The sum of all fears - Tom Clancy [106]
The President made his way down the steps alone, walking from reality to immortality, he reflected. Reporters noticed that his stride was bouncy and relaxed, and envied him the comfortable quarters where he could sleep in regal solitude. Sleep was the only sure cure for jetlag, and clearly the President had enjoyed a restful flight. The Brooks Brothers suit was newly-pressed - Air Force One has all manner of amenities - his shoes positively sparkled, and his grooming was perfection itself. Fowler made his way to the US Ambassador and his wife, who conducted him to the Italian president. The band struck up 'The Star-Spangled Banner.' Next came the traditional review of the assembled troops, and a brief arrival speech that only hinted at the eloquence that would soon follow. In all, it took twenty minutes before Fowler got into his car, along with the ambassador, Dr Elliot, and his personal bodyguards.
"First one of those I've ever enjoyed," was Fowler's evaluation of the ceremony. There was general agreement that the Italians had handled it with elegance.
"Elizabeth, I want you to stay close. There are a few aspects to the agreement that we need to go over. I need to see Brent, too. How's he doing?" Fowler asked the ambassador.
"Tired but pretty happy with himself," Ambassador Coates replied. "The last negotiation session lasted over twenty hours."
"What's the local press saying?" E. E. asked.
"They're euphoric. They all are. This is a great day for the whole world." It's happening on my turf, and I'll be there to see it! Jed Coates said to himself. Not often you get to see history made.
"Well, that was nice."
The National Military Command Center - NMCC - is located in the D-Ring of the Pentagon near the River Entrance. One of the few such installations in government which actually looks like its Hollywood renditions, it is an arena roughly the size and proportions of a basketball court and two stories in height. NMCC is in essence the central telephone switchboard for the United States military. It is not the only one - the nearest alternate is at Fort Ritchie in the Maryland hills - since it is far too easy to destroy, but it is the most conveniently located of its type. It's a regular stop for VIPs who want to see the sexier parts of the Pentagon, much to the annoyance of the staff for whom it's merely the place where they work.
Adjoining the NMCC is a smaller room in which one can see a set of IBM PC/AT personal computers - old ones with 5.25-inch floppy drives - that constitute the Hot Line, the direct communications link between the American and Soviet presidents. The NMCC 'node' for the link was not the only one, but it was the primary down-link. That fact was not widely known in America, but it had been purposefully made known to the Soviets. Some form of direct communications between the two countries would be necessary even during an on-going nuclear war, and letting the Soviets know that the only readily usable down-link was here might serve, some 'experts' had judged three decades earlier, as a life-insurance policy for the area.
That, Captain James Rosselli, USN, thought, was just so much theoretician-generated horseshit. That no one had ever seriously questioned it was another example of all the horseshit that lay and stank within Washington in general and the Pentagon in particular. With all the nonsense that took place within the confines of Interstate 495, the Washington Beltway, it was just one more bit of data accepted as gospel, despite the fact that it didn't make a whole lot of sense. To 'Rosey' Rosselli, Washington, D.C. was about 300 square miles surrounded by reality. He wondered if the laws of physics even applied inside the Beltway. He'd long since given up on the laws of logic.
Joint duty, Rosey grunted to himself. The most recent effort of Congress to reform the military - something it was singularly unable to do for itself, he groused - had prescribed that uniformed officers who aspired to flag rank - and which