By Order of the President

BLADDERS PLACED ABOARD (PROBABLY NOT INSTALLED).

The first paragraph-"All well"-covered a lot of ground: Six men, and all their equipment, had successfully made a Halo parachute descent from a jet transport at 35,000 feet and landed with all their equipment (and themselves) intact and functioning precisely where they had intended to land. They had carried out their reconnaissance mission without being detected, which of course also meant that no one had been killed, injured, or lost.

The second paragraph reported-with a probability factor of nine on a one-to-ten scale-what Colonel Davenport believed to be the facts. The rest of the message gave his reasons and his best guesses.

There was no address and no signature. The way the system was set up at the moment, the message was going to Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab only and he knew that only one person could have sent it.

When Colonel Davenport pushed the send key, the message would be first encrypted and then sent to a satellite circling the earth at an altitude of 27,000 miles. The satellite-having been programmed to do so-then would relay the message to a device which another Gray Fox communicator had set for General McNab in the VIP Guest Quarters assigned to him at the Royal Air Force Base at Medina, Morocco. There, when General McNab typed in the seven-digit access code, the message would be decrypted and displayed on the screen of what without the secret communications technology would be an ordinary laptop computer.

The entire process would take from three to ten seconds, depending mostly on how quickly General McNab typed in the access code.

Colonel Davenport looked at Sergeant Lewis, who checked to make sure all the LEDs were still green and then gave Colonel Davenport a thumbs-up.

Colonel Davenport pushed the SEND key and then straightened up and flexed his shoulders.

For some reason, whenever he was involved in something like this Colonel Davenport always thought of the signaling device that had fascinated him when-then a young lieutenant-he had first seen it in the museum at the Army Intelligence Center at Fort Huachuca, Arizona.

Like the signaling device he was using now, the purpose was to communicate between a scouting unit and a headquarters.

The device at Huachuca-which Davenport guessed had lain in a warehouse at the old Indian fighting post in the desert for maybe a century before someone had stumbled across it and decided it belonged in the museum-had never been issued. It had looked as if had come from the factory in Waltham, Massachusetts, last week.

It was mounted on a varnished wooden tripod, the legs of which were adjustable both for height and for uneven terrain. On top-where a camera would go-was a collection of simple mirrors, a lever, and a sighting device.

Cavalry patrols scouting for hostile Indians carried the signaling device with them, and, while looking for the Indians, also kept an eye open for high ground from which they could see their command post and on which the device could quickly be set up.

The transmission of data was simplicity itself: The rays of the sun were reflected by mirrors toward the command post. Operating the lever blocked the reflected sunlight. Momentarily removing the blocking bar sent a Morse code "dot." Holding the lever down a little longer sent a "dash."

Sending data in this manner had been, of course, a lengthy process, but it had been infinitely faster than sending a trooper galloping across the plains to report the hostiles had been located.

If the minutemen had had something like the cavalry signaling device, Colonel Davenport thought, it would have been unnecessary for Paul Revere to gallop out of Boston crying, "One if by land, two if by sea!"

He also theorized that the cavalry had probably used two, three, or an infinite number of the signaling devices in series. That is, when the scouting party's device was out of line of sight with its headquarters, devices were set up on hills in between so that sun flashes could be relayed from one signaling device to another. That would require, of course, that the data sent would have to be recorded at an intermediate station and then retransmitted.

That would take a good deal of time, of course, but it was still a hell of a lot faster than having a trooper gallop back carrying the message. And, of course, the flashing of sunlight was far faster than the Indian's means of long-range communication, holding a blanket or deer skin over a smoky fire and sending smoke in bursts into the air.

For his part, Sergeant Lewis was not surprised that all the green LEDs were up when he looked nor, twelve seconds later, when two amber LEDs flashed, telling him the message had been delivered to the designated addressee and that decryption of same had been successful.

This was pretty good goddamned gear. State of the art. Lewis knew for a fact that the Army didn't have anything like it; that Special Forces gear, while good, wasn't as good as this stuff, which only went to Delta and Gray Fox.

This stuff came right from the R amp;D labs of AFC, Inc., in Nevada. There was a story that the guy who ran AFC, and who got this stuff to Delta and Gray Fox, had once been the commo sergeant on an A-Team in Vietnam. That sounded like bullshit-God knows, half the stories you heard about stuff like this were bullshit-but it was sort of nice to think it might be true.

Thirty seconds after the amber LEDs flashed, a yellow LED began to flash. Sergeant Lewis pushed the receive voice button and, three seconds later, a blue LED flashed a few times and then remained illuminated.

"Stand by for voice, Colonel," Sergeant Lewis said as he put a small earphone in his ear.

Lieutenant Colonel Davenport put a similar earphone in place, then moved a small microphone in front of his lips.

"You reading me, One-Oh-One?" the voice of Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab asked.

"Five-by-five, sir."

There was a delay of about seven seconds, during which time Colonel Davenport's words were digitalized, encrypted, transmitted into space, retransmitted from space, decrypted, and played in General McNab's ear, and then General McNab's reply went through the same process.

"Good show, One-Oh-One," McNab's voice said in Davenport's ear. "Pass the word. I'm working on getting you picked up at first light. So:"

The voice shut off abruptly.

Encrypting and transmitting voice communication was somewhat more difficult than doing so with data and the communications equipment had certain limits.

Seven seconds later, the message resumed.

": get Sergeant Lewis sober and out of the whorehouse by then. Bring the souvenirs. More follows in one hour. Acknowledge. Scotty out."

Sergeant Lewis was known as Gray Fox's designated driver and his devotion to his wife was regarded with something close to awe by his peers.

"Acknowledged," Colonel Davenport said into his microphone. "One-Oh- Two, I say again, One-Oh-Two out."

Sergeant Lewis looked at Colonel Davenport.

"Sir, the general knows that I don't use that stuff anymore and:"

"If I were you, Sergeant, I would take the general's comments as a compliment."

"Yeah," Sergeant Lewis said after a moment, and then he asked, "This was your one hundred and second Halo?"

"After the first one hundred, they get a little easier to do," Colonel Davenport said.

[FIVE]

Office of the Secretary of Defense

The Pentagon

Arlington, Virginia

1710 9 June 2005

Mrs. Teresa Slater, who was forty-two, naturally blond, pleasantly buxom, stylishly dressed, and who had worked for the Honorable Frederick K. Beiderman, the United States secretary of defense, for half of her life-Beiderman had brought her with him from the Ford Motor Company and, quietly, and perhaps illegally, personally made up the substantial difference between what he had made Ford pay her and what the government paid her now-put her head in his office door.

"General Withers is here, sir," she announced.

"How nice! Would you ask the general to come in, please?" he replied, loud enough for whoever was in the outer office to hear.

"Yes, sir."

She smiled at him. She was aware that the secretary of defense regarded the commanding general of the Defense Intelligence as a PB who was UN because he was VFG at what he did.

They had brought the acronyms with them from Detroit, too, where they had been used between them to describe a vast number of Ford executives. They stood, respectively, for "Pompous Bastard," "Unfortunately Necessary," and "Very Fucking Good."

Lieutenant General William W. Withers, USA, carrying a small leather briefcase, marched into the secretary's office a moment later, trailed by a lieutenant colonel and a first lieutenant. Both wore the insignia of aides-de-camp and each carried a heavy leather briefcase.

On his part, General Withers regarded Secretary Beiderman as someone who suffered from a severe superiority complex and who had proven again and again that he could be a ruthless sonofabitch. But, on the other hand, Withers had learned that Beiderman said what he was thinking, never said anything he didn't mean, and whose word was as good as gold-all attributes General Withers had seldom found in other civilian officials of government and certainly not in political appointees.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Secretary," General Withers said.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Beiderman said, gesturing for everybody to sit down in the chairs arrayed in a semicircle before his desk.

"Before we get into the briefing," Beiderman began as he opened the cigar humidor on his desk and removed an eight-inch-long, very black Dominican Lonsdale. "Personal curiosity. Did they ever find that 727 that was stolen?"

Smoking was forbidden in the Pentagon. General Withers had heard a story-which he believed-that when someone had brought this to Beiderman's attention, the secretary's response was that so far as he was concerned the vice of smoking was henceforth to be considered within the Defense Department in the same light as carnal relations between members of the same sex; that is, "Don't ask, don't tell."

General Withers waited until Secretary Beiderman had gone through the ritual of cutting off the end of the cigar with a silver cutter and then had lit it with a gold butane lighter before replying.

"Mr. Secretary, actually, that's at the head of my list."

That caught Beiderman's attention.

"Uh-oh. What's happening?"

General Withers made a waving gesture with his left hand. The lieutenant and the lieutenant colonel immediately stood up and walked out of the office.

"What the hell is going on, Withers?" Beiderman demanded. "Your people don't have the need to know?"

"This is a matter of some delicacy, Mr. Secretary," General Withers said.

"For Christ's sake, out with it."

"I regret that I don't have the complete picture, Mr. Secretary," General Withers said.

"Jesus Christ! Let's have what you do have!"

"Mr. Secretary, are you aware of a Gray Fox operation currently in progress?"

"No, I am not."

"I have information that there is such a Gray Fox operation."

"Authorized by whom? To do what?"

"I have information that the initial foreign shores destination was the Royal Moroccan Air Force Base at Menara."

"My questions were, 'Who authorized it?' and 'To do what?' "

"I don't know, sir."

"Did you ask?"

"I have been unable to make contact with General McNab, Mr. Secretary. He's the Eighteenth Airborne Corps:"

"I know who he is. What about his deputy?"

"His deputy referred me to Central Command, sir."

"And?"

"General Naylor-I had some difficulty getting him on the phone, sir-finally told me that I didn't have the need to know."

"He said there was an operation and you didn't have the need to know? Or that you didn't have the need to know about Gray Fox operations generally?"

"General Naylor's comments could be interpreted either way, sir."

Secretary Beiderman picked up one of the telephones on his desk and said, "Teresa, get Naylor on a secure line for me and don't let them stall you."

General Withers unzipped a compartment of his briefcase and came out with a single sheet of paper.

"And there's this, Mr. Secretary."

Beiderman snatched it from him.

"What the hell is this?" he asked. "A goddamned letter of commendation?"

"Yes, sir. It was delivered first thing this morning by helicopter, sir."

"The president sent this to you by helicopter?" Beiderman asked, incredulously, and then without giving Withers a chance to reply went on: "Who the hell is Major H. Richard Miller, Jr.? And what the hell did he do of a 'covert nature' in Luanda, Angola? 'Demonstrating wisdom normally expected only of officers of far senior grade and experience'? And how the hell did the president:"

He broke off in midsentence when a light on his telephone began to flash. He snatched the telephone from its cradle.

"Is that you, Naylor? "I've got General Withers in here and he tells me when he asked you about a Gray Fox operation supposedly now under way you told him he didn't have the need to know. Is that right? "For Christ's sake, he's the commanding general of the Defense Intelligence Agency and he doesn't have the goddamned need to know;" "More to the point, General, what is this Gray Fox operation? And how come this is the first I've heard of it? "Those were your orders? Orders from who? "The president personally? Or someone who said he was speaking for the president? "And this was when? "And the president specifically said I was not to be informed? "No one was to be informed? And you assumed that included the secretary of defense? "Those were your orders, huh? Jesus Christ, Naylor!"

He slammed the handset into the cradle and then immediately picked it up again.

"Teresa, see if you can get the president on the line," he ordered and slammed the handset down again.

He looked at Withers.

"That airplane was stolen from Luanda, right? There's a connection between that and this major?"

"Apparently, sir."

"Which is?"

"I don't know, sir."

"You don't know?" Beiderman snapped. "This little chat is becoming surreal, General!"

"Mr. Secretary, Major Miller was the assistant military attache in Luanda when the aircraft was stolen. He was assigned to DIA, sir."

"So?"

"He was also the CIA station chief there," Withers said. "From which post he was relieved for cause by the DCI. When I was so informed, I relieved him of his attache assignment and ordered him returned to Central Command."

"I thought you said he worked for you in DIA?"

"It's an administrative thing, sir."

"Relieved for cause? What cause?"

Withers took another sheet of paper from his briefcase and read from it.

" A security breach of the most serious nature; insubordination; exceeding his lawful authority; and conduct unbecoming an officer and gentleman.' I don't know the specific details, Mr. Secretary. That's what I got from the DCI:"

"The DCI himself? Or one of his 'senior subordinates'?"

"The message was signed by the DCI himself, sir."

"What the hell is the conduct unbecoming charge all about?"

"I believe Major Miller behaved inappropriately toward his immediate superior in a social situation, sir."

"You mean he's a fag?"

"His immediate superior is a female, sir."

"And he was fucking her or just trying to fuck her? Which?"

General Withers looked uncomfortably toward the office door. Beiderman followed his gaze. Mrs. Teresa Slater was standing in, a half smile on her face, one eyebrow raised.

"Am I interrupting one of those man-to-man chats?" she asked.

Beiderman smiled at her.

"Answer the question, General," he said.

"I believe the latter, Mr. Secretary," General Withers said.

"The DCI is trying to hang this horny major of yours and the president sends him a letter of commendation-special delivery by helicopter-for 'demonstrating wisdom normally expected only of officers of far senior grade and experience'? I'd love to know what the hell that's all about."

"I had ordered an investigation into Major Miller's behavior, sir. Before I received the president's letter, I:"

"I think I'd hold off on that for a while, General," Beiderman interrupted and then looked at Mrs. Salter. "Teresa?"

"Dr. Cohen is on the line, boss," she said. "When I insisted on speaking to the president, they switched me to her."

Beiderman snatched a telephone from its cradle.

"Natalie," he began abruptly, "what the hell is going on?"

Secretary Beiderman was a great admirer of the national security advisor and he thought the feeling was at least partially reciprocated.

"The president's not available at the moment," Dr. Cohen said.

"That brings us right back to question one," Beiderman said.

"Will this wait until, say, six, seven tonight?"

"Never answer a question with a question. Didn't your mother teach you that's not nice?"

"My mother never thought I would have a job like this."

"You don't happen to know of a Gray Fox operation that's currently running, do you?"

"No, I don't."

"That's funny. I thought the Memo of Understanding said that both you and I would always be advised of a Gray Fox operation."

"Are you sure there is one?"

"According to General Withers there is. Are you stalling me, Natalie? In the public Interest?

"No," she said, simply, and he immediately decided she was telling him the truth.

"Where's the president?"

There was a brief but perceptible pause before she answered.

"He's at Camp David with Matt Hall."

"What's that all about?"

"I can't tell you. Or anyone else. I'm not even supposed to tell you where he is."

"Or whether Matt is in trouble?"

"Or whether Matt is or is not in trouble. Will this wait until six or seven?"

"No. It won't."

"Your call, Fred. I'll have the switchboard patch you through to Camp David."

"Thank you, no. But you might call out there and tell them I'm on my way out there."

"You can't go to Camp David without permission, Fred."

"What are they going to do? Shoot down my helicopter? Unless there's something else nobody's telling me, I'm still the secretary of defense. Thanks, Natalie."

He put the handset in the cradle.

"Call the helipad, Teresa, and then take General Withers briefing. If there's anything important, call me on the chopper." He looked at General Withers. "Don't tell me you didn't even suspect that Teresa always listens to everything said in this office?"

"Yes, sir," General Withers said.

Secretary Beiderman didn't reply. He was already through his office door.

[SIX]

Camp David

Gatoctin Mountains, Maryland

1720 9 June 2005

"Well, that's interesting, Matt," the president of the United States said, looking across the low table at Secretary of Homeland Security Hall. "The secretary of defense is on his way here."

"In connection with this?" Hall asked.

The president nodded.

"He tried to call me at the White House. Natalie's taking calls like that. He asked her if she was familiar with a Gray Fox operation under way. She was not and said so. Whereupon Beiderman told her he had General Withers in his office and Withers said he knew there was one, with some connection to a Moroccan airfield."

"Oh, shit!"

"Natalie and the secretary of defense are always supposed to be kept in the loop about a Gray Fox operation."

"And I didn't tell either of them," Hall said.

"A simple oversight, Matt? Or on purpose?"

"I just didn't do it, Mr. President," Hall said. "I suppose subconsciously I didn't want Beiderman to: I don't know. And I guess I didn't tell Natalie-didn't want to tell Natalie because I didn't want to hear her clear arguments that running a Gray Fox was ill advised."

"The result of which is that I now have Natalie and Beiderman with severely ruffled feathers. Justifiably ruffled feathers, Matt, and I will have to atone for that."

"With all respect, sir, you're wrong," Hall said. He stood up. "Natalie and Beiderman know we're old friends. They will understand why you brought me out here to explain why I have to go. They will have no reason to be angry with you. I screwed this up and I'll take the rap."

The president met his eyes but didn't say anything.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. President, I'll go find a typewriter and prepare my resignation. With your permission, sir, I think that it would be best if I'm gone by the time Secretary Beiderman gets here."

After a long moment, the president said, softly, "I'm really sorry, old pal."

"Not half as sorry as I am, Mr. President," Hall said.

He was halfway across the room when the light on the telephone flashed.

The president picked it up and said, "Hello? "Who is this? Who's calling? "This is the president, General Naylor. I picked up Secretary Hall's line. He's not here at the moment. May I give him a message?"

Hall stopped and asked with his eyes if he should, or perhaps could, stay.

The president signaled him to come back and sit down.

"Well, let's have it, please, General Naylor."

Thirty seconds later, the president said, "General, you probably won't understand this but this is one of those times when bad news is also good news. Please relay my deepest appreciation and admiration to General McNab and all his men "Oh, here's Secretary Hall, General. Perhaps you'd like to tell him what you just told me?"

He handed the telephone to Hall.

In the phone booth in Tampa, General Naylor faintly heard the president of the United States say, "Jesus Christ, Matt, talk about getting saved by the fucking bell!"