The cabin was little more than a rectangular box twenty-five feet by sixty, seemingly the product of a box of Lincoln Logs in the hands of an unimaginative child. The logs which formed the heavily-chinked walls were as raw on the inside as the out, and the ceiling overhead was a forest of rafters and roof timbers.
A wall of heavily varnished knotty pine divided a third of the cabin’s length off as a bedroom suite. For all practical purposes, the rest of the cabin was a single large room, broken up by a massive stone chimney pillar in the center. The chimney served both a fireplace facing the living room and a wood-burning stove in the kitchen.
From beyond the pine wall, O’Neill heard the sound of running water, and then Robinson’s voice: “Make yourself comfortable, Gregory. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Faintly, he heard Janice laugh, or more aptly, giggle.
Leaving his coat and gloves on the coat tree by the front door, O’Neill walked to the other end of the cabin and settled in a chair facing the cold hearth. No one else was in the cabin, nor had he expected there would be. This place was all Robinson’s. The Secret Service, the command communications staff, and even Rodman were obliged to live in trailers adjacent to the helipad, a quarter-mile away.
Despite their exile, the cabin’s rustic atmosphere seemed false and forced. Over the hearth hung a thirty-inch muskellenge mounted on a plaque, its mouth gaping open as though about to take the hook. O’Neill doubted it had been caught in Black Duck Lake, or even by Robinson personally. The muskie’s blank staring eye gave the trophy a surreal quality.
Discomfited by the wait—an old trick, making a caller wait—O’Neill went to the window and looked out toward the lake. There was no one in sight, so presumably Rodman had survived the encounter. O’Neill felt a brief pang of guilt, but it was tempered by the pleasure of discovering that somewhere between the pier and the cabin his headache had vanished.
Turning away, O’Neill looked for something else to divert him. There was not a book, magazine, or newspaper anywhere to be seen.
Likewise radio or TV. A victrola stood along one wall, but its record compartment contained only bottles of liquor. No distractions, O’Neill thought. Except Janice.
Somewhere a door opened and closed, and O’Neill looked up to see Robinson approaching, barefoot and wearing an ankle-length burgundy robe.
“Hello, Gregory,” Robinson said, his voice and manner relaxed. “Janice and I were out skating just before you got here, all the way to the west end and back. I swear that a hot shower is the only way to really drive the chill out.” His smile broadened. “Well—almost the only way. Do you skate?”
“I never learned how.”
“I had to teach Janice. But you’d probably be forcing things now to try. It’s a skill best learned at a young age, when the bones are forgiving and you don’t have so far to fall.”
“I’m sure.” Was there a second message to that? Robinson was not usually that subtle.
Before O’Neill could decide, the front door opened, and there was the stamping of snow-covered feet. Then Rodman appeared at the end of the little hallway between the chimney and a rank of closets. His cheek was reddened by more than the wind, and his eyes were cold and hard.
“Sorry I’m late, Peter,” he said, advancing toward them. His voice had a hoarse rasp to it. “I had to change clothes.”
Robinson held up a hand to stop him. “No, Bill. No notes on this one. Leave us alone.”
Query, disapproval, and threat passed across Rodman’s face, the first two meant for Robinson, the last directed at O’Neill. “I’ll be in the trailer,” he said gruffly, and retreated.
Robinson turned to O’Neill. “Well, Gregory. You came a long way to get something off your chest. Why don’t you do it?”
“You’re going ahead with this Q-plane business.”
“It has a name now. Mongoose. Yes, I gave Dennis the green light to advance the work on hardware.”
“Without telling me.”
Robinson lowered himself slowly into an easy chair. “You said that you preferred not to have anything to do with it.”
“That’s bullshit. You led me to believe this thing was dead.”
“I never said anything of the kind.”
“You said you wanted me to stay on.”
“Yes. To do the things that you do best. Though I assume that one of the reasons you’re here is to resign again, and to get it right this time.”
“I’m here because this scares the shit out of me, and I’m trying to find out what the hell is going on in your head that it doesn’t scare you just as much.”
“Why don’t you sit down, Gregory?”
“Is it that bad?”
Robinson laughed. “I just thought you might be getting tired of looming over me like a vulture.”
Feeling foolish, O’Neill retreated to a chair.
This is starting to get away from me, he thought. I should never have hit Rodman. I could have used that anger—
“You know, of course, that I don’t have to answer to you,” Robinson was saying. “But I don’t mind you knowing what’s going on in my head on this, because I know that the logic is very clear. And because you could make a positive contribution to the effort if you came to see that.”
“I don’t see myself supporting this under any circumstances.”
Robinson waved a hand absently. “The world is full of surprises. Wasn’t it you that said ‘there are no one-punch fights?’ Or are you just so fast I didn’t see the flurry?
“Yes, I saw, from the bedroom window.” he went on, not giving O’Neill a chance to answer. “I’ll wager it’s been a few years since a Cabinet member laid out his President’s chief of staff. I’m going to have to ask the White House historian about that when we get back.”
“I don’t think Bill considers the fight finished.” O’Neill said flushing. “Which is exactly my point about Mongoose. There are major command and control centers in Kiev, Omsk, and Khabarovsk, manned by generals and admirals who will know exactly what is expected of them when the lines to Moscow all go dead.”
“The weakness of strong centralized power, Gregory, is that the satellite regions become dependent on it. It’s why dolphins are easier to kill than sharks.”
O’Neill shook his head. “Snakes—sharks—this zoo of metaphors you have for the Soviet Union worries me. Mi. President. I worry that they get in the way of seeing the Soviets for what they are.”
“And what is that, exactly, Gregory? What insights do you have that escape the rest of us? Or have you spent so much time in the E-ring that you’ve been infected by the Pentagon’s habits of mind?”
Robinson came up out of his chair and paced in front of the hearth as he continued. “The Reds are ah-powerful. They have tougher tanks, bigger missiles, better soldiers. They have no alcoholic sentries, no careless maintenance techs, no defective build-it-cheap-and-build-it-fast hardware.”
He stopped in midstride and turned to face O’Neill. “Is that it, Gregory? Is that what I’m supposed to see?” he demanded, gesturing angrily.
“Am I supposed to believe every doom-and-gloom general who comes calling with a ten billion dollar end-all-and-be-all weapon-system blueprint in his pocket? Christ almighty, the best work you’ve done for me has been turning that kind away at the door. Now you want me to start believing that self—serving whining and cringing.”
“I want you to come to grips with the fact that Mongoose is going to start a war we’re not ready to fight.”
“Now, I don’t know what you mean by that,” Robinson said, settling back in his chair.
“I mean there’s no follow-up. What happens after the Q-plane repaves Red Square? Four hundred million people are not going to just throw their hands in the air and say, ‘Oh, well, you win, good game.’ You’ve got no plan—”
“Nonsense,” Robinson said. “Half the Pentagon does nothing but plan, and the other half wargames the plans. Thunderbolt. ABC 123. Charioteer. Omega. Are they just pape
r, or are they real?”
“They weren’t drawn up for this. Not for fighting a knife-in-the-back sneak attack.”
Robinson rested his elbows on the armrests and folded his hands at his waist. “There’s a copy of Thunderbolt in the comcom trailer. Would you like to reread it? It’s remarkably neutral on the subject of how and why war starts. But I will concede one omission. None of the planning teams had the advantage of assuming the war would start with Moscow destroyed and the Soviet civilian and military leadership eliminated.”
“Peter—I don’t think you understand. If even one Russian missile wing or one Red SSBN smokes its birds, there’s going to be a lot of dying. You can’t shrug that off. These are our people we’re talking about.”
“The war will already be over,” Robinson said quietly.
“Oh, that’ll be splendid comfort to the millions who’re going to do the dying. Go on television while the birds are in the air and tell them to be proud while they’re frying, that we won.”
Robinson’s face wore a solemn frown. “The tree of liberty must be refreshed.”
“What?”
“Jefferson. ‘The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots.’ Funny how much wisdom we’ve forgotten, isn’t it?” Robinson said. “Something I don’t understand happened along the way to here, something that made us too reluctant to spill our own blood, made us willing to surrender anything to avoid it.”
“The ‘something’ that happened was called Hiroshima.”
“It’s just another weapon, Gregory. It’s not the devil’s spawn.”
“It’s a hell of an incentive to keep the peace.”
“Peace,” Robinson repeated. His head lolled back against the chair until he was looking up into the cabin’s rafters. “There’s been more fighting about that than almost anything you can name. Do you know, Gregory, there’s a very simple reason why peace on earth is a pipe dream. Peace has the disadvantage of freezing the status quo, and there’ll always be individuals, groups, nations who find the status quo unacceptable. This time, it’s us.”
O’Neill had never expected to hear it said so plainly, confessed to so proudly. “Our own survivors will come for you,” O’Neill said quietly. “They’ll hold you to account for starting the war that killed their sons and mothers.”
“They’ll never know,” Robinson said with calm certainty. “We’ll pull together, and we’ll build together, and we’ll go on.”
“I wanted to believe that you just didn’t see where this could lead,” O’Neill said slowly. “But you do. And you’re willing to do it anyway.”
“Did you think this was a casual decision, a whim you could turn me from with a few words and a dramatic entrance? I know, Gregory. I’ve never deceived myself about what could happen.”
“Or questioned your right to decide this for all of us.”
“There’s no reason to question it. What are governments and Presidents for, Gregory? Should farmers and steelworkers vote on defense policy? Should we conduct foreign policy by plebiscite, commission the FNS to take a poll on every crisis?”
“You can at least poll your own advisors. You haven’t even convened the NSC on this.”
“I have polled my advisors, as many as considerations of security will allow. You’re alone in objecting. I’ve listened to your objections, Gregory. You have to grant me that. You’ve been able to speak freely, and I have listened. But I’m not obliged to agree.”
“What about the Tank? Axe you saying the Joint Chiefs are with you on this?”
“The Joint Chiefs gave the only assent they needed to when they signed off on Thunderbolt,” Robinson said with a shrug. “Every one of those war plans says, ‘If you need us, this is what we can do.’ It’s not the Chiefs’ place to judge the need.”
Grim-faced, O’Neill shook his head. “I can tell you that they do think about things like that. They don’t stop being citizens when they become soldiers.”
“I’m only interested in what they have to say as soldiers,” Robinson said.
O’Neill leaped to his feet. “For the love of God. You’re not the fucking king of America,” he shouted. “You can’t do this. You just can’t do this.”
But Robinson did not so much as flinch. “There’s something I want you to think about before you mount your high horse and ride away: Mongoose will go on with you or without you,” he said evenly. “So you can resign to salve your conscience, if you have to. You can also stay in good conscience, knowing that your leaving would make no difference. The only positive option you have is to stay and help make it work, and by that minimize the price of change.”
When had it gotten away from him? Or had it never been his at all? O’Neill had never felt more powerless. Reason was his weapon, his tool. Robinson had taken it from him and shattered it on a stone of conflicting convictions. “I don’t think I can stay,” he said.
Robinson nodded, unsurprised. “It’s just as well, I suppose. Alpha List is very long. Albert will be glad to hear he can pare a few names from it. You had your kids on it, too, didn’t you, Gregory?”
Staring, mouth agape. “You bastard.”
“Did you expect to keep the privileges of office after you abandoned the responsibilities?” Robinson asked. “If I were you, I’d sell the house. Washington might not be a good place to be.”
His legs weak, O’Neill collapsed back into the cushions. His mouth opened, but no words came.
“You see, Gregory, I never wanted to be king. I can do everything that needs doing as President,” Robinson said, his soft words a hammer. “The world is going to change, Gregory. And I’m the catalyst.”
O’Neill’s voice was a croak. “How can you be so sure? How can you take such a chance?”
“Wars are conducted between governments, not peoples. And I’m stronger than they are. They’ve lost the fire. Look at how quickly they caved in. There hasn’t been a Red sub inside the line for ten days. I tell you, Mongoose will break them.”
“It was just one incident. They had nothing to gain in forcing the issue—”
“If they still had the fire, they would have fought us for pride, for principle.”
Eyes downcast, O’Neill said nothing, locked in silent struggle with himself. I could make the choice for myself. And Ellen would stand with me, I know she would. But David, and Sara, and Mark, their families—they’re the only ones I can save. The only ones. And the only way I can save them is to stay. Oh, God—why do you test me like this?
“Gregory, I have no intention of being rash,” Robinson said as though to soothe him. “We’ll take their measure again, I promise you. But I can tell you now what will happen. They’ll back down. They’ll blink. And when they do, we’ll know they’re ours.” He paused waiting for a response that didn’t come. “You’re going to stay on.”
O’Neill slowly raised his head to meet Robinson’s eyes. “Yes.”
With a satisfied nod Robinson came to his feet. “I’ll call your taxi.”
Rodman joined Robinson at the door of the cabin to watch as the helicopter collected the Secretary of Defense from the end of the pier and roared skyward.
“Well?” Robinson asked.
“The chain is five links long. From a couple of two-stripers at the weapons depot on up through the base commander to General Matson.”
“Blaze Matson? The SAC commander?”
“He’s the one who tipped O’Neill.”
“Damn,” Robinson said, and spat into the snow. “All right. Here’s how it has to be: court-martial for the two-stripers and lock ’em up till this is over. Transfer the base commander to Thule or some other godforsaken hole. Matson—it’s about time for Matson to retire. Suggest it to him.”
“They were just doing their jobs.”
“And somebody wasn’t. Who fucked this up. Bill? Who handled the procurement?”
Rodman swallowed. “Ken Andrews, from CIA. He was the man on the scene.”
Black l
ight flared in Robinson’s eyes. “Kendrew again? Goddammit, I thought we told Madison to lose him.”
“He was dropped off the tactical team.” Rodman said. “He’s been a golden boy for them. Madison must have thought that was enough.”
“It isn’t.”
“Peter, I don’t think Andrews is at fault here.”
“No? Who is?”
“You are.”
“Oh?”
“If we’d done this from the top down, we could have done it cleanly. But you wanted to work around O’Neill.” He paused and looked skyward. The helicopter was a black speck in the distance. “At least we won’t have that problem anymore.”
“O’Neill’s staying,” Robinson said.
Rodman stared. “Whose idea was that?”
“Mine.”
“He’s the one you ought to be locking away.”
“I found his soft spot. He’s under control.”
“I want a piece of him.”
Robinson looked at Rodman’s swollen face and grinned crookedly. “He did catch you a good one.”
“The ice did most of this,” Rodman scowled.
“And you ten years younger than him. I’m disappointed. Bill.”
“I just don’t see why you want to take him with us. Why you think you can trust him.”
“I didn’t say I trusted the son of a bitch,” Robinson said, shaking his head. “We’re going to isolate him. Complete freeze-out.”
“He won’t take it.”
“He will,” Robinson said. “As for taking him with us—we won’t. You said you wanted a piece of him?”
“I do.”
“Then I’ll let you tell Tackett. I want O’Neill’s counterpart in Blue killed. Some way that’ll put his face in every newspaper. So there’ll be no place for him on the other side.”
Rodman nodded. “That’s better,” he said. “Consider it done.”
As the helicopter carried him away from Black Duck Lake, shame like he had never known before seeped through O’Neill like slow poison, a spreading stain. How cheaply we can sell ourselves, he thought bitterly. A few lives close at hand for a million faceless strangers.
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