Seven Days in May

Tuesday Afternoon

Shortly before two o'clock, Esther Townsend brought a brown manila envelope to President Lyman, who was in the upstairs study.

"You didn't ask for this, Governor," she said, "but Art Corwin thought you might want it before the meeting. Don't ask me how he got it."

Lyman cut the envelope open and drew out a thin cardboard folder. The tab on the side, lettered by hand in ink, read: "CASEY, Martin Jerome." It was Colonel Casey's service record; Lyman suddenly realized that though he was commander in chief of the armed forces, he had never before seen an officer's service file. He thumbed through it, retracing Casey's career in the biographical card, proficiency reports, medical examinations, and citations. Quite a substantial officer, he thought. Indeed, quite a brave officer. A sheaf of papers near the end of the file caught his attention and he read them carefully.

Lyman went up to the third floor, crossed the hall, and walked up the little ramp to the solarium. He found Christopher Todd already established in one of the heavy leather chairs. Jordan Lyman didn't use this room often, but he liked it. Added by Harry Truman when the house was rebuilt in 1951, it was all plate glass, steel, and linoleum tile, low-ceilinged and unadorned, completely unlike any other room in the mansion. Eisenhower had used it for bridge games. The Kennedys removed the wicker furniture, added a couple of knee-high sinks in an alcove, and turned it into a playroom for Caroline and John Jr. The Fraziers left it that way for their own grandchildren, but Doris Lyman had redone it as a hideaway for her husband. Lyman retained one memento from Caroline's tenancy-a blue plastic duck which squatted quizzically on the window sill.

The morning rain and noontime drizzle had subsided into a solid mist that beaded the angular, five-panel window and made the room seem almost like the bridge of a ship at sea in a heavy fog.

"This isn't the most cheerful room in the house on a day like this," grumbled Todd. "I feel like a man trying to navigate the Sound in a pea-souper."

"I know what you mean," Lyman said, "but there's no telephone up here and only one door. Maybe no place is secure enough for our kind of business, but I feel better here."

Todd pointed to the little bar in the alcove. A half dozen bottles and an ice bucket stood ready.

"Do you think it's a good idea to tempt Senator Clark that way?" he asked.

"Look, Chris, I know Ray has hit the bottle pretty hard for the last couple of years-since Martha died. But in a pinch he's all right, better than most of us. I happen to know that from Korea."

"In Korea he hadn't met his wife and lost her," Todd argued. "It looks like an engraved invitation to me."

"It's all right," said the President with a note of finality.

Girard, Clark and Corwin turned up, one at a time, in the next few minutes, and Casey stepped through the doorway with military punctuality at just two o'clock. Lyman introduced him to Todd, who had never met him. Casey fidgeted as the Treasury chief appraised him from crew cut to cordovans, much as he might eye the timbers and rigging of a new sloop.

When they were all seated, the President put on his glasses and pulled two pages from the envelope containing Casey's service record.

"This is a report on Colonel Casey's last complete medical examination," he explained. "It was done at Bethesda two years ago, when he was promoted to colonel. I won't read it all, but I think you will be interested in one comment from the psychiatrist who examined him. Quote: 'This officer is normal in all respects. He exhibits no anxieties, has no phobias and is free from even the minor psychiatric disturbances common to a man of his age. Few men examined by this department could be given such a clean bill of mental health.' Unquote."

Lyman, Clark and Corwin grinned at Casey as the Marine reddened slightly.

"Well," Casey said, "I thought I might be going nuts this morning until Miss Townsend called me. It was the longest four hours of my life."

"Be happy to be regarded as totally sane, Colonel," said Todd. "There are few men in this city of whom as much could be said with confidence."

"I took this rather unorthodox step," said Lyman, "because I wanted to settle all doubts at once. Jiggs may be mistaken in his analysis of recent events-that we'll find out-but he's produced it out of a sound mind. Now, I think the best way to proceed is to turn things over to Chris Todd. He's the prosecuting attorney, so to speak, and at least for this afternoon it's his show."

The Cabinet officer pulled black-framed spectacles from his breast pocket and reached into his portfolio for the yellow legal-length scratch pad.

"We all know Colonel Casey's story," Todd began, "but as I understand it, he is not aware of several things President Lyman mentioned to the rest of us."

Speaking to Casey, Todd told of General Rutkowski's call several months before; of Vice-President Gianelli's revelation that Prentice had suggested he spend the weekend in his ancestral village in Italy; of the FBI file on Harold MacPherson's extremist affiliations, and of Scott's insistence that Lyman fly from Camp David to Mount Thunder for the alert without accompanying newspapermen.

"If you'd known all that, Jiggs, you might have brought the Marines with you last night," quipped Clark.

"The Marines," said Todd coldly, "are reported to be with General Scott this week, Ray, or hadn't you heard?"

Casey looked at Lyman. He was obviously anxious to say something, and the President nodded.

"You don't know it, Mr. Secretary," Casey said, "but General Scott urged me-no, ordered is more like it- to take a three-day leave this morning. I was home before noon."

"Any reason?" asked Todd.

"No, sir, not much. He just said I looked tired and ought to take some time off. Of course, he may have heard something from Murdock or one of the guards at Fort Myer."

"Umm." Todd wrote on his yellow pad, but did not seem overly impressed.

"Is there anything else new bearing on the ... ah ... situation?" he asked.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. We're a funny crew, Casey thought. Each man here is tied to the President, but not to any of the others. Except me. I don't know any of these men except Paul. I wonder how the President picked this group? Casey was puzzling over the absence of "big" names from Congress and the Cabinet when Clark spoke.

The senator told of questioning Scott on communications, and of Scott's putting him off by explaining that there were changes under way because of failures in the last alert.

"Is that right, Jiggs?" Lyman asked.

"No, sir," said Casey quickly. "That is not true. About the only thing that went right with the last All Red was communications. Even the big master cut-in, the one that allows us to take over the networks, worked perfectly, in spite of the fact that it had never been tested before."

"Score another for Gentleman Jim," said Girard. "And I always thought he was a real Boy Scout."

"Well, he gave a wonderful imitation of one this morning," Clark said. "He laid down a personal statement for the committee that was about as fine as I ever heard." He went on to quote the General on the treaty and his fears of Russian duplicity.

"Of course," said Lyman, "that's the real trouble with our conjectures. I mean Scott's character. Even to consider tampering with the Constitution requires a certain kind of personality-overly ambitious and a little bit warped. Scott has always impressed me as just the opposite. I've never doubted his sincerity, nor his feeling for the country either. After all, I appointed him chairman of the Joint Chiefs. How about it, Jiggs?"

"That's why I waited so long yesterday," Casey said hesitantly. "General Scott has never been a conniver. We have them in the service, sir, just like you have them, I guess, in politics. But the General is always straightforward. He always says that he could never have gone so far in any other country."

"As I say," Clark added, "he struck that same note this morning. And I couldn't detect any false overtones either."

"That's what I mean," Casey said. "I guess you all remember that old joke about MacArthur, how he'd turn to his wife when they played the national anthem and say, 'They're playing our song, dear'? Well, I've always kind of thought it was Scott's song."

Casey paused a moment, then added: "So his misstatements to me yesterday hit me pretty hard."

"You mean lies, don't you, Colonel?" asked Todd quickly.

"Well, yes, sir."

"I just think we'll make more progress if we're completely frank," Todd said tartly. "It will save time."

They waited for the President to resume his discourse on Scott, but Lyman, busying himself with the filling and firing of his pipe, said nothing. Todd went back to his check list.

"Anything else new?"

"I followed Scott today," offered Corwin, "as the President directed. When he left the Senate hearing this morning, Senator Prentice got in the car with him. They drove to General Scott's quarters at Fort Myer. A few minutes after they got there, General Hardesty and General Riley drove up, and then General Dieffenbach arrived in an Army car. They were still there when I had to leave. Must be a pretty long lunch."

"Admiral Palmer was not there?" asked Todd.

"Nope. No sign of him."

Todd tapped his pencil on his teeth. His brows gathered in thought. He was clearly enjoying his role as chief diagnostician.

"As you know," he said, "Palmer was not at the chiefs' meeting yesterday. That did not seem particularly significant, but his absence today makes it look more interesting. The only member of the Joint Chiefs not present. Mr. President, I have an idea."

"All right, Chris, shoot."

"Why don't you call Barney Rutkowski? You could remind him of his earlier conversation and find out if anything has developed since that he knows of. Tell him you want him to fly in here and talk to you in confidence. Then, when he gets here, send him over to see Palmer on some pretext and sound him out. It might be very illuminating."

"Do you suppose Barney knows Palmer?" asked Clark.

Casey had an answer. "All the chiefs have visited the Air Defense Command. They go there at least once a year." He chuckled. "So do I. Everybody likes Colorado Springs."

"That's good enough," said Todd. "What do you think, Mr. President?"

Lyman walked to one of the windowpanes and rubbed a finger across it. He didn't improve the visibility; the mist was on the outside.

"I rather like the idea," he said.

"But don't let Rutkowski know what's bothering you," Todd said. "This business, I mean."

Corwin, sitting at the door, snapped his fingers and held up a hand for silence. A moment later there was a knock at the door. The Secret Service man opened it a little-so that others in the room could not be seen from the outside-and then, recognizing Esther Townsend, threw it wide.

The secretary was all smiles.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. President," she said, "but you just became a grandfather. A baby girl. Liz is doing fine."

"Oh, my God." Lyman got up quickly. "I completely forgot about that. I meant to call Doris this morning. Gentlemen, excuse me for a minute, will you? I have to call Mrs. Lyman."

"Never mind the cigars," Clark said. "I'll buy for the house-from your stock downstairs."

"While you're down there," said Todd, as if he had not heard Esther, "why not call Rutkowski, Mr. President? Time's running."

The connection to the hospital in Louisville was already open when Lyman reached his bedroom on the floor below. His wife Doris, cheerful as ever, bubbled happily over the wire. Liz was fine, but too groggy to talk to her father. She had waited a few minutes before calling to make sure Liz was all right. The baby was all in one piece, with the right number of everything, and nicely wrinkled. Would it be all right to name it Florence, after Lyman's mother?

"Whatever the kids want," Lyman said happily. "And, honey, kiss Liz for me. And tell Ed he's a great man."

Another button on Lyman's phone winked insistently. He told Doris to hang on and pushed it. It was Frank Simon on the other line.

"Mr. President," said the press secretary, "Esther told me you were calling Louisville. How about letting the photographers come up for a shot of you? We could use it. The boys in the pressroom think you're sick."

"Sure, sure." Lyman was excited. "Bring 'em up, Frank."

The photographers trooped in just as Lyman was telling his wife that much as he wanted her home (and he did) she might as well wait until Monday. Too much doing on the treaty to give him any free time anyway, he said.

"That's an awful serious look for a new grandfather, Mr. President," said Pete Schnure of AP photos. "How about a smile, huh?"

Lyman obliged to the accompaniment of a brief barrage of flashbulbs, but he shook his head when they asked for more. Simon palmed his charges out the door into the oval study. The President wound up his talk with his wife, then made sure they had started down on the elevator before asking Esther to get him General Rutkowski at the Air Defense Command on a normal commercial line. It took several minutes.

"This is Jordan Lyman, Barney. How are you?"

"Fine, Mr. President." The voice was strong and confident.

"Barney, you remember that call you made to me several months ago?"

"Very clearly, sir."

"Has there been anything else said by ... from the same quarter?"

"No, sir. I indicated at the time I didn't think such a conversation would be proper, and that's the last I heard of it."

"Barney, something quite important may have come up. Could you fly in here tonight?"

"Certainly, sir. I can leave in an hour or two."

"Please keep it in confidence, Barney. Invent some other excuse. I mean I'd rather it wasn't known that you're coming to see me."

"No trouble at all, Mr. President. I always have business in Washington. In fact, I planned to come next week anyway. Shall I call you when I get in?"

"Please. Just ask for Miss Townsend. She'll find me."

Corwin was spluttering with laughter when Lyman returned to the solarium. Casey was wiping his eyes and even Todd wore a smile. Clark had been entertaining.

"And speaking of doctors," he said-Lyman was sure that Clark had been regaling the company with maternity-ward humor-"reminds me of Ol' Doc, who ran against me in a primary one time. He used to collect his campaign funds on the spot, after he worked the crowds up with a good long speech. He'd stand there, all pink and sweaty with beer and righteousness, and call out the denomination of the bills as they handed 'em to him. 'Ten more for the campaign pot,' like that. Well, one time a fat-cat auto dealer down in south Georgia passed him a fifty-dollar bill. 01' Doc, he looked at it, and looked at it again, and damn near fainted-and then stuffed it into his pocket and sung out loud and clear, 'Ten more for the campaign pot!' "

They all congratulated Lyman. Clark said it ought to add at least five points to his next poll rating. Girard proposed a toast, nodding toward the portable bar, but the President shook his head. His mind was already back on business.

"Barney's flying in here tonight," he said. "I'll send him over to see Palmer. But, Chris, I want some thought given to the way Barney should be handled. It has to be just right."

Todd nodded and scribbled a note on the top of his pad. Then he ran his pen down his list again.

"The first thing to straighten out," he said, "is this ECOMCON business. Do we have any solid evidence at all that it exists, aside from Colonel Casey's talk with Henderson and the Hardesty note? I gather we don't."

Lyman nodded at Girard. "Paul, give us that list of classified bases you got this morning."

Girard read off a list of seventeen installations. All but five were outside the continental limits. Two of those five, Mount Thunder and a special area at Camp Ritchie in Maryland, were underground retreats for top government officials in case of a nuclear war. The other three were the sites of vaults where nuclear warheads and components were stored. There was no base near El Paso, and none with the ECOMCON designation or a similar mission. Nor was any of the bases, at home or abroad, known to Fullerton by the "Site Y" designation.

"He said the only time that tag was used, so far as he knows, was for Los Alamos where they made the atomic bomb in 1945," Girard said.

"I could not have recited that list from memory," Lyman said, "but I know that each installation on it was specifically authorized by myself or one of my predecessors. Furthermore, on the day after my inauguration I was briefed on each classified base then in existence. I am positive there has never been any discussion of any installation of a secret nature near El Paso."

"That clarifies my point," said Todd. "There appears to be nothing in writing anywhere to indicate that this base does in fact exist. With all due respect to Colonel Casey, perhaps it does not."

"You mean the first order of business is to find out?" asked Lyman.

"Precisely," Todd replied. "But how? Of course, the normal procedure would be for you, Mr. President, to call General Scott and ask him. If he denied it, you would then order him to accompany you on an inspection trip to the El Paso area. If there were no base, you would fire Colonel Casey and apologize to Scott. If there were one, you would disperse the ECOMCON troops and dismiss Scott on a charge of insubordination."

The five men looked at the President. Lyman smiled patiently at Todd.

"Are you seriously suggesting that course of action, Chris?" he asked.

"No," Todd said, "I am merely saying that would be the normal way for a President to act, under normal circumstances."

Girard moved in. "Look, Mr. Secretary. If there turned out to be no base, the story would be plastered all over every paper in the country. The boss would look like a complete fool, and the administration wouldn't be worth the baling wire it would take to hold it together. That's not politics, Mr. Secretary. It's lunacy."

"But of course we assume the base does exist, or we wouldn't be here." Todd's temper was rising.

"Look at the other side, Chris," said Lyman. "Let's say we find the base and I demand Scott's resignation. I suppose his reply would be that I had authorized the base orally. We'd set up a fight in Congress and the newspapers that could literally tear the country in half."

"Christ, yes," added Girard acidly. "The House would vote a bill of impeachment within a week, with the mood the country's in. They'd say the boss was out of his mind. And much as I love him, you put his word against Scott's right now and I wouldn't bet a dime on our man."

"Thanks, Paul," said Lyman. His voice was sarcastic, but his smile was tolerant-and agreeing.

"Wait a minute, all of you," Todd said. "I'm not advocating this. It's just that my instinct always is to sail the shortest course for the harbor in a squall."

"That's why you're the Secretary of the Treasury, by appointment, instead of being a senator or governor by election, Chris." Lyman spoke slowly, in schoolmaster fashion, as men do to friends outside their trade. "We're really at the heart of the matter here, aside from Scott's character itself, and it's a political judgment: Is this thing possible-really? I've spent most of the last twenty-four hours thinking about that."

The President got up from his chair in his gawky way and walked halfway around the room to lean against the center window sill. He crossed his feet as though trying to hide their size and fussed with his pipe for a minute.

"Actually," he said, "Jiggs's visit last night brought into focus a lot of things that have troubled me since I took over this job. I hope you can stand a little philosophy; I think it goes to the guts of this thing.

"Ever since that first atomic explosion at Hiroshima, something has been happening to man's spirit. It's not surprising, really. Up until then a man could have some feeling that even in a terrible war he had some control over his existence. Not much, maybe, but still some. The bomb finished that. Everybody's first thought was that it would end war. Everybody's second thought was that if it didn't, he was at the mercy of the people who had the bombs. Then came the hydrogen bombs and now these awful neutron weapons.

"Civilization can go with a moan and a whimper overnight. Everybody knows it. But how can an individual feel anything but helpless? He can't grab a rifle and rush out to defend his country. He probably can't even help much by joining the Navy and serving on a missile submarine. He'd know that if he ever got an order to fire, it would mean that his home was probably already a pile of ashes-or would be in fifteen minutes."

The room was still. Todd, sunk in his chair, had let his pad slip to the floor. Corwin sat straight against the door. Casey noiselessly stubbed out a cigarette and clasped his hands behind his thick neck.

"None of that means much to the dictatorships," Lyman went on. "In a monolithic state-and that's what Russia has been for centuries, under czars and commissars both-people never get used to influencing their government, and they don't miss it. But a democracy is different. Each of us has got to feel that we can influence events, no matter how slight the influence. When people start believing they can't they get frustrated, and angry. They feel helpless and they start going to extremes. Look at the history-Joe McCarthy, then the Birch society, now the popularity of this fanatic MacPherson."

Lyman paused and looked at his companions. Todd took the cue.

"Granting all that, Mr. President," he said, "you'll recall that when General Walker-remember, that division commander in Germany-got out of line in 1961, President Kennedy wasted no time relieving him."

"That's exactly my point, Chris, and a good example of it," Lyman said. "Kennedy was quite popular then, and opinion was clearly on his side. But since then this climate I'm talking about has got steadily worse. People have seriously started looking for a superman. Don't think I couldn't feel that in the campaign. I guess I sounded like one in that acceptance speech, too, thanks to Ray."

Clark chuckled. "We only had eighteen words in that punch line, but I bet we worked on it for two hours."

"Wise men-and I trust that includes everyone here-know there aren't any supermen," Lyman resumed. "The trouble is that democracy works only when a good majority of citizens are willing to give thought and time and effort to their government. The nuclear age, by killing man's faith in his ability to influence what happens, could destroy the United States even if no bombs were ever dropped. That's why I decided I had to bring off that treaty if it was the only thing I ever did."

Lyman shook his head. "I don't know if it's enough, though. Maybe it's coming too late. The climate for democracy in this country is the worst it's ever been. Maybe General Scott thinks he holds salvation in his hands. If he does, he's pitifully mistaken, and I feel sorry for him."

The President sat slouched on the sill of the big window, his wiry hair rumpled and his hands and feet looking ridiculously large and awkward. It occurred to Casey that he looked more like a country poet than a President. The silence lingered until they were all conscious of it. Clark finally broke it with a loud, "A-men, Brother Lyman!"

Lyman chuckled and gestured to Todd.

"That's enough from the revival tent, I guess, even though I really mean it," he said. "Let's get back on the track, Chris."

"Well, I assume that accepting your reasoning leaves only one course open to us," Todd said. "That is to start gathering evidence to see whether there is a ... an operation, or whether there isn't."

"That'd be my idea," Girard said.

"Then somebody has got to go down to El Paso and see for himself," said Todd, obviously glad to be back on firm factual ground. "We can't phone. We can't ask people. Somebody's got to go."

He looked around the room.

"I'm the one," Clark offered. "I've been around west Texas and New Mexico some with the committee. I don't look like a senator, maybe, but if I get in a jam I can always show my card and claim I'm making an investigation for the committee. It would be natural enough, too, with the recess."

"I guess Ray's right," Lyman said. "But, Ray, I want you back right away. See if you can't get down there tonight or first thing tomorrow, and make it a one-day job. At least be sure you're back here by Thursday night. And keep in touch with Esther."

"Right." Clark stretched, as though his job was already finished. He glanced at the bar.

"You'd better have Henderson's phone number, Senator," Casey said, pulling out his little address book. "And I can brief you on Mutt and his wife after we get through here."

"Okay," said Clark. "And the name's Ray."

"Mr. Secretary," Girard said, "you forgot one thing in your roundup of new stuff since Casey's trip here last night. As I get it, Esther claims Scott has a girl friend in New York. There might be something there."

"You're right," Todd said. "It doesn't bear directly on this thing, but it ought to be investigated right away. Besides, someone has to go to New York to get a better line on MacPherson. If there is a plot, he may be in on it, although I must say that seems unlikely. What possible use could he be to them?"

"That's easy," Girard shot back. "He could be their mouthpiece, the one who tells the country it has a new boss."

"That does not impress me," Todd said, fingering his watch chain. His eyebrows arched in disdain. "I must say all that mumbo-jumbo about some master television switch leaves me unimpressed, too."

Casey, his voice low-keyed but hard, corrected him. "Excuse me, Mr. Secretary, but that happens to be something I know a good deal about. If this is what we think, and they have the use of that master override control, the President could be prevented from speaking to the country for hours-even if he were otherwise free to do so. The way it's set up, you'd never have a chance."

"What's that girl's name again?" asked Corwin.

"Segnier," said Todd, consulting his pad. "S-e-g-n-i-e-r, Millicent Segnier. According to Miss Townsend, she is fashion editor of a magazine called Cherie."

"That's right," said Casey. "I met her once."

Todd looked at Casey in surprise. Lyman tapped the Marine's shoulder as he walked behind him to return to his chair.

"Well, well," he said. "I saw nothing in your service jacket to indicate any special proficiency with the ladies, Colonel."

Casey blushed and scratched his head in embarrassment.

"Well, sir," he said, "I know a girl in New York who knows her. Or maybe I ought to say I knew a girl in New York who knew her when I knew the girl in New York."

He stopped abruptly, confused by his own words. Clark's booming laugh keynoted a general outburst of mirth at Casey's expense.

"Maybe you'd better start over, Colonel," said Todd.

Now Casey laughed too, but his words came with an effort. "We don't discuss this in the Casey household any more," he said. "But two years ago, before my assignment to the Joint Staff, I ran the Marine security detail for two weeks that time Feemerov came to the UN."

"And?" Todd prompted him.

"And since the New York police were really running the security show, I had quite a bit of free time on my hands. I met a girl who was a television script writer, and ... well, anyhow, I met Miss Segnier at a party."

"Have you kept in touch with this television female?" Todd asked.

"No, sir." Casey was emphatic, then blushed again as Girard chuckled wickedly. "Well, that is, I haven't seen her, but I know she's still in the TV game up there."

"That seems to solve the problem of who goes to New York," commented Todd.

"Oh, please." Casey recoiled almost visibly at the thought. "Mrs. Casey wouldn't understand a secret mission to New York, not at all. She really wouldn't."

Todd insisted. "You know this woman-the General's woman-and you also know somebody who is in the television business and therefore can easily provide some information on MacPherson. There isn't time to start from scratch on this."

The President intervened, too. "Look, Jiggs, we don't have much choice. Chris has to stay here to coordinate things. Obviously I'm a prisoner in this house for more reasons than one. Art's job, and it's one that only he can handle, is to follow Scott. Ray is going to El Paso and I've already picked out a chore for Paul. That leaves you."

"What can I tell Marge, sir?" Casey asked.

"Nothing," said Todd. "But if the domestic pressure gets too strong, perhaps the President could call Mrs. Casey."

"I'd be delighted," said Lyman.

"Lord." Casey was dejected. "If it was any place but New York."

"Don't you wish you'd stayed on Scott's side?" gibed Clark.

"We don't need the name of your friend," Lyman said, "but you'd better leave her phone number with Esther."

Todd returned to his scratch pad and went down his list of items, point by point. Each called for some discussion. Senator Prentice's name, and his connection with the Joint Chiefs, inspired a long inspection of his character. Consensus: While it appeared incredible that Prentice would join a move against a system in which he already held so prominent a place, his campaign contributors included many big defense contractors, he had complete confidence in the military -and he openly doubted the Lyman administration's ability to survive if the Russians cheated on the nuclear disarmament treaty.

Todd saved the Preakness messages until the last.

"Aside from ECOMCON," he said, "this is the one thing that seems to me the most unlikely. I'm speaking now of Colonel Casey's interpretation of the agreed facts.

"As I see it, these messages can mean three things. First, they may be exactly what they purport to be, a wagering pool. Second, they may be a cover for a proper and prudent military step, to wit, lulling the field commanders before Saturday's alert. Third, the messages may be a coded exchange for a clandestine military operation thus far not revealed to us.

"Let's take the obvious first. Scott is known as a betting man, isn't he?"

"Sure," said Clark. "We joked about it when he came before the committee for confirmation as chairman of the Joint Chiefs last year. Prentice said he guessed it was Scott's only bad habit."

"I've seen his picture in the papers plenty of times, at some track or other," Girard said.

"So it could easily be what the messages say it is," added Todd.

"Wait a minute," Lyman said. "What about his obvious annoyance over Casey's learning of the messages?"

"Well," said Todd, "obviously the government's military radio networks aren't supposed to be used for that kind of thing. So you couldn't blame Scott for wanting to keep it quiet."

"The only thing about that," Casey said, "is that Scott knows I see a lot of his personal traffic, and some of it would cause more rumpus than this if it got around. I remember once he asked the commander of the Army supply depot at Bordeaux to send him a case of claret. He used all-service radio for that, and Code Blue-that's the chairman's personal code. But he never cautioned me about that, or anything else, until yesterday."

"Still," Todd insisted, "there's no hard evidence to prove these are not messages about a horse race. Now, let's examine the second possibility. Is he simply duping his field commanders before an alert?"

Again it was Casey who raised a doubt. "What sticks me there," he said, "is Admiral Wilson. I can't imagine Topping Wilson agreeing to a wager by radio-or any other way. Why, he once banned all gambling on a cruiser division he commanded."

"How do you know that?" asked Todd.

"I had the Marine detachment on the flagship," Casey replied. "But the whole fleet knew about it. Wilson's always been a real sundowner and now that he's CINCPAC, he's even tougher. It doesn't make sense to me that he'd do what he told his entire command not to do."

Todd was obstinate. "Still, you haven't proved anything."

Casey reddened, but not from embarrassment this time. "Look, Mr. Secretary," he began. Lyman cut in fast.

"Calm down, Chris. Jiggs isn't trying to prove anything. By the time we collected enough proof to satisfy a court of law, it might well be too late to stop whatever we proved was going on."

Casey relaxed. Todd grunted unhappily but moved ahead.

"All right, assuming the worst," he said, "and these messages are-"

"Wait a second," Girard interrupted. "Thinking about the alert again made me wonder about something. Mr. President, who decided which people were going to know about the All Red in advance?"

"Why, General Scott did," Lyman said. "That's S.O.P. with us."

Casey spoke up. "You mean, sir, that you didn't ask General Scott to withhold the information from the Secretary of Defense?"

"No, indeed. I didn't think about it at the time, one way or the other."

"That's not the point, Mr. President." Casey was speaking to Lyman, but his words were aimed at Todd. "The General specifically told me, when I asked about it, that you had ordered the Secretary blacked out."

Girard moved his heavy frame uneasily in his chair. "There goes the General again, telling another lie. I'm beginning to feel kind of nervous about our great military leader."

Todd said nothing, but he made another note before going back to his argument.

"Assuming the worst, as I started to say," he said, "and these messages are some kind of private code, when could it have been devised? Has Scott seen these five field commanders recently?"

"The General has toured the overseas bases and commands three times in fifteen months," Casey said.

"Is that customary?" asked Todd.

"No, it's some kind of record. Also, every one of those five officers has been in Washington within the last couple of months."

"They all saw Scott, of course?"

"Yes."

"And all but Wilson," interjected Clark, "appeared before the Armed Services Committee during our general review of the defense situation."

"Still assuming the worst," Todd said, "that brings us down to the Sixth Fleet commander, Admiral Barnswell, the one who replied 'no bet.' Obviously that assumes greater significance if some kind of plot is afoot, which I don't believe, and if the messages are a private code, which I'm not convinced of."

Lyman pushed forward in his chair. "Chris, I've already decided that the only prudent course is to send Paul over to talk to Barnswell. He can go over on the Vice-President's plane tonight without being noticed. I've already talked to Vince about it, and he's glad to do it. I gave him the idea that Paul has a little confidential personal business abroad."

"Good," agreed Todd. "Now, does anyone know anything about Barnswell that would help Paul on this?"

"I've met him," Clark said, "but I really don't know much about him except that he seems to have a talent for avoiding controversy. He's a mighty bland witness when he testifies."

"That's just it," Casey said. "I thought a lot about that, too, before I called Paul yesterday. You see, Barnswell has quite a reputation around the Pentagon as a, well, a vacillator. He always keeps his nose clean, he never sticks his neck out. He likes to know how the wind's blowing before he commits himself."

"A clean nose and a withdrawn neck in a high wind," commented Todd dryly. "You paint an intriguing portrait, indeed, Colonel."

"I know I don't express it very well, Mr. Secretary." Casey was thoroughly irritated at this crusty old lawyer and his snide cracks. "But, frankly, they say Barnswell's the kind of officer who likes to be with the winner-and usually is."

"My God," Lyman said, "how did a man like that get by the Secretary of the Navy for a key job like the Mediterranean fleet?"

"As a matter of fact, Mr. President," drawled Clark, "how did Secretary Wallstedt get by you?"

His usual joshing tone was missing. It was obvious to the others that some political nerve of the Georgia senator had been touched. Lyman looked embarrassed. There was a hush in the room as the six men looked at each other, all of them realizing in this moment that the Lyman administration could never be quite the same again, no matter what happened or didn't happen on Saturday. From now on there would be those who knew and those who could never know, and the line dividing them would respect neither politics nor position. The thought affected each man in the solarium differently, depending on his degree of intimacy with the President. But whatever that degree, the realization laid a chill upon the room and the darkening mist outside seemed to grow thicker.

Todd busied himself wiping his glasses.

Lyman finally broke the silence. "I think you'd better have a letter from me, Paul, just in case." He went to a little writing desk in the corner and pulled out a sheet of stationery bearing a gold presidential seal on the familiar tan paper that Lyman used for his personal notes. He wrote rapidly:

Dear Admiral Barnswell:

The bearer, Paul Girard, is my appointments secretary and personal associate. I trust that you will extend him every courtesy of your command and will also answer fully and frankly any questions he may put to you.

He is acting for me and with my complete trust and support. Your replies will be kept in confidence. Your co-operation will be appreciated.

Sincerely, Jordan Lyman

"You'll have to get yourself from Rome to Gibraltar somehow, Paul," said Lyman, handing him the note after sealing it in an envelope.

"And get it in writing, Paul," Todd warned. "You're a gentleman, but your word wouldn't count for much in a court against that of Barnswell or Scott."

The meeting was drawing to a close. Todd looked around the room.

"Everybody plan on being back here by Thursday noon at the latest," he said. "If Casey's right, we'd have only forty-eight hours left after that."

"The code, Chris," Lyman reminded him. The President looked a bit sheepish.

"Oh, yes," Todd said. "If we're up against the real thing, we've got to be careful. I've fixed up a little code for us to use on the phone."

Corwin, still leaning against the door, let his chair down on all four legs with a little thud. "Mr. Secretary, I don't think you need to worry about that. Any time you call into the White House, as long as you know the operator and the person you're talking to- and I gather the President has fixed that up through Miss Townsend-you don't need to worry. These lines are as secure as man could make them."

"Well, what about the phone at the other end?" Todd asked.

"Just stick to public phone booths," Corwin advised. "Nobody could tap that many lines."

"Okay," Lyman said, "I guess it was a little silly. But be careful how you say things, just in case. We'll get the point even if you talk around it some."

"We're all a little old to be playing games," Todd said. "Frankly, I still think the whole thing is absurd, so the quicker we get an explanation the better."

"Ah hope you right, Mistuh Secretary," said Clark, "but ah kin smell a catfish that's been layin' too long in the sun."

As the men filed out, Lyman drew Clark and Girard to one side. He closed the door after Todd, the last of the others to leave.

"Those are three fine men," he said, "but I'm not sure we speak the same language. Especially Chris. Hell, he wants me to climb up in the pulpit and shout 'thief!' and search the whole congregation."

"Let's face it," said Girard. "They aren't politicians."

"That's it, Jordie," Clark said. "Any politician would realize why you can't move in and clobber this thing right away. My God, with our rating today, we'd lose hands down in any showdown with Scott."

"And maybe lose the country with it," mused Lyman. "That's all Feemerov would need for an excuse to junk that treaty-a big brawl in the United States between the military and civilian authorities. I just can't figure Chris. It's funny that he would think we could move openly."

"This one, we play so close to the vest that nobody ever sees the cards," Clark said.

"Exactly," Lyman said. "I made up my mind last night that if there's anything to this, we've got to lick it without the country ever knowing about it. Of course, the only way to do that is to get some evidence that's solid enough to force Scott to resign-on some other pretext."

"Now that Chris is in it," Girard said, "you're going to have to make him see that, boss."

The three sat for another half hour, going over once again the events of Sunday and Monday.

"How about giving him Treatment A?" Girard asked. "That might take care of it, and if the whole thing does turn out to be a phony, we'll still be okay."

"Treatment A?" Lyman was puzzled.

"Oh, hell, you know what I mean, chief." Girard exhibited his wicked grin. "Get him out of town. Send him somewhere-out of the country. Scott can't grab your job if he's five thousand miles away."

Clark chuckled. "It must be something about this house. I remember a fellow who worked here in Kennedy's time-he was a college professor, at that-telling me the best way to liquidate a man was to keep him out of town. Seriously, Jordie, it might be a good idea."

Lyman shook his head. "No, I don't think so. It might work if it were almost any other kind of situation. But you can't just send the chairman of the Joint Chiefs galloping off on some made-up mission. Anyway, I'd just as soon have him right here where Art can keep an eye on him."

It was dark when Clark rose to go. The President shook hands with both men.

"Both of you get back here fast," he said. "I don't want it to be just one politician against nine generals and admirals-or maybe more."

When they had gone, Lyman stood looking out the sweeping window. The mist had begun to break now, leaving a low overcast that reflected the glow of the city's downtown lights.

In the end it's going to be Lyman against Scott, he thought, no matter who else is in it. Somehow he had to get the feel of the man. Sometime, in the not too many hours that were left, he would have to face the General alone.

The President stood in the dark. The old-fashioned globes on the lights along the back driveway cast little halos in the thinning mist that scudded past them.

They're all good men, Jordie, he thought, but you're on your own in the end. God, what a lonely house. If only Doris were here. It would be nice to have someone to eat dinner with tonight.