Target America

31

The president stood smoking his pipe on the tarmac at the foot of the stairs below Air Force One. There were a number of troops and Secret Service men about, all of them very alert and focused on the landscape surrounding the plane in the early-morning sunlight. He was very presidential looking in his Air Force One jacket: a man in his midfifties, gray at the temples, with expressive blue eyes and a perpetual tan. Even though he now led the nation from Edwards Air Force Base, located twenty-two miles northeast of Lancaster, California, he slept aboard the blue and white Boeing 747, which was kept ready for takeoff at a moment’s notice. He slept aboard the plane for two reasons: one, the First Lady preferred the Posturepedic mattress aboard the plane to the cheap military mattress in their base quarters, and two, if something catastrophic happened in the middle of the night, requiring a fast getaway, he would already be aboard.

General Couture had only just learned of the resurrection of SEAL Team VI/Black, and he was less than thrilled by the news. “You are aware, Mr. President, that we’re violating the United States Constitution?”

“I am, General, but I was thinking about President Truman last night — thinking about his struggle over whether or not to use the atomic bomb against the Japanese. He was troubled by the idea of killing thousands of civilians. But in the end, he did it because he wanted to save American lives. That’s the same way I came to my decision last night, and I have to say it wasn’t that difficult. It’s one man we’re talking about. One’s man’s rights. One man’s life against thousands.”

“And if he doesn’t know anything, Mr. President? If he’s innocent?”

The president shrugged, turning to rap the spent tobacco from his pipe against the stairway railing. “That’s what presidents are elected for, General, to make the tough calls and to live with the results.”

Couture conceded the point, knowing that the issue of SEAL Team VI/Black was well out of his hands.

“Tim Hagen tells me the two of you had something of a disagreement outside the Oval Office the other day.” The president chuckled as he drew a pouch of fresh tobacco from his jacket pocket. “You don’t really care for him, do you?”

The general straightened his shoulders. “I think he’s a worm, Mr. President; that you could do a great deal better.”

“He is a worm,” the president said, dipping the pipe into the pouch. “He’s a sycophantic little prick, as a matter of fact, but he’s also the single most intelligent man that I know — present company excluded, of course,” he added with a friendly grin.

Couture offered the driest of dutiful smiles.

“What do you think of Bob Pope?” the president said. “I ask because NSA has recently found a mole on his staff. He’s been sleeping with one of his Asian protégés, and she’s been giving information to the Chinese.”

Couture felt his hackles raise up. “Does Pope know? Is he party to it?”

The president shook his head. “NSA doesn’t think so. They think he’s allowed love to cloud his judgment, and that he’s trusted her with a higher security clearance than he should have.” He flicked a butane lighter to life, breathing the blue flame into the bowl of the pipe and puffing it to life. “She’s scheduled a flight to Australia for tomorrow night. NSA’s going to wait and arrest her at the airport to keep Pope from knowing.”

“Mr. President, do you feel certain we can trust Pope with tonight’s operation?”

“Yes,” the president said. “George Shroyer and Cletus Webb at CIA both believe he’s a solid patriot. That’s good enough for me. Nonetheless, once the bomb is found, whether by Pope’s people or by someone else, he’s out of SOG for good.” The president chortled quietly. “Then I guess we’ll get to see who he’s got files on.”

Couture hated this aspect of government, resenting most of the civilians he had no choice but to work with. The entire cast reminded him of a bunch of school kids playing out a childish high school drama.

“I suppose so. Well, Mr. President, I should let you go up to breakfast, sir.”

“Do you think we’re going to find that nuke, Bill?” The president was looking him dead in the eyes.

Couture didn’t waste a moment answering. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry, but I think they’ve got us by the balls this time.”

The president nodded, putting the stem of the pipe between his teeth. “So do I. That’s also part of why I’m prepared to let Pope run with ST6/B. We’ve got nothing to lose.”

The president, still smoking his pipe, ascended the stairs and stepped onto the plane. Tim Hagen was eating breakfast with a laptop computer sitting off to the side.

“I’ve got good news,” Hagen said with a smile.

The president took the pipe from his teeth, feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline. “They found it?”

“Well, no,” Hagen said. “It’s about the latest poll results… you’re leading by almost thirty points now, Mr. President.”

The president narrowed his gaze, allowing Hagen to feel the weight of it before saying, “Tim, I sometimes wonder if you have an ounce of human compassion in your entire body.”