mon.” McKenna bent his knees as Kimball helped him on with his coat. “You know, sometimes I think that somewhere out there in space, on some distant planet, creatures are studying our world with a kind of terrible sadness.”

“Well, if they are so smart, why don’t they send us something we can use — like an instant IQ analyzer gun. Something we can use to expose all the fools on this place.” The president laughed. “What, and put me out of a job?” He shook his head and was suddenly serious.

“No, we don’t need more idiots, Wayne. We need something more useful than another gun. Something more important.”

“Yeah.” Kimball walked him to the door. “Like what, for instance?”

“Like missionaries,” McKenna replied. “What we need are missionaries.”

JONES’S STRIP NORTH SLOPE 0710 HRS

The Eskimo squad reached the runway ahead of schedule by twenty-two minutes. Ten US Army Scouts of the Alaskan National Guard llth Regiment. They had been out now twelve hours on a competitive training maneuver with three other squads who’d taken different routes on a timed exercise of map reading and arctic survival. They were on snowshoes with packs and skis on their backs and they carried M-16s. Unloaded.

Corporal Paul Avalik, the radioman, stopped when the squad leader held up his hand. He noticed the wind sock standing stiff in a hard wind. They’d been walking ninety minutes since their last break and Avalik was dying for a cigarette.

The squad leader shuffled awkwardly to Avalik. “We’re early,” he yelled against the wind in his face.

Avalik could see the outline of a smile beneath the face protector and goggles of his squad leader.

Winning the training maneuver — that is, returning to the company before the other squads — was all his sergeant cared about, Avalik thought. What he cared about was getting home and taking a nice warm pee.

“Right,” the corporal said.

“We’ll get time confirmation from Jones, then head back to base.” The sergeant ducked his head against the wind a moment, then added, “We’ll beat Parsons and his bunch by a good half hour.”

It was too cold to answer. Avalik nodded. Who gives a shit anyway, he thought. The squad leader made another gesture, swinging his arm forward. “Move out.” He was a regular John Wayne freak, his sergeant was.

They moved down the center of the runway toward the cabin. Avalik could hear the wind whistling past the Quonset hut ahead. He hoped Mrs. Jones had coffee made. He knew his sergeant wouldn’t wait if it wasn’t already made. He pictured the Joneses’ cabin in his mind: the kitchen, the pot-bellied stove, the mass of radio gear next to the fireplace. A warm, cozy little place. Yeah, she’d have coffee brewing, he was certain. What else was there to do up here on a day like this?

Avalik saw the shape outside the cabin. He didn’t know if he was the first to see it because nobody else seemed to notice. The corporal had been looking for Jones’s dog, and he saw the shape of a man standing in the small indention where the cabin and Quonset hut came together. There wasn’t anything surprising about it, Jones was probably outside, but they were very near the cabin now and the dog should have been barking his head off. Still, they were walking with their backs to the wind and the snow was blowing…

He was wearing white arctic gear, and Avalik heard his sergeant mutter some curse. It was some jerk from one of the other squads, Avalik thought. They’d got lost and gone to Jones’s place to find their bearings. He saw another figure. Then another. They were all around the cabin holding their weapons in front of them. Stupid nitwits. Why weren’t they inside where it was warm. Why hadn’t they…