“Heard it on the radio a little while ago. Trouble is, schools don’t have heat. Big companies don’t have heat. Where are the folks supposed to go?”
“I hear a lot of them are hunkered down over at the Grange Hall where they’ve got those big fireplaces. At least they have a lot of firewood there. Not sure what the hospitals are doing though.”
“When are our crews going to get that line repaired?”
“I have no idea. They haven’t reported back yet.” He looked up at the map of intertwining lines and colors and studied the display. “Everything else seems to be running smoothly. Did you check the maintenance reports on that number twelve line?”
“Sure did. They ran diagnostics on that one just two weeks ago. It was A-okay. I still can’t figure out what happened.”
The supervisor reached for the remote control and flicked on the TV set. “At least power has been restored in a few areas. Glad we have backup generators though. Gonna check the news. See if the stations are back on. Maybe they have something on the evacuations or the hospitals or something.”
They watched in grim silence as a video of snow plows filled the screen. The announcer was explaining that the plows were trying to clear the roads so the hospitals could be evacuated. The staff could be seen bundled up in heavy coats and boots, loading stretchers into ambulances, trucks, and SUVs.A nurse, her white hat visible under a hooded jacket, was carrying what looked like two small bundles in pink blankets as she scurried toward a waiting car.
“Must be the babies out of that neo-natal unit they have over there,” said the supervisor. “At least the car heaters will keep them warm. I wonder about the incubators though. Maybe they can transport them someplace safe.”
“If this storm keeps up and the power is out for a lot of folks, and we can’t get our line repaired right away, this whole area is going to turn into a major disaster.”
“Remember when those Mexican lines were blown up years back?”
“Sure. But that was a bunch of crazy rebels.”
“Shut down all the factories though. Nobody could go to work. Their economy took a real hit.”
“Ours could too.”
The news anchor gave a weather forecast that called for more snow and ice for at least the next forty eight hours. Then he launched into an appeal for portable generators since the hardware stores and other suppliers were all sold out.
“No way anybody is going to give up a generator with this storm carrying on,” the assistant said. “But I sure hope the big guns up at headquarters get their act together to send some of those babies down here. They must have some sort of crisis team working on it, don’t you think?”
The phone began to ring and the supervisor grabbed it. “Control room here.” He listened for a while, nodded twice and then leaned forward as he practically shouted into the mouthpiece. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“What is it?” his assistant said.
The other man held up his hand for silence as he continued to listen to the call. “That long?” he bellowed. He listened for another few moments and finally banged the phone down.
“Good grief!”
“What?”
“The explosion, or whatever it was, really tore up the line. Now, with the storm, getting equipment in there, parts and all, they say it could take weeks to get that line operating again.”
“Weeks? We haven’t got weeks.”
The supervisor shook his head, stared at the map of lines again and turned to his assistant. “Listen. If we don’t get that line up and running in a matter of days, maybe hours, what started out as a small disaster could turn into a big God-damned body count.”
CHAPTER SIX
THE WHITE HOUSE–MONDAY MORNING
“Hey, Samantha, did you see this report from France on what’s going on over at the Economic Summit Meeting?”
Samantha glanced over to see her administrative assistant, Joan Tillman, standing in the doorway, waving a copy of the New York Times. “Not yet, I’ve been swamped with Greg’s priorities. As usual. Why? What’s up?”
“This is hilarious. So the president is over there, and they have one of those press briefings and word gets out that first, the president brought along his own drinking water.”
“So? He always does that.”
“But in France? The Evian people are royally pissed off.”
“Evian?” Samantha said. “Did you ever notice that Evian spelled backwards is naïve?”
Joan giggled and continued. “Anyway, then their French chefs practically went out on strike because our food tasters wanted to supervise their sauces. And finally, get this. Some French reporter is claiming that we’ve got Secret Service frogmen in the fountains at Versailles.”
“Do we?” Samantha asked with a wry smile.
“Probably,” Joan replied. “So are you going to watch Greg on CNN at noon?”
“I guess I’ll have to tune in. But I hope they put him at the top of the hour because I’m starved, and I want to get down to the Mess. I’m having lunch with Angela today.”
“Well, when you see her, tell her that I just heard from scheduling that the Association of Alpaca Growers has requested an event in the Rose Garden where they want to present an animal to the president. She’ll probably get a request to support the idea”.
“There’s an Association of Alpaca Growers?” Samantha asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Yep. Turns out Congress passed some sort of Jobs and Tax Relief law a while back that lets small business owners write off one-hundred percent of new assets the first year. So now you’ve got people buying an alpaca for something like $20,000, writing that off and then after a few years, they fatten them up and sell them for half a million. You can put about eight of those things on an acre of land so it’s cheap to feed them and keep them around. Pretty sweet deal, huh?”
Samantha burst out laughing. “I thought we got through the llama craze and then the ostrich craze. Now, you’re telling me we have an alpaca craze?”
“Something like that. They use ’em for fleece, and some of the better ones even get stud fees.”
“Sounds like the law of unintended consequences,” Samantha said.
“Well, we do a lot of that around here. Anyway, I didn’t mean to bother you. Is there anything you need me to follow up on from the staff meeting?”
“As a matter of fact, there is. Did you hear about that gas line explosion down in Oklahoma early this morning?”
“Sure. It was all over the news. You think that’s something for our office?”
“Well, Greg doesn’t think so. Then again, he was pretty focused on his CNN show.”
“He’s always focused on the next TV show,” Joan said.
“Anyway, with the power being out in a ton of places down there, this could be a huge problem.”
“Sorry, but what do we have to do with that?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just that I know a bit about that industry.”
“I know. You grew up in it. So what’s your take?” “Something’s strange. Something’s missing from the reports. I don’t see how one of those gas lines just explodes in the middle of a snowstorm. I mean, it’s weird. Tell you what, find out who owns that line, and see if they’ve got any people in town I could talk to. It’s got to be one of the majors, and they all have offices here. See what you can track down. Set up a meeting if you can swing it. The sooner the better.”
“Got it. Will do.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE WHITE HOUSE–MONDAY MID-DAY
Hustling down the narrow winding stairs to the basement of the West Wing, Samantha first walked by the desk of the agent sitting right outside the door to the Situation Room with its numbered keypad and went to the entrance of the White House Mess.
“Good afternoon, Miss Reid,” the maître d’ said. “Miss Marconi is already seated. Right this way.”
Samantha followed as he left his walnut podium and walked past a four-foot
-long display case holding a model of the USS Constitution in Plexiglas sitting right outside the door to the dining room.
Members of the White House staff who had the rank of special assistant to the president or above were granted the privilege of eating in this most prestigious of all Washington restaurants. Other staff members could get take-out from a window on the other side, but this room with its paneled walls and ship paintings was reserved for senior staff and their guests. Some staff brought business or political contacts to lunch on occasion, but it was verboten to bring in a member of the press who might overhear conversations at nearby tables about unannounced administration plans.
She walked past a large round table with seating for twelve. That one was known as the staff table. Anyone who was eating alone could sit there and pick up all kinds of in-house gossip over the salad or chowder.
She spied her friend, Angela Marconi sitting at a small table for two along the wall. As special assistant to the president for public liaison, Angela had to deal with all sorts of outside groups vying for the president’s attention. At five foot nine, she was just an inch taller than Samantha but Angela was a size twelve to Samantha’s size eight. Then again, coming from an Italian family in the restaurant business, Samantha often wondered how Angela stayed in shape at all.
“Hi there. That pants suit matches your hair,” Samantha remarked as she pulled out a wooden chair and sat down.
“Yes, I know. I’m all tan today. Sometimes I think I look like a bran muffin.”
“You do not!” Samantha said with a smile. “Anyway, in this weather, we all need to wear slacks and jackets. Did you see the forecast? They’re calling for another two days of this snow and ice.”
“At least,” Angela said. She picked up a navy blue menu with a gold presidential seal on the front and a piece of gold braid down the center. A waiter walked up to the table, tablet in hand.
“For you, Miss Marconi?”
“On a day like this, how about some Manhattan chowder and half of a turkey sandwich?”
He jotted it down and turned to Samantha. “And for you, Miss Reid?”
“Soup sounds good to me too. And then just a fruit salad. Thanks.” She turned to her friend, “So what’s happening in your bailiwick today? Everyone make it in okay?”
“Actually, most everyone on my staff got here. Some were late, but you know how it is around here. We all try to get in. It’s the out-of-town groupies that have problems.”
“Which ones?”
“Well, for starters, we had scheduled meetings today with East Europeans pushing for publicity to finish the Romanian bear sanctuary. Then the National Association of Cowgirls wants to get on the president’s calendar because the House passed a resolution congratulating the Wyoming cowgirls on their victory in some tournament, and the national group says all of them are just as important as the Wyoming team.”
Samantha shook her head as Angela went on. “Then there’s that new Food Council that’s monitoring how all the big restaurants are listing calories, fat and sodium on their menus. And they’re trying to get the smaller ones to comply in addition to the chains. And they’re still telling them to call products by their correct names. Now they want support from the White House chef on their campaign.”
“Fat chance,” Samantha laughed. “Can you imagine the calligraphers in the Social Office having to list calories on our cards for State dinners?”
“I know. It’s ridiculous. On the other hand, that group sent me an analysis showing that at one steakhouse, for example, they’ve got Aussie cheese fries that have 2,900 calories and 182 grams of fat. And they’re listed as a starter.”
The waiter came to the table with two bowls of chowder.
“Oh, and did you know that what they call orange roughy is actually a slimehead?” Angela added.
“Glad I didn’t order the fish special. At least you can keep a sense of humor over in your shop. Can’t say the same for mine.”
“So what have you got today? Besides holding up a mirror for Mr. Telegenic to preen some more?” her friend asked.
Samantha tasted the soup and explained. “Greg just did CNN at noon, and they hit him with the Metro bombing. The almost bombing, I mean.”
“I always wondered why they ever put a stop under the Pentagon,” Angela said.
“Exactly. Anyway, he talked a little bit about the shopping mall threat because even though it wasn’t an actual plot, we’re trying to get all the big malls to beef up their security. Then he mentioned the problems with the airlines who say they can’t afford a missile defense system.”
“Of course they can’t. I mean, with the cost of fuel starting to head up, who can blame them?”
“Right. But there’s another idea that might get the ball rolling. If we could get a small appropriation in the defense budget, the Pentagon could put some of those laser systems on the commercial planes that transport our troops overseas. And then, since the system is portable, if there were more threats of a missile strike against an airliner, they could quickly switch the laser system onto other planes.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“Yes, I added that talking point at the last minute so Greg could float the idea. Anyway, then there was the gas explosion in Oklahoma,” Samantha said
“But isn’t that an industry problem? We don’t get involved in that stuff. Not at this level, anyway,” Angela replied.
“I know. And Greg wouldn’t even talk about it in our staff meeting, but I figured he should be prepared if they hit him with the question.”
“Did they?”
“No. They ran out of time. Greg’s good at running the clock so he uses up the time on issues he wants to talk about, not the host.” “You’re right about that. Sometimes I wonder whether the president would keep that guy around if he weren’t so articulate. I mean, if we didn’t have television, we’d probably have an entirely different bunch of people in government, don’t you think?”
“Probably,” Samantha agreed. “Come to think of it, if we’d had TV back during the 1860’s, Abraham Lincoln probably wouldn’t have been elected, with that high pitched voice and dour look of his.”
“Right. So, back to the gas line. What’s your take on that? Do you think it’s some kind of maintenance issue?” Angela said.
“I have no idea, but I’ve asked Joan to set up a meeting with whoever owns that line.”
The waiter cleared their soup bowls and brought Angela’s sandwich and Samantha’s fruit salad. Then he replenished their water glasses and quietly slipped away.
“Trouble is,” Angela said, “the owner of the line probably can’t even get to the White House in this storm. Guess you could just talk on the phone though.”
“I’d rather have a face to face on this one. I have a strange feeling that something weird is going on. I saw a report on CNN right after Greg’s interview that showed people being evacuated to buildings in Oklahoma that had big fireplaces. But there are still tons of folks out in farm country where the power is out along with gas supplies. And with the roads being so bad, what are they supposed to do with no heat and a power failure besides?”
“What about the hospitals?” Angela asked.
“That’s the worst of it. They said that one of the preemies almost died.”
“A baby? Oh my God,” Angela exclaimed. “They’ve got to save the babies.”
“That’s exactly what a nurse said that they had on camera.”
“Well, I for one am glad you’re going to follow up on this one. What if it’s some crazies or some bunch of terrorists or something?”
“I have to admit that’s pretty far-fetched,” Samantha said, taking a bite of her fruit.
“What if it’s an inside job?”
“What? You mean some gas company’s employees would attack their own line? And in this weather?”
Angela sat back and thought for a moment. “No, I guess that doesn’t make a lot of sense, even if they were offered a bunch
of money. It just doesn’t track. Especially in a place like Oklahoma. I mean, what’s more American than the state of Oklahoma?”
“When I was a kid, that musical, Oklahoma, was the first show my parents took me to. I loved it,” Samantha said.
“They don’t make them like that anymore, it seems. Anyway, let me know how your meeting turns out. That is, if you get a meeting.”
As they finished their lunch, Angela motioned to a nearby table and whispered, “See that guy over there?”
Samantha looked over her shoulder. “You mean Hunt Daniels? He’s on the NSC staff.”
“I know. Do you think there would be a hunk on the White House staff that I haven’t checked out?”
“So what about Hunt?”
“Well, he always seems to keep such a low profile, I wondered what he’s up to,” Angela said with a glint in her eye.
“I know what you mean about the low profile,” Samantha said. “When everybody around here looks like they’re trying to leap frog over everybody else, Hunt seems to be doing the limbo.”
Angela snickered. “I know. So I just wondered if he was still seeing that scientist?”
“You mean, Dr. Cameron Talbot?”
Angela nodded.
“Last I heard they were still an item. She was supposed to come to a meeting with the airline people today, but the planes can’t land in the storm, so we called it off. She’s totally brilliant, you know.”
“I know the story. I mean who doesn’t know that she invents all of these missile defense systems. Hunt is probably smitten. Guess it follows since he’s into defense issues here.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just hoping he might be available, that’s all,” Angela said, sneaking another look at the handsome man sitting at the staff table.
“Forget it, friend. He’s taken,” Samantha said. “Besides, I thought you were still seeing that guy your mother fixed you up with. The guy who’s buying a restaurant near DuPont Circle.”
“I did go out with him a couple of times, but he’s new to the city. All he talks about is food, and he has no clue what’s going on around here. He thinks Rock Creek Park is the new Korean ambassador.”
Final Finesse Page 3